The air in Lilith's throne room was cold enough to see his breath, and it smelled of old stone, dried herbs, and something metallic underneath—blood, Kael realized, though it was faint. The chamber was carved deep beneath Manhattan, a vaulted gothic space where the only light came from flickering sconces that cast long, dancing shadows. There were no modern screens here, no data streams. This was a place of old power, and it made the fine sensors embedded in Kael's synthetic skin prickle with static.
Vampire Queen Lilith didn't sit on the massive obsidian throne at the room's center. She stood before it, a silhouette against the low fire. She was smaller than Kael had expected, her form sleek and still in a simple, dark gown. But her presence filled the room, a pressure that weighed on everything. It wasn't the raw, chaotic power of an Alpha werewolf; it was a cold, sharp, and ancient thing, like a blade held to your throat in the dark.
