Lior –
The silver-laced whip cut across Lior's back like liquid fire.
He refused to scream. Chained before the assembled clan in the fortress's ritual chamber, shoulders straining against blessed metal that burned his flesh, Lior kept his jaw locked and his crimson eyes fixed on the stone floor. The Elders demanded submission, but he would not give them the satisfaction of breaking.
"Explain yourself." Elder Lucien's voice echoed from the obsidian throne, each word sharp as winter frost. Ancient power radiated from the patriarch, seven decades of accumulated strength that could crush Lior without effort. "You had the wolf Alpha beneath your fangs. His throat exposed, his blood flowing freely. Yet he draws breath still."
The assembled vampires pressed closer, a sea of pale faces and hungry eyes. Some showed disappointment, others barely-concealed satisfaction at seeing the clan's rising star brought low. Selric stood among them, ice-blue gaze gleaming with malicious pleasure.
"I struck true," Lior forced out between gritted teeth, lifting his head with what dignity remained. "I tasted his blood, felt his strength drain. If the beast lives, it is because wolves heal faster than we anticipated—not because I showed mercy."
The lie came easier than breathing, but underneath it churned the terrible truth. He could have drained the Alpha dry, could have torn through that powerful throat and claimed victory for his clan. Instead, he had pulled back at the crucial moment, stunned by golden eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul.
You're my mate.
The words haunted him still, echoing through his mind like a curse. They made no sense—vampires and wolves were natural enemies, their very essences antithetical. Yet something deep in his chest, something that predated logic or clan loyalty, had recognized the truth in those desperate syllables.
"Reckless," Kaelen hissed from the shadows, his rival's amber eyes burning with contempt. "That's what you've always been, Lior. Hungry for glory, careless with strategy. This failure proves what I've long suspected—you lack the discipline for true leadership."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. The younger vampires, always eager to see their betters fall, fed on the scent of disgrace like vultures on carrion.
Elder Lucien raised one pale hand, and silence fell like a shroud. "The wolf packs grow bolder with each passing season. They encroach on territory that has been ours for centuries. Tonight was our chance to cut off their head, to send a message that would echo through every den in Thornhaven." His ancient gaze fixed on Lior with predatory intensity. "Instead, we have given them a symbol of our weakness."
The silver chains released with a metallic rasp, dropping Lior to his knees on the cold stone. He forced himself upright, ignoring the way his burned flesh protested every movement. Pride was all he had left—he would not grovel before these parasites who had never faced the Alpha in single combat.
"I will not fail again," he said, injecting steel into his voice despite the tremor in his hands. "Give me another chance, and I will bring you the wolf's head."
"Will you?" Lucien's smile revealed fangs like ivory daggers. "Or will you find another excuse for mercy when the moment comes?"
The question hit too close to the mark. Lior's jaw clenched as he fought down the memory of powerful hands settling on his shoulders, of a heartbeat that had somehow synchronized with his own. The phantom taste of wolf blood still lingered on his tongue—not the bitter sustenance of fear and pain, but something rich and electric that had set every nerve ending ablaze.
"The Alpha dies by my hand," Lior swore, the words scraping his throat raw. "I stake my existence on it."
Elder Lucien studied him for a long moment, weighing, calculating. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. But understand this, young one—failure means more than punishment. It means we will question whether your loyalties truly lie with this clan."
The threat hung in the air like smoke. Lior bowed his head in acknowledgment, not trusting his voice. Around him, the other vampires began to disperse, their whispered conversations carrying hints of plots and schemes. Kaelen lingered longest, his parting smile promising future retribution.
Alone in the shadows of the ritual chamber, Lior pressed his back against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes. His burned wrists throbbed in time with his heartbeat—a rhythm that seemed to echo something else, something wild and golden that called to him across the night.
He touched his lips, remembering the taste of power and starlight. Remembering golden eyes that had looked at him like he was something precious rather than monstrous.
I have to kill him, Lior thought desperately. Before this bond destroys everything I am.
But even as he made the vow, his traitorous heart whispered a different truth—that he would rather face his clan's judgment than sink his fangs into that throat again.
That he would rather die than be the one to extinguish those golden eyes forever.