— Lucius Toll, “A Study on the Biological Sex Differences Between Male and Female Monsters: Anatomy, Behavior, and Reproductive Methods,” page 40
Arthur stood at attention in the shadowed expanse of Draven’s chambers.
He was there merely to observe, an escort for General Marcellus. The vampire had returned recently from another expedition to Inner Peccatum and was convening with the lord of the asylum. In the corner of the room, Draven sat enthroned behind a massive ebony desk, a thicker one, since the last had broken. He was clad in silken robes embroidered with silver threads depicting snarling wolves and thorny vines. The bandages that swathed his face and chest beneath the open collar were a stark contrast against the darkness.
“The reports are comprehensive, my lord,” Marcellus intoned. He stood beside Draven, arms crossed, still dressed in his scouting armor.”But tell me, have any of the scouts failed to report back?”
Draven was silent.
“My lord?”
“No, none have vanished into the ether. Every last one of these wretched souls has slithered back to me.” He set aside one of the reports. “One after the other. Empty towns, empty villages, empty countryside. I had dared to hope that a few might not return. Their absence would have been a breadcrumb leading us straight to that phantom's lair. Yet, she anticipates my every move. She must have known we would scatter our hunters. She had to have avoided detection, but how?”
Marcellus’s eyes scanned the maps unfurled across the desk, marked with pins denoting search parties’ routes. “Perhaps there remains a chance she lingers within the city, my lord. Peccatum is a labyrinth; even the most vigilant eye might miss a shadow in its depths. Perhaps we should search again.”
Draven waved his hand dismissively. “Wilhelmina is no fool to tarry in the lion's den when the lion yet draws breath. But humor me. Confirm once more that your men have scoured every inch of this festering hive. The inner city with its gilded spires and the outer slums where the dregs wallow in their despair.”
“They have, my lord,” Marcellus affirmed. “Every alley, every sewer grate, every forgotten crypt beneath the streets. My legions swept through Peccatum like a storm, questioning informants, overturning hovels, and interrogating the Ironguard. But perfection is the domain of gods, not men, or vampires. There is always the slim chance she slipped through the net, perhaps disguised or aided by some unwitting ally.”
Draven leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath the bandages that obscured his expression. “A slim chance, you say? Nay, it is a thread too frayed to bear weight. I suspect she has fled far beyond the city by now. She has vanished into the wilds of Ageria like smoke on the wind. But where?”
“We could search the elven capital of Elkvale next, my lord. Or perhaps the coastal jewel of Elarú?”
Marcellus crossed his arms. “Though, Elkvale’s defenses are formidable. Our kind wouldn’t last long among them. Elarú... its ports teem with travelers, easy to blend among the merchants and sailors. We could dispatch infiltrators to monitor the docks, intercept any vessels bound for distant shores.”
“Send a messenger to Oresella. Ensure his men are keeping an eye on what they ship.”
“Should we employ bounty hunters as well?”
“No, we cannot risk anything going wrong with the Conduit.” He mused for a moment. “What of Brozegr?d? Buried deep in the bowels of the mountains, a warren of tunnels and forges where light fears to tread. A perfect burrow for a raven seeking to clip her wings from prying eyes.”
“What of Whitewood?” Marcellus asks.
“There are many cities we can search; Moonbúry, Ironspire, Shadewell. None any more likely than the last.”
Marcellus pondered, rubbing his chin. “Ironspire is a risk, and Shadewell is too desolate, with little sustenance for her or the girl. Whitewood’s forests might offer concealment, but the elves' kin there are no friends to vampires.”
“Nor are they in Serenity Gardens.”
Arthur followed their conversation as best he could. There was no telling where Mina was hiding with Emily. He needed to find a way to buy them time, delay the hunt as long as he could. One idea came to mind, and though it was risky, it was all he could think of. Arthur stepped forward. “Lord Draven, if I may offer a suggestion?”
Draven’s bandaged head turned toward him. “Speak, Eldric. Your tongue has proven sharper than many a blade in these halls. What wisdom do you proffer?”
Arthur met the unseen gaze steadily. “I suspect Wilhelmina might have sought refuge in Brozegr?d. In my youth, before... before this life claimed me, I visited the dwarven capital. It’s a colossal expanse, ever-expanding beneath Ageria's mountains. A labyrinth of caverns, forges, and hidden depths where one could vanish for lifetimes. If ever there were a place for a vampire to hide, it would be there.”
Marcellus grunted. “Perhaps, but Brozegr?d spans hundreds of miles in every direction. To search it all would take a century, even with an army. We’d bleed resources chasing echoes.”
Draven hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the desk. “A risk, indeed, and one I had hoped to avoid. Yet, Eldric's insight rings true. I know the routes many of our kind take through that underground realm to remain unseen. It may be worth the gamble.”
Arthur nodded. “If we play the game smart, it might not be as big a risk—” A knock echoed from the door, though from the weight of it, it sounded more like a kick. Arthur excused himself with a nod. “Pardon me, my lord. I shall see to it.” He opened the door to find Clara, balancing two silver platters laden with Draven’s evening meal. His eyes widened at her appearance. She was caked in blood, her attire reduced to a near-topless state, covered only by a black apron stained crimson. “S-Selene? What happened?”
Clara offered a weary smile. “An incident in the kitchen, nothing more. It’s handled. May I enter?”
Arthur stepped aside, allowing her passage. She glided into the room and set the platters on a side table. Neither Draven nor Marcellus seemed to pay any mind to her state of undress.
As she began pouring the wine, Draven gestured toward Arthur. “Continue your thought, Eldric. Do not let this interruption dull the edge of your counsel.”
Arthur cleared his throat, resuming his firm stance. “Of course, my lord. I propose that General Marcellus lead an expedition into Brozegr?d to hunt for Wilhelmina directly. Meanwhile, you continue dispatching lower-ranking vampires to the surface cities of Ageria: Elkvale, Elarú, Whitewood, Ironspire, Shadewell, and beyond. From my understanding, the vampires that don’t flee for Alnwick seek refuge in dwarven undercities. The low-ranks are expendable; if they perish on the open roads and fail to report, we'll trace the line of their demise straight to Wilhelmina’s path. But in Brozegr?d’s vastness, such losses would be meaningless without direction. It would be better to send your most seasoned warrior, General Marcellus, instead. He is a man of experience, sheer will, and strength. I am sure if he and his men were to come across Wilhelmina in those confines, they stand a better chance than most.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Draven stared through his bandages. “Perhaps you’re right, my loyal servant. I had thought it myself. We have precious little time before the Conduit blooms into her full peril; thus, my best men must operate where their talons can sink deepest. Marcellus, it shall be as he suggests.”
Marcellus bowed. “It will be done, my lord. I'll muster the elite and depart at dusk.” With a final nod, he strode from the room, the door closing behind him with a resonant thud.
Clara, seizing the moment, carried the trays to Draven’s desk. She rearranged the scattered papers into neat stacks, clearing space before setting down the meal. “Impressive, my lord,” she said. “Your leadership shines even through the veil of pain. It breaks my heart to witness how Queen Lockhart speaks to you, as if you were a mere pawn rather than the architect of her triumphs. A man of your stature, your vision... You have earned far more respect than that, and I can only wish to give it to you.”
Draven leaned back, accepting the goblet of wine she poured. “The queen… she dances upon a throne of illusions, blind to the thorns that prick those who uphold her realm. But tell me, what stirs such sympathy in your half-blood heart? Do you see in me a kindred spirit, chafing against chains forged by another's whim?”
Clara leaned closer as she arranged the plates. “Kindred? Perhaps. But more than that, I see strength unappreciated, power restrained by outdated loyalties. You’ve hunted shadows across Ageria, bent the night to your will, yet she treats you as a tool to be scolded. It just brings me sorrow to see those deserving of respect to be spat on and treated like dogs.”
Draven sipped the wine, a low hum escaping him.
She smiled coyly, straightening. “Merely observations, my lord. You deserve an empire that recognizes your worth.”
He set the goblet down with a satisfied sigh. “Gratitude, Selene. And to you, Eldric. You are dismissed. Tend to your duties.”
Arthur and Clara both gave Draven a regal bow, then exited the chamber, sealing the door shut behind them. Clara turned to Arthur in the dim corridor. “I’m off to the bath chambers,” she whispered. “Meet me in our room afterward; we must speak.”
Deep within the asylum was the restricted wing.
The long hallway leading to it was guarded by a gauntlet of vampires armed with rifles and black steel plates. What had once been a grim corridor of iron-barred cells and peeling paint had been utterly transformed. Plush red velvet carpets lined the hallways. Small chandeliers dangled from the arched ceiling while ornate wall sconces held burning candles. The original asylum doors had been ripped out and replaced with polished wood, and behind them, the former cells had been repurposed into cozy living quarters for Draven’s favored underlings. The wing itself wrapped around in a square-shaped pattern, and at its heart was the large bath chamber, a steamy oasis of marble pools. Steam vents hissed softly from grates in the floor through the wing.
Arthur paced the confines of the small room he shared with Clara. There was just enough room for a few furniture pieces, notably, a wide bed gifted by Draven himself for their diligent service. Before that, they had made do with pushing two asylum cots together. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow. The walls in this wing were thick; It was the only place in the whole damn asylum where they could have an ounce of privacy.
The door creaked open at last, and Clara slipped inside, wrapped in a threadbare towel that clung to her damp skin. She closed and locked the door before leaning against it, groaning.
“Clara, what happened?”
She pushed off the door, her eyes meeting his. “Our favorite succubus,” she replied flatly.
Arthur's brow furrowed. “Xeliara did that to you?”
Clara's gaze sharpened into a glare that pinned him in place. Then, she lunged at Arthur, slamming him against the wall with surprising force. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to prick the skin. Arthur’s back hit the stone with a thud, and he grabbed her wrists instinctively.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
Clara growled low in her throat, baring her fangs. Her breath was hot against his face. “What did we do on our first anniversary? Tell me, now.”
Arthur blinked, caught off guard, but he didn't hesitate. “We picnicked by the old oak tree near your mother's house. You made apple tarts.”
Clara’s tension ebbed slowly. She released him, stepping back with a sigh, her fangs retracting as she rubbed her temples. “I'm sorry. I’m just… being careful. That bitch has tricks up her sleeve that could unravel everything.”
He straightened his shirt, nodding understandingly. “What happened? Tell me everything.”
“I was in the kitchen, waiting for Draven’s meal to finish. Then she sauntered in, but not as herself. She looked just like you. Every detail, from your eyes, your build, even that small scar on your jaw from the mill accident years ago. She came right up to me, smiled with your smug grin, and kissed me.”
Arthur’s face darkened. “That damned succubus. She’s toying with us. I swear—”
Clara held up a hand, stopping him mid-rant. “We can't act out against her. She threatened me, said she would turn the sisters against us if we did.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“I believe her. When I realized it was her, I… I lost it. I attacked her, but she overpowered me, leaving me bloodied on the floor.”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her into a hug. “I wish I were there to stop her.”
“She kissed me. Kissed me.”
Arthur paused for a moment, and as her words sank in, his eyes widened. He had learned a lot about succubi in his short time here. One of the most formidable traits they possessed was the ability to peek into their victims' minds when they locked lips, withdraw desires, and see snippets of their past. He had been careful to avoid it all this time, to never let one get that close. “Gods, Clara…” He trailed off. “Does she know?”
Clara shrugged. “She knows we have a child.”
“Does she know her name? Anything specific?”
Clara shook her head. “I don't think so.”
Arthur let out a heavy sigh and broke away. He ran a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. “We need to be very careful around Xeliara from now on. There's no telling how much she truly knows, or what she’ll do with it. If she suspects we’re more than we seem.”
Clara resumed her pacing. “I’m worried she already knows too much.”
“If she pieces it together, figures out who Emily is, that we’re here to sabotage Draven, she could whisper it in his ear, and it’d all be over.”
“He could use us to find her…”
“We don’t even know where they are. If he doesn’t believe that, he’ll torture us.”
“Or worse… take us to nest.”
Arthur stepped forward, placing firm hands on her shoulders to still her. “I'll take care of it. I'll confront her, pry without raising alarms. Act like it's jealousy or some petty rivalry. We can't let her get another kiss in.”
Clara nodded, her eyes searching his. “It's for the best. If she tries again, she might uncover more. We have to stay one step ahead.”
“I won't let that happen,” Arthur assured her. “We've come too far to let a winged harlot undo us.” He pulled her into a gentle embrace. “We need to have faith. Mina will train Emily, hone her powers. You did a good job back there, planting seeds of doubt in Draven’s mind; now we nurture them until they choke him.”
Clara nodded against his chest, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. The steam from her recent bath still clung to her skin, mingling with her natural scent.
“Are you sure you're alright?” Arthur asked.
“I’m fine,” she whispered as she met his gaze. Slowly, her fingers trailed up his arms. She gently cupped the sides of his head, her thumbs brushing his temples. “I just feel bad… tainted by her touch. I'm sorry, but I need to kiss you. The real you.” She leaned in. As their lips met, she raised her arms, letting her towel slip and pool at her feet. Arthur leaned into her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. Clara broke the kiss briefly. “I'd never mistake your lips.”
Arthur chuckled and leaned back in. His hands trailed down her back, tracking the curve of her spine before gripping her ass firmly, eliciting a soft gasp from her. She pressed against him, her body molding to his as she began undoing his uniform. With a gentle tug, Clara pulled him toward the bed. She straddled him, her wet hair cascading like a curtain. Arthur’s hands roamed up to cup her breasts. She arched into him as his thumbs teased her nipples, a low moan escaping her.
“Arthur,” she breathed.
He flipped them, pinning Clara beneath him. His mouth claimed hers again, then he trailed down her throat, nipping at her collarbone, then lower onto her breasts. Clara's fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him as her legs wrapped around his waist. He shed the rest of his clothes and entered her. Clara's nails raked down his back, her hips rising to meet his with each deep stroke.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Just like that…”
Meanwhile, in the bath chamber…
Clara sank deeper into the scalding water of her tub. Her skin glistened as she washed away the last traces of blood from her body. The steam was so dense she could barely see her own hands, let alone the succubi and vampires moving in the haze. Moans echoed off the slick marble walls, punctuated by rhythmic, wet slaps. She leaned back, her wet hair plastered to her neck and shoulders. She wished she could have done more to stop Xeliara, to put her in her place. Why would she have even done that? It couldn’t have just been to mess with them. She didn’t know. She’d need to speak with Arthur on it when she returned.
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED TODAY'S CHAPTER!
Please leave a comment!
- Any theories on what might happen next?
- What do you want to see more of?
- Wanna go on a typo hunt? (You’ll find something, I promise)
Follow the story to stay updated.
Favorite it if you enjoy the journey.
Craving more right now? Join my and help support the story!
- Read 8 chapters ahead!
- Bonus & cut content!
- Behind-the-scenes stuff ;)