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Modern skyscrapers gave way to older architecture—a blend of all thirteen clans’ influences.

Dragon sculptures from the Chengs watched from rooftops while the Blackthorns’ gothic spires pierced the clouds.

The Kingstons’ sleek entertainment complexes shared streets with the Bellini Clan’s galleries. Somehow, it worked. Most of the time.

“Heads up,” Ryker murmured as they approached Council Hall. “Looks like the Shadowmeres are already here.”

Sure enough, a fleet of black SUVs with tinted windows lined the private entrance. Trust the Death District’s rulers to arrive early and unseen.

“Ten bucks says they’re planning something ominous.” Archer leaned forward between the front seats, his shirt already coming untucked again. “Nobody wears that much black in summer unless they’re up to no good.”

“Fix your shirt,” Zane said automatically, though his mind was already shifting to alpha mode. The Shadowmeres had been suspiciously quiet lately. “And remember?—”

“Yes, yes. Best behavior. No hiding in priceless artifacts. No commenting on Old Lady Cheng’s endless Ming Dynasty stories.

And no asking Lord Thanatos if death angels actually carry scythes,” Archer rattled off, slumping back into his seat.

“Though I still think asking Lord Blackthorn if vampires sparkle in sunlight was a perfectly valid question.”

The last comment caught Zane off guard, his mind instantly flying back to this morning—how Luca’s skin had shimmered in the garden light when he’d fed from him, tiny diamond-like sparkles dancing across his flesh.

He’d looked ethereal, enchanting, like something from an ancient fairy tale rather than his shy adopted brother.

The memory of his delicate form in his lap, the way the sunlight had caught those sparkles…

Zane straightened his already perfect tie as Ryker pulled up to the entrance. Time to be the alpha his clan needed. Time to focus on treaties and territories and…

Cherry blossoms and moonlight. Lavender eyes wide with confusion. Tiny fangs against his throat…

This was going to be a long meeting.

The grand entrance of Council Hall soared above them, ancient magic thrumming through its marble columns.

Morning light streamed through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the marble floor—a subtle reminder of the Blackthorn Clan’s Gothic influence on the building’s architecture.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our favorite wolves,” a familiar voice called out. “Looking sharp as always, Whitlocks.”

Isaiah Kingston pushed away from one of the towering columns, his tanned skin and athletic build showcased perfectly by his tailored suit.

Of all the clan leaders, the Kingstons were closest to the Whitlocks—their territories shared the longest border, and their business interests often aligned.

Behind him, his younger brother Cameron was already pulling out his phone, probably to show Archer his latest track.

“Isaiah.” Zane nodded, accepting the traditional greeting—a brief clasp of forearms that let both alphas assess the other’s strength. “How’s the new entertainment complex coming along?”

“Would be coming along faster if the Parks would stop trying to build their K-pop academy right next door.” Isaiah grinned. “But you know how it is with territories.”

“Speaking of territories…” Cameron sidled up to Archer, phone in hand. “Wait till you hear this beat. Thinking of dropping it at the next full moon festival.”

“Only if you promise not to let Andre choreograph again.” Archer laughed. “My wolf still hasn’t recovered from last time.”

Their easy banter was interrupted by a sudden drop in temperature. Sebastian Blackthorn, current head of the vampire clan, glided past with Edmund and James. They moved like living shadows, their perfectly pressed suits somehow both modern and reminiscent of Victorian nobility.

“Ah, the Whitlock Clan.” Sebastian’s cultured accent carried just the right note of aristocratic disdain. “I trust we’ll have no… incidents today?”

Before Archer could respond, another voice cut through the tension. “Now, now, Bastian.” Akira Sato materialized beside them, fox magic dancing in his golden eyes. “Surely we can all behave like the centuries-old beings we are?”

The Sato Clan head embodied millennia of kitsune nobility in his formal hakama and silk kimono, the clan’s ancient symbols woven in gold thread across the black silk.

His presence commanded attention without effort, and only the nine foxtails shimmering in and out of visibility behind him betrayed his true supernatural nature.

“Some of us are trying,” came a sharp voice from the grand staircase.

Young Duke Ming Cheng descended like royalty in his midnight-blue changshan, gold dragons embroidered along its length, his dragon magic crackling around him like a storm waiting to break.

The traditional silk robe somehow made him look more modern, not less—a perfect blend of ancient power and contemporary authority.

“Though certain wolves make it… challenging.”

Archer actually had the grace to look sheepish. “About that vase?—”

“The Ming Dynasty piece that survived countless wars only to meet its end as a wolf’s hiding spot?” Ming’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arched higher. “The one my grandmother still threatens to turn me into a gecko over?”

“In my defense,” Archer started, but Ryker quickly cut him off with an elbow to the ribs.

Zane watched the interactions with carefully maintained alpha composure, though his wolf was getting restless. Something about being surrounded by so many powerful supernatural beings today felt… different. Like the air itself was charged with expectation.

“Honestly,” Ming continued, “I’m still finding wolf fur in the restoration room. Do you know how hard it is to explain that to our archivists?”

“Could be worse,” Akira mused, his foxtails now completely visible and swaying with amusement. “Remember when Archer tried to use that invisibility charm to sneak into the Sato arcade after hours?”

“That was one time ?—”

“You set off every magical alarm in a five-block radius.” Akira grinned. “My sisters still have the security footage. They play it at clan gatherings.”

Sebastian’s lip curled slightly. “How… entertaining. Though perhaps we could discuss more pressing matters? The blood bank regulations, for instance?”

The temperature dropped another few degrees. Trust a vampire to bring business into a perfectly good round of Archer-teasing.

“Ah yes,” Isaiah drawled, throwing a knowing look at Zane. “Blood banks. Territory disputes. Pipeline negotiations. All those fascinating topics that make Archer try to merge with the furniture.”

“I do not?—”

“The Ming vase?” Ryker supplied helpfully.

“Lady Blackthorn’s curtains?” Cameron added.

“That fountain in the Park Clan’s courtyard?” Akira chimed in.

“ Once ,” Archer protested. “That happened once .”

“Which time?” Ming asked dryly.

Zane should have been paying attention to the banter, should have been monitoring the subtle power plays happening beneath the surface.

Instead, his mind kept drifting to this morning’s…

incident. The way Luca’s skin had sparkled in the sunlight, how delicate he’d felt in his lap, how his lavender eyes had widened when he’d realized…

“Earth to Alpha Whitlock.” Isaiah’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re unusually quiet today. Pipeline negotiations with the Hawkins Clan that bad?”

Zane straightened, forcing his thoughts away from beautiful vampires and back to clan business. “Colt Hawkins remains… traditional in his views.”

“Traditional?” Sebastian’s perfect accent dripped with sarcasm. “Is that what we’re calling stubborn bears these days?”

The great doors at the end of the hall began to swing open, ancient magic humming through the air. Showtime.

The council chamber was a masterpiece of supernatural architecture.

Curved rows of marble seats descended like an amphitheater, each section marked with clan emblems—the Whitlocks’ silver wolf, the Kingstons’ silver lynx, the Chengs’ red dragon, the Blackthorns’ black rose, the Hawkins’ brown bear, the Lionhearts’ golden lion, the Parks’ white tiger, the Bellinis’ golden leopard, the Satos’ nine-tailed fox, the Shadowmeres’ black angel wings, the MacKenzies’ Celtic wolf, the O’Briens’ Celtic hound, and the Eriksons’ Norse bear.

Each emblem was masterfully crafted from precious metals and stones, catching the morning light and seeming almost alive with old magic.

Above them all, on a raised dais, sat the Council Elders—the current generation of their clans’ most respected leaders. Each held their position through proven wisdom and power, carrying on their families’ legacies in guiding New Vale’s supernatural society.

The center of the dais held the city’s founding powers: Lady Wei Cheng, dragon magic crackling like silent lightning around her silver hair; Lady Victoria Lionheart, her golden mane catching the light like a crown; and Lord Thanatos Shadowmere, his dark wings casting shadows even in the brightest light.

The southern arc represented the city’s modern heart: Lord Johnathan Whitlock Sr., silver wolf magic rolling off him in waves; Lord Harold Kingston, his lynx form’s shadow ever-present behind his throne; and Lord Theodore Hawkins Sr., his bear magic as solid as the mountains.

The eastern arc held Lord Han-Sung Park, his tiger magic a constant ripple in the air; Lord Kenshin Sato, his nine tails a subtle shimmer of ancient fox magic; and Lady Lucia Bellini, her leopard grace eternally youthful.

The western edge belonged to Lord Richard Blackthorn Senior, every inch the vampire lord he was known to be; Lady Freya Erikson, her bear strength commanding respect; while the northern seats held Lady Aileen MacKenzie with her fierce Highland bearing, and Lady Siobhan O’Brien, ancient druid magic swirling in her eyes.

“Places, children.” Lady Wei’s voice carried effortlessly, her accent a blend of millennia. The way she said “children” made everyone present—regardless of their centuries—feel about five years old.

Zane took his seat in the Whitlock section, his brothers flanking him—Ryker as second-in-command and Archer as third.

To his right, Isaiah Kingston claimed the lynx clan’s chair with his brother Cameron as second and Andre Mitchell, head of a merged minor clan, as third.

To his left, Sebastian Blackthorn materialized in his seat while his second, Edmund Ravencroft, best friend since academy days, and third James Blackthorn, a distant cousin, took their positions.

The Bellini Clan arrived with their usual coastal elegance.

Dante took the leopard clan’s place while his second, Enzo Romano, his maternal cousin, and third, Marco Visconti from an allied family, maintained their relaxed yet alert stance.

Across the chamber, Kai Park commanded the tiger clan’s position with his second, Jin Lee, his maternal cousin, and third, Jae Moon, promoted through merit alone, creating a sleek, powerful presence.

Colt Hawkins claimed the bear clan’s seat.

His second, Travis Sterling, blood-sworn best friend, and third, Blake Hawkins, his cousin, stood like mountains behind him.

The alpha bear still carried that irritated look from their morning negotiations, his usual Stetson replaced by a more formal hat that seemed to pain him greatly.

Ming Cheng glided to his place with dragon grace.

His second, Jian Wu, and third, Lei Zhang, both blood-sworn brothers from childhood, formed a wall of ancient power.

Akira Sato claimed the fox clan’s seat with casual elegance while his second, Yuto Tanaka, chosen by fox magic itself, and third, Ryu Kitsune from an ancient shrine family, stood in perfect formation.

The Lionheart trinity commanded their space differently than the others.

Gabriel took their clan’s chair while his brothers, Michael and Raphael, second and third in command, seemed to blur between standing guard and seated power.

Their golden hair caught the light like halos, their celestial nature evident in every movement.

Opposite them, the Shadowmere brothers moved like living darkness.

Azrael took his seat with deadly grace while his brothers Samael as second and Abaddon as third flanked him like twin shadows.

Where the Lionhearts radiated divine light, the Shadowmeres absorbed it—a perfect balance of celestial power.

Connor MacKenzie brought his Highland bearing to their section.

His second, Logan Fraser, chosen for his warrior spirit, and third, Ian Campbell from an allied Highland family, stood guard with centuries of battlefield awareness in their stance.

The O’Brien Clan settled into their ancient Celtic power with Kieran at its head.

His second, Liam Murphy, chosen by druid magic, and third, Declan Walsh from a minor druid line, flanked him as threads of earth magic swirled around them.

The Erikson Clan commanded their space like Norse kings of old.

Magnus took his throne-like chair while brothers Leif and Bjorn Thorgard from an allied clan stood like Viking shield walls at his back, their bear magic as solid as northern mountains.

They sat like living monuments to power, each representing not just their own clan’s interests but the delicate balance that kept New Vale’s supernatural society functioning.

“Now then.” Lord Blackthorn Senior’s crisp tones cut through the settling quiet. “Shall we begin? I believe we have several matters requiring… immediate attention.”

The way he said immediate made Zane’s wolf bristle. Something was coming. Something beyond pipeline disputes and territory negotiations.

Focus , he told himself firmly, pushing away thoughts of sparkling skin and lavender eyes. Focus on being alpha.

But as the rays of morning sun caught the crystal fixtures above, casting rainbow shadows across the chamber, he couldn’t help but wonder if those sparkles matched the ones he’d seen on Luca’s skin.