Prologue Part 2.1
1172 Words
•|• Author's POV •|•
The storm had not touched Velmora in three days.
That alone was enough to make the elders nervous.
Rain usually came to the mountains of the Pack-Coven like a blessing from the Moon Mother herself—cold mist curling through the black pines, thunder rolling over the cliffs where vampires and lycans lived together under one rule. But now the skies remained bruised and still, heavy clouds lingering without release.
The land was holding its breath.
And so was its ruler.
Valerian Kaelith Draven stood at the highest balcony of Castle Noctryss with one hand wrapped around the stone railing hard enough to crack it. The cold mountain wind whipped through his black hair, jet black strands glinting beneath the moonlight like sharpened blades. His crimson eyes burned brighter than normal tonight.
Dangerously brighter.
Behind him, the massive doors of the throne hall creaked open.
“My lord,” one of the servants whispered carefully.
Valerian did not turn.
“What?”
The servant swallowed audibly. “The elders request your presence at the high table.”
A growl rumbled low in Valerian’s chest.
Not fully vampire.
Not fully lycan.
Something worse.
The servant paled instantly.
For centuries people had tried to define what Valerian was. Monster. Curse. Abomination. Chosen One. None of it mattered. The only truth was that he ruled Velmora with bloodied hands and terrifying precision.
The first Hybrid King.
The man who united vampires and lycans after five hundred years of slaughter.
The man even death seemed afraid of.
Valerian finally turned.
His towering frame moved with unnatural grace as shadows curled around his boots. He wore all black as always—a fitted military coat stitched with silver runes, dark trousers, heavy boots stained with old blood. A silver dagger rested against his thigh.
His eyes locked on the servant.
The poor male nearly collapsed.
“They request?” Valerian asked softly.
“Yes… my lord.”
Silence.
Then Valerian brushed past him like a coming storm.
“Tell them,” he said coldly, “that if they interrupt me again tonight, I will feed them to the southern wolves.”
The servant bowed so fast he almost hit the floor.
“Yes, my lord.”
Valerian descended the stone corridor with sharp measured steps, but the fury inside him only worsened.
All week he had been on edge.
Everything irritated him.
The elders spoke too much.
The council breathed too loudly.
Even his younger brother had nearly lost a hand yesterday after interrupting him during training.
Something was wrong.
He could feel it beneath his skin.
Like claws trying to tear free from his bones.
The doors to the high chamber opened.
Instant silence swallowed the room.
The High Table sat in a crescent beneath burning blue flames. Vampires on one side. Lycans on the other. An uneasy peace held together solely because Valerian demanded it.
The elders straightened immediately.
Khaeloer Vexmor Draven lounged carelessly near the end of the table, curly black tied back while he lazily spun a dagger between his fingers. Unlike Valerian, Khaeloer smiled often.
Usually right before violence.
“Brother,” Khaeloer greeted lightly. “You look murderous tonight.”
Valerian’s stare sharpened.
“Careful.”
Khaeloer raised both hands. “See? This is exactly what I mean.”
One elder cleared his throat nervously. “My king, we merely wished to discuss the northern trade routes—”
“I do not care.”
The elder froze.
Valerian moved toward the throne at the center of the room and sat heavily. Dark power rolled from him instantly, pressing against every soul present.
The vampire elder spoke again. “There have been sightings near the border—”
“Then kill them.”
“They may be rogues.”
“Then kill them slower.”
Another tense silence followed.
Khaeloer snorted softly.
Valerian’s eyes snapped toward him.
“You find something amusing?”
“Honestly?” Khaeloer leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been unbearable for days.”
Several elders looked horrified.
No one spoke to Valerian that way.
Well no one except Khaeloer.
Valerian’s jaw clenched.
“You test my patience.”
“And you’ve lost your mind.”
The air in the chamber thickened instantly.
Several flames flickered violently as Valerian’s Hybrid aura exploded through the room. Red energy mixed with silver moonlight around his body—a terrifying fusion of vampire darkness and lycan savagery.
The elders immediately bowed their heads.
Even Khaeloer stopped smiling.
Valerian rose slowly from the throne.
“Enough.”
The single word shook the room.
Before the confrontation could worsen, another voice cut through the tension.
“You’re all idiots.”
Everyone turned.
Xandros Nightbane entered like he owned the castle.
Tall and lean with obsidian hair and pale brwon eyes, the ancient vampire looked more scholar than warrior. But appearances meant nothing. Xandros was the deadliest strategist Velmora possessed.
The brain behind the throne.
Valerian trusted him more than almost anyone alive.
Xandros ignored the frightened elders and walked straight toward the king.
“You’re all poking a starving beast,” he muttered.
Khaeloer crossed his arms. “Then explain why our glorious ruler is acting rabid.”
Xandros studied Valerian carefully.
Then realization flickered in his eyes.
“Oh.”
Valerian narrowed his gaze. “Oh?”
A slow smirk appeared on Xandros’ face.
“Well,” he drawled. “That explains everything.”
“I suggest you speak clearly before I remove your tongue.”
Xandros only looked amused.
Then he turned toward one of the guards.
“Fetch Calisto Duskbane.”
Valerian frowned immediately.
Calisto was the Lycan second-in-command of Velmora. Ruthless. Ancient. Respected.
If Xandros called for him, this was serious.
Minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
Calisto entered wearing dark leather armor lined with wolf fur. His bronze skin gleamed beneath torchlight while silver tattoos crawled up his throat like moonlit vines. Unlike vampires, lycans carried warmth in their presence.
Calisto carried danger.
His amber eyes settled on Valerian.
Then he inhaled slowly.
A grin spread across his face.
“Well,” he said. “That scent is impossible to miss.”
Valerian stiffened.
“What scent?”
Calisto exchanged a glance with Xandros.
Then the Lycan leaned against the table casually.
“Your mate.”
The room fell dead silent.
Valerian stared at him.
For the first time in centuries…
The king looked shocked.
“That’s impossible.”
“It isn’t.”
“I would know.”
Calisto barked a laugh. “Clearly not.”
Valerian’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Choose your next words carefully.”
But Calisto remained calm.
“Your instincts are tearing you apart because your mate is close enough for the bond to awaken.”
The words settled like stones in the room.
Mate.
The one soul created to match another.
Rare among vampires.
Sacred among lycans.
Impossible for Hybrids.
At least that was what everyone believed.
Until proven other wise.
- Writer
