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Pain rippled through Davina’s body like a thousand icy needles, radiating from her chest through her limbs.

She shuddered, clutching Broderick’s arm for support as they climbed the winding path toward the looming Vamsyrian Fortress of Aberdeen.

The dark, jagged stronghold, crowned by flickering torchlight, carved a sinister silhouette against the starless sky.

Its spiked parapets jutted like claws toward the heavens, each step toward it tightening the knot of dread in her stomach.

Beside her, Veronique stumbled, leaning heavily on Rosselyn and Nicabar.

Her pallor had turned ashen, her mouth twisted into a perpetual sneer aimed squarely at Davina.

The weight of that venomous glare pressed coldly against Davina’s soul.

Though they shared the same cursed bond, Veronique’s resentment burned with a fire that made Davina’s chest ache.

Broderick had explained everything: the blood bond Angus had forged to enslave them both, the tether that would inevitably claim their lives if the Army of Light did not intervene.

Angus, in his insatiable lust for revenge, had condemned them both to a slow death.

Now, this fortress—and the Council within—offered their only hope of salvation.

Amice trailed close behind, murmuring prayers in hushed torment. As they approached the fortress’s towering, thirty-foot iron gates, two hulking Vamsyrian guards emerged from the shadows. Clad in black leather armor, their eyes were as empty as the abyss, their faces carved from stone.

One guard stepped forward, voice rough and commanding. “Broderick MacDougal?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“The Council is waiting inside.”

The group took one step forward before the other guard struck the ground with his spear. “No mortals pass these gates unless they seek the judgment of the Council.”

Amice gasped softly, clutching Veronique’s arm as though sheer will might anchor her granddaughter’s soul. “Please, Veronique,” she begged in French. “Do not forsake your humanity. Accept the cure and return to me, my sweet girl.”

Veronique’s lip curled in contempt. She wrenched free of Amice’s grasp with a disdainful sneer. “Go back to your filthy Gypsy camp,” she spat. “You are nothing to me.”

Amice’s face crumpled, tears streaking her weathered cheeks. Rosselyn and Nicabar closed in on either side of her, each laying a hand on her trembling shoulders. Rosselyn’s scowl deepened, her voice low and seething. “Ungrateful bitch,” she hissed beneath her breath.

Veronique lunged at Rosselyn, fury twisting her features, but Broderick and Nicabar were faster. They stepped between them, steel in their eyes, shielding Rosselyn from the young Romani girl’s assault.

“That’s enough!” Broderick’s voice cracked through the night, a thunderous boom of command. “Take them back to camp, Nicabar.”

Without hesitation, Nicabar wrapped protective arms around Rosselyn and Amice, steering them firmly down the winding path. Amice sobbed, her anguish hanging heavy on Davina’s heart.

As they were led away, the fortress guards slid the massive bolt aside with a rasping grind, unlocking the gate.

They planted their palms against the black iron and pushed, muscles straining as the gate creaked and groaned open.

Beyond lay a broad apron of curved stairs that rose toward the dark maw of the fortress.

Once Broderick, Davina, and Veronique crossed the threshold, the iron doors slammed shut behind them, the bolt crashing home with a final, ominous clang. The sound echoed like a death knell, sealing them inside.

The guards flanked them, boots thudding against stone as they led the trio through a dim, narrow foyer. Broderick’s grip on Davina’s waist tightened, steadying her faltering steps. Veronique trailed close behind, her limp pronounced, yet determination deepened the shadows on her face.

They reached another set of doors—twenty feet tall, forged from dark wood veined with steel. The guards shoved them open, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond.

Colossal columns loomed like ancient sentinels, iron bands coiled around their bases like shackles. A crimson carpet bled down the center of the hall, guiding them to a raised dais where a black marble table waited. They carefully advanced.

Behind the table sat three men, each as unnervingly beautiful as they were ageless. Though their faces bore the unlined countenance of youth, their eyes betrayed centuries of dominion.

Davina tightened her grip on Broderick’s arm as the three Elders fixed their unyielding stares upon them. They looked no older than five-and-twenty, yet their eyes burned with the weight of centuries—a fierce blend of wisdom and judgment that sent shivers down her spine.

Broderick bowed respectfully. “Elder Ammon,” he intoned, his voice steady as he nodded toward the bronzed man on the left. “Elder Rasheed,” he continued, his gaze shifting to the dark-skinned figure in the center. “And Elder Mikhail,” he said, gesturing toward the fair-skinned man on the right.

“MacDougal.” Rasheed’s voice, smooth and laced with thinly veiled contempt. “What is this? You bring not one, but two blood slaves before us?” His words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.

Ammon leaned in, his dark eyes digging deep into Broderick’s soul. “Did you not learn from your own past, MacDougal? Those in this state are not here by choice, and yet you have brought them to our sanctuary?”

Straightening his stance, Broderick’s tone remained firm but laced with respectful defiance. “I understand your concerns. I did no’ bring them here tae be transformed. They are here tae receive the cure from the Army of Light.”

Veronique, standing unsteadily beside Broderick, snapped her head toward him. “I don’t want the cure. I want to become Vamsyrian,” she declared, her voice trembling with raw honesty.

Ammon’s brow furrowed, and he exchanged knowing, troubled looks with Rasheed and Mikhail. “And who is to blame for their current state?” he demanded.

Broderick hesitated, his jaw clenching before the truth spilled out. “Angus Campbell.”

A collective groan escaped the Elders, their frustration echoing in the room. Mikhail leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples as if trying to ease a longstanding ache. “After decades of this senseless feud, why have you and this Campbell not ended it yet?”

With measured resolve, Broderick replied slowly, “Our feud exists because we are brothers.”

A heavy silence fell, charged with stunned disbelief.

Ammon’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Brothers? Why did you never confide this in us?”

“I only just discovered it myself,” Broderick admitted, his voice soft with regret.

Davina’s gaze shifted between the Elders, a swirl of confusion and deep unease settling over her. There was something about this revelation that unsettled them deeply, but she couldn’t understand why.

Mikhail’s attention snapped to Veronique. “And who here shall vouch for your transformation? Who will take responsibility for you?”

Veronique blinked, her confusion evident. “I—I don’t understand.”

Mikhail’s impatience strained his voice. “A Vamsyrian must willingly take you under their wing. So, who will it be?”

Her eyes pleaded desperately as they flitted toward Broderick. “ Mon c?ur ?”

His face set into a hard line. “Nay. I willnae do it. I told ye this.”

“You are willing to let me die?” she whimpered, her voice cracking under the weight of betrayal.

“I brought ye here tae be cured,” he stated firmly, his words laced with finality. “Ye’ll remain mortal.”

Veronique’s features contorted with searing rage. “You would favor her over me ?” she shrieked, her trembling finger accusingly pointing at Davina. “She’s weak. I deserve a stronger bond with you!”

The Elders exchanged weary, disappointed glances before Rasheed sighed deeply. “Broderick, you are better matched with Veronique. She is strong, determined—”

“Nay,” Broderick interjected harshly, his voice leaving no room for compromise.

“Even if I wasnae with Davina, I wouldnae be with Veronique. I care for her like a sister, but her behavior has pushed that relationship tae its breakin’ point.

If she becomes immortal, she will never stop chasing me.

And she will continue tae try to kill Davina. ”

Veronique’s face twisted with fury. “Then let one of you transform me!” she bellowed, turning defiantly toward the Elders.

Ammon shook his head slowly, his tone unyielding. “We have no desire to transform you. Your fate stands with two choices: death or the Army of Light.”

Enraged, Veronique lunged at Davina, her fingers curled into claws.

Broderick moved faster than thought, stepping between them and grabbing Veronique by the arms. “Enough!”

But before he could restrain her further, Rasheed leapt from the dais, his movements a blur. His fangs sank into Veronique’s neck, and she let out a strangled cry.

The room fell silent as Rasheed fed, his eyes glowing with silver, sinister light. When he pulled away, blood dripped from his mouth, and he let Veronique’s body drop to the floor, her blood disappearing in the crimson of the carpet as she released a death rattle.

“She was not going to stop,” Rasheed remarked quietly, wiping his chin with a kerchief offered by a nearby guard. “You were right to refuse her.”

Davina turned away, horrified. She buried her face in her hands, trembling.

Broderick gathered her into his arms, murmuring gentle reassurances even as Rasheed reclaimed his position at the dais.

With a measured voice that belied the chaos moments before, Rasheed continued, “Now, if the cure is what you seek, Davina, then you must face a member of the Army of Light.”

He gestured toward a door between two towering columns.

Broderick lifted Davina into his arms, her body weak and trembling, and carried her toward the door. Two guards followed, their heavy footsteps echoing behind them.

The door opened, and a new fate awaited.