The summons vibrated in Lucien's blood, a cold, insistent pull that coiled deep in his marrow. It was a command carved not in sound, but in the very essence of his corrupted lineage, impossible to ignore. Leaving the cloaked sanctuary of the cave felt like stepping from a warm dream into a frozen nightmare. Luna's rose-gold magic had been a balm, but this… this was the scrape of a blade against his soul.
The Blood Council's hall was a crypt of power, carved into the living heart of the mountain. black crystal walls, polished to a liquid darkness, reflected no light, only swallowing it. Pillars of raw, blood-red crystal thrust from the floor, pulsing with a faint, malevolent rhythm that echoed the oldest of heartbeats. The air was thick and still, heavy with the scent of ancient stone, dried petals, and the unmistakable, metallic scent of old, potent blood.
There were no thrones. The seven members of the Council stood atop jagged pillars of black crystal rocks, their forms shrouded in shifting shadows. Only their eyes were visible—pairs of burning crimson embers suspended in the gloom, their collective gaze a physical weight that pressed down on the central pedestal where Lucien now stood.
He forced his posture into one of defiant stillness, every muscle firm. The wound on his leg, a gift from Kaelen's fangs, throbbed in time with the crystals' pulse. But a deeper ache came from the brand over his heart, the crimson crescent that felt like a target in this den of purebloods.
"The celestial balance has been disturbed." The voice crawled from the darkness, dry and scraping as bones dragged over stone. Elder Vorian. "The Blood Moon wept. And you, Lucien Vale, were at its core. Again."
Lucien remained silent. Words were weapons here, and he would not hand them any ordnance.
A sharper voice, cold and precise as blade, cut through the silence. Lady Morvana. "The wolves howl a new song. They sing of the Abomination who now commands the loyalty of a witch. They sing of moonfire that burned for you. Explain this… deviation."
The way she said "deviation" made it sound like a disease. Lucien's jaw tightened. He could feel the phantom warmth of Luna's magic, the startling softness of her skin beneath his hands, a unyielding contrast to the deathly chill of this chamber.
"I explain nothing to you," Lucien's voice was a low growl, the wolf in him vibrating at their disdain. "My existence has always been a matter for your… discretion. Nothing has changed."
"Everything has changed!" The roar came from Malakor, a mountain of a vampire whose shadow seemed to suck the very warmth from the air. He leaned forward, his ember-eyes blazing. "You were a secret shame, a stain we kept in the shadows. Now you are an exhibition . A witch of the Vaerin line—a celestial bloodline—fights at your side. The Moon Goddess herself deigned to mark you. You have drawn the gaze of heaven upon our private disgrace."
Vorian's harshness followed, dripping with venomous triumph. "Your silence confirms it. The bond is real. You have entangled our blood—however diluted and polluted in your veins—with the light-woven power of a celestial witch. You have not merely remained an impurity. You have become an active threat. A bridge between our world and theirs. A vulnerability."
Lucien's control weakened. "I am a threat only to those who hunt me. I am a vulnerability only to those who see me as one."
"We see you as what you are!" Morvana's voice rose, sharp with a fury that was almost personal. "A mistake born of a vampire lord's momentary primal indulgence with a moon-cursed bitch. You are the living proof of an error in judgment that tainted our lineage for eternity. We tolerated your existence while you knew your place—in the shadows, alone. But you have forgotten that place. You have drawn a witch into your darkness, and in doing so, you have illuminated our shame for all to see."
The words were meant to scourge him, to reduce him to the base, hated thing they believed him to be. But they no longer had the same power. They echoed faintly against the memory of Luna's whisper in the dark. "I see the man you are, not the curse you carry."
Malakor took a step to the edge of his pillar, the black crystal groaning under his weight. "The Blood Council does not harbor vulnerabilities. We are eternal. We are supreme. Your existence was a quiet embarrassment. Your current… situation… is a screaming liability."
The verdict settled in the air, cold and absolute. It was a pronouncement he had lived with his entire life, but now it was being made official, given the full, terrible weight of law.
"The impurity must be cleansed," Vorian declared, his finality echoing in the vast chamber. "For the security of the bloodline. For the preservation of our power. The half-breed, Lucien Vale, is sentenced to execution. His connection to the witch dies with him."
There was no discussion. Only the stern, silent agreement of six other pairs of burning crimson eyes.
As the Council's enforcers emerged from the shadows—pale, formidable vampires clad in armor of darkened steel—Lucien felt a strange, cold clarity. They saw his bond with Luna as a threat. But as he felt the faint, steady pulse of the crescent mark over his heart, a silent echo of her presence across the miles, he knew the truth.
The bond was not his weakness. It was his anchor. It was the reason to fight, to survive, to defy the death sentence of these ancient, rotting ghosts.
The Blood Council demanded his death to cleanse an impurity.
But as the enforcers closed in, their hands reaching for him, Lucien's lips peeled back from his fangs in a silent, defiant snarl. For the first time, he had something—someone—to live for. And that made him more dangerous than they could possibly imagine.