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LUKE

The power churns inside me like a storm, familiar yet alien. I am still myself, but something else now occupies the spaces between my thoughts. Something ancient. Patient. Calculating.

My body hums with energy that isn’t entirely mine. The sword of Mashtar beats in my right hand, its blade shifting between gold and crimson, no longer fighting my grip but embracing it. The chalice sits cool and perfect in my left palm, its weight almost nothing, though the power coming from it presses against my consciousness. I know who is in there and I know what they want. He can’t have her.

“She is mine,” I murmur.

A cold amusement that isn’t mine ripples through my consciousness. This is unlike my previous sire bond. It is deeper, more intense.

I try to push the invasion of my mind away, to reclaim the corners that are being steadily colonised by Mashtar.

We are joined now. You offered yourself willingly. You cannot rescind what has been given. That makes her mine as well.

“No!” I grit out. “I did what was necessary.” I survey the devastation around me. The academy grounds, once immaculate, now bear the scars of battle. Scorched earth, splintered stone, blood-soaked grass. Bodies lie scattered, some moving feebly, others still. The healing only extended to those bound by the sword; the rest remain as they were, injured or dead.

Aurelius Aragon struggles to his feet several yards away. The look of fury on his face might have intimidated me once, but now it seems almost inconsequential.

“What have you done, Blackthorn?” he snarls, his eyes flicking between me and the chalice in my hand.

“What you started,” I reply. “I’ve stopped the ferals. I’ve begun healing the severance.”

“You’ve disrupted centuries of planning,” he counters, taking a half-step forward before thinking better of it. His eyes narrow as he studies me before they flick to his daughter.

“Luke,” she whispers, but vampire hearing makes it clear as a shout.

I want to go to her, to hold her, to assure her that everything will be all right, but Mashtar’s presence swells, suddenly alert and focused with predatory intensity.

Aragon blood, the voice whispers inside me. Perfect. The last of the true line.

“What do you want with her?”

What has always been intended.

The cryptic answer frustrates me, but there’s no time to probe further. Gaida stops several paces away, her eyes never leaving mine. I wonder what she sees—do I look different? Can she sense the presence sharing my consciousness?

I flex my fingers, feeling strength beyond anything I’ve known in fifteen centuries of unlife. “The ferals were overrunning us. I couldn’t hold them back any longer.”

“So you bound yourself to the sword,” Gaida concludes, her voice tight.

“Look around you. The academy is in ruins. Half of my people are dead or injured. Your father was ready to sacrifice you to fulfil some twisted interpretation of prophecy.” I gesture to the formerly feral vampires now standing in loose groups, disoriented but no longer maddened. “I stopped that. I saved them.”

We saved them, Mashtar corrects within my thoughts. And only temporarily. The true healing has not yet begun. The severance is a symptom, not the disease, comes the cryptic reply. She is the key to permanent restoration.

“Luke,” she says, her voice gentler now. “What’s happening to you? Who are you talking to?”

“My new sire.”

“Mashtar,” Dante says flatly, positioning himself slightly in front of Gaida. “He offered, and you took it.”

“Not exactly,” I say, struggling to articulate something I barely understand myself. “I offered and he took it.”

Gaida gasps, fear flooding her gaze. “Your sire? How?”

Aurelius approaches from the side, his movements careful, calculated. His eyes never leave the chalice in my hand. “The Chalice of Draken was never meant to be paired with the sword,” he says, his voice tight with controlled fury. “They were deliberately separated.”

“What is he?” Gaida demands, ignoring everything else in her search for answers. “What is Mashtar?”

Before Aurelius can answer, I do. “Blood and fire and power beyond reckoning, rituals conducted beneath a moon too large, too red. Hundreds of human forms prostrate before a figure holding both sword and chalice, their bodies contorting as something enters them, changes them from within. The first turning. The birth of vampires. The place from which the First vampire of this world came.”

“Luke?” Gaida moves closer. “What’s happening?”

I blink.

“He’s in your head,” Felix says, his voice tight with concern. “Mashtar is actually in your mind.”

“Yes.” There’s no point denying it. “But I’m still me. For now.”

Gaida takes another step closer, close enough that I can smell the blood covering her. Not all of it hers, some of it Dante’s. Her blue eyes search mine, looking for the man she knows beneath this new power.

“For now?” she repeats, her voice barely audible. “What happens later?”

I don’t know, I want to say, but Mashtar answers within me with absolute certainty.

You are a mere stepping stone. When I am done with you, you will burn. She is the one. Keep that traitorous son of mine away from her. He won’t have her.

“Neither of you will!”

“Luke!” Gaida snaps, having had enough of this.

“No,” I growl, the word escaping before I can stop it.

Aurelius laughs, a bitter sound devoid of humour. “You see? Already you’re losing control. The sword was never meant to be wielded by anyone but an Aragon, and even then?—”

“Even then, it was dangerous,” I finish for him. “I know. But I had no choice.”

The former ferals gather closer, drawn to the power emanating from the artefacts. Through whatever connection Mashtar has established, I sense their confusion, their relief, their fear.

“Luke,” Gaida says, her voice steadier now, commanding. “Put down the chalice.”

“I can’t.” The words escape me before I can consider them. “If I release it, your father will take it back, and then you will suffer.”

“I’m suffering now,” she says. “Seeing you like this. Burdened with something that was never yours, sired to a creature that will serve to use you and discard you.”

“Draken must never be free,” Aurelius states as if he has a choice over the matter now. “He seeks to destroy what we are trying to achieve.”

“And what is that?” I ask, turning to him.

He flinches from whatever he sees in my eyes. “The merging of the worlds.”

I laugh harshly. “You want to merge the worlds? An act that will, without a doubt, kill you and everyone else. And even if you survive, you will be a nobody, Aurelius. There are beings in the other worlds that will make you wish you had never been born. You want to bring them all together? Do you? Let me tell you what a mistake that would be.”

She is the key . The last true Aragon. Born of the oldest bloodline, carrying power she doesn’t understand.

“Stay away from her,” I growl to Mashtar, the words escaping aloud.

Dante moves protectively closer to Gaida, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “He’s losing it,” he mutters. “We need to get Gaida away from here.”

“Too late for that,” I say.

She could end it all. Or begin it anew.

Aurelius edges closer to Gaida, his eyes calculating. “The sword has chosen a vessel, but it’s not the one intended. The chalice holds Draken still, but for how long?” He turns to his daughter. “Gaida, you must take the sword. It was always meant for you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” I warn, even as Mashtar’s interest spikes “He only wants to use you. I won’t let that happen.”

“Neither of you gets to decide,” Gaida says, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. She steps forward, deliberately positioning herself between me and her father. “I’m not a pawn in your game, or his, or anyone else’s.”

The power within me surges at her defiance, a heady mix of admiration and hunger that I struggle to contain. Mashtar’s interest grows, and I can feel his desire to possess her channelled through our shared consciousness.

She is magnificent. Worthy.

“Shut up,” I mutter, tightening my grip on both artefacts as if I could physically restrain the ancient being now sharing my mind.

Felix moves to Gaida’s side, his grey eyes assessing me with the clinical air I’ve come to expect from him. Need from him. “There’s an energy transfer happening,” he says quietly. “The longer he holds both, the more of Mashtar bleeds into him.”

“And what about Draken?” Aurelius demands, gesturing toward the chalice. “Do you feel him as well, Blackthorn? Is he whispering his lies to you, too?”

I focus on the chalice in my hand. Unlike the sword, which thrums with active power and presence, the chalice feels contained. Sealed. There’s something inside, but it presses against barriers that hold firm. For now.

“Draken is still trapped,” I confirm. “But he’s aware. Watching. Waiting. He knows Gaida is close.”

“Eww,” she mutters, and I smile.

A genuine smile that she responds to. She moves in closer, close enough that I could reach out and touch her if my hands were free. But they aren’t. Until I can secure the chalice in a place where it will never see the light of day again, I can’t touch her.

“Don’t,” I warn, taking a step back. “He wants you too much.”

“I don’t care what he wants,” she says, her voice steady despite the fear I can see in her eyes. “I care about you .”

Aurelius moves suddenly, lunging not for me but for Gaida. “Enough of this,” he snarls, grabbing for her arm. “The prophecy must be fulfilled.”

Without conscious thought, I react. Power explodes from the sword, a wave of golden energy that slams into Aurelius, sending him flying backwards. He crashes into a broken fountain, stone crumbling beneath the impact.

“Don’t touch her,” I growl, my voice overlaid with something deeper, older.

Dante moves closer to Gaida, his eyes never leaving mine. “We need to separate him from at least one of those artefacts.”

Felix nods in agreement. “The chalice first. It’s the more dangerous of the two, in my opinion.”

“Agreed,” Dante growls.

“I can’t give it to you,” I tell them. “I need to secure it myself.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Felix states. “Get to it.”

I laugh and take a step back. He follows me.

I arch an eyebrow at him. “You’re coming?”

“Oh, you bet your arse, I’m coming.”

Without a further word, he grips my upper arm and uses my own damned power to teleport me to my office.

“How did you do that?” I ask, stepping back from him, eyeing him up with renewed respect.

“Easily. Your power is my power, I can access it through our blood.”

“Oh? Since when?”

“Since I strengthened my bond with Gaida,” he says. “Underground. A lot of things happened; this was one of them. Now, where can you put that fucking chalice where the contents of it will never, ever reach Gaida?”

“Good question,” I mutter, feeling more myself now that I’m back behind the muted wards of the buildings. They are repairing themselves, much like the stonework. I narrow my eyes and stare at him. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“There is one vault left that I think I can use. It’s underground.”

Felix groans. “Not the chambers again?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But not the chambers you just came from.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he murmurs.

We make our way quickly through the academy’s labyrinthine hallways. Paintings watch us pass, their subjects’ eyes following our movement with wary interest. The stones beneath our feet hum with recognition.

We descend a spiral staircase I’ve used countless times before, but today it feels different. The steps are smoother, the air less stale, the magickal torches burning with a steadier flame. At the bottom, where there should be a simple wooden door leading to the lower levels, we find an ornate archway of black stone shot through with veins of gold.

“That’s new,” I mutter.

Felix gives me a curious stare, but I don’t elaborate.

We enter the hallway to find the door I’m looking for. After unlocking the wards, I push it open to reveal a secure vault lined with shelves of ancient artefacts. The walls are etched with protection symbols so old they predate written language, glowing faintly blue in the darkness. A pedestal stands in the middle, made of black marble, its surface carved with intricate runes that spiral inward to form a perfect circle.

“This is one of the most secure places in MistHallow,” I explain, moving toward the pedestal. “Few know of its existence, and fewer still can access it.”

“And you think it’ll hold Draken?” Felix asks sceptically, eyeing the chalice in my hand.

I place the chalice carefully in the centre of the pedestal. The moment it touches the marble, the runes flare bright blue, then crimson, then settle into a pulsing gold. The air in the vault grows thick with power, pressing against us like a barrier.

“It held the heart of a primordial demon for three centuries,” I say. “It should suffice for our purposes until we determine a more permanent solution.”

“That thing can never go near Gaida again,” Felix grits out.

“Oh, I’m aware of the consequences. I can assure you that I will not allow either one of these creatures to lay their hands on her.”

“Then what do we do with the sword?” Felix asks, his eyes fixated on the shifting blade in my hand.

“It stays with me for now.” But as soon as I say the words, it vanishes.

“Erm, where did it go?”

“It had better not have gone to Gaida,” I growl, and grab hold of Felix. We leave the vault, and I lock it quickly with a blast of magick before teleporting us back outside. I don’t expect the scene in front of me when we land.