Ashes of the Covenant

Three days after the Hollow Pact council met, the world began to shift again.

Rebellions spread like wildfire.

Some in the north claimed the blood eclipse had cursed their lands; crops withered under red skies, and livestock were born eyeless and twisted. Superstition turned into fury. Villagers dragged vampires from their havens and impaled them on silver stakes.

In the west, feral wolves defected from the Pact entirely, claiming Selene's bloodline had become corrupted by her alliance with Varek. They called her the Moonbreaker, a traitor to the old laws. Packs once loyal to Kael now howled her name in hatred.

The Pact fractured.

And somewhere deep beneath the ruined cathedral of Blackspire, the cocoon stirred again

Inside Gildren's Hold, Selene stood before the war table, a scroll clenched in her fist.

"This makes four cities," she hissed. "Four that have turned on us in less than a week."

Varek leaned against the table beside her, arms crossed. He wore a dark leather coat now, reinforced with bone and steel, cut low enough to show the scars across his chest—scars from sealing the Rift.

"Alaric's doing," he said. "He's poisoning them. Whispering into their fears."

Selene nodded. "And we can't stop it fast enough."

Lira Mournroot entered, flanked by two green-eyed druids. Her face was lined with age, but her eyes burned with quiet power.

"I've summoned someone," she said without preamble. "Someone who might help."

Varek's brow arched. "Who?"

The doors opened behind her—and a vampire woman walked through.

Tall. Voluptuous. Midnight hair cascading down her back. Her gown was stitched from black silk and silver thread, cut scandalously low. Her eyes—one red, one blue—glimmered with ancient knowledge.

Selene's eyes narrowed. "Who is this?"

The woman smiled.

"My name is Vaelira."

Varek stiffened.

He knew the name.

Vaelira the Veiled—once a lover of Alaric's. A master seductress, a shadowmancer, and a former queen of the Lost Court.

Vaelira walked forward, circling the table like a panther.

"I've come to help you kill my ex," she said with a soft laugh. "He's gotten a bit… dramatic, even for a god-chaser."

Selene watched her with cold suspicion. "Why now?"

"Because he's trying to unbind a second god," Vaelira said, smoothing her gloves. "And this one isn't interested in being sealed again. She's a queen. And she likes to consume her toys."

Varek stepped forward. "You know where the next ritual will be held?"

Vaelira turned to him, eyes gleaming.

"I do. But I require… payment."

Selene's voice dropped to a growl. "If you touch him—"

Vaelira grinned. "Relax, wolf-girl. I only flirt when I'm bored. Which, granted, is often."

Selene wasn't amused.

That night, the leaders of the rebellion met in the ruins of Valen Hollow, a forgotten temple at the edge of the world.

Vaelira led Varek and Selene through winding tunnels lit by violet flame.

"This place is sacred to the Red Vein now," she said softly. "But once, it belonged to the Whispering Moon. An order that knew how to kill gods."

"Let's hope they left instructions," Varek muttered.

They emerged into a vast chamber—hundreds of feet wide. At its center: a stone platform etched in blood runes. Standing on it were six warlords—two vampires, three wolves, and a Fae in silver armor.

Traitors to the Pact.

And Alaric's new allies.

Selene stepped forward first, glaive in hand.

"You're aiding a madman," she said coldly. "You saw what the last god did. Do you want the world devoured?"

One of the werewolves stepped down—Grath of the Broken Spine. Massive. Scarred. His yellow eyes gleamed with malice.

"You took a vampire to your bed and defiled our bloodline. You speak of devouring? You've already fed him our future."

Selene's knuckles went white on her glaive.

Before she could move, Varek stepped beside her.

His voice was low.

"I didn't take her," he said. "She chose me. Over fear. Over bloodlines. Over small men like you."

Grath snarled and lunged.

Varek met him head-on.

Varek and Grath collided in a blur of claws and fists. Grath's strength was monstrous—enhanced by blood rituals. But Varek was faster. Smarter. His hybrid blood sang in his veins.

Grath slammed Varek into a stone pillar.

Varek drove a dagger into his thigh and twisted.

Elsewhere, Selene was dancing through enemy blades, her glaive spinning in a cyclone of silver. She dropped one vampire with a sweep to the throat, then ducked under a Fae blade and kicked the wielder into the abyss.

Vaelira watched from the shadows—until a spell slammed into her shoulder.

She staggered, grinned, then vanished in a swirl of shadow. She reappeared behind her attacker, whispering a word that turned his blood to smoke.

"Don't ever doubt me," she purred.

Back in the center, Varek and Grath were still fighting.

Grath bit into Varek's shoulder.

Varek roared—and let the beast out.

His claws lengthened, his eyes went feral red, and his body twisted into the true form of a hybrid ascendant.

Half-wolf. Half-vampire. All death.

He tore Grath's throat out in a single swipe.

Silence fell.

The other warlords fled.

Vaelira laughed softly. "Now that's an alpha."

Selene walked over and wrapped her arms around Varek's monstrous form. "Easy, love. I'm here. Come back."

He trembled—and shifted back, panting.

Covered in blood. But victorious.

Later, by the temple's edge, Vaelira approached them again.

"You'll need allies stronger than rebels and ghosts," she said. "The queen Alaric seeks to awaken… she isn't like the first."

"What is she?" Varek asked.

Vaelira's voice dropped.

"She is Eriseth. The Mother of Malice. Once the queen of vampire gods. The first to drink blood, the first to kill her own kind. If she wakes—" She trailed off. "There won't be a world left to save."

Selene met her gaze. "Then tell us where to stop it."

Vaelira hesitated. Then reached into her cloak.

She handed Varek a map. It glowed faintly with violet ink.

"Here," she said. "But know this—if you go there, there's no turning back."

Varek took the map.

"We never intended to."

That night, in a cold cave beneath a broken moon, Varek and Selene curled into one another.

They didn't speak at first.

Just kissed.

Soft. Then harder.

Her mouth moved to his neck, his chest, his belly. Her fingers traced each scar like they were runes of fate. He moaned her name as she took him into her mouth, slow and reverent.

Then he flipped her, his mouth between her thighs, devouring her until she screamed into the stone.

When they finally joined, it was a claiming. A vow. A promise.

They moved together like war and worship—until they came together, shuddering, crying, gasping.

And afterward, she whispered the words she'd never dared before.

"I love you."

Varek held her close.

"I know."

Far away, in a ruined temple soaked in blood, Alaric stood before the pulsing cocoon again.

It had begun to whisper.

In a voice older than time.

And hungrier than hell.