Night fell sharp and cold over the mountains of the East. The moon bled crimson as though the heavens themselves had been cut open, its light falling upon the broken spires of the Crimson Court, the vampires’ ancient fortress and seat of power.
Inside, the air shimmered with power and hunger. Candles burned black with witchfire, dripping molten wax onto a marble floor veined with veins of silver.
Queen Amara sat upon her throne of bone and obsidian, her beauty carved sharp as a blade. Her eyes, once a soft violet, now burned scarlet, the mark of her deepening bond to the darker magic that pulsed through the ley lines.
A dozen vampires knelt before her, their heads bowed, awaiting her command.
“Too long,” she murmured, her voice silk over steel. “Too long we’ve hidden in the shadows whi
