Aria Wynter's POV
Elijah's penthouse did not meet my expectations.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a place that was equal parts sumptuous and primeval. Ground-to-ceiling windows surrounded the city's skyline, with the lights of Ashwood sprawling below on a gloomy night. The furniture was shiny and modern, with dark-colored leather, strong angles, and polished steel. However, there were hints of something older: a massive stone fireplace delicately etched with runes, and an antique sword mounted on the wall.
Elijah stood near the window, his posture comfortable but dominant. The city lights shone off his sharp functions, making him appear like something out of a dream. He grew into himself as I stepped inside, his black eyes examining me.
"You don't waste time, do you?" I said, throwing off my jacket and ignoring the uneasy feeling in my stomach.
"Time isn't something we have a lot of," he replied, referring to a long table in the center of the room. On it were scattered books, scrolls, and maps, all marked with symbols that made my head hurt just looking at them.
"is that this the component where you explain my future?" I asked while crossing my arms.
Elijah smirked, his stare unwavering. "something like that."
He indicated for me to take a seat, and against my instincts to remain standing, I unwillingly accepted a chair. Elijah sat across from me, his demeanor changing to something more serious.
"The Lunar Bloodline," he explained, his voice low and measured, "is more than just a legacy. It's an obligation. For centuries, your forefathers served as a link between humans and the supernatural world. "They saved the balance."
"And look how well that worked out," I said, unable to keep the venom from my voice.
His jaw stiffened. "They did not cause the stability to fail. It failed because others attempted to manage what they didn't recognize. Victor and the rogues—they regard power as a weapon, not a responsibility."
"And what about you?" I requested, leaning forward. "You communicate about duty, yet you are a monarch. Isn't strength precisely what you want?"
Elijah's eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, I thought I'd crossed a line. But in place of fury, I noticed something else: conviction.
"My strength exists to guard my people," he was saying. "And now, it exists to guard you."
The load of his words weighed heavily in the air, and I couldn't look away from him. His presence became compelling and obvious, which worried me.
Before I could react, he rose and walked to the fire, removing a scroll from the mantle. He unrolled it slowly, exposing a faded image of a crescent moon encircled by flames.
"This is the prophecy related to your bloodline," he added, placing it on the table. "It speaks of an heir who will both unite the factions or wreck them."
"Unite or break," I whispered, staring at the picture. "No pressure, right?"
Elijah's lips quirked into a tiny smile, but his eyes remained serious. "The choice may be yours. However, you must recognize the gravity of the situation. The factions are already breaking. If we do not act, the consequences could be disastrous—not only for us, but for humanity as a whole."
The weight of his words fell on my shoulders, but before I could answer, a piercing knock echoed throughout the penthouse. Elijah's expression tightened as he headed toward the door, his movements unnerving.
Caleb adjusted into a standing position as he opened it, his sneer firmly fixed.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Caleb said as he stepped inside without looking for an invitation.
"You constantly are," Elijah stated bluntly, closing the door behind him.
Caleb ignored him and turned his focus to me. "We need to speak," he continued, his tone unusually harsh.
"I'm inside the center of something," I replied, nodding toward the table.
"This could't wait," Caleb insisted. He looked at Elijah, his smirk returning. "Except you have to keep playing king and subject. In which case, I'll leave you two to it.
"Elijah," I said, decreasing my worry. "I'll be again."
His jaw tensed, but he nodded. "Don't take too lengthy."
Caleb guided me out of the penthouse and into the carrier elevator. When the doors closed, the air around us altered.
"where are we going?" I asked, crossing my hands.
"to satisfy individuals who can provide you with solutions," according to Caleb.
The elevator fell silently, the dread among us apparent. When the doors opened, I found myself in an underground parking space. Caleb led me to an elegant black automobile, and after a brief hesitation, I hopped in.
The drive got brief, but the silence was long. Caleb's hold on the guide wheel tightened, his gaze fixated on the roadway.
"Why the secrecy?" I was going to ask eventually.
"Because Elijah wouldn't approve," Caleb said. "And due to the fact you want to look multiple aspect of this war."
We arrived in a warehouse identical to where my change had begun. However, this one was not deserted. The hum of voices and the faint shine of light filtered through the cracks in the doorways.
The internal biosphere becomes powered by electricity. Women and men moved deliberately, their eyes alert and their movements accurate. They were werewolves, but unlike Elijah's pack, they were rogues—rebels.
Caleb guided me to a raised platform in the center of the room. A map of Ashwood lay spread across a table, dotted with pins and notes.
"This," Caleb said, indicating toward the institution, "is the actual combat. These people are not simply following orders. "They are fighting for trade."
"exchange?" I inquired, suspicious. "Or power?"
Caleb smirked. "It depends on who you ask." But for us, it's about survival. Aria, traditional methods are no longer effective. Elijah adheres to traditions that are stifling us. Victor exploits our weaknesses. "If we do not adapt, we will die."
The fervor in his voice became evident, yet it simply added to my perplexity.
"And what about me?" I asked. "where do I fit into all of this?"
Caleb drew forward, his expression softening. "You are the key, Aria. Whether you like it or not, your bloodline gives you a voice that cannot be ignored. "You could trade everything."
The weight of his words crushed against my chest, but before I could react, footsteps echoed across the room.
Julian Saint Claire.
The vampire lord moved with ease, immediately commanding the room. His dark match had become perfect, and his piercing glance swept over the rebels with slight pleasure.
"Such passion," Julian said, his voice soft and velvety. "however ardour by myself gained't win a conflict."
"Julian," Caleb remarked, his voice tinged with annoyance. "What are you doing here?"
"Keeping an eye on the future," Julian replied, his gaze resting on me. "And making sure that our expensive Aria doesn't fall into the wrong fingers."
The anxiousness inside the room became oppressive, but Julian's presence exuded an unusual sense of calm—calculated and perilous.
"you watched you can manipulate me?" I inquired, my voice firm despite the fury within me.
Julian twisted his lips into a slight smile. "manage? No, guide? perhaps."
His words sent a shudder down my spine, but I kept his eyes. I wasn't going to be a pawn in whatever sport he ended up doing.
Caleb's reported war expanded beyond factions and politics. It became private, and I was in the midst of it.
And if they expected me to play by their rules, they were in for a surprise.