Chapter 61: The Virgins Blood
{VAL}
The Covens of Midnight were built for creatures who were never meant to bask beneath the living sun.
Like the Nightborne mansion, the academy grounds were caught in an eternal twilight—an imitation of dusk, woven from old warding spells and ancient darkness.
The air itself carried that muted hue, neither day nor night, a realm suspended for the sake of those who walked beneath its shadow.
True sunlight would have reduced most of us to ash. Even the noble-born, with their superior resilience, could not withstand the unfiltered touch of dawn.
The "light" in these halls was nothing more than a careful construction of illusion and enchantment—soft, cold, and harmless to the nocturnal bloodlines.
As usual, I found myself surrounded by vampires, though only a handful were worth my attention.
Valerius Thorne—arrogant, sharp-tongued, and loyal only because it amused him.
Morgana Hollowgrave—seductive, cruel in that effortless way, and easy enough to bend with a few well-placed words.
And Sol Evernight—the enigma of the first-years.
Three noble houses, each with legacies powerful enough to bend the will of others. Houses Thorne and Hollowgrave openly sided with me... though not without hidden agendas.
The rest simply watched, waiting. Vampires always waited—for weakness, for advantage, for a chance to sink their teeth into a rising throne.
But House Evernight... their heir intrigued me.
Sol Evernight, younger than I, yet unreadable. His expression was a blank canvas, his aura quiet yet impenetrable.
If he pledged himself to me, I would gain a strategic foothold in the first-year hierarchy. If he was spying for Daimon...
My jaw tensed. Many eyes here belonged to Daimon’s little informants. The old monster loved nothing more than weaving webs around me. All because I was the one leading the other noble house against him.
My gaze drifted—unbidden—to a figure across the hall.
Iris.
She stood among the humans, her posture small yet steady, her presence like a soft light trying to exist in a place that devoured such things.
A sudden, sharp pinch of guilt flared through me, a feeling that I thought long forgotten.
I tore my gaze away.
I could not afford weakness—not now, not ever.
She hurried out of the hall, and I exhaled slowly, forcing that intrusive sentiment to fade.
"Lord Vladimir," one of the lesser vampires murmured, "there appears to be no vacant table for us."
Valerius laughed under his breath, a sound like polished steel scraping marble.
"Simple solution," he said lazily. "We chase the mutts away."
He nodded toward the werewolf section.
I narrowed my eyes. "Cause one more incident, Valerius, and they will expel you. I will not clean up your mess again."
He only smirked.
"Then allow me, my lord." Morgana stepped forward with feline grace, her red hair cascading down her back as if fire trailed after her. "I’ll make room for us."
I didn’t stop her.
Humans were the weakest race within these walls. Showing mercy toward them—especially in public—would be interpreted as softness. Vampires followed strength. They devoured the meek.
I could not appear gentle. Not when Daimon watched. Not when other noble vampires watched. I needed more allies.
Morgana sauntered toward the human section, flipping her hair with a disdainful flick of her wrist.
"Move, maggots," she announced.
The humans rose instantly, shoulders hunched, fear choking their silence. All except one.
A young woman with hair like spun gold and eyes bluer than untouched glacier ice.
My heart lurched—Vladimir’s heart, this body’s heart, but the effect rippled through me regardless.
She was not extraordinary. Not ethereal. Not like Iris, who pulled at the remnants of my past.
And yet—something in her very existence brushed against a place within this body that had not stirred since the day I awakened inside it.
"Who are you to order us around?" she snapped, eyes flashing.
Brave. Reckless. Brilliantly foolish.
She did not yet understand the rules here. Humans never did—not until blood had already been spilled.
Morgana chuckled. "Are you ignorant or simply stupid? What can I expect from a human?"
"What did you say?" she stepped forward, but a friend grabbed her arm.
"Caroline, stop. Let’s just go."
Her name—too familiar. Too right. Too wrong.
A cold unease curled through me. I knew this feeling very well. It was the reason that I was stuck in this predicament in the first place.
"A weak human who doesn’t know her place?" Morgana tilted her head, lips curving like a blade. "Do you wish to die during your first week here?"
"Are you threatening me?" Caroline shot back. "Just because you’re a vampire and I’m human doesn’t make you superior. We’re both students here."
A hush fell. Dangerous. Breathless.
Morgana’s ruby eyes gleamed with murderous delight.
I sighed under my breath.
Before I could intervene, Morgana shoved Caroline to the ground. The magical seals on campus barred arcane spells, but physical strength, agility—and inherited legacies—remained to us.
A noble vampire needed no magic to kill a human.
Caroline hissed, trying to push Morgana off her, but the disparity in strength was insurmountable.
Morgana lowered her hand, trailing her nails down Caroline’s neck.
"See the difference, human?" she whispered, voice dripping with venomous seduction. "Even without arcane, I could snap your neck. Your species has always been weak. And the weak exist only to kneel before the strong."
Caroline spat in her face.
"Like I’d kneel to vampire scum."
The hall fell silent.
Morgana’s smile snapped. Her nails elongated, slicing a thin line across Caroline’s throat. A bead of blood slipped free.
Then Morgana inhaled.
And froze.
"Oh my," she murmured. "A virgin."
A ripple shuddered through the vampires nearby. Virgin blood was intoxicating—potent, rare, perilous. A single breath of its scent had lesser vampires trembling.
Vladimir stirred violently inside me.
For years he had slept. Dormant. Silent.
Caroline’s blood clawed at the remnants of his consciousness.
Not now.
I held my breath, tightening my control before he could push through.
I was about to pull Morgana off, drag her away if I had to, when something unexpected happened.
A splash.
A stench.
Morgana shrieked as a mixture of ginger and garlic splattered across her skin. Smoke rose instantly from the burns as she teleported back, reappearing behind Valerius with her flesh sizzling.
"What the fuck?!" she shrieked.
"You might be strong," a voice said—shaking, but firm—"but vampires sure have a lot of weaknesses."
I knew that voice and I felt the headache coming.
Iris.
She stood trembling, legs barely steady, but her eyes—those stubborn, storm-bright eyes—were resolute as steel.
"Get away from my friend," she said.
My stomach dropped.
Damn it.
What was she doing?!
