She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. The disdain in her voice was enough to tell me exactly what she thought of this particular visitor. Eldora had an uncanny ability to mask heremotions when it served her, but not with me. Not when it came to the people I allowed into my domain.
She loathed the unsavory ones the most, the ones who slithered in with whispers of blood deals and power plays. And yet, she knew as well as I did that they were a necessary evil.
I studied her carefully. “And I assume you’ve already assessed the situation?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I have.” A pause. “And I don’t like it.”
“You never do.”
She sighed through her nose, showing her simmering frustration. “One of these days, you’ll listen to me before inviting filth into your house.”
I chuckled, a low, dark sound. “Doubtful.”
Her expression remained unreadable, but I didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched at her sides—restrained, calculating. If Eldora had her way, half the people I dealt with would be corpses in the courtyard before they ever stepped foot inside the walls.
But that was the game. And like it or not, we both had to play it.
I turned on my heel, the shadows parting before me as I moved through the darkened corridors. The walls seemed to whisper, the weight of my family’s legacy pressing down from every side. But I pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand. My guest would be in the room below, awaiting my arrival.
He would see only the mask I wore, the shadows that concealed everything but power. He would not see the man behind it—the man who, for a fleeting moment, had allowed himself to hope for more.
Hope was a dangerous thing in this world.
And I had no room left for it.
I entered the conference room,the heavy oak doors closing with a whisper behind me, shutting out the world beyond. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old books, cigar smoke, and hints of something metallic—like blood, ancient and bitter. My territory had always been a place of illusions and shadows, but today, all of that felt heavier.
Altair Coppola stood by the window, his back to me, framed against the late afternoon light that poured in through the stained glass. He looked smaller than I remembered, the sharp lines of his figure softened, almost wilted. Time, it seemed, had not been kind to him. When I last saw him nearly a year ago, he had been a formidable figure—a blood sorcerer with power that thrummed through his very veins, his presence like a steel blade poised to strike. But now, he appeared... diminished.
I eyed the bloodstone pendant hanging from Altair’s neck. The deep crimson gem pulsed as if it had a heartbeat of its own. The stone wasn’t simply an accessory—it was a tether to his power, a reservoir of the blood magic that made him both formidable and feared. With it, he could manipulate the very essence of life, bending bodies and wills with a mere incantation, sealing unbreakable contracts in blood, or siphoning the life force from his enemies with a single touch.
But his magic was waning. Slowly, subtly, yet undeniably.
I had heard the whispers, seen the signs—the slightly longer pauses before his spells took effect, the extra effort needed to heal even minor wounds. A sorcerer whose power relied on his own blood had limits, and it seemed Altair was creeping dangerously close to his. Whether it was age, overuse, or something else entirely, it didn’t matter.
What mattered was that the bloodstone sustained him. Without it, his power would be all but drained, leaving him a husk of the force he once was.
Would it be mine someday?
A smirk ghosted my lips as the thought took root. Perhaps—if this meeting went well.
Altair turned slowly. “Shadow,” he greeted in a low rasp. “You’ve kept me waiting.”
“Apologies,” I said without any warmth in my tone. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. Altair was not a man who required them. I watched as he moved to the table, a slight limp in his step. He lowered himself into the chair with the deliberate care of someone who knew his own body was failing him.
One of my staff members brought in a tray of aged and expensive dark fae wine, tailored to Altair’s tastes. He set it down and quickly exited, leaving the two of us alone. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in, as if even my estate itself was curious about this unexpected visit.
I took the seat across from him, my eyes never leaving his face. “You said you had something urgent to discuss.”
Altair thrived on surprise, on keeping others off-balance. If he had come here unannounced, there was a reason.
Altair’s lips curled into a wry smile. “I do enjoy the element of surprise, don’t you?” His voice held a dry, sardonic edge. “But let’s not waste time on pleasantries.”
I raised a brow as I leaned back slightly in my chair, waiting for him to continue. Altair’s crimson eyes flared, studying me like a hawk assessing its prey. But I saw the tremor in his hands, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was unwell—dying, perhaps.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the future,” Altair began, his gaze drifting to the glass of wine. He picked it up with a shakinghand and took a sip before continuing. “More specifically, about what will happen when I die.”
I didn’t respond immediately, choosing to let the silence stretch. But Altair was too seasoned to be rattled by silence. He simply waited, taking another slow sip of his wine.
