Chapter 3

I descended from the balcony.

Not by stairs.

Not with ceremony.

I dropped.

Stone cracked beneath my boots as I landed between Elara and the crystal syringe, the impact sending a ripple of power through the altar.

The syringe shattered.

Blood splashed across the black stone.

“Touch her again,” I said softly, “and I will drain you dry.”

Every head snapped toward me.

Cole Ashford was the first to recover, lips curling into a sneer.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

I straightened, shadows clinging to my silhouette like a living cloak.

“Raven Nocturne.”

The name fell into the hall like a funeral bell.

For one heartbeat—

Silence.

Then laughter burst out.

“You?” Cole scoffed. “If you’re Raven Nocturne, then I’m the First Vampire reborn.”

“She died,” someone hissed.

“Burned at sea.”

“Her ashes were scattered.”

Silas Morcant pushed forward, eyes sharp, voice cold.

“Raven Nocturne has been dead for three years.”

Mara Vex’s smile turned predatory.

“Seize her.”

They rushed me.

The first vampire lost his fangs when my elbow crushed his jaw.

The second hit the ground choking as my knee shattered his ribs.

But numbers caught up with me.

Hands tangled in my hair.

Silver-thread restraints burned into my wrists.

A knee drove into my spine.

I was forced down, cheek scraping against cold stone.

“Raven!” Elara screamed, straining against her chains. “Please—don’t hurt her!”

Morgana Whitlock grabbed Elara by the hair, yanking her head back.

“Stay silent, broodmare.”

She struck her.

Blood splattered across the altar.

Something ancient and furious stirred in my chest.

I fought, but three vampires pinned me, silver biting into my skin.

Elara sobbed openly now, bowing again and again.

“I’ll cooperate,” she begged. “I’ll submit. Just don’t kill her.”

“Elara—no,” I rasped.

But she kept begging.

For me.

Mara crouched beside my face, a thin obsidian blade sliding into her hand.

“You know what I think?” she murmured.

“I think you’re just another stray pretending to be royalty.”

She pressed the blade to my cheek.

“And this face—this pretty relic—”

The blade cut.

Pain flared as blood slid down my neck.

“—won’t save you.”

The blade shifted.

Then—

“ENOUGH.”

The iron doors exploded inward.

Silas Morcant strode in, crimson cloak billowing, flanked by armed blood knights.

Elara looked up in desperate relief.

“Uncle Silas—thank the Ancients—you have to stop them—”

“Be silent.”

His words froze her.

Silas looked at her with pure contempt.

“You disgrace the Nocturne name.”

“But—I’m your blood—”

“You are a mistake,” he snapped. “One we should have culled.”

He turned away from her without another glance.

Instead, he stopped in front of Morgana and took her hand.

“The Crimson Council recognizes Morgana Whitlock,” he announced, voice ringing through the hall,

“as the rightful heir of House Nocturne.”

Morgana smiled in triumph.

Elara’s face went empty.

Then Silas’s gaze dropped to me.

For the briefest moment—

Recognition flashed.

He knew.

He seized my chin, forcing my blood-streaked face into the light.

“This creature does resemble Raven,” he mused.

“Almost convincing.”

His thumb brushed the blood on my cheek.

“But Raven Nocturne died under the Blood Moon,” he said coldly.

“And this—”

He released me like rot.

“Dispose of her.”

Mara’s smile widened.

She lifted her hand.

And then—

Three vampires collapsed.

Throats opened so cleanly they didn’t even scream.

Kieran Bloodworth stepped from the shadows.

Behind him, the Blood Guard emerged—thirty ancient warriors, eyes glowing crimson, weapons already wet.

Kieran went to one knee before me, fist pressed to his chest.

“My Queen,” he said clearly.

“Forgive the delay.”

I lifted my head, blood on my lips, and smiled.

“Right on time.”