“You can’t stand being the lesser son—the one destined to fetch and carry for your sister. Did she choose you to come rescue her when she was in danger because she trusted you, or because Dorian was more important and she couldn’t risk anything happening to him? She did call you to rescue her from the sun, correct? How humiliating must that be? How sad to be disposable.” She waves her hand. “Besides that, most vampire covens fall over themselves to worship their sons, and even then, your father trusted your sister over you.” Her lip curls in open contempt. “So tell me, Maximillian—are you just the mama’s boy destined for nothing, or did you screw up so badly your father saw straight through you?”
Silence drops like a stone. Maximillian stiffens, mask cracking, and for the first time I see a flicker of real anger. She’s hit something raw.
I’m left staring at Esme, stunned. From what I knew of her, she’s always avoided politics, hated the games of power andmaneuvering. Yet here she is, slicing through Maximillian with a truth no one else would dare say out loud.
Maximillian’s mask slips. His smile falters, eyes flashing with rage.
“You little—” His voice cracks. He spins on his army. “What are you waiting for? Kill them all!”
The wolves and vampires surge forward.
“Stop!”
Serafina’s voice booms, the single word expanding and contracting like a pulse that thrums through the chamber walls and straight into my chest. Power vibrates in it, something older than all of us.
She starts speaking in Choctaw, the cadence strange and haunting, rising and falling like a lullaby. Each syllable rolls through the air with a weight that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
Her feet leave the floor. Slowly, impossibly, her body lifts, robes fluttering as though caught in an unseen current. Static zips through the air, sharp enough to leave a trail of goosebumps all over my body. My wolf stirs uneasily under my skin, claws itching, caught between awe and fear.
Lantern flames flicker as if the room itself recognizes what’s happening. Every word out of her mouth builds, louder, fiercer, until it feels less like chanting and more like a force dragging the god she calls straight into the room with us.
Belvedere gasps theatrically. “She’s summoning her god—Hvshi Atahli!”
Nothing happens at first. The crowd presses closer, uncertain. Belvedere waves his arms wildly. “Her nation’s sun god! Look!”
Light explodes from Serafina’s body, searing bright. I raise an arm against the blinding glare, retinas burning. She glowshotter, brighter, until arrows of blazing gold shoot from her like meteors, embedding in stone and wood.
The vampires break instantly, shrieking, scattering in blind panic. They scramble to escape the one thing they fear most: the sun itself.
Cowards. But after what happened with the Mephistus coven, I can’t blame them for fearing that kind of death.
That leaves only the wolves.
Marcus, Leonard, and I shift as one and pounce while they are distracted.
Minerva is a storm in motion, her whip cracking like thunder as it lashes flesh. Every strike lands clean, the sound cutting through the chaos. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, and a wild laugh bursts out of her as another body drops. It’s a side to her I haven’t seen till now, but I’m not hating it.
Leonard is raw muscle and teeth, holding strong against two at once. He takes hits and doesn’t even flinch, driving forward like a battering ram, jaws snapping, claws raking. Blood sprays through the air, spattering across his fur, but he doesn’t yield an inch. One of the shifters slams a fist into his ribs. Leonard snarls, shoving the bastard back so hard the stone cracks under the impact. The other tries to circle to his blind side, but Leonard whirls, eyes glowing, lips peeled back in a feral grin. He looks like he’s enjoying it, like the fight itself feeds him, makes him stronger with every blow.
I don’t fight like that. I can’t. If I give my wolf that much rein, there’s no telling how far I’ll go or what would be left standing when I’m done. Leonard thrives in the chaos. I survive by keeping things chained tight. Still, watching him tear into them, unstoppable, I can’t deny part of me envies the freedom.
Belvedere works his illusions like a maestro, the chamber fracturing into a dozen versions of itself. Enemies spin in circles, striking at shadows that vanish before contact. His grin is smug,wicked, like he’s playing a game only he knows the rules to, even as sweat slides down his temple.
Serafina doesn’t move from her spot, calm at the storm’s center. Her bow hums with every pull, each arrow glowing, burning, before it finds its mark. Throat, lung, knee—every shot perfect, efficient, merciless.
And Esmerelda? She tears through the chaos, claws flashing, teeth bared, every strike calculated. Efficient. Brutal. Necessary. Like me, when she fights, she doesn’t waste a movement. We move in synchronized ease. I don’t let myself lose control, but the wildness is there, just under my skin, pressing harder with every heartbeat. When my growl rips loose, I know it’s not just me. It’s the wolf, the rage, the need to end this.
We’re outnumbered, but we’re holding. We’re not prey. Not tonight.
We move like the elements of a storm. Fierce and precise. Balanced on a knife’s edge. It’s beautiful, controlled, bloody chaos. Each blow feels vindicating. Each strike a retaliation. Blood thrums through my veins in a powerful rush.
When the last wolf falls, silence descends. The chamber is littered with bodies, groans, smoke. The reek of blood is thick in the air. We all shift back into human forms and look out over the destruction.
Serafina drops to the ground, sweat slicking her brow, breath coming hard.
Belvedere rushes to her side. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m not used to holding a spell like that for so long. Thanks for the save.”
