The manor shuddered.
Not physically — but through the air, through the stone, through something deeper. Something primal.
Ariana felt it in her bones.
Damien's grip on her hand was tight but not painful. Protective. Urgent. His eyes burned with restrained violence as he pulled her through the hallways, his black coat trailing behind him like a shadow that refused to leave.
"Where are we going?" Ariana asked, breath catching.
"Underground," he said, voice clipped. "There's a crypt beneath the house. No one can enter it but me."
"And if he already has?"
Damien didn't answer.
The lights flickered as they passed through a corridor of stained glass and stone arches. Every painting on the wall — regal vampires, ancient bloodlines — seemed to watch them flee.
"This is what he wants," Ariana said, her voice shaking. "To make you afraid. To make you run."
Damien stopped so abruptly, she almost crashed into his chest.
"I'm not afraid of Xander," he said, grabbing her chin. "But I know what he's capable of when he smells weakness."
She blinked. "And I'm your weakness now."
It wasn't a question.
It was a truth hanging between them, too sharp to deny.
His jaw clenched. "You've always been."
Before she could process that — before she could even feel anything — a sound split the air.
A laugh. Not loud. Not close. But wrong.
Familiar in a way that made Ariana's blood ice over.
They both turned.
And standing at the end of the hall, beneath the arched window casting blue moonlight, was a figure dressed in white.
Xander.
His silver hair shimmered like frost. His smile was too calm, too practiced. And his eyes — those ancient, inhuman eyes — were fixed on her, not Damien.
"Well," Xander said smoothly, stepping forward. "This is intimate."
Damien pushed Ariana behind him, his voice dropping to a lethal growl. "You'll die tonight, brother."
"Maybe," Xander mused. "But not before she knows the truth."
Ariana's heart hammered.
"What truth?" she demanded.
Xander's gaze sharpened. "That you were never just his mate. You were mine first."
The world tilted.
Ariana barely registered Damien snarling — a sound more beast than man — before she was pushed back and the two brothers collided like gods at war. Fangs flashed. Magic cracked through the air. The hall itself groaned with their power.
Ariana stumbled backward, clutching the wall.
Their bodies were a blur of black and white, fury and blood, hatred buried in centuries. Damien fought like a storm unleashed — fast, brutal, merciless.
But Xander fought like someone who had nothing to lose.
"I saw her first!" Xander roared, grabbing Damien by the throat. "Her blood sang to me!"
"She's not yours!" Damien bellowed, breaking free and slamming him against the wall. "She chose me!"
"I'm not an object!" Ariana shouted, her voice slicing through the madness.
And the power in her voice — raw, untrained, otherworldly — cracked the window behind her.
Both vampires froze.
She stepped forward, fists clenched, heart racing. "I don't belong to either of you. And if I am part of some prophecy—then I'll decide what to do with it."
Xander's eyes widened. Damien turned slowly, stunned.
Ariana stood there, bathed in moonlight and power. No longer a prisoner. No longer prey.
Something had changed inside her.
And both brothers saw it.
The girl was gone.
The Blood Queen was awakening.