The mansion was cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of embers in the grand hearth. The Chicago sky outside had turned a deep cobalt, dusk bleeding into night like ink in water. Vladamir Nocturne descended the black marble staircase without a sound, the trailing hem of his obsidian coat brushing over the polished steps. His eyes, ancient and cold, scanned the corridor below like a predator returning to his den—not out of fear, but hunger. Not for blood, but for her.

She was there, where he left her—his beloved, curled delicately on the velvet chaise in the drawing room beneath one of the tall, cathedral-like windows. The gold silk curtains filtered the moonlight just enough to bathe her skin in a gentle, ethereal glow. One hand was resting against her cheek, her breathing soft and slow, lost in dreams. She looked too untouched for this world. Too pure to exist beneath the same stars that had witnessed his violence.

And guarding her, like twin shadows carved from marble and moonlight, were Noel and Leon.

Leon was slouched in a lounging sprawl near her feet, one muscular arm hanging over the side of the couch, his black shirt stretched tight over his chest, but his body alert despite the lazy pose. His crimson eyes tracked every creak of the house with eerie calm. Noel sat more upright, propped against the side of the couch closest to her head. His hands were folded in his lap, eyes half-lidded as if he too were dozing—but Vladamir knew better. Noel never truly slept when she was near. Both boys were creatures of impossible power, honed to kill by instinct and training—but in this moment, they were nothing more than wolves curled around their mother.

Vladamir’s gaze softened the moment it touched her. All the centuries collapsed into silence and ash when he looked at her like that. His every wall, forged in centuries of war and blood, cracked apart with the sound of her gentle exhale.

He stepped closer. Noel’s eyes snapped open completely—sharp, calculating, pupils dilating as he recognized his father. Leon didn’t move, but his fingers flexed slightly, prepared to lunge if anyone dared come too close. Their protectiveness was near-legendary, but with Vladamir, it turned into quiet, begrudging respect. He was the only man allowed to hover near her—though even then, they watched his every move like a test.

Vladamir slowly knelt beside the couch, one knee touching the polished floor. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His hand reached forward, brushing a single strand of hair from her cheek with such reverence it made Noel’s gaze flicker. His fingers lingered, cool and steady, absorbing the rhythm of her breath. He studied her as though he might memorize the placement of every freckle, every curve of her lashes, every whisper of warmth still pulsing through her veins.

Then, his voice came—barely a breath, not even meant for her ears.

“My little one...”

He exhaled. For just a moment, the empire outside these walls didn’t exist. The thrones of ash, the halls of power, the oceans of blood he’d waded through—they all meant nothing. She was the cathedral his soul knelt in. The only altar worth worshipping.

Behind him, Leon murmured lowly, voice velvet with warning, “She’s tired. We didn’t let anyone near her.”

Vladamir gave a slow nod without turning. “You’ve done well,” he replied, gaze still locked on her. “I trust you’ll kill anything that tries.”

Noel answered this time, voice colder. “We already have.”

Vladamir’s lips curved faintly—half amusement, half pride. He leaned closer, placing a soft kiss on her temple, his fangs retracted, his monster silenced.

Then he sat beside the chaise, one hand resting near hers—not touching, but guarding. Waiting. Like a sentinel king watching over the only light in his dark, unholy kingdom. And as the fire crackled low behind them, he whispered, more to himself than anyone, “Sleep, beloved. The world can burn until you wake.”