The gates of Landon Mansion loomed ahead, a gothic sprawl of obsidian towers and silver-etched windows that glinted under the afternoon sun. Santossa's elite district was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of protective wards that shimmered across the estate like an invisible veil.
Lysandra sat stiffly in the enchanted carriage, fingers curled tightly in her lap. Her pale knuckles betrayed the calm mask she tried to wear. Her heart, however, thudded like a frantic drum.
She was here.
Carrying the child of the one man who now refused to see her.
The carriage stopped with a gentle jolt, and before the footman could open the door, it swung wide on its own—magic, ancient and polite.
"Lady Lysandra," a warm voice greeted.
She blinked, heart skipping.
Maika stood there—not in her battle robes, not in the regalia of a feared vampire princess—but in a soft cream gown that flowed around her like mist. Her dark hair was swept loosely over one shoulder, and for the first time, Lysandra saw her smile.
Not the cold, assessing smile she had received in Moonwell.
But a genuine one.
"Welcome to Landon Mansion," Maika said, her voice gentle yet commanding. "Come. You must be tired."
Lysandra hesitated, then stepped out, the hem of her gown brushing the ancient stones that lined the courtyard.
The halls inside were vast—painted in shadows and lit by floating orbs of silver fire. Oil paintings watched silently from the walls, and every step echoed like it disturbed something sacred.
"Where is…" she began, voice hesitant.
Maika's smile didn't falter, but her eyes softened. "Caveen will come to you when he's ready."
Lysandra's breath caught. A strange, sharp pain bloomed in her chest.
He wasn't here.
He didn't want to see her.
"I understand," she said quietly, lowering her eyes.
Maika stopped and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He's hurt, not cruel," she said. "Your actions brought danger to our bloodline… but he'll come around. In time."
Lysandra nodded, even as her stomach twisted.
They entered a softly lit room at the end of the east wing—Lysandra's new quarters.
It was beautiful—warm hues, soft bedding, enchanted drapes that filtered moonlight even in the day. A cradle, elegant and simple, rested in the corner.
Her breath hitched.
The child she carried… would sleep there.
Maika noticed her gaze. "You'll need strength for what's ahead."
"Strength?" Lysandra echoed, eyes still on the cradle.
Maika gestured, and a servant entered with a silver tray, upon which sat a syringe filled with deep crimson liquid.
Lysandra paled.
"This," Maika said calmly, "is vampire blood. Specially filtered and bonded to your aura. You'll need daily injections. Your child is not fully witch—he will hunger for blood. Not just yours. His development will strain your body."
Lysandra slowly took a seat, and the servant gently administered the injection into her arm.
A fiery warmth spread through her veins. Her body shivered with a strange, heady mix of relief and discomfort.
"The baby will have your magic, but also Caveen's instincts," Maika explained. "That means sudden aura flares, defensive womb reactions, and blood cravings. You'll be monitored closely. And you must not leave the mansion. Not even a step past the boundary spells."
Lysandra nodded, her heart thudding faster.
"Tomorrow, we'll begin your lessons," Maika added, turning to the door. "You'll learn the do's and don'ts of carrying a Nexus child. We've only seen one born before—and that is Caveen. The council abducted him when he is just 3years old and we dont want to go through that again"
Lysandra's spine stiffened.
She wouldn't let it happen.
That night, she lay awake.
Alone.
She reached for her belly, feeling the flutter of life within her. The first signs of energy responding to her touch. A warmth that wasn't hers… but felt achingly familiar.
Like Caveen.
Even if he wouldn't look at her.
---
Day One.
She learned that high-pitched sounds could trigger the child's aura. She must avoid certain frequencies and magical vibrations.
Day Two.
She was taught meditation laced with protective wards. The child's aura was already shielding itself subconsciously. It trusted no one but her.
Day Three.
The craving started.
Not hers.
The child's.
She woke from a dream drenched in sweat, chest heaving, mouth dry. A vision of fangs. A hunger for blood that wasn't her own desire. It came from within.
The nurse arrived moments later with the syringe. This time, it took two doses.
Later that evening, Maika visited again.
"You're adapting faster than expected," she said. "That means the child is feeding well. He's accepting your body."
Lysandra placed her hands over her belly again.
"And… Caveen?" she asked softly, barely able to form the name.
Maika sighed. "He went somewhere to cool off. You may not see him, but he asks about the child. Every morning."
Lysandra's lips quivered, but she said nothing.
She had made mistakes. Reckless ones.
But this child… was no mistake.
"I'll make him proud of us," she whispered, more to her unborn child than anyone else.
Outside her window, the moon shone blood-red.
And somewhere in the shadows of the mansion, a pair of golden eyes watched her door… silently, unwaveringly.