Chapter 2

Xavier rushed into the manor, boots striking marble. He froze, nostrils flaring. Fear. Blood.

“Mason…” His voice was velvet over steel, carrying like a threat.

The trail dragged him down into the cellar.

Three ferals crouched in the dark, circling Mason. Black eyes glowed, fangs slick, claws raking stone as they closed in.

Mason’s back hit the wall. His chest heaved, legs weak, throat locked tight. Shame burned through his trembling body—prey, nothing more.

Then the air shifted.

Xavier stepped inside. Tall, sculpted, his high-boned face carved in shadow and light. Beauty so sharp it hurt to look at him. Even among monsters, he was the one to fear.

The ferals hissed.

Xavier moved. One hand gripped a throat and flung the first through the door with bone-cracking force. The second lunged—he tore its heart free in a single, brutal twist. The third snapped too late; its head dropped from its shoulders as Xavier’s hand dripped black blood. His face never changed, calm as if he’d done nothing at all.

Silence fell.

Mason’s breath shuddered, his wide eyes fixed on the prince. Terror clung to him, but so did something worse. His gaze dragged over Xavier’s lethal grace, the cruel curve of his mouth, the cold fire in his eyes. Fear tangled with awe until it bled into desire.

Xavier stood untouched, chest rising steady, lips curving in the faintest, most merciless smile. He didn’t need to speak—Mason’s trembling body betrayed him, pulled toward the very danger that should have destroyed him.

“Hello, love.” Xavier tilted his head, smiling like sin itself.

Mason jerked back against the wall. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I want to go home.”

Silence thickened the air.

In a blur, Xavier was in front of him. His hand rose, circling Mason’s face with a mock tenderness as he cooed, “Poor boy. I’m not holding you prisoner.”

Mason swallowed hard, trembling. “I… can go?”

Xavier nodded slowly. “Of course. If you can.”

Mason slipped past him, heart hammering, bolting toward the door. He stopped short, hesitating at the threshold. His voice broke. “Xa…vier.”

Xavier turned, one brow lifted.

“How do I make it home safely? Alone. In vampire land?”

A rich laugh spilled from Xavier, so deep it shook his chest. He pressed a hand to his stomach, grinning wickedly. “You see why I like you? Always thinking. Detective Mason, sharp even in fear.” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “I was gone for five hours, and already three ferals broke into my home—drawn to your blood. You’re human. Fragile. So tell me… do you really want to walk out that door?”

Mason’s resolve snapped. He rushed forward, falling to his knees and clutching at Xavier’s leg. “Please. Let me go. I don’t want to be here—I don’t want you, or any of this. I won’t say a word, I swear. Just let me go.”

Xavier looked down at him, gaze sharp, unreadable. For a long moment he said nothing. Then his lips curved.

“You will go.”

Mason froze, breath caught.

“But only after you’ve done what I brought you here for.” Xavier’s voice was silk and steel.

Footsteps echoed. His men entered, shadows filling the cellar.

“Gentlemen.” Xavier lifted his hand, drawing Mason to his side with effortless strength, palm heavy on Mason’s shoulder.

“Where’s the girl?” His eyes swept over them, cold and expectant.

Silence.

“Am I deaf?” His tone cut like a blade.

The leader of the crew stepped forward, head bowed. “My prince… we failed. We couldn’t bring her.”

Xavier’s smile vanished, his expression darkening like a storm. “Why?”

“Prince Lucien reached her first. The vampire hunters took her before we could act.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened. His voice cracked like a whip. “So you didn’t chase them down? You let them walk away?”

The men flinched, dropping their gazes.

“They weren’t alone,” the leader stammered. “They had an alpha with them.”

A dangerous stillness fell over Xavier. His eyes dimmed, voice low, “Alpha werewolf.”

--

Queen Sera stepped into the palace and froze. The sitting room was wrecked—shattered glass littered the floor, claw marks raked across the walls, velvet curtains torn from their hooks. Chairs lay in splinters, and the heavy oak table had been cracked clean through the center. The air still carried the metallic tang of blood, thick and sharp.

Maids hurried about, silent as ghosts, sweeping and gathering what they could.

“Nora,” Sera called.

The young maid rushed to her side and dropped into a bow. “My queen.”

Sera’s gaze swept the wreckage. “What happened here?”

Nora hesitated, wringing her hands. “My queen, it’s…”

“Wife.”

The voice came from above, deep and commanding. Silence swept the room as the King descended the stairs, each step deliberate.

Sera lowered her head. “My king.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where have you been?”

“I went to… check on matters concerning—” She faltered, words dying on her tongue. Pain throbbed through her body; she needed aid before it showed.

Her lashes lowered. “I will find you later.”

Without waiting for permission, she turned, slipping from the hall with quiet urgency.

“Nora,” she called sharply over her shoulder.

“Yes, my queen!” Nora hurried after her, skirts brushing the broken glass as the maids dared not raise their eyes.

--

Once in her chambers, Queen Sera slammed the door shut and seized Nora by the arm, pinning her to the wall. Her eyes bled crimson in an instant, a chill running down the maid’s spine.

“M–My queen…” Nora stammered, her voice trembling. This wasn’t the Sera she knew—this was hunger, raw and unchecked.

Silence stretched.

Sera’s gaze lingered on the terrified maid, fangs pressing against her lip, until at last she pulled herself back, stumbling a step away.

“I’m sorry, Nora,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “For a moment… I forgot you are no longer mine to take.”

Nora’s breath hitched. “What do you mean, my queen?”

Before Sera could answer, a knock rapped softly at the door.

“Come in, Mrs. Hughes.”

The matron stepped inside, eyes darting between queen and maid.

“Nora, leave us,” Sera ordered, her voice steadier now. “I will explain to you later.”

The girl bowed, reluctant, then slipped out, leaving a hollow quiet behind.

Sera turned, lifting her chin toward the older woman. “Tell me, Mrs. Hughes… can I trust you?”

Mrs. Hughes bowed deeply. “With my life, my queen.”

Sera’s fingers moved to her gown. She slipped it down over one shoulder, revealing a deep gash carved across her collarbone and a raw slash down her hand. The wounds sat dark and stubborn, not bleeding, not closing.

A ragged cry escaped her lips. Mrs. Hughes gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

“It burns,” Sera admitted, her voice trembling. “The pain doesn’t stop… and I am not healing.”

The matron stepped closer, studying the strange marks with furrowed brows.

“And yet… you are still a vampire, are you not?”

Sera gave a weary nod. “I haven’t lost my power. But I know exactly who left me with this.”

A heavy silence lingered.

“Who?” Mrs. Hughes asked quietly, though her expression suggested she already knew.

Sera’s voice dropped, almost a hiss. “A Veyron witch.”