The red thorn

Chapter eight

And why should I trust a stranger hiding in the shadows?" Elora demanded, tightening her grip on the candleholder. "You look and act like the monster who killed my mother."

Silas raised a gloved hand, his expression cooling into an eerie, calculating calm. "Because I share your curse. I am a descendant of his line—just like you. But while you were brewing tea and drying lavender in a sleepy valley, I was surviving in his court."

He took a slow step into the dim ring of candlelight. "The Coven wants to use you as an executioner’s axe. Dracula wants to burn you to ash. Neither group gives a damn if you survive the process. The Binding Ritual tomorrow isn't meant to empower you; it's designed to shackle your free will so Morwen can puppet your bloodline's magic."

Elora’s chest heaved. Her minds raced back to Morwen’s cold, transactional gaze at the pool. *Spoken like true vampire stock.* The High Priestess hadn't viewed her as a human, or even a survivor—she was a variable to be controlled.

"If the ritual will kill me, why tell me?" Elora asked, her voice steadying. "What do you gain?"

"Chaos," Silas whispered, a sharp, white tooth catching the light as he smiled. "Dracula’s rule is absolute because his bloodline remains terrified and divided. A living, free thorn in his side forces his hand. It creates an opening for those of us who want him off the throne."

He stepped backward, his silhouette beginning to blur into the darkness of the cell walls once more.

"When the ritual begins at dawn, Morwen will pour dragon's blood into the obsidian bowl," Silas said, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Do not drink it. Force your blood to burn first, or you will become the very thing you hate: a mindless slave."

The shadows pooled back into the corners, leaving the cell dead silent once more.

Elora stood alone in the dim light, staring at the solid iron door. The heat in her veins thrummed louder now, pulsing in rhythm with the ticking seconds toward dawn. She lowered the candleholder, her knuckles white, and made her choice.

She wouldn't be Dracula's prey. And she certainly wouldn't be the Coven's weapon.