Chapter 11
The Moonlit Masquerade
The golden invitation arrived at Isla's doorstep in an envelope sealed with a wax insignia—a crest of intertwining roses and fangs. The parchment bore only a few words, elegantly scrawled in deep crimson ink:
"You are cordially invited to the Masquerade of the Eternal Night. Midnight. The Château de Lune. Dress accordingly."
A chill ran through Isla's spine as she turned the card over in her fingers. This was no ordinary gathering. The Château de Lune was infamous among the city's supernatural elite—a lavish estate where vampires held their most extravagant and secretive affairs. Attending was a death wish for any human, especially one entangled in forbidden love with a vampire lord.
And yet, Isla knew she had to go.
The invitation wasn't a coincidence. Someone wanted her there. And if she had any chance of uncovering the enemies moving against Lucian, she had to take the risk.
Dressed in a floor-length black gown that hugged her figure, Isla stepped out of the carriage that had arrived precisely at midnight. The fabric shimmered under the moonlight, its subtle silver embroidery resembling constellations stitched into the night itself. A delicate black lace mask covered the upper half of her face, leaving only her sharp green eyes visible.
She inhaled deeply, steeling herself before ascending the marble steps of the grand château. Torches lined the path, their flames casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. The doors swung open as if anticipating her arrival, revealing a breathtaking sight.
The grand ballroom was unlike anything Isla had ever seen.
A thousand candles flickered from massive crystal chandeliers, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. Silken drapes of deep red cascaded from the ceiling, and the floor beneath her feet gleamed like liquid obsidian. The air hummed with music, a hauntingly beautiful melody played by a live orchestra of pale, elegant musicians.
Vampires. Hundreds of them.
They moved like phantoms, their movements effortless, their laughter laced with an otherworldly charm. Men in sharply tailored suits and women in dazzling gowns of rich velvet and satin twirled across the ballroom, their masks only partially hiding the predatory glint in their eyes.
A hand touched Isla's shoulder.
She turned sharply, her heart lurching.
A man stood before her, dressed in a midnight blue suit embroidered with gold filigree. A silver mask covered the upper half of his face, leaving only his sculpted jaw and full lips exposed. His presence was magnetic—an intoxicating force that pulled her in, despite every warning in her mind.
"May I have this dance?" His voice was rich, smooth as aged wine.
Something in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.
She hesitated. Then, placing her hand in his, she allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor.
The moment he pulled her close, the world around them faded.
His grip was firm yet gentle, his movements flawlessly controlled. As they glided across the room, Isla became acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the way his fingers pressed lightly against the small of her back. His scent—dark spice and something dangerously addictive—filled her senses, making it difficult to think.
"You're not like the others," he murmured against her ear, his voice barely above a whisper.
A thrill shot through her, but she forced herself to remain composed. "And what makes you say that?"
His lips tilted into a smirk. "Your heart. I can hear it."
Isla stiffened. Vampires had impeccable senses. No matter how well she masked her fear, her pulse betrayed her.
Then, in a swift, fluid motion, her dance partner twirled her away from him before pulling her back with a force that made her gasp.
She collided against his chest, and in that instant, the mask slipped from his face.
Her breath hitched.
Lucian.
The realization sent a jolt through her body, her mind scrambling to make sense of the situation.
"You knew I would come," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.
Lucian's crimson eyes gleamed with amusement. "Of course."
Before she could react, he dipped her, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. "You walked straight into the lion's den, my love," he murmured. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
A million questions burned on her tongue, but before she could voice them, a scream shattered the air.
The music stopped abruptly. The once-graceful dancers recoiled in alarm, turning toward the grand entrance.
A werewolf stood in the doorway.
Towering and broad-shouldered, his golden eyes glowed like embers against his dark fur. Clad in torn noble attire, he looked out of place among the finely dressed vampires, but there was no mistaking the lethal power rolling off him in waves.
The room tensed.
Then, chaos erupted.
The werewolf lunged, his claws slashing through the nearest vampire. The unfortunate soul crumpled instantly, his elegant suit torn, his body collapsing into a pool of crimson.
The other vampires reacted in a blur, drawing blades laced with silver.
Lucian shoved Isla behind him. "Stay close."
The werewolf locked eyes with Lucian, his lips pulling back into a snarl. "Blood Prince." His voice was guttural, filled with hatred. "You thought you could hide from us forever?"
Lucian's expression darkened, but his stance remained poised, unreadable. "This is neither the time nor the place, mutt."
The werewolf's gaze flickered to Isla, and something in his expression shifted. Recognition.
"You," he growled. "The girl. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."
Isla's stomach twisted, but before she could demand answers, Lucian moved.
In a flash, he crossed the ballroom, his speed inhuman. His blade gleamed under the candlelight as he struck.
The werewolf dodged just in time, narrowly avoiding decapitation. He retaliated with a vicious swipe, claws aimed at Lucian's throat.
Lucian twisted, evading the blow with ease.
The two enemies clashed in a flurry of movement too fast for Isla's eyes to fully track. Tables overturned, crystal goblets shattered, and the once-elegant masquerade descended into carnage.
Isla knew she had to escape.
Heart pounding, she turned toward the exit, but a hand snatched her wrist.
She spun around, ready to fight—only to freeze.
The werewolf had her in his grasp. His grip was tight but not painful. His golden eyes bore into hers, filled with something she couldn't quite name.
"You don't belong to them," he said, his voice softer this time.
Then, with a final glance at Lucian, he shoved Isla backward—toward safety—before vanishing into the night.
The ballroom was left in ruins.
Lucian stood amidst the wreckage, his blade dripping with blood, his expression unreadable.
Slowly, he turned to Isla.
"You need to tell me everything," she whispered.
Lucian exhaled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "No, Isla. It's time I tell you everything."
The masquerade had been a trap. But the question remained—who was it set for?
And more importantly, why did the werewolf let her go?
The ballroom lay in ruins. Shattered glass crunched beneath Isla's heels as she took a cautious step forward. The music had long since ceased, replaced by the ragged breathing of the remaining guests. Some vampires were still poised for battle, their fangs bared, their eyes flickering between Lucian and the spot where the werewolf had vanished.
But the attack was over.
The werewolf had let Isla go.
Lucian stood in the center of the chaos, his blade still dripping crimson onto the polished floor. His suit, usually pristine, was disheveled, his white shirt torn at the collar, exposing the pale, sculpted skin beneath. Yet his expression was unreadable, his red eyes locked onto Isla with a mixture of frustration and something else—something deeper.
Isla swallowed hard. "Lucian…"
He let out a slow breath, wiping the blood from his blade with a silk handkerchief. "Come," he said quietly. "We need to talk."
He extended his hand, his fingers curling slightly in invitation.
Isla hesitated. A storm of emotions churned within her—fear, confusion, and something dangerously close to desire. She had come to the masquerade seeking information about Lucian's enemies, but instead, she had found herself at the center of something much darker.
She placed her hand in his.
The moment their fingers touched, a jolt of energy shot through her, igniting her skin. Lucian must have felt it too, because his grip tightened slightly before he turned, leading her out of the ruined ballroom.
No one stopped them.
The château's halls were eerily silent, the only sound their footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Tall candelabras flickered along the walls, casting their elongated shadows across the corridor.
Lucian led her into a private chamber, a lavish room adorned with deep red velvet and dark oak furniture. A roaring fireplace bathed the space in golden light.
The moment the door shut behind them, Lucian let go of her hand and turned to face her fully.
"I need you to tell me exactly why you came here tonight," he said, his voice low but firm.
Isla crossed her arms, not breaking his gaze. "I was invited."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "By whom?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I thought—" She hesitated, then exhaled. "I thought I might learn more about your enemies. About the threats against you."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Lucian's face. "And instead, you almost got yourself killed."
Isla bristled at the accusation. "I can take care of myself."
Lucian's lips curled into a humorless smirk. "You walked into a den of vampires, Isla. Do you have any idea how many of them would've gladly drained you dry the moment they realized what you were?"
A chill crawled up her spine. She had felt their eyes on her all night, their hunger barely concealed behind their masks.
Lucian took a slow step toward her. "And then, there was the werewolf."
Isla tensed. "He knew me. Or at least… he seemed to."
Lucian's crimson eyes darkened. "Did he touch you?"
She hesitated before nodding. "He grabbed my wrist. But then—" She paused, replaying the moment in her mind. "He let me go."
Lucian's expression shifted from irritation to something closer to concern. He reached forward, gently taking her wrist in his fingers, inspecting the spot where the werewolf had held her.
"Strange," he murmured.
"What?"
Lucian's gaze lifted to meet hers, and for the first time tonight, there was a flicker of vulnerability behind his cold, regal exterior.
"There are very few werewolves who would release a human in a room full of vampires," he said. "Unless he had a reason."
A shiver ran through Isla. "You think he wanted something from me?"
"I think," Lucian said carefully, "that you might be more important to this war than either of us realized."
His words settled over her like a heavy weight.
For weeks, Isla had been struggling to understand her place in this world of vampires and werewolves, of ancient feuds and forbidden love. She had believed she was simply an outsider caught in the storm.
But now…
Now, she wasn't so sure.
Lucian's fingers tightened around hers. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said, his voice softer this time. "But you need to trust me, Isla. No more secrets. No more reckless decisions."
Her heart pounded.
Trust.
Could she truly trust him?
Could she trust herself around him?
Before she could answer, Lucian exhaled and released her hand. He turned toward the fireplace, staring into the flames as if lost in thought.
"This war is far from over," he murmured. "And I fear you may be at the center of it."
Isla swallowed hard, her mind spinning.
The masquerade had been a game of masks, deception, and hidden agendas. But now, as she stood in the firelit chamber with Lucian, one truth became undeniable.
The real danger had only just begun.