The office felt colder than usual when Arina stepped inside. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting dusk spill across the desk where Rylan sat, posture rigid, carved from restrained disapproval. Shadows stretched long across the floor, slicing the room into fragments of light and dark. Lysara stood by the window, arms crossed, her silhouette sharp against the fading glow.
Arina closed the door quietly behind her. The sound was soft, but it felt loud in the suffocating stillness. She didn’t bother pretending calm; exhaustion dripped from her movements, her hair still tousled, the faint trace of perfume and alcohol clinging to her clothes.
“Sit,” Rylan said in that clipped tone that demanded obedience without needing to raise a voice.
Arina didn’t sit. Her chin lifted. “If this is about the calls, I already know what you’re going to say.”
Rylan leaned forward, fingers interlacing on the desk, eyes fixed on her with the weight of centuries behind them. “Then maybe you’ll explain how disappearing for an entire night, ignoring every call, and returning reeking of alcohol somehow helped the wolves ‘trust’ you.”
Arina exhaled through her nose, lifting a shoulder in a careless half-shrug. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say… wolves respect chaos more than control. They test how much blood you’ll spill before you bite back. And sometimes, trust starts where reason ends.”
Lysara turned sharply from the window. “You’re excusing recklessness as diplomacy?”
Arina met her gaze with that dry, tired smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You wanted me to connect with them. I did.”
Rylan’s voice darkened, low and dangerous. “You did nothing if it costs this coven its dignity. You represent us, Arina. And I will not have our coven shown in such a soft, mortal light.”
Something in Arina’s eyes flickered — disbelief, then something heavier, something brittle. Slowly, she laughed. Quietly at first, then fuller, hollow, with no real amusement behind it. “There it is,” she murmured. “I was waiting for it.”
Rylan’s brow furrowed. “Waiting for what?”
“For you to remind me who I’m supposed to be,” she said, voice threading between irony and fatigue. “You talk about dignity and power, Rylan, but maybe wolves saw something you refuse to — that being feared isn’t the same as being respected. And that sometimes, showing a little humanity doesn’t make us weak. It makes us real.”
Lysara stepped forward. “You’re forgetting who you are.”
Arina’s gaze lifted, pale and distant, her smirk fading into something brittle. “Maybe I’m remembering.”
The silence after that was thick — the kind that could snap if someone even breathed too loudly. Shadows seemed to press closer, the air heavy with unspoken truths.
Rylan finally leaned back, exhaling, his expression unreadable. “You’re on thin ice, Arina. Don’t mistake their tolerance for trust. Wolves bite the hand they play with.”
“And vampires,” she replied with a faint, bitter curve of her lips, “bleed the ones who dare to care.”
She turned toward the door, but before leaving, she paused just long enough to glance back. Her voice was softer now, almost fragile, but laced with something sharp beneath. “Don’t worry. I already expect the worst from me too.”
Something fractured inside her then, dragging her down through the restraint and sorrow. It began in her chest, that cold, cavernous space where patience used to live, and rippled outward, burning through every vein.
Her head tilted slightly, almost involuntarily, the movement sharp and inhuman, the tremor of something stirring beneath her skin. The red in her eyes no longer flickered — it blazed, full and unrestrained, spilling across her gaze. Breath hitched between her teeth. The hunger awakened, and reason slipped its leash.
Lysara’s words echoed like a verdict: You’re forgetting who you are.
She remembered. She was the killer. And maybe that was the problem — she had tried to prove herself, tried to believe this coven fought for the things she kept dear: a fragment of humanity, a fragile hope that she could be more than the monster Aleksei always said she was. But Aleksei had been right. She forgot what mattered. And now, she was ready to become what she had always been — not a defender, not a diplomat, but the monster they feared.
Her fingers trembled once before curling into fists. Then she vanished. Curtains fluttered, papers lifted in her wake, and by the time Rylan’s voice rose in alarm, she was already gone.
***
Rylan stood by the tall window, his reflection fractured by the faint tremor in his own hand. Moonlight spilled across the glass, pale and merciless, illuminating the cracks in his composure. Behind him, the door closed softly as Togi, Aleksei, and Erika entered the office. Their footsteps were hushed, but the tension they carried was deafening.
He didn’t turn at first. His voice, when it came, was the voice of a man trying to contain the chaos inside. “We have a situation,” he said. But the cracks were there, trembling beneath every word. His composure now felt thin, ready to shatter.
He finally turned to face them, eyes shadowed with regret that came from realising too late that a punishment meant to teach had only destroyed. “Arina’s… switch turned off.” He swallowed hard, forcing the words out as if speaking them might undo their truth. “She’s gone. Left the coven grounds. I—” His breath faltered. “I think she’s only a step away from doing something terrible.”
Togi’s face paled first, confusion and dread twisting into disbelief. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. “You mean— she—?” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice broke on wanting to say her name.
Rylan nodded once. “She’s not thinking as herself anymore.”
Aleksei exhaled sharply, pacing a few steps before running a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him like heat. His voice was low, bitter, edged with something that sounded almost like grief. “You pushed her too far,” he muttered. “You don’t teach Arina lessons, Rylan. You corner her and she bites.” He stopped pacing, his jaw tight, and when he spoke again, his tone carried the weight of centuries. “When Arina breaks, she doesn’t just feed. She destroys.”
Erika’s voice was quiet, almost fragile against the storm brewing in Aleksei’s words. “If she feeds, if she loses control…” She hesitated, then forced herself to finish, “she won’t come back easily.”
Rylan’s gaze met hers, and for a moment, the centuries in his eyes looked old, tired, defeated. “That’s why I called you,” he said. “All of you.” His tone softened. “Erika — you’re the only one she’s trusted since the punishment. Togi…” His voice broke slightly. “She might still listen to you. And Aleksei — you’ve seen what she becomes when the hunger leads. You know how to stop her if it comes to that.”
The three exchanged glances — fear, determination, and something else unspoken weaving between them. A silent understanding: this wasn’t just about finding her. It was about deciding how far they were willing to go to bring her back… or end her.
Rylan turned back toward the window, the moonlight ghosting across his face like a cruel reminder. “Find her before she makes us her enemies.”
They didn’t wait for another word.
The moment the weight of Rylan’s order settled, the three of them were gone. The mansion lights vanished behind them, swallowed by the darkness that stretched between the coven’s sanctuary and the city’s restless pulse. The night air was sharp, carrying the scent of rain and something heavier — the metallic whisper of blood waiting to be spilled.
“She won’t hide,” Togi growled as they moved, his voice rough with fear he couldn’t mask. “If her switch is really off, she’ll hunt. And she’ll do it in the open.”
Erika ran between them. “We’ll find her before she feeds,” she said, more to herself than to them. “She’s fighting it. She has to be.”
But none of them answered. Because they all knew — once that hunger took, there would be nothing left to fight with. Only the monster they had all tried to keep chained.
Leave a Reply