Monise hesitated for half a second—then did the exact opposite of what he told her.
She moved.
Not out of defiance. Not because she was brave. But because whoever screamed was human, and that sound carried too much pain, too much raw fear, to be ignored. She slipped inside the manor again, the silver-trimmed doors whispering shut behind her.
The corridor was darker than before, as if the shadows had grown teeth. Echoes of snarls bounced off the stone, overlapping with crashing metal and muffled shouting. The closer she got, the more the scent in the air changed—thick, iron-heavy.
Blood.
She rounded a corner—and stopped.
A man, or what was left of him, was slumped against a pillar. His throat was shredded, eyes wide in a frozen expression of horror. His servant's uniform was soaked in crimson. Another scream rang out—this time, a woman's.
Monise stumbled back, heart pounding in her ears. She turned—only to run straight into something.
Clawed fingers curled around her wrist.
A vampire.
Young, or at least younger than the rest—his fangs were still lengthening as he grinned, eyes wide with hunger. His elegant coat was bloodstained, his pupils pinpricks of wild desire.
"Pretty," he whispered. "You're warm."
Monise tried to yank away, but his grip tightened.
"You shouldn't be here," he breathed. "You shouldn't exist in a place like this."
Then a gust of wind—sharp as daggers—slammed into the corridor.
The vampire holding her froze.
A deep, guttural snarl tore through the air.
And then, from the shadowed archway, emerged Valen.
His coat was gone. His shirt was torn at the collar, stained with splashes of blood—none of it his. His eyes were no longer red, but black. Bottomless. Monstrous.
"Let. Her. Go," he said, low and cold.
The fledgling vampire hissed, fangs flashing.
"I didn't know she was yours."
"She isn't," Valen replied.
And then, in the blink of an eye—he moved.
The fledgling barely had time to react. Valen struck him across the face with enough force to crack bone, sending him flying across the hallway. He hit the opposite wall with a sickening crunch and slumped, unconscious or worse.
Monise stared, breath caught in her throat.
Valen turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"I told you to stay put."
"You didn't explain anything," she said, her voice trembling. "You left me in the dark with—that."
He stepped forward slowly, his presence magnetic and terrifying.
"I gave you an order. Not a conversation."
His tone was colder now, more brutal than amused.
She looked away. "He would've killed me."
"I know."
A long pause.
"But he didn't. Because I was watching."
That caught her off guard.
"You—what?"
"I never left you," he said quietly. "Not really."
Another crash erupted somewhere upstairs. Valen exhaled sharply, then offered her his hand. His palm was rough, warm. She hesitated—then took it.
He pulled her close—not gently, but not to harm her. She realized, in that moment, he wasn't angry at her. He was angry that she'd nearly died. That he'd almost been too late.
He led her through back corridors, up a spiral stairway where stone met carved bone. At the top, the atmosphere changed again. Lit sconces burned with violet flame, casting flickers of eerie calm. The sounds of chaos had been muffled, contained.
They reached a door—a tall one etched with the sigils of House Elvior and the Council of Purebloods.
Valen didn't knock. He walked in.
A wide room stretched beyond: parchment scrolls, glass cases of blood samples, ancient tomes glowing with enchantments. Maps. Sigils. Drawings of various species. It was part library, part laboratory, part war room.
"This is where I work," he said without looking at her.
"You… research?"
"I oversee Council intelligence. I know every creature that breathes in this region. I track them. Study their patterns. Prepare for what's coming."
She stepped slowly inside.
"And what is coming?"
He turned to her then, really looked at her—his eyes flickering with something deeper.
"Change."
Before she could question further, the door slammed open.
Virele Kaerl entered.
The firstborn. Tall, statuesque, wrapped in crimson silk that hugged her form like molten blood. Her hair was pinned in a series of silver thorns. Her eyes—cold amethysts—landed immediately on Monise.
"You let her up here?" she hissed.
"She nearly died," Valen replied calmly. "The fledglings broke containment."
"So you coddle her now?" Virele sneered. "Or are you keeping her as some kind of pet?"
"She's alive because I stepped in. I'm not explaining myself to you."
"You never do," she snapped. Then, turning on Monise: "You're a stain in this house. An accident. And your time here is borrowed."
Monise lifted her chin despite the tremble in her limbs. "Then I'll try to be a spectacular accident."
Virele's lip curled—but before she could retort, Serephina glided in with all her smugness.
"Well, well," she sang. "It seems our little servant girl has upgraded her quarters."
Valen ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the evening.
"Enough," he growled.
He turned to Monise.
"You'll stay here for tonight. There are wards. You're safer behind them."
Monise blinked. "Wait, here? In your workroom?"
He didn't answer.
He simply walked past her and opened a side door. A small adjoining room with a simple bed, a chair, and a window that overlooked the glowing woods below.
"Don't open the window," he said over his shoulder. "And don't touch the runes."
And with that, he was gone again—leaving her in silence, surrounded by secrets she barely understood.
But one thing she did understand?
She was now in his domain.
And there was no going back.