Cassian, the Eternal King, the Shadow That Walks, stepped through the swirling portal, the warriors’ blood still warm on his tongue, a metallic tang that offered fleeting satiation but no true relief from the ancient hunger gnawing at his immortal bones. The portal snapped shut behind him with a sound like tearing silk, leaving him in the grand vestibule of the Dark Moon’s Citadel. Harley and the two kneeling vampires rose only when he permitted it, a casual flick of his wrist that belied the iron control he wielded over his domain.
The citadel was a monument to vampiric majesty, carved deep into the roots of the Carpathian Mountains, where the earth’s pulse beat slow and eternal. Walls of black marble rose like the ribs of some colossal beast, veined with crimson crystal that pulsed in r
