That did it.
That forbidden title wasn’t spoken lightly. Or often. In fact, it was practically a death sentence to let it slip past one’s tongue.
Her ruby eyes didn’t widen in shock—they didn’t need to. There was just the faintest flicker in her gaze, a subtle, sharp pause in the rise and fall of her chest.
That tiny reaction alone betrayed how deep the ancient na cut.
Bloodmoon Lineage.
The oldest of the Thirteen.
She herself belonged to one of those founding bloodlines. So, she understood the terrifying gravity of it far better than anyone else ever could.
They were the very foundation of their kind. A lineage so ancient and fiercely potent that the re ntion of it could choke the air out of a room.
And that woman—the one whose true na was now reduced to frightened whispers and cowardly half-lies—had once worn that terrifying lineage with an unshakable, regal pride.
She was the vampire whose very existence had been violently scrubbed from sacred scrolls, her face burned from royal portraits. Her story had been wiped away so thoroughly that even the high-ranking mbers of the Order only spoke of her as a dark, cautionary myth.
But Evangeline knew the truth. She had always known.
That singular woman had brought the entire Order to its bloody knees.
She possessed a kind of power the world simply wasn’t ready to handle. She could halt ti, drag it to a sluggish crawl, and even peer into the branching paths of the future in a single, careless blink.
It was a divine ability. It allowed her to know what pathetic attack her enemy was planning, gauge the depth of their strength, and map out their most fatal weaknesses before a sword was even drawn.
Naturally, it made the Matron virtually unkillable.
Yet, against all odds, she did the one thing no pureblood ever dared to do.
She fell in love.
With a fragile human. She married him. Let him bed her. And bore his child.
When the news of the union broke, they tried to use her scandalous affection against her, attempting to leash her to the Order. But not even their oldest, blood-bound laws could suppress a monster of her caliber.
They couldn’t punish her.
Especially not while she carried a child in her womb.
The Order certainly tried. They lost three of their highest, most ancient seats in a single night—foolishly assuming it would be an easy task to execute a pregnant woman.
So, they did the only thing they could. They waited.
They swallowed their bitter pride, bit down hard on their wrath, and sat in fearful silence while the most dangerous predator in their history gave birth.
They knew the fundantal rule of attachnt. Once she had sothing precious to lose, she would finally be vulnerable.
And she was.
The exact mont that fragile infant let out its first cry, the Matron beca mortal in a way no temporal power could ever undo.
But when the Order finally made their move to touch the newborn, they lost two more exalted mbers.
The failed assassination emptied out a massive chunk of the royal lineage, permanently burying five vampires who had held the highest possible authority. Ancient, god-like beings, all reduced to ash at the hands of a single, infuriated mother.
Then, without warning, rumors spread through the dark underground that the Order had finally managed to slay her.
It was baffling.
For those few who actually knew the true depth of the Matron’s terrifying strength, the news was profoundly shocking. It seed so unbelievable that many assud it was just a pathetic, face-saving lie fabricated by the remaining elders. They quietly tried to seek out the truth.
But the Order never spoke a single word of it again.
The entire bloody saga beca a dark shadow, tightly wrapped in enforced silence.
Furthermore, a highest-tier curse had sohow been anchored to the Matron’s legacy. It was a draconian punishnt that magically sealed away every trace of her.
It was as if the ancient founder himself had reached out and plucked her right out of existence. Her true na beca physically impossible to speak, her identity vanished into the ether, and the ink on every written record detailing her life mysteriously bled away into nothing.
Evangeline took a slow step backward, erging fully from the lingering mist.
The pale moonlight spilled through the window, dancing across her flawless skin. It highlighted the long, sleek curve of her thighs and cast soft shadows over the heavy rise and fall of her bare chest.
The chilly draft in the room made the smooth, translucent silk of her nightdress cling to her figure, the tight, peaking buds of her nipples clearly outlined against the delicate fabric.
But the seductive softness of the mont was a beautiful lie.
Sothing dark and hungry stirred deep within her. A sudden flood of mories rushed her mind—the image of that infuriating human she had initially planned to drain dry out of sheer annoyance.
But now, the connection felt entirely different. It felt like twisted fate.
It was as if her other self, permanently sealed inside the heavy locket resting between her breasts, was desperately trying to tell her sothing vital about Cruxius. Perhaps her trapped half had been pointing to this exact, terrifying truth all along.
"So, you want to have him? Is this the real reason you used your clairvoyance?"
Evangeline murmured, her chin tilting down. Her gaze fell to the intricate tal pendant nestled comfortably in the soft cleavage of her chest, wondering if the soul trapped within was actually urging her to claim the boy for herself.
Zzzzrrrr—
The very second the thought crossed her mind, the pendant began to violently buzz against her warm skin.
It felt like a physical retaliation, a frantic protest trying to scream its way out of the tal casing. The rapid vibration sent a strange, almost pleasant hum radiating through her chest and down her stomach.
She frowned slightly, tracing a manicured nail over the vibrating tal.
She was genuinely confused—was the trapped soul eagerly supporting her dark desires, or was it frantically trying to warn her away from him?
"It appears even the other half of the Queen is eagerly supporting your thoughts, My Lady," the bat noted.
Fluttering its leathery wings, it glided closer to the glowing jewelry.
As it neared, the pendant rang even louder, practically burning against Evangeline’s soft flesh in a vain, desperate effort to communicate the danger. But the more violently the locket reacted, the more affird the foolish familiar felt.
With a confident nod of its small head, the bat added, "See, My Queen? I am right... even the other half-Queen desperately wants you to have that man in your bed."
’Hm.’
Initially, Evangeline had suspected the aggressive buzzing was a dire warning. But hearing her servant’s interpretation stroked her ego.
The seductive logic settled into her mind, making her believe it just might be true—that her sealed half had always wanted her to forge a deep, intimate connection with the Bloodmoon heir.
Her voice sharpened. It was quieter than before, yet far more cutting.
"Who sponsored him?"
The bat trembled in mid-air. "None, my Queen. Not a single soul dared."
She smirked. A slow, achingly cruel curve of her glossy lips.
"Of course they didn’t. None of those cowards want to risk invoking the wrath of the Bloodmoon. Even if only one pathetic, half-breed strand of that cursed lineage survives..."
User Comments
0 comments from readers