Veylan chuckled, a rare sound as light as the flickering candlelight above, as he spun the woman in his arms across the polished marble of the ballroom. Music soared, gowns swirled, and the air was thick with incense and laughter—until it wasn't.
A scream—sharp and bloodcurdling—sliced through the palace air like a dagger.
The music screeched to a halt. Dancers froze, fans paused mid-flutter, and a ripple of panic spread like wildfire. Some guests ran toward the sound. Others stood in stunned silence, breaths caught in their throats.
Before Veylan could register the thought, his feet were already moving. He sprinted out of the ballroom, his heart pounding, only for every candle in the hallway to snuff out at once—like unseen hands pinching each flame.
Total darkness swallowed him.
He staggered to a halt, blinking rapidly, trying to will his sight to adjust. His breath misted in the sudden cold, and then—without warning—the candles relit on their own, one by one, casting an eerie amber glow down the corridor.
Veylan froze, blood icing in his veins.
The marble floor was slick with crimson. Blood had been smeared along the walls in jagged strokes. Limbs, torsos—gore too mangled to identify—were strewn across the hallway like butcher scraps. The copper tang of it coated his tongue.
His stomach turned violently. He pressed a trembling hand over his mouth as his eyes followed the horror down to the far end of the hall. Then he saw her.
There—impaled to the wall like some unholy effigy—hung his fiancée. Her body had been torn apart and arranged with grotesque precision, each limb, her torso, and her head nailed to the stone with massive rusted railroad spikes.
Veylan's knees buckled. He tried to scream but no sound came.
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He jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, the silk sheets tangled around his legs like restraints. His breath came in sharp gasps as he clutched his chest, trying to shake the nightmare's grip. For a moment, the vision still clung to him, vivid and raw.
Then his fingers brushed familiar fabric. Black silk, not crimson. He looked down—Oddfellow’s sheets.
Right. He was safe. In Oddfellow’s bed.
The mattress dipped slightly as Oddfellow stirred beside him, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Vey?” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion. “Is everything okay?”
Veylan exhaled slowly, burying the nightmare beneath layers of practiced calm. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”
Oddfellow’s glamour settled into place as he blinked away sleep, offering a small, worried smile. He held out his arms wordlessly, inviting Veylan into his embrace.
Veylan started to lean into him—but the Relic on the nightstand began to pulse with violent urgency. Its red glow flashed like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
Their eyes met—instantly alert.
Oddfellow was out of bed in an instant, tugging on his robe with one hand and snatching up the Relic with the other, mask forgotten in his haste.
“What’s going on?” Veylan asked, rising to his feet with growing dread.
Oddfellow was already at the door, voice echoing behind him. “Something’s happening at the Council building!”
Veylan’s eyes snapped to the untouched mask on the bedside table. He threw on his own robe, hastily tying it, then grabbed the mask and sprinted after him.
“Ody! Your mask!” he called out, tossing it.
Oddfellow turned just in time to catch it mid-stride as they bolted out the apartment. Luckily, the Council building was close—likely intentional for emergencies just like this.
They sprinted through the midnight streets, the cold wind whipping through their hair. When they slammed through the heavy doors, a wave of silence greeted them—except it wasn’t peaceful. It was paralyzed horror.
Council members stood frozen at the entrance hall, faces pale, eyes wide.
“What the hells is going on?” Oddfellow demanded.
Veylan pushed through them—then stopped dead.
The hall was destroyed. Shards of broken stained glass glittered among the blood-slicked marble, painting the floor in macabre colors. And at the far end of the corridor…
A body—unrecognizable, torn to shreds—was pinned grotesquely to the wall.
A mockery of life.
“I’m going to be sick,” Veylan gagged, stumbling to the nearest potted plant and doubling over.
Oddfellow could only stare in mute horror, his voice barely a whisper.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNNzTXyoZys
“…What the hell…”
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The grotesque display had been swept away with alarming efficiency—scrubbed from the floors, the walls, the air. But the stench of it still lingered in their minds.
Now, the Council sat in their high-backed seats within the obsidian-clad chamber, the mood suffocating. None dared speak. The only sound was the hollow tick of the ancient grandfather clock in the corner, each chime like a tolling bell of judgment.
Melantha sat with her fingers steepled beneath her chin, knuckles pale as her gaze bore into the polished onyx table. Across from her, Sarnan’s long bunny ears drooped, his eyes wide, vacant—haunted. Savina hunched forward, face buried in her hands. Viktor leaned to one side, fingers pressed against his mouth, his sharp features shadowed in dread and deep contemplation.
Chastity rocked gently in her seat, knees pulled to her chest, her silken wings curled protectively around her like a shroud.
Veylan had his face buried in his folded arms, trembling shoulders betraying his otherwise silent form. Beside him, Oddfellow sat rigid, jaw clenched. Beneath the table, his hand moved in soft, grounding circles along Veylan’s knee.
Then—21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrxRoNseejz
“So... since when could vampires not stomach blood?”
Viktor’s voice shattered the silence like glass.
Veylan flinched violently—but didn’t look up. Didn’t move. Didn’t dare. His eyes stayed wide beneath his arms, the scent, the image, the horror of that mutilated corpse mirroring his nightmare down to the last crimson stroke.
“Viktor. That was highly inappropriate,” Melantha said, her voice like ice, her expression still ghostly pale.
The clock struck twelve. Chimes rang through the chamber—eerily beautiful, misplaced in the tension.
Viktor scoffed, throwing his arms wide.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNlVpZlyeaC
“No. What’s highly inappropriate is that our Council building was broken into—desecrated—and the one vampire who could’ve responded in time can’t even stand the sight of blood!”
The sting landed hard.
Veylan rose slowly, hands slamming against the table with a loud crack. His eyes flared scarlet.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4m00c47EjN
“Oh really?” he snarled. “And who, exactly, was the last person in this building before the attack? Who should be taking responsibility for the lapse in security?”
Viktor’s chair scraped back, and he stood in kind, a low growl vibrating in his throat.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVY1EZcsMhd
“Why, you little—!”
WHUMP! WHACK!
Both men recoiled as Melantha’s wings snapped outward, smacking them both across the head with the grace of a thunderclap.
“Enough,” she hissed, voice cold as winter’s breath. “Sit. Down.”
Veylan scowled, but relented. Viktor rolled his eyes and flopped back into his seat with all the dignity of a petulant child.
By the stars, Veylan thought bitterly. Who put this damn fool on the Council? At this rate, they deserved to be doomed.
Melantha exhaled slowly, her wings settling behind her. “Now,” she said with forced calm, “who was here last?”
Silence.
Savina and Sarnan offered helpless shrugs. Veylan and Oddfellow both explained, tersely, that they had been asleep when the Relic activated.
That left one.
All eyes turned slowly toward Viktor, their expressions sharpened with suspicion.
Viktor’s lips parted in outrage. “You think I left something unlocked? I’m the head of this Council, for the Gods’ sake!”
Sarnan stood abruptly, finger jabbing toward him with uncharacteristic fury.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3FdfRuwsfe
“YOU are the reason this Council is a fucking mess in the first place! Who’s to say you didn’t leave it open?”
Viktor gasped, scandalized. “Oh please—I know how to lock a damn door!”
Melantha groaned, rubbing her temple as their bickering escalated.
Then—slam.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyvsQDXoACQ
Oddfellow’s fist struck the table like thunder. He stood tall, his voice cutting through the din like a blade.
“If you two don’t stop your damn arguing, we’ll never get to the bottom of this. Do you want our records and plans exposed to the public? You want another corpse strung up on our walls because someone forgot to check a fucking lock?”
Silence.
Every eye in the room was suddenly wide. Breathing slowed. Tempers, if only for a moment, cooled.
But the unease remained.
Like blood beneath the floorboards.
“Thank you, Oddfellow,” Melantha said softly, her wings drooping slightly as she exhaled a tired sigh. Oddfellow nodded and sat down again, the weight of the moment pressing heavier on his shoulders than before.
“Now…” she began, scanning the table slowly, “let’s think back. If anyone remembers anything—anything at all—speak up. We’re clearly dealing with something beyond us. We don’t even know who—or what—we’re up against.”
Silence.
Veylan frowned, his fingers twitching slightly in his lap. The dream… no, the vision. It had been too vivid, too accurate. It clung to him like blood beneath the nails.
He cleared his throat, eyes cast downward.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvuIldTzKhe
“I had a night terror,” he said carefully.
Viktor groaned.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy8O11IJIfQ
“Oh, perfect. Now’s the time for bedtime stories?” he sneered. “Lord Veylan, I don’t think—”
“Can you shut your damn trap for five seconds?” Veylan snapped, shooting him a glare sharp enough to wound. Viktor growled but went quiet, scowling.
Now all eyes turned to him.
Veylan inhaled through his nose, then spoke again.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpHkZciirfY
“I had a night terror just before this incident. It showed… this exact scene. The hallway. The blood. The mutilation. Except it wasn’t the victim we found tonight. It was my fiancée.”
Gasps rang out softly across the room. Melantha stiffened. Sarnan’s ears twitched. Chastity froze.
“She died in the vision,” Veylan continued, voice quiet. “Not staked to the wall, but… dismembered. In front of her sister. By their father.”
For a moment, no one could speak.
“So… you’re saying you have visions?” Savina finally asked, breaking the silence.
Veylan gave a bitter laugh.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZiDpGgWaSc
“No. At least, I don’t think so. My magic is strictly blood-based. But… something about it felt real. Like a warning.”
Oddfellow frowned behind his mask and gave a small nod. Melantha’s expression shifted—something close to sympathy. Sarnan bit his lip, ears drooping slightly.
Then, of course, Viktor muttered, “Great. So not only do we have a blood mage vampire who can’t stand the sight of blood without hurling, but he also brought some fucking lunatic to Grasigna.”
Veylan didn’t even look at him this time. He clenched his fists beneath the table.
“Wait—are you referring to Selene’s sister? Kora?” Sarnan spoke up, leaning forward. “You’re her fiancé?”
Veylan nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Sarnan blinked. His brows furrowed as he murmured something under his breath.
Veylan narrowed his eyes. “Something wrong, Sarnan?”
Savina glanced over. “You remember something?”
Sarnan sighed and sat up straighter, stretching his arms with a soft crack. “From what I recall… you’ve been here at Grasigna for what, three months now?”
“Uh… yeah.”
Sarnan nodded. “Right. Well—Selene showed up at our doorstep not long before that. Soaked to the bone. Crying. Shaking. Said her father had escaped the dungeons at Drakmire. Something about him going completely feral. She’s been staying with us ever since. We didn’t really… pry.”
Veylan blinked. His stomach sank like a stone in water. His expression hardened as realization set in.
Her father… the man who murdered her family… has been free this whole time?
And no letter. No warning. Not from his father. Not from Selene. Nothing.
What the hell was wrong with them?
“So… you’re saying he could be in Grasigna now?” Melantha asked cautiously.
Sarnan shrugged. “It’s not impossible. He’s been off-grid for a while. Lost his mind, from what I can tell. Selene said something about an affair he had years ago. Her mother confronted him about it. And… he snapped. Slaughtered everyone. Selene barely escaped.”
The room went cold.
Veylan exchanged a look with Oddfellow—his jaw tense.
“So… what?” Chastity asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “He doesn’t have a goal?”
Sarnan shook his head, arms folding behind his neck. “Man never had a brain to begin with. I doubt he has some grand scheme. More like a blind animal lashing out.”
“No…” Veylan murmured.
Everyone turned to look at him again.
“If he did have a goal… it would be to tie up loose ends.”
The words hung in the air like a curse.
The implication was clear. If her father was back—and he was cleaning up the bloodstains of his past—then Selene wasn’t his only target.
But that raised another question.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEIh5vZxH7i
If this attack was his doing…
Why target the Council?
“Sarnan,” Oddfellow spoke up suddenly, his voice steady behind the porcelain mask. Veylan glanced toward him, curious, as Sarnan’s lips pressed into a tight, unreadable line.
“I’m assuming you knew Selene’s father personally?” Oddfellow asked.
Sarnan shrugged. “Barely. The man was hardly ever around. Only reason I even knew him was because of my grandparents—we let their family stay with us for a while.”
Oddfellow gave a thoughtful nod. “Right. And what was his name again?”
Veylan answered before anyone else could. “Bruiser Laurent.”
The room fell silent for a moment, surprise flickering in a few pairs of eyes.
“Did he have any connections to the Council?” Veylan asked, voice low, thoughtful.
Shrugs went around the room.
“No idea,” Melantha said with a furrowed brow. “This council’s been around for generations. It’s possible. But the name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Almost in unison, everyone turned to Viktor.
“Viktor,” Savina prompted gently, her feline ears twitching with curiosity. “You’ve been with the council longer than any of us. Do you recall anyone by that name?”
Viktor leaned back with a casual shrug. “No clue.”
Veylan narrowed his eyes. He’s lying.
Melantha sighed, the weight of the evening showing in the drag of her hand across her face. “Alright. Here’s what we’ll do—lock this place up tight tonight. Everyone gets some rest. We’ll return tomorrow and start going through old council records, archives, whatever we can find. There has to be something buried in there.”
The group nodded in agreement, one by one peeling away from the discussion. The tension lingered in the air even as they began to leave.
Melantha stayed behind, her eyes still scanning the empty space where the body had been. Her thoughts miles away.
Veylan started to follow after Oddfellow… but stopped.
He turned back to the dragonborn woman.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeMMG7PD9ht
“Hey…” he said gently.
She glanced up, an eyebrow raising, clearly surprised by the softness in his voice.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1lYu6zULxe
“Yes? Something you needed?”
He hesitated, then offered a slight shrug and a crooked smile.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4XgNyeTmoc
“We’ll figure this out. Try not to stress too much, alright?”
She blinked, then smiled—a soft, tired thing.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0fj9tnoCxY
“Yeah… you too. Sleep well, Lord.”
He gave a quiet nod, then stepped out into the night.
Veylan sighed and slammed his head down onto the open pages of a book, buried deep within the shadowy aisles of the library. The soft creak of footsteps announced Oddfellow's arrival before he appeared beside him, running a gentle hand through Veylan’s hair.
“This is fucking stupid,” Veylan groaned, muffled by paper. “We haven’t found anything on the Laurent family.”
Oddfellow pursed his lips, then quietly sat down next to him, sliding the book out from under his face.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “And I have a feeling everyone else is looking in the wrong places.”
Veylan lifted his head, eyes narrowing in concern. “What do you mean?”
Oddfellow shrugged, letting out a dry, bitter chuckle.
“Last night, when we asked Viktor about Laurent... he lied.”
Veylan's gaze sharpened. “You picked up on it too?”
Oddfellow nodded, closing the book between them with a soft thump. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“I don’t think the others noticed. But I think Viktor knew him—well. You've been to plenty of Laurent parties, haven’t you? Do you ever remember seeing someone like Viktor there?”
Veylan furrowed his brow. He searched his memory, digging back to half-forgotten nights of court functions and lavish balls his father had dragged him to. One memory surfaced—vague, but enough.
“I think... I might have. I can’t be sure. It was a long time ago, but—yeah. He does seem familiar.”
Oddfellow exhaled slowly, like he already knew the answer. “We need to stop searching through council records. The truth isn’t here. It’s back in Drakmire. Or... in Viktor’s home.”
Veylan sat up straighter at the suggestion, teeth catching on his bottom lip. The idea of returning to Drakmire felt like dredging up a grave. Still—
“I think you’re right,” he admitted reluctantly.
Oddfellow nodded. He knew what that meant for Veylan—knew the weight behind that simple agreement.
“I’ll try to get into Viktor’s manor tonight,” he said quietly, standing as he spoke. “See what I can find.”
Veylan blinked, heart thudding. He wanted to say Be safe. Or Don't go alone. Or I’ll come with you.
But instead, he said nothing. They were just friends, weren’t they? Friends with a shared sense of morbid curiosity. Nothing more.
“I’ll send a letter to Drakmire,” Veylan said, voice steadier than he felt. “If no one answers... we’ll go ourselves.”
Oddfellow gave a solemn nod and turned to leave, ready to resume the illusion of idle searching. But before stepping away, he paused.
He leaned down, pressed the flat of his mask to Veylan’s forehead—a brief, lingering touch.
A kiss, through porcelain. And then he was gone.
Veylan sighed and dropped his head again—this time face-planting into the closed cover of the book with a quiet thud.
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Viktor stood just beyond the towering shelves, the soft hum of whispered voices reaching his ears. He leaned in closer, barely daring to breathe. He'd followed Oddfellow's footsteps here out of suspicion, but he hadn't expected this.
"...you picked up on it too?" Veylan's voice, low and bitter.
"Of course I did," Oddfellow replied, tone hushed. "Viktor was well acquainted with him. You've been to plenty Laurent parties, right? Do you remember ever seeing a man similar to Viktor there?"
Viktor’s jaw tensed, fingers curling into a fist. Of course they were digging. Of course Oddfellow had to be the one to catch it. Damn him.
“I think I might have, but I can’t be sure,” Veylan responded thoughtfully.
Viktor’s chest twisted. He remembered the Laurent parties too well. The golden halls, the laughter, the echo of piano music under candlelight. Bruiser had always stood a head taller than the others, booming with charm and rage alike.
They'd grown up together. Shared blood rites. Whispered about rising in the council someday. Viktor had believed in him—right up until the day the news arrived: Bruiser had slaughtered his entire family.
No explanation. No warning. Just crimson-soaked stone and shattered names.
Viktor had helped lock him away himself.
"I think we need to be looking outside of the council," Oddfellow continued. "Back in Drakmire. Or... Viktor's home."
Fuck.
Viktor’s heart thudded. He fought the urge to storm out from behind the shelves and tell them both to shut their damn mouths. But that would only confirm it. Instead, he backed away slowly, silently, until he was out of range.
His fingers twitched at his side as he stalked down the marble hallway of the archive wing, his face carefully neutral. They didn’t know why he was hiding it. They didn’t know what he was protecting.
Because if they ever found out what Viktor and Bruiser really did all those years ago...
They’d wish it was just about an unlocked door.
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The estate reeked of blood and magic.
The doors were wide open, the marble floors slick with red. The air was thick—soaked with the banshee wails of those who arrived too late. The crowd outside swelled, murmurs rippling through like thunderclouds before a storm. Nobles. Servants. Curious onlookers.
And Viktor.
He stood at the edge of it all, half-concealed by an ornate pillar near the grand staircase. Cloaked. Silent. Watching.
It was already done.
The Laurent family was broken.
Selene stood like a shattered statue in the middle of the carnage, her white dress stained crimson. Her lips trembled, no sound escaping now. Her scream—once fierce and soul-splitting—had collapsed into silence. The banshee blood in her veins had nearly torn her throat apart.
Around her, the bodies of her sisters lay cold.
One of them—Kora—was splayed across the room, her limbs ripped off unnaturally. Her hair was tangled in dried blood. Her eyes were still open.
Their mother, Lady Vaelora, was slumped by the hearth, arms wrapped around one of the younger daughters. Both lifeless. Both ripped to shreds.
Only Selene remained.
Only he remained.
Bruiser Laurent stood in the center, expression unreadable, chest heaving with exertion. His bare hands dripped red. His shirt was torn open, his face streaked with sweat and something close to satisfaction.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
Viktor knew what he’d done. He knew why.
They had spoken of it for months, years even—quietly, carefully, between council meetings and moonlit walks. Bruiser had grown obsessed with purity, with legacy. He spoke of his bloodline like scripture, like something divine.
He said his wife was weakening the line. That the daughters were too soft, too compromised by her.
He said Selene was the only one who might carry the fire forward.
Viktor had laughed when he said it—but he had listened.
They’d planned for something… slower. Something clean. But Bruiser snapped. Whether out of rage, guilt, or clarity—it didn’t matter. What mattered was the outcome.
Viktor didn’t try to stop him.
He had arrived late, drawn by the sound of the first scream.
And he stayed—hidden in the back as the Laurence family stormed in. Veylan was just a teenager then, fresh out of school. barely old enough to be at such an event.
Viktor watched as they pushed past the others, saw the moment Veylan recognized Kora—her broken form crumpled near the fireplace.
The boy had screamed her name. A noise full of disbelief and helplessness.
Viktor didn't flinch. He stood still as stone, unseen.
He watched the horror ripple outward like a stone dropped in still water.
Selene collapsed when she saw Veylan, like her knees couldn’t hold the weight anymore. Bruiser just smiled faintly—almost as if he were proud.
They bound him with chains and enchanted steel. He didn’t resist. And Viktor? He stepped forward just in time to spit his betrayal. He cried out for justice. For order.
He helped seal Bruiser’s fate—masking his own role in the madness. The others praised his loyalty.
They never saw the blood on his hands.
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Viktor’s jaw tensed as he turned from the corridor.
Let them dig. Let them fumble in the dark with half-truths and dusty records.
But if they reached the end of this trail...21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwGihpp8qBn
If they found the real thread...21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2MLOB5Tfih
They wouldn’t find a broken old man.
They’d find him.
And he’d be ready.
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAo8VFhlk0C
Veylan yawned as he sat in the living room, laid back across the love seat with a champagne glass in his hand. He didn’t know why he continued to indulge in this shit, especially when alcohol did nothing for vampires. But, even so, he didn’t hate the flavor. Something bitter and sweet on the tongue—almost nostalgic.
He frowned, lips pursed as his thumb idly circled the rim of the glass. The fireplace crackled across from him, shadows dancing against the marble walls. The hour had long since crept past midnight.
Still no sign of Oddfellow.
His eyes shifted to the chandelier above, watching the soft flicker of the candles. Each flame wavered with a life of its own, yet none ever quite extinguished. It reminded him of Oddfellow in some strange way—always burning quietly, always just out of reach.
What if he gets caught?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3AKDgDYLn9
What if Viktor finds him?
Veylan scoffed at his own thoughts and downed the rest of the champagne, swallowing the warmth with a grimace. He wasn’t supposed to care this much. Oddfellow was... a friend. An ally in a sea of liars and sycophants.
But still—Veylan stayed awake.
He ran a hand through his blonde hair, pushing it back with a sigh. His thoughts drifted unwillingly to Drakmire. To her. Kora’s face. Bloodied. Still. The memory came like a wave, always unexpected, always cold.
He remembered screaming her name. But everything after was a blur.
He clenched the stem of the glass tighter, feeling the sharp tension in his jaw. He hadn’t dared to bring Kora up aloud in months, not to anyone. She was a scar too deep, too raw. And Selene—Selene bore the same wound. Worse, even. And yet she’d survived.
Why?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkvHY7x9zjY
Why did Viktor lie?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO2JbyOrHOz
Why did his father look the other way?21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL9A2ZTDyTu
Why did no one question anything?
The glass cracked softly in his grip, a thin line spiderwebbing along its edge. Veylan cursed under his breath and set it aside.
His ears perked at the sound of the front door clicking open. Heels clicked sharply against the marble.
Veylan froze, eyes snapping wide.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ72sJZa7ffq
What the hell is she doing here?
“Hello, darling~ Miss me yet?” Selene purred from the doorway.
She was draped in a skintight French gown—he could tell from the obscene drop in the neckline, the way it clung to her hips, the deliberate elegance of the fabric. The French were always particular. Always dressed like they were preparing for war masked as a dinner party.
Veylan stumbled to his feet, glass still in hand, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Selene only smiled as she crept closer, like a shadow that found its shape.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjFfD6OOwYm
“Oh please~ you left the door unlocked. I just came to say hello,” she hummed.
He stepped back instinctively, keeping distance between them. Though it didn’t last long.
There was something wrong with her now. Something that curled beneath her skin. This version of Selene—the smile, the pitch of her voice, the gleam in her eyes—it scared him. He couldn’t place it, but she unsettled him in a way she never had before.
“For someone raised in a house of manners,” he muttered, “I’d expect you to respect them before walking into someone’s home uninvited.”
She rolled her eyes with a lazy flick of her wrist. “Oh hush. I just had a question—it’s been plaguing me for days.”
She helped herself to the champagne, as if she owned the place. Veylan’s eyes followed her every move, a frown deepening on his face.
“What could possibly be so important that you—”
“You and Oddfellow~” she interrupted, voice honey-sweet. “What’s your relationship with him?”
Veylan’s body stiffened.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB9rSrZAuU5
His expression iced over.
“We’re friends.”21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq0C0UPIOXv
Flat. Cold. Measured.
Selene tilted her head with a hum, swirling the champagne in her glass before turning back to him with a giggle that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Really? I wasn’t aware friends shared such... intimate gestures beneath moonlight.”
His blood ran hot. The audacity. After everything.
Before he could speak, she was on him—faster than he could react. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Her finger traced slowly up his throat, tilting his chin until he had no choice but to meet her gaze.
“After all,” she whispered, “I thought you were interested in me.”
He growled, voice sharp.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe9fjRB6oGC
“That was before you mocked everything my family stood for. Before you fed off them like a leech.”
Her eyes flared. The hand on his chin tightened.
“You shouldn’t have said it, my Lord,” she hissed, venom beneath the silk of her voice. “You should’ve learned the first time.”
Her nose brushed his, eyes gleaming.
“And to be honest~ I’m a little insulted. I was right there, the whole time—waiting. Watching. And you? You turned to him. A man. A man who makes even me uncomfortable.”
Her other hand ghosted down his chest.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUXbfFNlyeb
Predatory.
Veylan’s breath hitched, mind flickering back to the kiss beneath the stars. The warmth. The tremble. The realness of it.
“Leave, Selene,” he managed, voice strained.
But she only looked down and grinned—a slow, curling thing that made his skin crawl.
“Oh? Tell me... is this because of me?” she cooed, “Or is it because of that filthy little misfit?”
Her hand cupped him through his trousers.
He gasped, eyes shutting tight as rage and revulsion surged up at once. With a snarl, he shoved her away—his hand flying instinctively. A clean, sharp crack echoed through the room as his backhand knocked her to the floor.
“Leave.”
She sat stunned for a breath, disbelief contorting her features. But she didn’t argue. She rose silently, gathering her skirts, brushing off invisible dust. As she reached the door, she turned—her face blank save for the faintest curl of something cruel.
“Just you wait, my Lord…” she hissed. “You’ll regret it.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Veylan didn’t move for a long moment. Then, slowly, he dropped to the floor—his breath coming in ragged bursts. Eyes wide. Hands trembling.
He hated her.21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeELQF4htSh
He feared her.
And he hated how much of himself she still knew how to break.
And all while Selene was paying Veylan a visit…
Oddfellow had walked straight into a trap.
He'd been careful. Or so he thought. The shadows had cloaked him well enough, the manor was quiet, its wards old and lazy—no trace of Viktor’s usual paranoia. It was almost too easy.
Too quiet.
He’d slipped past the outer wall, through the broken garden gate hidden behind ivy and time. Slid into the manor like smoke through a crack in the window.
He should’ve known.
The library was empty. Not even a ghost of movement. And yet something hung in the air. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.
Still, he pressed forward.
Drawers. Letters. Files tucked beneath false panels. All of it fed a story—the kind of story that could shatter reputations and burn legacies to ash. Pictures. A name. Laurent. Dates that didn’t align. Names crossed out in red. One photo showed a much younger Viktor, standing shoulder to shoulder with—
Oddfellow froze.
Bruiser Laurent.
And then the creak.
Not behind him. Above.
The ceiling cracked like old bone as a sigil lit beneath his feet—red-hot and pulsing.
“Fuck—!”
The spell flared and the floor gave way.
He fell hard, slamming into cold stone—metal groaning around him. His limbs jerked, suddenly chained by wards that reeked of ancient council magic.
He barely had time to look up before the trap sealed shut above him.
The last thing he saw was a crest—painted onto the stone wall in front of him. Not Viktor’s. Not the council’s.
The Laurent sigil.
21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIHAOR9Z622
By morning, the council would wake to chaos.
One of their own had gone missing.
Another would swear she’d seen Selene Laurence walk into Veylan’s home.
And in a forgotten cell beneath Viktor’s manor, Oddfellow sat bleeding—eyes burning with fury as old secrets clawed their way back to life.
The kind of secrets the council was never meant to remember.
Selene Harland Laurent21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0wnMMAeA6S
Age: 23 · Race: Banshee21Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIimlzZ6tlK
A siren of sorrow draped in silk and secrets—her beauty masks a legacy of blood.
