The sanctuary had gone still, but Ariana's pulse hadn't.
The glow had faded from her eyes, but something remained. A thrum beneath her skin. A heartbeat that wasn't entirely hers.
Damien hadn't let go of her. He sat beside her on the cold stone floor, one arm wrapped around her back, his breath brushing her temple. It was the closest thing to tenderness she'd ever felt from him without it being followed by domination.
"I saw something," she whispered.
"I know," he said softly. "I felt it. Through the bond."
Xander stood against the far wall, arms folded, eyes sharper than knives.
"You didn't just see," he said. "You were shown."
Ariana pulled away from Damien and sat upright. "By what?"
"By her," Xander said darkly. "The First Queen. She marked the line from which you were born. What you felt was her will. What you saw… is the future she demands."
"I saw myself on a throne," Ariana murmured, almost afraid to say it aloud.
"And you will be," Xander said. "But not all thrones are meant for peace."
A low hum echoed through the manor.
Damien was on his feet instantly. "Someone's here."
Xander tilted his head. "Not just someone. I know that pulse."
Footsteps echoed above them—slow, deliberate.
Ariana's heart stuttered. She didn't know how she knew it, but something inside her recognized the presence.
Ancient. Cold. Watching.
Damien moved fast, yanking open the heavy iron doors and pulling Ariana behind him. "Stay here."
"No," she said. "Not this time."
Xander raised a brow. "Good girl."
They emerged into the hall just as the manor's front doors opened on their own. The wind that blew in was sharp, not with cold—but with memory. Like the breath of something that had waited centuries to be remembered.
A tall woman stepped into the light, cloaked in midnight blue. Her skin was bone-pale, and her hair hung in silver sheets down her back. Her eyes were pupil-less. White as death. Yet somehow… burning.
Damien stiffened. "Elder Valeriya."
Ariana felt the power ripple off the woman in waves. It wasn't seductive like Damien's. It wasn't cruel like Xander's. It was regal. Deadly.
"Damien," Valeriya said, her voice like bells in a crypt. "You've caused quite the stir."
Her eyes moved to Ariana.
And she smiled.
"So. The girl has woken."
Ariana stepped forward, resisting the instinct to flinch. "I'm not just a girl."
"No," Valeriya agreed. "You are the prophecy. The vessel. The mistake that became fate."
Damien growled low. "Say what you came to say."
Valeriya's gaze never left Ariana. "The Council has convened. The clans are watching. And you, child, have two choices."
Ariana's voice didn't shake. "What are they?"
"Come with me willingly to the Seat of Blood," the Elder said. "Submit to testing, and perhaps you will be accepted."
"And if I refuse?"
Valeriya smiled, cruel and cold. "Then the Council will send the Reapers to rip the power from your corpse."
Silence.
Then Ariana said something that made Damien turn his head sharply.
"I'll go."
"Ariana—" Damien stepped forward.
But she held up a hand. "If I'm going to lead… I have to know what I'm dealing with. And if they want to test me, then I'll make damn sure they're afraid of what they find."
Valeriya tilted her head, intrigued. "Bold. You may survive yet."
Xander, from the shadows, laughed softly. "Oh, she will. But when she's done, she won't be theirs."
Ariana looked up at Damien, her voice low and clear. "Come with me. But not as my jailer. Or my master."
He stared at her.
"Come as mine."
Damien's fangs lowered slightly—not from hunger, but from emotion. Reverence. Fear.
"I'm already yours," he said. "Even if it kills me."