Chapter : Devourix's Kin

  Arabella’s gaze sharpened, flicking from Zagan’s burning sigil to my unmoving face.

  The mirror hummed—low, ancient, certain.

  Mirror: “Her.”

  Then the light vanished. The power retreated.

  What remained was just an old mirror again—silent, harmless, empty.

  But that single word carried heaviness inside us.

  Arabella stared at us fully now. “Kin?” she echoed, voice tight. “Who?”

  Before I could respond, Zagan stepped in front of me instinctively—defensive, loyal, unyielding.

  Arabella’s expression cooled into something predatory.

  “So,” she said slowly, “you’re from the vampire dimension?”

  “Yes, Lady Arabella. You’re right,” Zagan answered evenly.

  “And how did you arrive here?”

  “You already know,” Zagan replied.

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  “The lie I heard from wolves?” she snapped. “Yes.

  Now I want the truth.”

  “We were traveling by sea,” he said calmly, “when a portal pulled us in.”

  Arabella’s brows arched. “The lie. Again.”

  “The Deadly Sea,” I added. “Infamous for swallowing ships… and magic.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “A slave and a merchant braving a cursed sea? That requires desperation.

  Or stupidity.”

  Zagan exhaled lightly. “We were fleeing vampire thieves.”

  Arabella didn’t buy a single word.

  Her gaze dropped to his arm—

  to the sigil glowing faintly with my power, proof that my Devourix heart beats somewhere alive, giving Zagan his strength.

  Arabella’s voice pulled me back to the present.

  “The kin’s mark the Seer identified?” she asked, voice soft and dangerous.

  “A tattoo from my realm,” Zagan lied.

  Her smile vanished.

  “Guards.”

  Devourix warriors surged from the shadows.

  Zagan was yanked back instantly, a silver-edged dagger pressed to his throat.

  “Recognize this?” Arabella asked, pointing to the mark.

  “Devourix craftsmanship. Ancient. Forbidden. Only our kind can forge it.

  So tell me—who gave it to you? Who is the ‘her’ the mirror whispered of?”

  Zagan stayed silent.

  Loyal.

  And dangerously close to dead.

  Arabella’s transformation was immediate—

  Her eyes flared molten red.

  Veins ignited across her skin.

  Power rippled like thunder waiting to break open the sky. The terror in her face mirrored my own once, when I had my power.

  Interesting.

  “ANSWER ME!” she yelled.

  I stepped forward.

  “I can tell you.”

  Her fury narrowed, sharpening like a blade.

  “Clever girl,” she murmured. “So then—who does he serve?”

  “Our story was true.”

  Her head tilted, assessing, calculating.

  “So,” she breathed, “who are you people?

  Where is the kin?”

  I stepped closer, letting the silence stretch—

  letting the truth settle like dust in a tomb reopening.

  “That is the Devourix mark,” I said simply.

  Then:

  “I am Evanora.

  Daughter of King Donovan II.

  Crown Princess of the vampire kingdom.”

  A breath.

  A chill.

  A shifting of the air around us.

  “And once…” I added quietly,

  “I was known as the Devourix.

  The kin your mirror recognizes. That is my mark.”

  “The kin? You? The marker?” she whispered—

  and her smile widened like she wanted to slaughter me for daring to speak my own name.

  But I knew her game.

  She was deep in werewolf territory.

  Her coven’s safety was fragile.

  She wouldn’t risk it—not yet.

  She would play.

  “And who are you?” Arabella asked finally, gaze sliding to Zagan.

  Zagan lifted his chin, proud even with a dagger at his throat.

  “Exanimat,” he said steadily.

  “Third in command.

  Sworn to Princess Evanora.”

  Arabella didn’t move.

  The tension in her face remained. It didn’t ease.

  We waited.

  For her decision.

  For her next strike.

  For the truth she had not spoken yet.