Page 3

We cut through the fog-choked grounds of Withermarsh, Bastian’s laughter trailed behind us before the fog swallowed it. He and Bastian flanked me. Their presence was as constant as it was unwelcome. But our father had called all of us to his study.

My brothers’ footsteps echoed mine, a sinister symphony that harmonized with the pulse of dark magic that thrummed beneath the surface.

“Father isn’t usually this eager to go into the city,” Bastian said. “Do you think he’s actually going to tell us what he’s planning? Or is it just more mystery?”

“I don’t like it,” Valen said.

I kept my gaze ahead and did my best to ignore them as we entered the house and walked through the silent foyer. I wanted to look up at Avril’s room—I could sense the pulse of her magic, and the sigils she had set on the doorway—but I kept my focus on the hallway in front of us.

“What do you think she’s doing?” Bastian asked in a voice that was strangely wistful.

“Keep her out of your head,” I growled.

Lucian’s summons had been abrupt, even for him.

It was rare for him to call us without a clear agenda, and I suspected there was more to this meeting than he let on.

An image of Avril crept into my mind.

What had happened between them since the announcement of our impending marriage?

I’d been trying not to think about it—but every possibility the blackest part of my brain had conjured was worse than the last.

My brothers were losing themselves to the bond we were forming with Avril.

Bastian’s attachment to her had surprised me, but Valen hadn’t even bothered to fight it.

If Lucian was going to find out about what was happening—it would be because of them.

Not me.

I paused in front of the study doors.

“What are you waiting for?” Bastian hissed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Valen shifted behind me. “Come on. Lucian doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

The doors opened before I could lift my hand, and I straightened my shoulders as the dark red smoke of our father’s magic snaked across the stone floor.

Lucian stood at the far end of the room, his back to us, long fingers splayed over a desk strewn with ancient tomes and blood-stained scrolls.

“You took your time,” he said. When he turned, his eyes, pale and predatory, settled on me with unsettling calm. “The Black Council convenes tonight. I require your escort.”

Bastian leaned against the doorframe. “Tonight? But the moon is full— I thought the Council was allergic to cliches.”

Lucian ignored him, his focus still on me. “The Council must be reminded of our strength. There are those who forget their place.”

Bastian’s derisive snort was almost inaudible, but Lucian’s gaze flickered to him briefly.

“And why do you need us?” I asked.

Lucian’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “To ensure loyalty.”

His vagueness was as deliberate as it was infuriating.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my frustration.

He had a way of revealing just enough to keep us on edge—to keep us guessing and hungry for more. It was a tactic he wielded with surgical precision, and I hated him for it.

“Prepare yourselves,” he said, dismissing us with a flick of his ink-stained fingers. “We leave immediately.”

There was nothing more to say. He would expect us to be ready when he emerged from the house.

Valen moved with restless energy and his dark tattoos shifted like shadows beneath his shirt as we walked down the silent hallway toward the foyer. “I don’t like this.”

“What’s to like?” Bastian drawled. “Not like it matters what we think.”

“Both of you shut up,” I snarled.

I was as uneasy as they were, but they didn’t need to know it.

Thankfully, they were silent as we prepped the vehicles. Valen kept the motorcycles in good condition and they roared to life in unison as I slid behind the wheel of the dark SUV.

As I pulled out of the garage and circled back toward the house, I tried to piece together what Lucian had said.

The council must be reminded of our strength. There are those who forget their place.

Since Avril’s arrival at Withermarsh, it seemed as though Lucian’s paranoia had intensified.

The SUV’s broad tires crunched over the gravel as I pulled into the courtyard and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I waited for Valen and Bastian to pull in behind me.

Lucian stepped out of the house with his guards at his sides.

One of them walked ahead and opened the door so my father could slide into the back seat.

“I can still smell Craster’s pathetic corpse,” Lucian remarked casually as the door closed.

I tightened my grip on the wheel and said nothing as his guards entered the vehicle. I didn’t know their names, and I didn’t care to. I wasn’t entirely convinced they were human—there was something strange about them. Something… unnervingly cold in their eyes and in their movements. Bastian had his theories, but I wasn’t about to ask about them.

My brothers revved the engines of their motorcycles and flanked the SUV as we pulled away from Withermarsh.

The estate receded into the distance, swallowed by the fog and the night and I closed my eyes briefly as we passed through the shimmering ward that protected the estate.

I pressed my foot down on the accelerator as the road stretched out ahead of us. The roar of my brothers’ engines was a constant reminder of their presence, but I couldn’t be sure whether or not that was comforting.

As we neared the city, the roar of the motorcycles grew louder as Valen and Bastian put on speed to pass me and led the way through the winding streets toward Juniper Gardens Cemetery.

They were already waiting in the parking lot as I guided the SUV through the wrought-iron gates.

“They’re too reckless,” Lucian muttered. My gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, but my father’s expression was disinterested more than irritated.

The parking lot was almost full, and the lights in the funeral home glowed in the darkness.

“Do you think they’re all here?” I dared to ask.

My father chuckled. “It would be a mistake to be absent—” He glanced up at the rearview mirror and his icy eyes met mine. “Who would be foolish enough to ignore my summons?”

Good point.

One of his guards opened the rear door and Lucian slid out of the vehicle. The gravel crunched under their feet as they walked toward the cemetery entrance.

With a grunt, I turned off the engine and exited the SUV.

Bastian and Valen stood near the entrance, waiting for me.

“Hurry it up,” Bastian said with a slight lift of his chin.

“This doesn’t feel right—” Valen said.

“He won’t shut up about it,” Bastian growled and nudged his elbow into Valen’s side. Valen just glared back at him.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” I said. “Come on. He won’t want to be kept waiting tonight.”

Bastian snorted. “Does he ever?”

I didn’t have to answer him.

I brushed past my brothers and strode through the gate that led to the section of the cemetery that housed the crypts and mausoleums of Messana’s dearly departed elite.

Lucian and his guards were ahead of us—I could see their dark shapes in the mist.

“Keep your mouths shut,” I said over my shoulder.

“Why?” Bastian’s voice echoed through the gravestones.

“You never know who’s listening,” Valen hissed back.

Exactly.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t been paranoid before—but something about the way Lucian was acting didn’t sit right with me. Our father had never been predictable, but he had never kept so many secrets from us.

And the announcement of a date for the wedding—

He intended to marry Avril.

Not just that—he seemed dead set upon it.

But why?

What use would he have for her?

The women he usually took for his pleasure were… different.

Not like her.

My hands tightened into fists at my sides and my magic swirled in my chest—I couldn’t bear the thought of his hands on her smooth flesh. And I didn’t have to ask to know that my brothers felt the same.

She was mine.

Ours.

We reached the marble entrance of the tomb where Lucian and his guards had already disappeared. I exchanged a brief glance with Bastian and Valen before I followed my father into its depths.

Our footsteps echoed as we descended to the stone chamber below, and I relished the prickle of my magic against my palms as we entered the hidden meeting place.

I wasn’t afraid of what awaited us, but the stakes were high.

They always were with Lucian.

Our father was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. His guards were nowhere to be seen.

“Stop dragging your feet,” Lucian snapped.

“Sorry, father,” Bastian said with a grin as he stepped past me. “Got caught amid the gravestones—there was a particularly gorgeous young lady mourning her newly dead husband up there—I was thinking about staying behind to comfort her…”

He was trying to be funny, but Valen pushed him sharply to shut him up.

Lucian’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t smile.

“Get on with it,” Valen hissed.

Bastian shrugged and walked ahead with Valen.

“Lock it up,” Lucian growled, and then shook his head and followed them.

Lock the doors? That wasn’t normal. No one would disturb us here.

Bastian might have joked about a funeral happening in the cemetery, but no one came here…

I summoned my magic to close the tomb behind us and as the heavy stone scraped into place, I strode down the corridor after them.

We entered to find the Council gathered—a suffocating crowd of familiar faces packed into the center of an imposing stone chamber where torches flickered against the darkness.

Cloaked figures lined the walls, their hoods drawn low over ever-watchful eyes. Lucian’s loyal Necromi stood in silent ranks, their presence as oppressive as the flickering, dim light from blackened torches. The elders stood out, seated or hunched over their canes, muttering among themselves. The younger ones—a splinter faction that had gained alarming influence—stood behind. Some of them had thrown back their hoods, and their eyes glittered with dark intent in the torchlight. New recruits. Fanatics with no experience at hiding in the shadows.

A massive obsidian table surrounded with blackwood chairs stood in the center of the room, overpowering everything else. Torchlight flickered off the polished surface in shuddering ripples before it was absorbed into its darkness.

The air in the room was muffled and strange, and I straightened my shoulders as I entered the space. The hushed whispers rose briefly and then died away as Lucian strode forward, a pale wraith in the gloom.

His hair glowed like a ghostly halo around his head, and his long, graceful fingers brushed the table’s raw stone edge as he claimed the seat at its head. There was a fluidity in his movements—a confidence that demanded attention and unwavering obedience. The room seemed to contract in his presence, and the cloaked figures leaned forward like candle flames.

The chamber’s chill seeped into my skin, but the magic that swirled in my veins kept it from penetrating too far. Just enough to keep me on edge. Nervous energy rippled through the gathered members of the Black Council as the silence stretched thin.

Then Lucian’s voice cut sharply through the hush, smooth and deliberate: “We purge the disloyal— Until naught remains.”

Muted shock ricocheted through the room and I glanced at my brothers, reading the tension in their set jaws and narrowed eyes.

Valen’s hand twitched uncomfortably at his side, and though Bastian wore a mask of detachment, I could tense the tightly coiled energy within him and the black smoke of his magic that twisted around his fingers. Ready to strike.

What was Lucian doing?

Lucian’s fingers drummed a slow, measured rhythm on the table as he continued, “Some among us have forgotten their oaths. Tonight, they shall be reminded.”

The Necromi remained motionless—petrified by fear or bound by loyalty?

Lucian’s pale eyes turned to us, and under his intense gaze, I felt an unmistakable pressure to comply with whatever he might ask. This was a test for us, too. It always was.

Lucian’s gaze swept over the gathered figures as he let out a dramatic sigh.

“Doubt festers like a wound, does it not? We must cut away the dead flesh and burn out the rot.” The chamber seemed to press in on us as the shadows drew nearer. A familiar heat of anger kindled in my chest, an unwelcome ally in moments like these.

“We begin with the weakest,” Lucian pronounced. “The rest will follow.” Those final words echoed ominously, a death knell for anyone foolish enough to defy him.

A shift came over the room as unease rippled through the Necromi ranks. I noticed furtive glances exchanged between them, saw their confidence waver in the wake of Lucian’s declaration. Their subtle shifts and fidgeting hands betrayed a lack of the boldness they pretended to possess.

I moved forward, and my brothers mirrored my purposeful strides as we took our places near Lucian’s side. In a fleeting moment, I caught a flicker of something unreadable in Valen’s eyes—a spark of doubt that he quickly concealed. Bastian’s lips curled ever so slightly into a sardonic smile.

There was no other direction needed.

My brothers and I moved as one as we lunged toward the cloaked figures. The Necromi shrank back, their cloaks whispering against the cold stone floor. Then I saw him—the first victim—his face was a twisted mask of terror. He stood alone, trembling amidst a sea of shadows, and his eyes darted around the room like those of a cornered animal.

Valen reached him first, his grip ironclad as he dragged the traitor toward me. The man’s protests came out as nothing more than strangled whimpers, lost under the echo of our footsteps. Bastian fell in beside us, his expression filled with cruel amusement as he watched the spectacle unfold.

When the traitor stumbled, I seized him by the collar and hauled him upright with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He sagged against me and his fear was a tangible stench that clung to my skin.

“Here, father,” I grunted as I brought him toward Lucian and flung him down on the uneven stone floor.

The man let out a pathetic cry as he sprawled on the stones. “I—I am guilty,” he stammered and his voice cracked like brittle glass. “But please, I beg you—”

That was fast.

Lucian’s eyebrow rose slightly.

Was he surprised by the swiftness of the confession, too?

“Name your collaborators,” Lucian commanded. “Confess, and your end will be swift.”

The traitor’s eyes widened, wild with desperation, as he stared up at Lucian. His gaze flickered around the assembly, then fixed back on me, as if searching for a shred of mercy in a place where none existed. Valen stepped forward and took hold of the man’s hair, pulling his head back.

“Speak,” he growled, and the man whimpered.

Valen’s grip tightened, and the man gasped as his resolve crumbled like ash.

“I—I cannot,” he choked out. “You don’t understand—”

Lucian’s expression remained one of detached indifference, like a god surveying the suffering of mortals. He waved his fingers in a gesture that we were all familiar with. We were to extract the truth by any means necessary.

Bastian chuckled and drew a dagger from the sheath at his hip. They all feared our magic, but magic could be countered—but this blade? This blade was different. It glinted with lethal promise as Bastian stepped closer.

When he caught sight of the blade, then the traitor writhed against Valen’s grip. His hands glowed with a deep blue-toned magic and Valen grunted as the man gripped Valen’s wrists.

“Hold him steady,” Bastian said with irritation, but as he brought the blade closer, the desperate man reached out and snatched the knife from Bastian’s hand.

“Hey!”

Without hesitation, the man brought the dagger to his own throat and, as one of the nearby Necromi screamed, he plunged it deep into his flesh. Blood arced through the air in a dark crimson spray that stained the stone floor and painted my skin with its warmth.

Chaos erupted around us.

Shouts and screams fill the air as Valen lets out a disgusted cry and releases his hold on the corpse. It fell onto the stones with a sickening thud and I stood frozen as the dead man’s lifeblood pooled at my feet.

The scene unfolds in agonizing slow motion as the world narrows to the ragged sound of my breathing and the metallic tang of blood that hangs in the air.

Lucian watched it all with unnerving calm, his eyes half-lidded in contemplation.

Valen wiped his face with the back of his hand and a smear of blood traced the line of his jaw. He met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I caught a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes. Bastian crouched beside the body and pried his dagger from the dead man’s hand. His mouth twisted in a way that could have been a smile or a grimace, but from this angle, I couldn’t be sure.

The thunder of sound and movement overwhelmed the chamber as the Necromi moved uneasily, trying to process the implications of what they’d just witnessed. Some fought to get closer to the exits, while others held them back.

No one wanted to be singled out or implicated.

No one wanted to be next.

Whispers rose like a tide—a swell of fear and uncertainty that threatened to drown the room.

“Traitors,” someone hissed. “Traitors in our midst—”

“Who else?” another voice demanded, its question crackled with paranoia.

I stepped back, my eyes fixed on Lucian. He remained seated, his posture relaxed, his expression one of serene detachment. I realized with a jolt that this was what he wanted: to sow chaos and watch it fester, pitting them against one another in a desperate scramble for survival.

His eyes closed briefly, as if savoring the disorder he’d unleashed.

This is what I hated most about him.

The tests.

Everything was a test.

How was I supposed to anticipate this kind of madness?

“There are traitors in our midst,” Lucian intoned. “Rot where it does not belong. How are we to flourish when our foundation is crumbling?”

The room was silent.

Terrified.

Lucian rose from his chair, and the sound of the wooden legs as they scraped over the stones echoed loudly in my ears.

He looked at each member of the Council while the red smoke of his magic coiled sinuously up his arms like shadowy snakes as he walked around the table.

He stepped in the dead man’s blood without looking down at the corpse, and bloody prints followed him as he stalked through the chamber.

“Treachery. Lies. Deceit.”

His voice was calm and quiet, but it echoed like thunder in the space and I watched several members of the Council flinch and recoil as he passed them.

“I expect you to root out this… weakness .”

The word dripped with venom and among his followers there were nods and murmurs of agreement. Promises. Their voices overlapped in a panicked chorus—some swearing loyalty, others vowing vengeance against the unnamed traitors.

Valen rubbed at the blood on his cheek as if trying to scrub away the shame of our failure. Bastian wiped the blood from his knife on the corpse’s cloak and stood. A wicked light glittered in his eyes as he tucked the knife back into its sheath with a casual flick of his wrist. “Takes all the fun out of it,” he muttered.

I tore my gaze from Lucian’s retreating form and forced myself to focus on damage control. We could not afford to look weak after such a display; our power came from fear and certainty. They had to be convinced that we knew what we were doing.

“My father’s command will not be ignored,” I exclaimed. “Seek out these traitors to the Necromi cause… you will bring them to us to face justice.”

Murmured voices rose in agreement once more, but I could taste suspicion in the air like acid. They watched me with wary eyes, and I knew some were already questioning how much we knew. How far our own loyalties stretched.

I felt Valen at my side. “This is bad, Titus.”

I kept my voice low enough that no one else would hear. “I noticed.”

Valen nodded toward Lucian’s retreating figure. “You think he really doesn’t know—”

I didn’t answer.

Bastian joined us, his mouth curled into a scornful twist. “Let them tear each other apart.”

“We need to move quickly.” I turned to catch the eye of several Necromi who flinched and turned away under my gaze.

Valen frowned. “Where do we even start?”

“We don’t,” I said. “Bastian’s right. They’ll do all the work for us.”

The room had begun to empty around us, but every glance over a shoulder was a dagger aimed our way.

“Cowards.” Bastian spit out the word like poison as he strode from the chamber and headed toward the stairs that would lead us out of the catacombs and back to the surface.

Valen’s expression was grim as he met my eyes. “Titus—.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snarled.

Lucian couldn’t know what we had planned—but I wondered if he could sense the blood magic that now bound us to Avril.

To his future bride.

Valen’s lip curled at my rebuke and he turned on his heel to follow Bastian, leaving me alone with the dead man sprawled on the blood-soaked stones.

“Clean this up,” I spat at one of the Council members. “Get it the fuck out of my sight and cleanse this space—I don’t want to be able to sense any trace of what happened here the next time the Council is called to assemble.”

“Of course—”

Cloaked figures sprang forward to do my bidding, and I turned away rather than watch them.

My footsteps echoed off the stone walls as I followed my brothers. They’d be waiting in the parking lot.

Lucian could find his own way back to Withermarsh.

Bastian’s words repeated in my mind.

“Let them tear each other apart.”

They would.

And Lucian would revel in the chaos.

Let him.

We needed time to plan.

As long as whatever happened kept his eyes off us and his focus distracted from what was happening under his own roof—that was good enough for me.