Page 31 of The Syndicate’s Shadow Heiress (Branche de Lune Syndicate #1)
MARKED BY POWER, FEARED BY ALL
Kali Emotional State: Kali is barely leashed fury—burning beneath a cold exterior. She’s done entertaining diplomacy and finished letting others mistake her for anything less than the storm. Her voice is calm, but her magic is screaming. And this time? She lets it.
T
he envoy from the Crimson Thorns made the mistake of speaking first. “With all due respect, your methods lack the finesse we expect from a sovereign. Perhaps someone more... tempered could oversee future inter-clan negotiations.”
The room went still. Not quiet—still. Like the air itself was bracing.
Kali didn’t look up from the blood-sigil map she was studying, her fingers casually tracing the symbol of an old battlefield they’d salted just days ago.
“Tempered?”
The envoy’s lip curled. “So that’s it, then? You rule with fear?”
Kali’s voice dropped into something lethal. “I rule with memory.”
She extended one hand, and the room changed. Magic snapped like a whip, and an illusion rippled across the ceiling. A projection, drawn from memory, flickered to life: The senator. Screaming. Begging. Skinned alive, every plea a prayer she never answered.
And the black satin box was sealed with a smile.
The envoy blinked as the footage cut out.
At her side, a massive hellhound walked in perfect sync.
Vaerkyn.
Coated in smoke and ash, his eyes burned like liquid blackfire. He padded silently forward and sniffed the envoy’s leg, then dipped lower.
Vaerkyn rumbled deep in his chest—an ancient, infernal sound that made the envoy shift uncomfortably while staring right at his crotch.
Kali looked up, expression unreadable. “Still want to talk about temperance?”
Her voice sharpened. “Move again, and he’ll take more than your pride.”
The envoy smiled, too smug for his own good. “You were handed power. Earned through blood, yes, but not diplomacy.”
Lev didn’t move. But his shadow snapped to attention behind her, jagged and twitching with anticipation.
Kali finally raised her eyes. They were frost and fire.
“Tell me,” she said softly, “what kind of diplomacy did you have in mind? Should I kiss the Vampire Court’s ring before or after they breach my realm again? ”
Kali smiled sweetly. “Or maybe you’d prefer a fruit basket—with your balls in it.”
From the corner of the room, Irina shifted, just barely. A slow, lethal smile curved her mouth. The kind of smile you wore when you realized you were standing beside the sharpest blade in the room—and it was smiling back.
A ripple of gasps. One poor fool choked on his wine.
She stood.
And suddenly, the entire room leaned back.
“My name is not a suggestion,” she continued. “It’s a warning carved into tombstones.”
The blood-sigil map burst into flame behind her. Her shadows coiled like smoke with teeth.
Lev grinned like a man at mass.
She stepped off the dais slowly. Her heels echoed like war drums.
“You will show some respect,” Kali said, “or I’ll carve it into your back with a branding iron forged from your clan’s emblem.”
Lev’s hand gripped the table edge, tendons tight. Even his magic held its breath.
The envoy bowed so fast his knee cracked. “Of course, Sovereign Kali. Forgive me.”
She didn’t answer .
Irina stepped into the room then, moving like a shadow dressed in war. “They’ve accepted the terms. But one of their seers said your name caught fire mid-ritual. Blood exploded out of the basin.”
Kali arched a brow. “They always did bleed too easily.”
Irina smirked. “There’s more. We caught one of Spiral’s Whispering Scouts. Shadow-trackers. Blood-forged.”
Kali’s smile vanished.
“Where?”
“The blood garden. Trying to trace your scent.”
Lev straightened.
Kali’s voice was ice. “Put him in the Hollow Cell. I want to know if Spiral spies scream differently.”
Irina nodded and disappeared.
Kali turned back to the room. “We’re done here.”
And just before she vanished in shadow, her voice curled one last time:
“Next time someone questions my methods, I won’t start with words. I’ll let the Vaerkyn choose where to bite first.”