Page 25 of The Syndicate’s Shadow Heiress (Branche de Lune Syndicate #1)

THE LINES HAVE BEEN DRAWN

Kali’s Emotional State: Cold, calculated, emboldened. The war isn’t coming, it’s already here. And she’s not bracing for it. She’s savoring the ruin to come. Every move is a message. Every silence is a strategy. Her enemies should have struck first.

T

he following day, after the blood-drenched declaration, the Vampire Syndicate retreated to their inner sanctum.

Kali's message, dripping orbs, whispering shadows, and her name etched in blood and flame, had turned their fortress into a cathedral of dread.

Even the most composed among them felt the echo of her fury still vibrating in their bones.

In the middle of the main hall, one of the glass spheres remained on the floor, pulsing faintly, blood smeared across its surface like a curse that refused to fade.

Belladonna’s hand trembled for just a moment before she tucked it behind her back.

Damien’s throat worked once in a silent swallow.

Even Vladimir’s inhuman eyes narrowed. The silence wasn’t reverent.

It was fear, dense and unspoken, tightening around the room like a vice.

Lucian crouched beside it, fingers curling around the orb. His skin tightened around the warmth, but his hand trembled for a beat, just before he steadied himself. The silence in the room deepened as he held the orb—alive, pulsing—and the cold realization of Kali’s message weighed on his chest .

“She left us a gift. How sweet,” he muttered, but no one laughed. No one even moved.

Casimir stood by the window, the bayou swallowed by pitch black. His silver eyes were unreadable, his presence cloaked in the chill of old magic. He was the Syndicate’s silent war strategist, and even he looked rattled.

Damien lounged like a shadow stitched into flesh, sharp-jawed, still. Every movement, deliberate. Every breath, silent. He was a ghost who bled kings.

Belladonna leaned against the wall, all crimson lips and danger, her gaze never leaving the orb. The queen of poison and whispers. She'd dismantled empires with her smile.

Lyssa sat with Vladimir, notebook open, pen still. Her braid was tight, her eyes tighter. Every inch of her screamed calculation.

Vladimir Izacacus sat like a throne had birthed him, ancient, pale, untouched by time. His ink-black eyes drank in the room.

None of them noticed the flicker beneath the table, the ripple of shadow that slithered across the stone floor and vanished through the door.

In the war chamber, beneath relics older than blood, Vladimir steepled his fingers. The air thickened.

Lucian broke the silence. “We need to take action. The Branche de Lune Syndicate has shown their hand. It’s time to remind them who owns the underworld. ”

Vladimir raised a hand. “Not yet. This wasn’t just a show of force. This was a war hymn. We respond, but on our terms.”

Lyssa nodded slowly. “Kali’s not some rogue enforcer anymore. She’s a sovereign. And she knows it.”

Casimir finally spoke, his voice low and surgical. “What if she doesn’t just want territory? What if she wants to unravel the whole structure?”

Belladonna’s nails tapped against the stone wall. “She wants power. But she wants respect more. We made the mistake of treating her like a storm we could wait out.”

“She is the storm,” Damien said. “And storms don’t wait.”

Lucian exhaled through his nose. “So, we gather dust while she scorches everything?”

Damien stood. “We study. Learn her edges. Before we bleed on them.”

Casimir’s voice was quieter. “The Spiral Mouth is stirring. She’s not the only one awakening ancient things.”

Lyssa paled. “Azareal. That thing doesn’t take sides. It devours them.” Azareal’s presence was like frost behind the eyes—beautiful, and utterly wrong. The Spiral Mouth didn’t whisper. It devoured language and left only want.

Belladonna swallowed. “If he’s hunting her—or worse, working with her, this isn’t a Syndicate issue. This is an extinction event. ”

Vladimir finally spoke, cold and certain. “We gather intel, every ally, every motive, and every fracture. Then we strike where it matters.”

Lucian sneered. “If we wait too long, there won’t be anything left to strike.”

Belladonna turned toward the door, her silhouette a blade wrapped in silk. I’ll start the intel sweep. She won’t know we’re watching, until it’s too late. Belladonna’s hand twitched once before she folded it into stillness.

As she vanished into the corridor, Vladimir’s eyes tracked her. “Kali isn’t a player anymore. She’s the board.”

The silence didn’t settle. It prowled. It bared teeth.

Far across the city—Branche de Lune estate.

A single flame danced in a glass lantern beside the throne.

Astraeus stirred from the dark, steel-blue eyes gleaming like a thousand drawn blades.

“They took the bait,” he said in Zarokian, voice curling like smoke. “They gather, they plot, they fracture.”

Kali stepped from the shadows, barefoot, wrapped in a silk robe darker than the void, a glass of Hibiki whisky in hand. She sipped slowly. Smiled slower.

“Let them,” she murmured. “The fun part’s just starting. ”

A flicker of darkness peeled from the far wall—a shadow spy returned.

It bowed low, silent and trembling.

Kali didn’t spare it a glance.

She turned, bare feet silent on the stone.

The game was hers now.

And mercy was off the table.

Meanwhile — Upper Manhattan, Syndicate HQ

The skyscraper pulsed with enchantments older than blood. Shadows curled in the glass. Security sigils flared once, recognizing who entered.

Inside the command room, soundproofed by layered wards, Jax Calder stood at the head of the table—sleeves rolled up, jaw set, three holo-feeds flickering through Syndicate-controlled territories.

Each feed showed a different kind of fire—territory breaches, blood trade spikes, and whispered betrayals that hadn’t burned out yet.

Cassian Rook leaned against the windows, his voice lazy, lethal: “Paris is holding. Rome’s flaring. Dublin’s about to bleed.”

“And Belladonna?” Jax asked.

“Feeding on the panic. Kali’s absence makes her bold—but she’s not reckless. She’s testing the water, not diving in, yet. ”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

The two men, neither blood-sworn to Kali but loyal in ways that didn’t need vows, had stepped into the storm the moment she left.

While Kali waged war in the Hollow and beyond, Jax and Cassian kept the empire burning without burning it down.

Every deal made. Every threat neutralized. Every Syndicate faction reminded:

The Queen may be gone, but her blades are still here, and they didn’t miss.