Cain's arrival at Vazer's mansion was anything but subtle.
The courtyard was a vast, desolate expanse—cold, unyielding stone bordered by towering iron gates. Dozens of vampires flanked the path, their eyes sharp, their bodies tense. The air was oppressive, heavy with anticipation and the coppery tang of old blood.
Cain stepped out of the car slowly, his boots crunching against the gravel with a deliberate, controlled weight. The wounds from his earlier rampage still throbbed beneath his coat, their angry, ragged edges attempting to heal. His golden eyes remained fixed on the mansion's massive double doors, which creaked open with a deliberate, foreboding groan.
Vazer emerged from the shadows, his stride confident, a smirk etched across his face. His eyes glittered with a predatory glimmer, a twisted satisfaction at the sight of Cain. Flanking him were twice the number of guards Cain had brought, a stark display of force. And there, shackled in chains heavy with silver, was Violet.
