Lucien scoffs. “Stole it? Iearnedit, you stupid fuck. For decades, I’ve planned this while watching the Assembly mismanage our realm and capitulate to demands we should never even have entertained.”
“To ensure peace, Marlowe.” My lip curls, knowing this isn’t a concept he puts value in.
“Peace is an overrated notion,” he confirms my suspicion. “And I’ll have all the peace I need when I’m running things the way they should have been from the start.”
“By oppressing an entire race?” I snap. “By treating all of witchkind like a food source?”
“They are inferior, Nightshade!” he snarls, his eyes flashing with a zealot’s fervor that makes my teeth set on edge. “A lesser species. And we were designed to rule them. To feed from them.” I’ve heard this before, seen where it leads – to bloodshed and mayhem that serves no one. The way he speaks of witches like they’re livestock rather than beings with their own power and agency reminds me why I’ve always found Lucien’s presence so unsettling.
Motherfucker!
He won’t stop ranting.
My rage finally breaks through my control, and my fist connects with his jaw, the impact reverberating through my arm. He staggers back but recovers quickly, that infuriating smirk still on his face.
“Touched a nerve, have I?” Lucien dodges my next strike, his movements fluid and precise. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed feelings for these witches. Or is it one witch in particular?”
I snarl, channeling my anger into a series of rapid attacks. My fist grazes his cheek, drawing blood, but he retaliates with a vicious kick to my ribs. The crack of bone echoes in my ears.
“The great Marcus Nightshade,” he taunts, circling me as I recover. “Always so controlled, so proper. Look at you now – fighting like a feral animal over some witch.”
“Shut up,” I growl, feinting left before striking right. He blocks, but I manage to slam my elbow into his throat. The blow would have crushed a human’s windpipe, but Lucien merely laughs.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” He moves with inhuman speed, a burst of power hitting me square in the face, sending me stumbling back. “The way you look at her? It’s pathetic.”
Blood drips from my split lip as I steady myself. My ribs are already healing, but the pain fuels my rage. I surge forward, matching his supernatural speed with my own. Our bodies clash with bone-jarring force, trading blows that would shatter concrete.
“You know nothing about me,” I spit, driving my knee into his stomach.
He catches my next punch, twisting my arm painfully. “I know everything about you, Marcus. Your weaknesses, your desires…” His grin turns cruel. “Your fears.”
Around us, the grand hall becomes a battlefield of shadow and light, sorcery and steel, as centuries of vampire tradition shatter.
I’m barely aware of it, my focus fixed on the bastard before me. I launch myself at him, centuries of combat training taking over. He deflects my next strike, magic surrounding his hands like black haloes. The air grows thick with malevolent energy as he attempts to summon something evil and forbidden.
“Your parlor tricks won’t save you,” I snarl, pressing forward, though I know that I’d be in trouble if I took a hit from that dark power.
A sound from beside me catches my attention for a split second, and I steal a quick glance at where Morgan Shadowmaster is gathering pure white energy between his palms. His counter-spell slices through the darkness, disrupting whatever hell-spawned horror Lucien was trying to conjure.
I drive my fist into his gut, following with an uppercut that sends him staggering. His speed matches mine, but I have the advantage of raw strength. Each blow I land chips away at his composure, his perfect façade cracking.
“You’re nothing but a thug,” Lucien spits blood, retreating toward an adjoining chamber. “All muscle, no vision.”
“Better than being a traitor.” I advance steadily, forcing him back. The others keep his reinforcements at bay, giving me the opening I need.
He stumbles through the doorway, and I follow, ready to end this. But the sight before me stops me cold.
Arabella lies on an ornate table, her skin ashen, her elegant form bound by chains of dark magic. The Grand Elder, our leader for centuries, reduced to this. A corpse on display, probably kept in stasis as a symbol of Lucien’s dominance.
My chest tightens with rage and grief.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lucien’s voice drips with satisfaction. “The mighty Arabella, preserved as a reminder of what happens to those who stand in my way.”
I circle Lucien warily, keeping myself between him and the exit. The sight of Arabella’s bound form fills me with cold fury, but I force myself to stay focused. One wrong move and this could all go sideways.
“You really thought I wouldn’t have contingencies?” Lucien’s lips curl into that insufferable smirk. “Come now, Marcus. You’ve known me for centuries.”
“Known you to be a snake,” I growl, tracking his movements. “Though I admit, even I underestimated how low you’d sink.”
