(ELARA MONTOYA POV)

Still smelling faintly of old ash and the cloying scent of cheap blood-tea, I arrived at the back entrance of The Sire’s Manor. I scrubbed my face and neck with an unused bucket and sponge, scrubbing the last vestiges of Annabella's humiliation off my skin. I had to swallow the last piece of the muffin Lili gave me—the final, mundane comfort—to stop the gagging reflex. My blueberry-stained tunic was the least of my worries.

I grabbed a heavy-duty refuse bag, a broom, and a scent-dampening mask. I slipped into the industrial basement. No way was I touching the aftermath of a Blood-Feast with my bare hands.

I started in the Grand Hall, next to the Sire’s private study. I should have put on the mask first. Gods alive and dead, the hall reeked of spoiled Vita-Mix, stale mortal blood, and the disgusting, sticky-sweet vampiric pheromones. I fought the rising gorge, the synthetic blood-tea trying to escape my throat. This was the aristocracy, the leaders of the Crimson Talon Clan, yet they were as filthy as any mortal gutter trash.

Priceless silk tapestries were stained with wine and what looked suspiciously like liquefied vital organs. Satin throws were tossed into a sodden, putrid heap in the corner. Worst of all was the trail of used blood packs—the Clan equivalent of a mortal condom—stuck to the column near the Sire's study door, arranged in a grotesque tally mark.

They celebrate their depravity.

I loaded the sheets into a large silver hamper and wheeled it toward the industrial laundry. My internal rage was a tight, cold knot: these vampires were so wasteful they needed three washers running constantly, while I survived on weak synthetic supplements.

I dug out the clear safety goggles I had secretly stolen from the Clan’s medical lab and put them on. I started prying the used blood packs from the column, the sight of the tally marks making my hands shake.

The ventilation grate above me began to vibrate. Whispered voices bled through the metal.

One was the Sire’s: deep, gravelly, and ancient, a voice that was a constant mix of seduction and mortal threat. It crawled over me like a Shadow-Spider.

“The Blood Moon is rising, Sire. One more week,” a voice said.

The Sire's low growl made me shudder. "How many Fledglings are in this cycle? How many shall Ascend for the first time?"

My broom dropped. One week. I knew instantly what they were discussing. In one week, the younglings who had reached the proper age would attempt their Ascension, the moment they claimed their full lineage powers. I was one of them. My goal—my immediate, life-altering goal—was standing in the way of their power structure.

I kept my eyes on the study door, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs.

“Six, Sire,” the Elder, Xender Calderón, began. His voice was colder, more surgically brutal than the Sire’s. “And this time, Elara Montoya will be trying for her Ascension.”

My blood ran cold. They weren't just discussing the cycle; they were using my name. My breath hitched, tasting like ash and metal.

“It is time for her. We have been monitoring. Her blood scent has shifted. It is time.”

My scent has changed? I lifted my scarred wrist and took a discreet sniff. I didn’t smell like the expensive Nightshade perfume purebloods favored. What had they detected? And why did Xender sound so… cautious?

The Sire cleared his throat, the sound like dry bone grinding on stone. “What in the Abyss are we going to do with her?” His voice was a snarl, as if I were a noxious, dangerous infestation.

Xender’s response was immediate and chilling: "We make her fight her way in the Clan. We exploit her."

“And haven’t we been doing that?” The Sire laughed, a long, rasping cough. “She has no true place here. That is the problem. But I think, perhaps, she could be of use.”

Someone violently kicked a piece of furniture—a sound of raw frustration. “We should have simply disposed of her with the traitors.”

I leaned closer to the vent. I didn't recognize that voice, but the sentiment was deadly clear.

“No.” The Sire’s voice dropped, becoming heavy with ancient, absolute power. “Even the dregs have a purpose in this world. We simply have to define hers. She will bend to my will, or she will be completely Blood-Broken.”

Blood-Broken. That term was reserved for the most ancient, barbaric torture, the ultimate erasure of a vampire's will and power. It sounded like something out of a horror scroll.

A shiver, not of fear but of pure, focused terror, ran down my spine. The first Ascension was meant to be a moment of glory, a claim to power. For me, it had been twisted into a death sentence—a moment they planned to either exploit or destroy me.

I gripped the broom handle, my knuckles white. My goal was no longer just survival; it was to use this Ascension week to become the weapon they planned to exploit, and then turn it on them. I had one week.

(ELARA MONTOYA POV)

The Grand Hall was finished, but the stench of depravity lingered in my lungs. My mind kept looping the Sire’s chilling decree: She will bend to my will, or she will be completely Blood-Broken.

I'll show them 'use,' I thought, bitterness burning my throat. My heel up their arrogant throats is the only use I'll provide.

Grumbling, I moved to Kael’s suite. I knew it would be the worst. He usually slept off his Blood-Feasts in various unsuitable locations—once, I found him naked and passed out on a decorative raft in the courtyard fountain. I walked in, broom in hand, and froze.

He was there, but he was not alone.

Kael Whitmore’s bare, pale backside swayed rhythmically to the low, musical moans of Vikki Blake. He was kneeling behind her, driving into her. Their bodies gleamed with sweat and pheromones. She was the pureblood chosen for his future Blood-Bond, and he was violating her right here on the mattress, in the middle of his filthy room.

I should have bolted. I should have dropped the broom and run. My life depended on invisibility. But I was stuck, paralyzed, watching every arrogant inch of the heir slide into Vikki.

Wish that were me. Wanting it to be me.

The thought slammed into me, sharp and sickening. Gods, what is wrong with me? This was Kael—my primary oppressor, the living embodiment of my trauma. This should revolt me.

I took a clumsy step back. Just as I did, Kael grunted, driving hard into Vikki, throwing his head back, and then—he saw me.

Every muscle in his body tightened. I braced for the inevitable roar of fury, the instant, violent punishment. But nothing came.

Kael merely grinned, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. He gripped Vikki’s hips tighter, pulling her into him as he drove himself in again. Vikki’s moan mutated into a soft, stunned cry. Kael slowly, deliberately, slid out.

A raw, strangled sound rattled the air. I wasn't sure if it came from Vikki or my own throat.

Kael's smile stretched wider. He slammed his way into Vikki once more, every glorious inch of him filling her. My skin was hot, every vein pooling with the sudden, undeniable rush of pure, raw desire. I felt a deep, sickening lurch of longing, a desperate, traitorous need for him to look at me that way, to touch me that way.

I gasped, the sound followed by a whimper, as Kael began to move faster, his dark eyes never leaving mine.

Escape. Now.

I finally regained control of my limbs and spun around. I collided with the door frame, cracking my forehead on the wood. The broom snagged sideways. I abandoned the damned thing and ran, not stopping until I shoved myself into the utility closet.

Crammed among the bleach and mothballs, my breath came in ragged gasps. Why did it feel like a betrayal to see him with another woman? Why did it matter that he watched me the entire time? I despised Kael Whitmore. Yet, the thought of him made my chest ache with a desolate, confusing longing.

I didn’t risk the Manor’s exit again, instead taking the side route to the Fledgling Quarters to grab my satchel. I cleaned up quickly, discarding the ash-stained tunic for a spare cloak. The only thing sour left about me was my attitude. I marched through the marble halls of the Pureblood Academy like a soldier off to a war I was already losing.

First, the Sire plans to exploit me, and then I turn into a paralyzed voyeur for his son.

I was so preoccupied with the searing image of Kael’s too-perfect back that I wasn’t watching where I was going. I didn’t notice who was leering down at me until it was too late.

“Well, well, look what the rat dragooned out of the utility closet. The Clan’s voyeur.”

Kael was strutting toward me, his voice lifted so every pureblood in the hall could hear. He and his three Vassals formed a tight semi-circle around me, trapping me against the ornate wall paneling. No one in the hall paid us any mind. This public humiliation was normal. The moment they saw Kael approach me, students averted their gaze, and instructors scuttled into their lecture halls.

“I knew you were a filthy servant, Elara, but that display this morning was a little much, even for you.” Kael leaned in, his eyes blazing with the same predatory look from his bedroom. He placed a hand on the wall above my head, boxing me in.

I straightened my spine. “I went to clean your chambers, and you were there. Don’t flatter yourself. I might abstain from Vita-Mix for a week because of that disgusting performance.” Saying it brought the images rushing back. The memory twisted in my gut—that knot of sickening, unwanted desire. I clenched my stomach. I couldn’t let Kael smell the sudden, hot rush of arousal.

“IS THAT TRUTH?” he sneered, leaning closer, the dark, twisted glint in his eyes intensifying. “Then why did you stand there, little half-breed, and watch while I claimed Vikki? You watched. And it didn’t look like disgust on your face, I promise you.”

The smile he gave me was pure, unadulterated pureblood malice. Any vestige of arousal I had felt quickly turned into a desperate need to drive my fist into his perfect face. I balled my hands into fists.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kael. I was merely surprised to see that you had a suitable length and knew how to deploy it. Usually, you’re too intoxicated to perform.”

Wrong words. So wrong.

The quip earned me a violent shove. The back of my head slammed into the paneling, and my ears rang as the pressure of his hand increased, pinning me to the wall.

“You wretch!” Kael yelled. Alias Marwood, the most heinous of his friends, chimed in: “Don’t you dare speak about him like that. He is the future Sire of this Clan. Speak with the respect he is due, or you will regret it.”

“Whatever…” I was cut off when my head was slammed into the wall again. “Fine! Whatever you wish, Sire! Is that respectful enough for you all?”

They burst out laughing, a horrid sound. When they released the pressure, I turned, ready to push through the circle, but Kael grabbed the arm the Elders whipped me on and twisted.

The searing pain brought a genuine scream to my lips.

“Yeah, that’s the sound I like to hear,” Kael whispered, his breath hot near my ear. He looked me up and down like I was a choice selection of cattle. “And trust me, Elara, that’s only the beginning. Once I am Sire, and you’ve Ascended for the first time…”

“Well, I’ve been dreaming about what I’m going to do to you. Screaming like that is going to become a full-time service obligation.”

His threats only cemented why I needed to escape. I stayed only because I knew the Sire would hunt me down and punish me worse. Without my full power, I was toast, but once I Ascended… I'm not sticking around to see what they have planned.

I forced a smirk. “I look forward to not being present for it. Can I go now? It’s been delightful, but—”

He smiled, a chilling promise. His deep, dark eyes pierced mine, and a strange, hidden surge of power within me—the raw, hybrid part—perked up. My lineage has a thing for arrogant bullies, damn it.

“Yes. Just one thing more.”

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a pouch of dried, crushed Nightshade—a noxious, highly poisonous spice to vampires. He shoved it into my chest, grinding the pouch until the pungent powder burst and was ground into my dark cloak. When he walked away, laughing, I could have sworn I felt the faint, silver threads of my nascent power recoil deep in my blood. The poison was a calculated, symbolic attack on my very nature.

ELARA MONTOYA POV)

The one solace I had was the Fledgling Quarters' garden. Most vampires, especially the purebloods, despised the raw, "unclean" earth. I didn't. At least the soil was real, natural, and not the residue of someone else’s drunken decadence. The root vegetables and night-blooming flowers offered a strange comfort; they thrived regardless of my hybrid status, as long as I meticulously cleared the solar-poisoned weeds.

They never laughed at me or smirked. I snorted, self-deprecatingly, scooting along the row. I was humming a tuneless chant to the thriving, fresh-scented blood-root vegetables, picking the dry weeds out from their territory.

“Sun-parasite,” I whispered, holding up a dried stalk. “I cast you hence from the domain of the Montoyas’ Garden forthwith. Begone!” I flicked the desiccated weed over the rough stone wall. “May the mortal scavengers pick the marrow from your—"

“What do you think you’re doing, half-breed?”

The voice of the Sire, Lord Severino Montoya, was pure, panic-inducing poison. I spun around so fast I nearly toppled headfirst into the delicate lettuce beds.

Oh, hell.

No one could inspire pure, raw terror like the Sire. Cruelty was their nature, but he was the source point of all my pain. My arm began throbbing at once, a muscle memory of torture, just at the sight of him.

"Sire, I am. only. tending the Clan gardens." I was shaking. Even the plants seemed to quiver.

He didn't act like he noticed me kneeling. He simply stomped a polished boot onto a thriving blood-root vine as he approached, snapping it in half. I felt a reflexive twist of grief—a small, unnecessary death.

“You do not have the leisure for ‘tending’ if the work at my manor is incomplete," he snarled. "And judging by the abysmal state of the scrying room, the job is far from done. Vikki and her parents are arriving tonight. Now get your worthless backside up to the Manor and finish your servitude.”

He grabbed the top of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, and lifted me to his height, suspending me by the roots. Pain exploded across my scalp. I clawed uselessly at his hand. Before I could connect, he released me, letting me fall into a bruised heap on the earth.

I didn't want to look at the few brown strands of my hair woven between his pale fingers. The sight was a sickening omen.

“Rise to your feet, you wretch.”

I forced myself up on shaky legs, hating the weakness he so easily commanded from me. I stood, body trembling, staring at his boots while my blood ran cold. He lifted a hand and ran it slowly down the side of my scarred forearm.

"One strike for not completing your task."

I froze in my entirety. He raised his other arm, showing a length of black iron rod—one he specialized in using on me. My forearm still throbbed fiercely from his last 'lesson.'

“Just finish it!” I ground out, jaw clenched. I finally lifted my head to meet his ancient, predatory gaze. It was the only defiance I had left.

He grasped my arm and whipped me around so I was pressed against the hardness of him. His body trapped mine, his arm caught taut as he raised the rod.

"This is the result of insufficient devotion. There is no tolerance for weakness or flawed lineage in the Crimson Talon Clan." He hunched over, whispering into my ear, his hardness pressed against my backside, his dry lips skimming my lobe. I almost dry-heaved, stopped only by the paralyzing fear of earning a second strike.

The rod came down right in the middle of my forearm. I clamped my teeth, determined not to scream or show one flicker of pain.

“Next time,” he purred into my ear as my stomach twisted with revulsion. “Next time I will apply it to a far more sensitive section of your impure body, and then, if you’re lucky, once you’ve Ascended, I will show you how I really like to use this.”

The pain from the rod was nothing compared to the absolute, consuming filth of his intent. His voice penetrated my skin and delved so deeply that my very marrow shook. He was more disgusting than Kael's blood-packs or the vomit-covered blankets.

“Now, back to work!”

I stayed on my knees, pretending to weed, until the sound of his footsteps disappeared completely.

It's just you and me, power. When you decide it's time to show, we hit the road. I made a silent, internal vow. We're not spending another minute more than we have to in this hell.

I went back to the Quarters, desperate to clean the raw welt.

“What in the name of the Void?” Lili stopped her kneading of black bread, hurrying over.

“I didn't finish the cleaning up in Sire's Manor this morning." I avoided eye contact. "I accidentally… caught Kael and his chosen Blood-Bond in a rather compromising position.”

Lili snorted, laying a cool cloth against the welt. “Chosen Blood-Bonds. What crap. No wonder you ran.”

I swallowed against the urge to correct her: Kael's backside was anything but flabby. The sight of him, moving against Vikki, still held my attention captive—a disgusting addiction.

“There is more,” I said, detailing Kael’s humiliation at the Academy and the Sire’s threat, including the nauseating, intimate press of his body as he struck me.

“Gods above and below, that man is the very shadow of the devil,” Lili gasped. She turned to the sink, muttering to herself as she always did. “So, he knows your Ascension is imminent. I suspected. Your blood’s scent has changed.”

"What does that actually mean?" I asked, turning to her.

Lili let out a little yelp, soapy water spraying. She smiled, pushing back gray hair. “It means I can scent a massive surge of power hormones on you. That’s all. Your potential power spikes when Ascension is near. It is a good sign.”

It is a wonderful sign. It means freedom.

I couldn't tell Lili my plan; she was the one good thing here, and my leaving would crush her.

“You are stronger than you know, Elara,” Lili went on. “They don't know what to do with a will like yours. So, they try to beat it out of you. But you will not be broken."

I forced a snort. "Are you sure? Because right now, I feel pretty busted up."

A soft smile touched Lili's face. "Just maintain that defiance. Once you Ascend, you will be the one shaking the very foundations of this Clan."

Lili had no idea how true that was. I just wouldn’t be doing it from inside the Clan.