The Vampire's Luna-Chapter 320: Take Care Of The Child

"Isolde? If all goes well, this might be the last time you will see me. After my revenge, there is no use sticking around. Take care of the child."

Isolde nodded. "I will," she said. She believed she didn't need him anymore. The queen was disgraced.

She left the room and as the door shut behind her, Williams watched her. Alone, he allowed the briefest, strangest fondness to cross his face—less for the woman than for the role she had played in his design.

Outside, Isolde's mind swirled. The queen's fall opened a corridor of possibility. Her first acts were already composed: erase the queen and prince Magnus, make sure no rival heir could rise on the ashes of tonight. If the crown must be hers, then every obstacle must be made to disappear.

*****

Damien stood. His army was arrayed behind him in perfect formation, their eyes cold and ready. Beyond the walls, the boundary stretched where the werewolf forces were waiting, tension thick in the air.

"It's going to be alright, your highness." Eryk's voice broke through Damien's focus. He had been standing there, staring at the horizon as if sheer will could bend reality to his favor.

Damien nodded. "I know."

"We just have to wait for the signal." Damien's eyes narrowed at the horizon. Please. Let there be a signal. His fingers flexed into a fist.

*****

Meanwhile, Kyllian sat on a jagged stone at the edge of his encampment, the low rumble of the werewolf army around him. Sage Veyron knelt beside him, carefully arranging an array of iron pieces and sea salt on the ground. Both combined with fire would reveal any cloaked being.

Kyllian's eyes scanned the tree lines and brush beyond the perimeter, narrowing. "I feel like I am being watched," he murmured.

"Why?" Veyron asked without looking up, hands steady as he carved more pieces of the iron into the dirt, his mind already two steps ahead of any intruder.

"Because I am being watched. I see the scouts hidden around. I've counted three already." Kyllian shifted, his instincts honed to the edge of paranoia.

"They are there for your own protection."

"So you really think this William person has it in for us werewolves, huh?"

"Yeah," Veyron said, finally looking up.

"You werewolves killed his mate during a war much like this one. He never recovered. He had Morvakar's skills, and he used them to do terrible things in his obsession to bring her soul back. Lucivar intervened, had him killed—but apparently, he had preserved his own soul. Gabriel helped bring him back when it suited his schemes. And now…" His gaze sharpened, sweeping the encampment, "…he's ready for vengeance."

"Carrying a grudge for centuries. He must be a bitter, bitter man," Kyllian muttered.

Veyron, crouched near the runic array of iron and sea salt, glanced up with a faint smirk, the flickering firelight catching the edges of his face. "I remember how long it took you to get over Luna, and the hate you had toward Damien." he said casually, as if recounting a trivial anecdote. "It's easier to judge from the outside."

"This man killed my king," he growled. "I am not judging from the outside."

"Ah, forgot about that bit," Veyron muttered. "Now remember, the war is a ruse. This is to draw him out. Once it begins, the king will deliberately target you." He paused, leaning back slightly, eyes narrowing in emphasis. "Try not to kill him, Kyllian."

"How will we know when he is here?" Kyllian asked, leaning over the sigils.

Immediately, a pulse thrummed in his pocket from Isolde's necklace, vibrating like a heartbeat. "That would be now," Veyron said evenly. "He is here. Sound the alarm."

Kyllian rose, a mountain of muscle, letting out a guttural howl that carried through the trees. The werewolf army stirred, hundreds of eyes and ears tuned to the command.

******

"There is the signal," Damien's voice rang out. His eyes swept over the rows of his warriors. He felt the surge of adrenaline. "Are we ready?!"

"Ready!!!" came the thunderous roar. Every soldier crouched low, poised for movement. Damien's lips twitched in a grim smirk. He had orchestrated this so perfectly, every move a calculated piece of the puzzle.

He turned back toward the boundary, where the opposing army waited, muscles taut, eyes glowing. "Then let's go!" he bellowed, the vampire battalion surged forward in a blur of motion. Damien led the charge personally, flying across the field.

He wanted this over quickly—before real blood was spilled, before the fragile ruse he had built could collapse under chaos.

Across the boundary, Kyllian's werewolf army responded to the frenzied advance, but something was wrong. His troops couldn't shift. It was as if invisible chains held them back. Panic prickled at his neck. Even the alpha king tried to shift but his body refused his command. His eyes darted to Veyron. "There is silver in the air!" he roared.

Veyron nodded grimly, his hands already moving. He grabbed a torch and hurled it into the mixture of iron and sea salt he had prepared. It erupted into light and fire, illuminating the battlefield in a harsh glow. Every cloaked movement, every hidden enchantment, every invisibility was instantly exposed.

The fog of illusion and shadow that William had relied upon shimmered and fractured. The silver-tinted air hummed with revealed magic, making the entire battlefield surreal, almost dreamlike, yet terrifyingly real.

Kyllian whipped around just in time to see a shimmering form emerge from the front lines of his own army. The figure radiated a twisted elegance, power raw and palpable, the aura of a man who had bent magic, life, and death to his will. "There!" Kyllian growled.

Damien heard the declaration echo across the battlefield even as he moved with supernatural speed, the world around him a blur of motion. Every instinct screamed that this was the moment—every calculation had led to this. He had orchestrated the war to draw William into a trap, to force the hand of a man who had eluded him.