~ Prologue - Storm From the Shadows ~
“There is no sorrow like a mother denied her child. No storm like a father’s fury.”
Selinia jolted upright, breath caught in her throat as a deafening crash split the night. Her sharp vampire senses instantly snapped into focus, sifting through the silence for the source. Another crash—louder, nearer—echoed through the palace.
From Malachai’s room.
Her heart lurched. She turned to Alistair and gripped his arm, shaking him hard. “My love,” she whispered, urgency lacing her voice. He didn’t stir. She shook him harder. “Alistair. Someone’s in the palace—near Malachai.”
His eyes flew open. In an instant, instinct overtook sleep. He threw back the covers and rose, already listening, already assessing.
“How many?” he asked, low and sharp.
“One,” Selinia murmured, stepping behind him as he moved toward the door.
Together, they slipped into the corridor, silent shadows against the marble floor. The palace was dim and still, the scent of cold stone and blood-tinged magic heavy in the air.
When they reached their son’s chamber, they froze.
The room was wrecked—splintered furniture, claw marks raked into the walls, and Malachai’s bed overturned. But no sign of their boy.
Selinia’s breath caught. “Where is he?” she demanded, voice cracking with panic.
Alistair’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head—and there. A familiar voice rang out, sharp and furious: “Let go of me, you fucking asshole!”
Alistair seized Selinia’s hand and bolted, both of them flying down the grand staircase, following the sound.
They skidded into the entrance hall. At the far end, a tall, broad-shouldered man was dragging Malachai across the floor. The boy thrashed and kicked, wild with defiance, but the man’s grip didn’t falter.
Alistair’s fangs dropped. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. “Let go of my son.”
The man didn’t flinch. He chuckled—low, mocking. “I don’t think so, Your Majesty.”
Alistair’s crimson-gold eyes blazed. He lunged—
And slammed into an invisible wall.
The force hurled him backward. He hit the floor hard but rolled up, fists clenched. “What is this?” he snarled, scanning the air for the enchantment.
The man grinned, tightening his grip around Malachai’s throat. The boy choked, clawing at the arm around his neck.
“You think my boss would send me in here without backup? This spell was custom-built to keep you out.” He shrugged. “He’s not stupid. Just... thorough.”
He turned toward the door, dragging Malachai with him. “Say goodbye. You won’t see him again.”
“No!” Selinia screamed, slamming into the barrier. It held firm. She clawed at the air, sobbing. “Please—don’t take my baby!”
Malachai’s wide, furious eyes met hers. “Let me go!” he shouted, fighting with everything he had—but he was only ten. Too young. Too small. His power hadn’t awakened.
The man scoffed and heaved the boy into the open trunk of a sleek black car. The lid slammed shut with a metallic thud.
Selinia screamed again.
Alistair moved to strike, but the barrier held fast. He could only watch as the car peeled away, its taillights vanishing into the night.
Selinia dropped to her knees with a strangled sob, her fingers clawing at the marble floor inches from the invisible barrier.
“My baby…”
Alistair stood frozen, rage boiling just beneath the surface. Then, with a roar that shook the very walls, he slammed his fists into the invisible force with all his might.
A thunderous crack split the air. But the magic didn’t break.
And their son was gone.
