Page 53 of Haunted Crowns
Theon’s muscles coiled, tension rolling off him in waves. His jaw tightened as he nodded. A soldier ready for orders.
Adrian adjusted his cuffs with deliberate precision. His silence wasn’t hesitation. It was agreement.
Stephan didn’t hesitate. He reached for the Royal Comm Link, a sleek, encrypted device worn only by the Dragov inner circle, linked to the secured war network. His thumb pressed against the biometric scanner. The interface flickered to life, two names blinking on screen.
King Yori Dragov. His uncle.
King Raphael Dragov. His father.
The time for defense was over. It was time to strike back. He activated the link. When his voice came, it was lethal. Uncompromising.
“We need to meet. Now.”
The moment the transmission locked in, he exhaled, his grip tightening around the device.Hang on, Eris.His fingers curled tighter.I’m bringing you home.
Miles away, beneath stone and secrecy, war stirred.
The underground war room pulsed with tension. Shadows crawled across the stone walls, cast by low-hanging lanterns. Kareon and his pack stood around the battle map, its surface carved with years of conflict. Crimson markers littered the table: a brutal ledger of Obsidian raids, every one a wound. But today, the enemy had made a mistake.
Kareon traced a path with a calloused finger. “They’re reinforcing the eastern sector, likely sweeping the safe routes. If we—” He stopped. Pressure slid down his spine, subtle and wrong. The air shifted, tinged with a scent that didn’t belong.
His pulse kicked. A sharp buzz jolted against his wrist—the comm, Lycan-forged, encrypted, invisible to vampires. Kareon pressed two fingers to the band. “Farrick?”
The line crackled. Farrick’s voice came through tight, edged with panic. “Kareon, it’s about Eris.” The world stilled. Cold fire spread through his chest. “The Obsidian Guard took her.”
The weight of it struck hard, sharp as a rib-crack. He forced a breath through clenched teeth, wrestling the fury down.
“They stormed the Summit Hall,” Farrick continued. “Public. In front of everyone. Conspiracy charges.”
Claws pressed into Kareon’s palms.
Eris. In their hands.
CRACK.
The table beneath his hand splintered. Varis and Taric shared a glance.
“K?” Varis asked, his voice wary.
Kareon’s golden eyes lifted. “They took her.”
A beat passed, and then the rage came. It rolled through the room, primal and sharp.
Taric’s fists clenched.
“Are you sure?” Varis asked.
“Farrick saw it.”
“Then it’s a damn declaration,” Taric growled.
The Obsidian Guard hunted Lycans, crushed dissent—but a Dragov? This was war. Kareon’s jaw locked, but his mind moved faster than his fury. He already knew where they’d taken her: the Obsidian Citadel, Avaristo’s seat of power.
Kareon exhaled, controlled. Rushing in would be suicide, but he’d broken fortresses before. His claws retracted. Avaristo thought he had the upper hand. He was wrong.
“Farrick. Updates every minute.” He barked the command.
“Understood.”
