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Damian's hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as he pushed the car's speed to its limits. The tires screeched along the winding road, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. The wind whipped through the cracked window, whistling ominously, as the tension inside the vehicle grew thicker by the second. Catherine glanced over at Lamia, who was still recovering from the earlier power blast, his mind visibly clouded.
"You do realize the gravity of the situation, don't you?" Catherine said, her voice sharp as a blade. "The Black Dragons are after us now. They've likely already realized your potential, Lamia. You're in more danger than ever."
Lamia, staring out the window, didn't respond at first. His usually calm expression was shattered by a storm of thoughts, fear mixing with regret. If he hadn't gone ahead with his plan... If things had gone differently, maybe they wouldn't be on the run now. The Black Dragons would never have had such a strong reason to hunt him.
"Chill, guys." Mina's voice cut through the tension, oddly calm. "Joakim's dead. Damian's blast took care of that. Who's gonna tell the Black Dragons about us? We should be safe. For now."
But Damian, his eyes locked on the road ahead, wasn't convinced. His jaw clenched as thoughts raced through his mind. No one was safe, especially not Lamia. He had to get him far away—someplace even the Black Dragons couldn't find.
"Lamia," Damian spoke, breaking the silence. His voice was firm but laced with urgency. "I'm taking you somewhere no one can locate you. It's the only way to keep you safe."
But Lamia turned toward him, his eyes clouded with something that looked like grief. "Damian... I need to see my parents. Can you stop at Silverhill?" He swallowed hard. "It's been so long. I need to tell them about Lucy. They deserve to know."
Damian tightened his grip on the wheel before abruptly pulling the car to a halt. He turned to face Lamia, eyes blazing. "That's not a good idea. Do you understand? Your place—your parents' home—it's the first place they'll look for you. We can't risk that. They could be in danger because of this."
Lamia shook his head, his voice trembling. "No, Damian. If I'm going to disappear, they have a right to know. They mean everything to me. It'll break them if I just vanish without a word. I can't be selfish like that."
Mina and Catherine exchanged glances in the backseat, both shrugging helplessly. Damian ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Damn it. There was no convincing Lamia when he had that look in his eyes. Reluctantly, he sighed and shifted the car back into gear, steering toward the towering gates of Silverhill.
As they approached, the massive estate loomed before them. The high-rise mansion sprawled across acres of land, its glimmering windows reflecting the late afternoon sun. Skyscrapers stretched up into the sky, casting long shadows over the path leading to the Alexandria mansion. It was breathtaking—monumental in its grandeur, every inch of it screaming wealth and power.
The car halted at the golden gates, and a gateman in his late fifties hurried out, wiping his hands on his uniform. The moment his eyes landed on Lamia, he gasped, his face lighting up in recognition.
"Oh my God... Master Lamia! Miss has been so worried about you!" His voice trembled with emotion, but there was something off—a sadness lurking behind his words.
Lamia frowned, dread creeping up his spine. His stomach twisted. "Where are my parents? I need to speak with them."
The gateman's face fell. He lowered his head, avoiding Lamia's gaze. "I'm... I'm so sorry, young master."
The weight of his words sank into Lamia like a stone. His hands trembled. No. It couldn't be. "What happened?" His voice cracked as panic spread through his body.
Damian, sensing the tension, stepped out of the car and approached. "We need to talk inside," he said firmly, eyeing the mansion. "This is no place for this."
The gateman hesitated, but with a nod from Lamia, he unlocked the gate, allowing them to pass through.
As they entered, Catherine gasped, staring in awe at the estate. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before—the grandeur, the opulence—it was far beyond anything even the Lockwoods could dream of. It made sense why the Lockwoods had wanted their riches. The Alexandria family was on another level entirely.
Lamia rushed through the grand halls, his feet carrying him straight toward his mother's room. It couldn't be true. He didn't want to believe it. His heart raced, beating violently in his chest as he frantically searched for something—anything—that could explain what was happening.
His hands, now shaking, brushed against the edge of a strange box on a shelf. When he turned it, the wall behind him creaked and slowly began to open, revealing a hidden passage. His breath caught in his throat. What was this?
Stepping inside, Lamia's eyes widened in shock. Before him stood a portrait—a large, regal painting of a man with midnight blue eyes and long red hair. The resemblance was unmistakable. His knees buckled beneath him as he realized what he was seeing.
"King... Charles MacLeod," he whispered, staring at the name etched beneath the portrait. His heart shattered. The man in the painting—his father—looked exactly like him. The eyes, the smile... Why hadn't anyone told him? Why?
Tears streamed down his face as he knelt in front of the portrait, overcome with emotion. His father—his real father—was a king. And he had never known.
His hands wandered further, uncovering more portraits—his grandfather, his great-grandmother. Their faces were twisted with cruelty, the evil practically seeping through the paint. He recoiled as he saw images of the atrocities they had committed—murders, dark rituals, horrors beyond his comprehension. This... this is the family I come from?
Then, he saw it. A small, leather-bound diary tucked away in a corner. His mother's diary. Lamia opened it with trembling hands and began to read:
"My life has been nothing but misery. I was taken from my home, enslaved by the Alexandrias, used in ways that haunt me still... But I met Charles, and for the first time, I knew love. We had a son together, my sweet Lamia, who looks so much like him... but fate took him from me. I had to protect Lamia, erase his memories of his father, but my heart will always belong to Charles... not even death can keep us apart..."
Tears fell freely from Lamia's eyes, his heart breaking at the words. His mother... she had suffered so much. And now, he had to carry the weight of her past, of his legacy.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from outside, snapping him out of his thoughts. He whirled around, only to see Michael standing in the doorway, smirking.
"Michael? How did you find me?" Lamia's voice trembled with fear.
Michael chuckled, stepping further into the room, his eyes darkening. "Oh, don't worry about that. We're going to have plenty of fun, you and I."
Panic gripped Lamia's chest. He stumbled back, shouting for Damian and Catherine. "Damian! Catherine! Help!"
But Michael's grin widened. "Don't bother. Your mother's dead. Blown to pieces in a car bomb. Damian and Catherine are occupied dealing with the aftermath."
Lamia's blood ran cold. "No... no, you're lying!" His voice cracked as he stumbled back, eyes wide with disbelief.
Michael's eyes gleamed. "Your father? He was killed by Peter Lockwood at the academy. Your sister? Her head is on display at the Black Dragons' sanctuary. And now..." He stepped closer, his voice a low whisper. "Now it's your turn."
Before Lamia could react, he grabbed a vase from the table and hurled it at Michael's head. Glass shattered as Michael stumbled back, blood dripping from his scalp. But the shock only fueled Michael's rage.
"You little—" Michael growled, grabbing a large mirror from the wall and rushing after Lamia.
Lamia ran, his boots clattering against the marble floor, but the slick surface made him stumble. As he struggled to get up, Michael closed in, smashing the mirror over Lamia's head with a sickening crack. Blood poured from the wound as Lamia collapsed, his vision fading.
The last thing he saw was Michael standing over him, grinning like a predator. Then, darkness.