Raphael skimmed the letter once.
Then again.
And then a third time, slower, as if the meaning might soften or change if he stared hard enough at the ink.
It did not.
The words remained brutally the same.
The Vampire King was coming here.
Belmor Seventh Duke of the Night Courts.had been compromised before ever setting foot on werewolf territory.
A plot uncovered too late. Poison, not of the simple kind, but something older and subtler.
A parasite, cultivated and planted with patience, meant to hollow him out over time. Not to kill him quickly.
And yet something about the whole thing felt suspicious.
Raphael exhaled slowly, the paper trembling just slightly between his fingers.
Belmor's collapse. The strange imbalance.
The way even Viktor, ancient and unshakable, had looked unsettled.
And the final line.cold, formal, devastating sat like a blade against Raphael's ribs.
The King will personally escort the inner convoy bearing the antidote.
