Alaric sat on his obsidian throne, the room around him cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the moon above, casting a pale glow over his figure. His power still coursed through the air, thick and palpable, as he pondered the events that had just transpired. Duncan Macallister was now locked away in the dungeons beneath the mansion, guarded by two vampire sentries. He was joined by two other werewolves, both of whom had been captured lurking near the mansion's grounds earlier.
Alaric's familiar, Finer, remained a silent sentinel behind the throne, its glowing red eyes watching with a calm yet predatory gaze. The weight of responsibility and power hung heavy on Alaric's shoulders, but he carried it with an ease that came from the bloodline he was still learning to control.
Gilbert entered the room quietly, his steps soft but purposeful as he approached Alaric. He bowed deeply before speaking, his eyes never quite meeting Alaric's.
