Page 87 of Haunted Crowns
Eris shook her head. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but I do know this. He will not win. The Spirits are with us.”
Kaelioth nodded once, but his voice turned cold. “Avaristo has no faith. Only hunger. Power. Control.” His gaze darkened. “And that makes him dangerous. Faithless men kill without belief. Destroy without guilt. Scheme like consequence is a myth, because they believe in nothing but themselves.”
Eris frowned, the incense-thick air wrapping around her like a warning, but he was not finished. “That also makes him vulnerable. Because he doesn’t understand what you are, Eris. If he did, he would’ve killed you the moment he had the chance.”
Kareon stilled.
Eris’s pulse jumped. “What do you mean?”
Kaelioth’s eyes never left hers. “Avaristo sees kings and queens. Warlords and tacticians. He sees power as something youtake. But you—” He looked at her, unflinching. “You are something else.”
The words struck, heavy as prophecy, sending a chill curling down her spine.
Kaelioth’s voice was soft now, but unshakable. “You are transcendental, Eris. You are a leader of both worlds. A sacred force to the vampires. A spiritual guide to us. And Avaristo… He does not see it. Not yet.”
The words pulsed through her, pressing into places she had never dared to name. It wasn’t the first time she’d been told she was meant for more—the Lycans whispered it, the Firstbloods measured it—but hearing it now, spoken with certainty and something ancient, sent a chill through her blood.
She had never wanted prophecy. Never asked for fate. Yet it lived in her veins, in the Spirits that stirred at her presence, in the way both factions watched her—not as ruler, but as symbol.
It terrified her. But it thrilled her too.
If she was meant to bind these broken lands and rewrite history, then she wasn’t a pawn in Avaristo’s game. She was the storm that would break it.
Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting deep. Avaristo didn’t see it yet. But when he did, it would be too late.
Outside, the drums slowed, deep as thunder in her chest.
The storm had already begun.
The feast had passed in a blur of flame and flesh, of voices raised too high and wine poured too fast. Eris had moved through it, seen, acknowledged, and untouched.
Now the fire devoured the sky. It blazed before her like a living god, casting molten gold across the clearing. Sunlight shimmered through the smoke, turning the air into a firelit haze. The Den throbbed with drums like a second heartbeat, too loud, too deep. Then came laughter, howls, music, movement.
Eris stood frozen, but something ancient stirred within—a slow, molten heat curling low through her core. The rhythm pulsed not around her, but through her. Her breath stuttered, lashes fluttering as she raised a hand to her temple. The flames blurred, her knees weakening as the ground seemed to fall away. Then a scent rose, sharp and wild.
Kareon.
Her lips parted, her body leaning forward, as if pulled by an invisible thread. She was breathless, her pulse crashing in her throat. She blinked.
Across the fire, there he was. Golden eyes cut through the crowd—still, focused, watching her as if she were already his. A soft gasp escaped her lips as her skin flushed, and herpupils dilated. She could not breathe. Could not move. Thought splintered, sharp and useless.
He didn’t just move—he stalked, disappearing and reappearing, each time closer, like a flame flickering through bodies.
She swayed on her feet, mouth dry, fingers trembling at her sides.
Then he was gone. Vanished.
“Where…?” she whispered, the sound barely leaving her lips, just as a hand seized hers and yanked her forward. She gasped, and then she was moving, through bodies, through smoke, through heat. Her limbs obeyed without thought. The world blurred as the air thickened.
The tent flap slammed shut.
Silence. Heat. Him.
His scent hit her like a fever—raw, rich, and undeniable. It wrapped around her, dragging her under. She staggered, breath coming hard and fast, like she’d run for miles. Her knees gave. Her mouth parted, soundless, her back arching without thought.
Her scent had shifted. It had called to him, and moon above, it was driving him mad. The bond snapped like a divine whip across their souls.
He lost it.
