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Librada closed her eyes, a tear escaping and tracing a path over the curve of her jaw. “I failed you,” she whispered, her voice choked with anguish. “I didn’t protect you. My life is yours to take.”

Elena stared at her, rage simmering, her heart a cold, heavy stone in her chest. The scent of Librada’s fear, her despair, filled her nostrils. Elena leaned in again, her fangs a hair from her exposed throat.

One bite, she thought, one swift, decisive movement, and it would all be over. The betrayal, the pain, the doubt. It would all disappear.

But as Elena considered it, a memory, sharp and vivid, flashed through her mind as if Zuri had dragged her back to it. 1770. The convent in Seville, its cold stone walls echoing with the hushed whispers of prayers. Librada, a young nun, barely twenty. Her face pale and drawn, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation.

Elena had seen it, the flicker of rebellion in her unbroken spirit, the yearning for a life beyond the confines of the convent walls. A life stolen from her before she’d even had a chance to taste it.

Elena had offered her freedom, a taste of the darkness, of power and self determination. And Librada had accepted, her gaze unwavering, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands.

“I will serve you,” she’d whispered, her words a vow, a pledge of unwavering loyalty before Elena drained her to the brink of death.

And she had. For centuries, Librada had been Elena’s shadow, her shield, her confidante. She’d fought by her side, protected her back, advised her with a wisdom that belied her youthful appearance.

The Cuban War of Independence, a bloody whirlwind where Librada had fought like a demon, her fangs a blur, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. The chaos of a lawless Sicily, where Librada had negotiated with crime lords, her voice calm and steady despite the threat of violence. The glittering casinos of Havana, where Librada had uncovered a treacherous plot and crushed it before it could materialize, her mind sharp and calculating, her loyalty unwavering.

Never once, in all their centuries together, had Librada questioned Elena’s authority. She’d never challenged her decisions, never shown anything but absolute devotion. The thought of her orchestrating an attack, of betraying the trust that bound them together—it was anathema.

Elena’s grip on Librada’s throat loosened, her fangs retracting. She searched Librada’s face, her gaze intense, hope pressing against her ribs.

“Look at me,” Elena commanded, her voice low and steady. “Will you submit to compulsion?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

For nearly an hour, Elena asked her every permutation ofdid you act against meshe could construct. She covered every angle, whether direct or indirect, but there was no hint of ill will. Of anything other than love and loyalty. There was only an intense responsibility and agony that it was her fault for failing to suss out the threat before it materialized.

Elena released Librada, the tension draining from her body as she accepted the truth. Her trust, it seemed, was unbroken. But the mystery remained.

“Sofia?” Elena asked, her voice still laced with suspicion. “Could she be acting against me?”

Librada shook her head, eyes filled with a fierce conviction. “Never. Sofia loves you. The loyalty she feels for you… It’s unassailable. She has been inconsolable since you disappeared. She hasn’t slept or fed or spent a single second doing anything other than scouring the Earth for you.”

Elena nodded, a sliver of unease still twisting in her gut. She pushed it aside, and motioned for Librada to follow her through the unsettlingly empty bar and into her lounge. Her heart ached at the thought of her progeny, scattered and vulnerable. She pushed the emotion aside and found her focus.

As soon as they stepped into the empty lounge, two massive forms, fawn-colored and powerful, bounded at Elena, tails wagging, tongues lolling out in eager greetings.

“Luna. Loba.” Elena knelt, wrapping her arms around her beloved mastiffs, burying her face in their thick fur. Their scent, familiar and comforting, filled her nostrils with muscle unraveling relief.

Librada dropped beside her, the dogs shifting their weight to accommodate both of them. Luna, the larger of the two, rested her head on Elena’s lap, her warm breath a soothing rhythm against her skin. Loba, more energetic, nudged her head under Librada’s arm, seeking attention.

“They’ve missed you terribly,” Librada said softly, petting Loba’s belly.

Elena nodded, suddenly exhausted. She leaned back against the bar, the dogs settling more comfortably in their laps like they didn’t know their size.

“Who could be behind this?” Elena asked, her voice weary. “Who would dare attack Sangre Eterna?”

“It has to be another vampire,” Librada replied, her brow furrowed. “An attack on one of our own… It’s unprecedented.”

Elena shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice low. “Not unprecedented. Just… old. Forgotten.” She remembered the ancient wars, the brutal conflicts that had nearly decimated her kind. The betrayals, the power grabs, the thirst for dominance.

“It happened so fast,” Librada said, her voice tight, thumb rubbing the dark tip of Loba’s ear. “We lost your scent where your blood spilled. It was like you vanished. You just disappeared.”

Elena’s grief was a spike through the heart. She didn’t want to see the blood. To remember the agony of loss.

“As for the cowards…” Librada’s lip curled in disgust. “We’ve searched everywhere after losing their scent in the bay,” she continued. “They disappeared like rats into a sewer.”

Elena closed her eyes, her head pounding. A wave of paranoia washed over her, a sickening sense of vulnerability she’d never experienced before. How could such a threat have caught her so unawares?