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Aurelius wanted dominion—not just over bodies, but over souls. He sought a magic older than even himself. Blood magic. Forbidden. Corrupt.

He fed on witches, draining them until he learned their secrets. Then he broke their covenants, tore through their sacred circles, and twisted their spells to his will. With every ritual, his strength grew—and so did his madness.

He bound mortals to him, stealing their will, bending them into shadows of themselves. It’s said that entire villages vanished in a single night, swallowed by his hunger.

But power always comes with a price.

The witches fought back, forging a pact with the vampires who dared to rebel against him. Together, they turned his magic against him, weaving a spell of blood and shadow so strong it bound even Aurelius.

They dragged him to the depths of the earth, buried him in stone, and sealed him with blood—blood from the witch who cast the final spell. Her bloodline became the key to his prison.

Before they sealed the tomb, Aurelius swore vengeance.

“I will rise,” he said. “Your blood will call to me. And when it does, I will drink the world dry.”

Even bound, his whispers lingered. His name carried weight. Fear.

No one dared disturb his grave.

Until now.

Kael’s voice interrupted my trip down memory lane.

“The spell requires a descendant of the one who bound him to break it,” he explained. “Annika’s bloodline. Her blood.”

“No.” The word snapped out of me before I could stop it. “You’re wrong.”

Kael’s eyes didn’t waver. “You think I’d come here without proof?”

Kael reached into his coat, pulling out something wrapped in dark, weathered cloth. He set it carefully on the table between us, as if it might shatter. Or bite.

I didn’t like the reverence in his movements. Or the weight of whatever lay beneath the fabric.

“Proof,” Kael said, his voice quieter now. Almost careful.

I didn’t move. Neither did Annika. The fire crackled, but the room felt even colder now.

Kael unwrapped the cloth. Slowly.

The object beneath was a dagger—old, but sharp enough to draw blood just by looking at it. Its hilt was silver, tarnished and etched with strange, twisting symbols. But the blade—dark and gleaming like obsidian—was what held my attention. It pulsed faintly, like something alive.

Annika shifted beside me. “What is that?”

Kael didn’t look up. “The blade used in the ritual that bound Aurelius.” He turned it so we could see the base of the hilt. There, set into the silver, was a red stone. No—not a stone.

A drop of blood. Preserved.

Chapter Three

Annika

I leaned in closer. “Whose blood?”

“The witch’s,” Kael said. “The one who sealed him. Your ancestor.”

I flinched, my hand gripping at Lucas’ sleeve, but my eyes never left the blade. It was… beckoning me.

“That doesn’t prove shit!” Lucas snapped.