Caveen stood on the edge of the northern cliffside, wind howling through his coat like a beast mourning the past.
The city of Santossa shimmered below—silver towers, midnight streets, glowing carriages floating between wards. Yet all he could see was the storm in his own mind.
Father.
The word echoed like a curse.
His fists clenched as he stared at the abyss beyond the ridge. The moment Maika had said her name—Lysandra—his world had cracked in two. The witch with lavender eyes. The woman who had stared at him too long when he visited Moonwell Estate. The scent that stirred something primal in him.
And now, he knew why.
It wasn't her aura that drew him that day.
It was his child's.
A spark of his bloodline… calling to him before it even had a name.
"Dammit!" Caveen growled, punching the bark of a nearby eldertree. The wood groaned and split with a dull crack, but it did nothing to calm the war inside him.
He didn't remember that night. Not clearly. Hazy flashes. Her lips. Her body. Her magic, thick and sweet as honey laced with venom.
He had been enchanted. Drugged. A ritual—his body manipulated into a union he didn't consent to.
And yet…
A part of him couldn't hate her.
He hated that part most of all.
---
He sat beneath the tree for hours, watching the sun begin to dip, turning the sky the color of bruises. His fingers brushed over the leather band at his wrist, a charm Maika had given him when he was just a boy.
He'd always been powerful. Too powerful. He had to be bound just to keep the Council at peace.
Now, another was coming. A child born of witch and vampire and lycan blood.
A Nexus.
A being that should not exist.
And yet, it did.
Inside her.
Growing.
Kicking.
Breathing.
His legacy… both a miracle and a potential weapon.
---
Footsteps crunched on leaves behind him.
Carl.
Of course.
"You've been gone three days," his father said, leaning against the tree beside him.
"I know."
"Still not ready to face her?"
Caveen let out a bitter chuckle. "She tricked me. Used a ritual. Played with my blood. And now you want me to… what? Thank her for giving me an heir?"
Carl didn't answer immediately. "I want you to understand what's at stake."
"I do. That's why I'm staying away."
Carl crouched beside him, golden eyes serious. "You think I didn't want to run when they told me Maika was pregnant with you?"
Caveen turned sharply. "You weren't—"
"—tricked?" Carl cut in. "No. But I was scared. I didn't think I'd be good enough. I had blood on my hands. Enemies in every corner. I didn't even know if I'd live long enough to see you born. But I stayed. And you were the only thing that ever made me want to be better."
Caveen's throat tightened.
Carl stood, brushing the dust off his coat.
"You don't have to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe never. But don't make that child grow up thinking he was a burden."
He paused.
"When you're ready, she's waiting."
---
That night, Caveen stood in the west wing corridor of the Landon Mansion. A candle floated beside him, casting flickers of gold on the stone walls. Her door was closed.
Beyond it—his child. His heir.
He didn't knock.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Instead, he whispered to the silence, his voice raw.
"I don't know who I'll be to you. But I'll keep you safe. Even if I burn for it."
He pressed a hand to the cold wood of her door, heart a battlefield of rage, guilt, and something dangerously close to hope.
Then he turned away.
One day, he would enter that room.
But not tonight.