Chapter 6 The Vampire Lord's Temptation

The next night, the Crimson Court held a masquerade.

Not for celebration.

For blood.

Lyra stood in the shadows of the grand ballroom, her face hidden behind a silver mask, the dagger strapped tight to her thigh beneath layers of stolen silk. She had been dressed by the handmaidens of the court wrapped in deep scarlet and black lace like a rose veined with poison.

The vampires danced.

Not gracefully.

Hungrily.

Their partners weren't all willing.

Lyra's stomach churned.

"You don't have to pretend with me."

The voice was velvet dipped in ash.

She turned slowly and found Verenthas watching her from the marble arch, his own mask carved from bone and obsidian. His eyes gleamed behind it, faintly amused, faintly starved.

"You mean I don't have to pretend to enjoy this?" she said.

"I mean you don't have to pretend to be human."

The words struck harder than she expected.

"Is that what you think I am?"

"I think," he said, stepping closer, "you're something the world hasn't named yet. And we both know names have power."

His scent cold forests and lightning brushed against her skin.

Lyra tensed, refusing to back away.

"You brought me here to tempt me?"

"I brought you here to see," Verenthas replied. "Look around. These nobles laugh and drink and feed like they rule this world. But the truth is, they're nothing without war. Without chaos. Without blood."

He motioned to the chandeliers above their crystal fangs dripping crimson light.

"And now you threaten all of it."

Her lips parted. "Because I carry the Pact?"

"No," he whispered. "Because you carry her. Veyra."

The name made her fingers twitch.

"She's inside you," he said, circling her now. "And I don't just mean the dagger. Her power. Her memory. Her rage. It's in your veins. I see it in your eyes."

He was right.

She could feel Veyra stirring when she was angry.

When she was afraid.

When she bled.

Lyra turned away but his hand caught hers.

He brought her knuckles to his mouth and breathed across them like a promise.

"I know what it feels like," he murmured. "To be more than they want you to be. To be the weapon they fear... and the king they need."

Her heart hammered.

"I'm not a queen."

"You could be."

"I'm not like you."

"You will be."

His lips hovered near hers now, cold as moonlight.

The air between them pulsed with something dangerous-desire tangled in warning.

And then

:: Don't trust him. ::

The voice was Veyra's.

Inside her skull.

Lyra jerked away, breath caught in her throat.

Verenthas said nothing.

But she saw the flicker in his eyes.

He'd felt it too.

"Stay out of my head," Lyra whispered.

"I wasn't in your head," he said. "But she was."

Later, Lyra stalked the empty corridors of the court, dagger pressed against her palm like a grounding weight.

She needed answers.

If Verenthas was using her, she had to know.

But worse than that... if he wasn't using her, she had to know why he wanted her.

She found him in the throne hall alone, staring at the stained glass windows depicting vampire history in scenes of glory and blood.

"You didn't drink tonight," she said, her voice like broken velvet.

He didn't turn.

"I'm not hungry."

"That's a lie."

He smiled faintly. "I didn't say what."

She stepped closer. "Tell me what you want."

"You already know."

"I want to hear you say it."

Now he turned.

And his gaze was not cold.

It burned.

"I want you to choose me," he said. "Not because of the Pact. Not because of Veyra. But because we are the same."

"We're not."

"We could be."

She didn't speak.

She couldn't.

Because in that moment, she saw something break in him something sharp and ancient and desperate.

He wasn't seducing her.

He was offering her a throne.

A future.

A crown carved from rebellion.

And he wanted her at his side.

Not as a pawn.

But as an equal.

A queen.

That night, Lyra did not sleep.

She wandered the balcony of the tower, moonlight brushing her skin, the Pact warm against her thigh.

In the distance, the wolf fires of the Northern Ridge still burned.

Kaelen the wolf prince was close.

He would not wait forever.

He would come for her soon.

But so would the vampires.

So would Verenthas.

So would Veyra.

Three paths.

Three wars.

And at the center... her.

Lyra closed her eyes.

Let the wind carry her thoughts.

And whispered the one truth she knew:

"Power doesn't ask for permission.

It takes.

So I will take... everything."