The sky above Blackridge was bruised purple by dawn, but the academy still slumbered, unaware that war had crept into its roots.
Alexandrov stood at the edge of the courtyard, looking up at the spires as the wind clawed at his coat. Beneath him, the hidden chamber still breathed — ancient and blood-soaked — a wound in the school's foundations. His back throbbed where the werewolf's claws had torn skin, but it was a distant ache.
His true pain was deeper. Older.
In his hand, he still held the piece of parchment — Amalia's note. Or so he had thought.
Now… he wasn't sure.
She had never lied to him, never given him reason to question her. And yet the scent on the note had faded too quickly, as if manufactured. His memory called up the image of Charlotte's smile, the way she used to wear his weaknesses like jewels.
And Amalia — how had she known about the chamber?
He didn't want to doubt her.
But now, doubt was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Too many shadows wear familiar faces.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" came a voice behind him.
He didn't need to turn. "James."
The human stepped into view, hoodie zipped up, eyes shadowed by a sleepless night. "I followed your scent trail. You weren't exactly subtle."
Alexandrov said nothing.
James scratched the back of his neck. "I heard there was... noise. Wolves?"
"Three," Alexandrov replied. "Untrained, sloppy. Scouts."
"Just three? They sent scouts to you?" James frowned. "That's not an attack. That's reconnaissance. They wanted to measure your power."
Alexandrov nodded. "And leave a message."
He told James what he saw — the altar, the sigils, Charlotte's signature.
James swore under his breath. "You think she's working with the wolves?"
"I think she's orchestrating something bigger," Alexandrov said. "The witches want to unseat the vampire council. The wolves want territory. Charlotte has enough ambition for both. And now… now they know I'm in their way."
James looked grim. "What do we do?"
"We start digging. Find their weak points. They struck first — we answer."
"But you're not going to kill those wolves."
It wasn't a question.
Alexandrov's jaw tightened. "No."
James didn't argue. He understood the message beneath the decision.
This wasn't about dominance.
This was war — and Alexandrov intended to win it with purpose, not carnage.
"Keep Amalia close," Alexandrov added quietly. "And don't tell her about the chamber."
James hesitated. "You still think she—"
"I don't know what to think," Alexandrov interrupted. "And until I do, I need her safe. Either because I trust her… or because someone's trying to use her."
James nodded, eyes dark. "I'll guard her like she's the last sun in winter."
Alexandrov's lips twitched. Almost a smile.
But it didn't reach his eyes.
Later that day, the school resumed its usual rhythm — at least, on the surface.
Teachers barked instructions. Students traded gossip and glances. The air was thick with perfume and perfume-thin lies.
But the energy had shifted. Subtle. Predatory.
Every vampire in Alexandrov's class could feel it — that the air was heavier, the shadows deeper. No one said anything. But they glanced at him more. Whispered more. Avoided sitting too close.
Fear was returning.
He sat at the edge of the room, watching the others with ancient eyes. Clifton Cole, the class president, strutted to his desk like he owned the continent. Bruno Murray — the werewolf transfer — didn't even hide his sneers anymore. And Mrs. Decker, the substitute, watched Alexandrov too long when she thought no one noticed.
She smelled wrong. Not just wolf — something darker, twisted beneath the fur.
He would deal with her soon.
But not yet.
Right now, his focus was on the girl across the room.
Amalia Winter sat by the window, her hair catching sunlight like silver thread. She didn't look at him. Hadn't all day. But he could feel her thoughts — like static humming between them.
Something was off.
Something was buried beneath her perfect stillness.
Speak to her, he thought. Just ask.
But a deeper instinct told him not to.
Let her reveal herself. Let her speak when she's ready.
Or betray when she's not.
After class, he followed the corridors in silence, shadow-stepping between beams of afternoon light.
He heard it before he saw it.
Voices. Familiar and hushed.
He rounded the corner and stopped.
Bruno stood too close to Amalia, one arm braced against the locker beside her. His voice was low, conspiratorial.
"…you're not like the others. You know something's coming, don't you?"
Amalia's voice was calm, but Alexandrov could hear the tightness beneath it. "I think you should move."
Bruno chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm not here to start a fight. Just a conversation."
Alexandrov's vision narrowed.
His hand flexed, itching to summon the shadows.
But Amalia's next words froze him.
"Back off, mutt. Before I tell him you're sniffing around again."
Bruno stiffened. "You think he'd protect you? He's already starting to doubt."
Amalia smiled sweetly. "Then maybe I'll let him tear you apart. Just to prove a point."
Bruno's nostrils flared. For a second, Alexandrov thought he'd lunge.
But then the werewolf smirked, stepped back, and melted into the crowd.
Amalia waited a beat, then whispered without turning, "You can come out now."
Alexandrov stepped from the shadow.
"I wasn't hiding," he said.
She turned to face him, expression unreadable. "You usually aren't."
He studied her. "Why didn't you tell me he was harassing you?"
She shrugged. "Because I knew you'd react like this. And I needed to hear what he'd say when he thought I was alone."
His gaze sharpened. "What did you hear?"
"That they're preparing something," she said. "And they think you're a threat that needs softening."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
She looked at him — looked at him — and her voice dropped.
"They're not coming for you, Alex. They're coming for the people you care about."
The words hit like a silver blade.
He clenched his fists.
"Then I'll make them regret it."
Amalia reached out and touched his arm — gently, like her fingers might burn if she held on too long.
"Promise me something."
He looked down at her.
"Don't become what they're trying to create," she said softly. "You're stronger than that."
He didn't answer right away.
But after a beat, he nodded.
And that night, he made good on that promise — in his way.
Midnight found him outside the abandoned clock tower behind the academy.
It had once been a place of worship. Now it was mostly rats and wind and things that moved when they shouldn't.
But tonight… it was a meeting place.
James stood at the edge, holding a map. "We tracked their movement through the forest lines. Four wolves. Two witches. One of them was chanting something that made my skin crawl."
Alexandrov scanned the terrain. "Where are they now?"
James pointed to a red mark. "Here. Southeast quadrant. They set up a rune ring. I think they're summoning something."
Alexandrov's jaw clenched.
"Then we interrupt."
The shadows around him deepened. His aura spread like smoke, lacing the stones with dread.
But James held up a hand.
"You can't go alone. They want you isolated."
"I'm not isolated," Alexandrov said. "I have you."
James smirked. "That was almost sentimental. You feeling okay?"
"No," Alexandrov said flatly. "And neither will they."
The forest was cold and wet. Mist clung to the earth like a second skin.
Alexandrov moved like a wraith between the trees. James flanked him, bow ready, eyes glowing faintly with the runes he'd etched across his arms.
They found the circle easily.
Witches knelt at the edges, chanting. The runes burned purple. Wolves prowled just beyond the light, eyes glowing.
And in the center — a mirror.
A tall, obsidian mirror with no reflection. Just movement inside it. Writhing. Clawing.
Trying to get out.
Alexandrov's blood turned to ice.
"Step back," he growled to James. "Now."
But it was too late.
The mirror pulsed — once.
Then shattered.
From the shards rose a figure — tall, silver-eyed, skin black as void.
Not a werewolf.
Not a vampire.
Not a witch.
Something older.
Its voice scraped against their skulls.
"Blood of kings. Flesh of traitors. Your war is overdue."
Alexandrov lunged.
And hell followed.