Chapter 4

Every major supernatural outlet was pushing the same narrative, using the same hashtags, as though someone had handed them a script.

I knew someone had.

Then I saw Vivienne's statement. Posted half an hour ago, already tens of thousands of engagements.

"I know many of you are angry on my behalf, but please don't attack Elara Voss. She's clearly still hurting from the breakup. Damien and I have known each other our entire lives, and sometimes it's hard for outsiders to understand a bond like that. She loved him — that's not a crime. Let's show compassion, not cruelty."

Perfect. Magnanimous. Merciful.

She'd wrapped herself in sainthood, then handed out the knives and let every comment section do the cutting for her.

"Vivienne is such a class act"

"Elara should be ashamed"

"Humans will never understand the blood-fated bond"

I turned off the screen. My fingers were ice-cold, the tips numb.

That was when the door opened and Damien walked in.

He stepped inside, caught sight of the suitcase at my feet, and faltered. His expression darkened, and he closed the distance in quick strides.

"Where do you think you're going, Elara?"

"I'd rather not give anyone more ammunition to accuse me of stalking you, High Lord Ravencroft." I looked at him, ice in my voice. "I accept the breakup. I wish you and Vivienne a long and happy life together."

He studied me. Then he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thorn — long, black, gleaming like polished obsidian. A hawthorn spike, soaked in consecrated ash and nightshade oil. The kind of thing that could kill any vampire, old-blood or fledgling alike. Etched into the base was the Ravencroft crest — twin serpents coiled around a crescent blade.

He set it on the coffee table.

"That reporter who kept pressing about the timeline," Damien's voice dropped low, "won't be asking any more questions."

My pupils contracted violently. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he had an unfortunate encounter after the gala." He unfastened his cufflinks with casual indifference, as though discussing the weather. "Elara, you know how it is. That was the price he had to pay."

Fear flooded through me like ice water, instant and total. "You killed someone over that?"

"I protect what's mine." His hand shot out, fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. Behind those silver-grey irises something ancient stirred, his pupils narrowing to pinpoints of cold light. "You will always be mine, Elara. You're not going anywhere."

I tried to pull free. He held tighter. His tone shifted to something tender, the way you'd soothe a restless child. But his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

"So tell me — where are you planning to go, little dove?"

"My mother arranged a meeting for me." I clenched my teeth and held his gaze, watching his pupils contract. "I'm going to meet the Lord of the Thornfield coven. A man who actually wants to bond with me."

His fingers dug into my jaw. "Say that again."

"You heard me."

"You think I'd let you go?" His voice sank, and the full weight of his presence rolled over me like a crushing wave — the ancient, suffocating authority of a High Lord unleashed without restraint, the air itself thickening as though the room had lost all its oxygen. "You think I'd let another man touch you?"

"You don't get a vote —"

"Any man you choose, I can make disappear." He leaned closer, his breath cold against my face, the scent of aged cedar and iron so thick it was suffocating. "Before you've even learned his name, I can erase him from this earth. Do you understand me?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Damien —"

"From the boroughs to the coastline, every territory in the Northeast answers to my coven. Every court. Every elder. One word from me is all it takes, Elara."

"You can't —"

"I can do whatever I want." His thumb traced my lower lip, slow and deliberate, like he was outlining the contours of something that belonged to him. "And right now, I want you to stay put."

He kissed me.

Brutal. Forceful. Punishing.

I shoved against his chest, but he didn't move an inch. He just kept kissing me, as though he could brand me with this kiss alone — no fangs required, just enough to make me forget everything.

When he finally let go, I tasted blood.

"Tomorrow," he said, wiping the blood from the corner of my lip with his thumb, the gesture almost tender, "I'll come by. I'll explain things about Vivienne."

"It's too late —"

"It's too late when I say it's too late." He stepped back. "Get some rest, little dove. You look exhausted."

The pet name sounded as cold coming from his mouth as that hawthorn spike on the table.

He reached the door and stopped, glancing back at me over his shoulder.

"Don't make me come looking for you, Elara. If I have to track you down, you won't like what happens."

The door closed behind him.

I stood there, my lips still swollen, the taste of blood lingering on my tongue.

My legs gave out. I slid down against the side of the bed until I was sitting on the floor.

I wasn't his consort. I wasn't even his mistress.

I was his property. Prey locked inside his domain — treated with tenderness as long as I stayed in the cage. The moment I tried to escape, he'd kill.

My phone was in my hand before I even realized I'd reached for it.

I called my mother.

She picked up on the first ring. "Elara? Sweetheart, are you alright?"

"Mom." My voice broke. "I need your help."

"What's wrong?"

"I need to get out of the city. Tonight, if possible. But Damien — he won't let me go. He'll trace my blood signature, my phone. He'll know wherever I am."

Silence on the other end.

"Mom?"

"There is a way." Her voice went very quiet. "But it means calling on the family's bloodline — something I always hoped you'd never need."

"What bloodline?"

"I'll contact Cassian," she said at last. "He can get you out clean — mask your blood, leave no trace. But Elara — once you go down this road, there's no turning back. You'll become part of that world. Do you understand?"

"Who's Cassian?"

"Your brother." She let out a long, slow breath. "Your half-brother, on your father's side."

"My father's —"

"Your biological father was Aldric Nighthollow, the former Lord of the Nighthollow coven. He was destroyed when you were two — brought down in a blood coup. Before he fell, he made Cassian swear an oath: to protect you when the time came."

Aldric Nighthollow.

The name echoed through my mind. The Nighthollow coven — an ancient bloodline every bit as powerful as the Ravencrofts.

"You're saying I'm —"

"Aldric's daughter. Yes." My mother's voice softened. "We kept you away from that life. Changed your name, sealed your lineage with old wards, hid you among humans. But if Damien Ravencroft won't let go... Cassian can get you out."

"Then call him, Mom. Whatever it takes."

"Are you sure?"

"Mom, he threatened to kill anyone I try to be with. Tonight he had a reporter eliminated just for asking questions. He's out of his mind."

"Alright." Every trace of hesitation vanished from her voice. "Stay safe, baby. I'll reach out to Cassian right now."

The line went dead.

I set the phone down. The hawthorn spike still sat on the coffee table. Light caught the Ravencroft crest, glinting quietly.

I looked away, wrapped my arms around myself, and curled slowly into the corner of the couch.