Sebastian paced the length of his opulent office, the rich mahogany floors creaking underfoot with each step. The room was an amalgamation of old-world charm and modern sophistication. Dark, wooden bookcases lined one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes that spoke of the clan's long history. Opposite them, sleek technology adorned the room, a testament to the era in which they lived. Large windows framed with heavy burgundy drapes let in a muted light, casting long shadows that danced across the marble fireplace. Above the mantle hung a large portrait of his parents, their faces frozen in time, eternally watchful.
I swear I can't take it anymore. My patience is wearing thin. They had a simple job, and they messed it up. Sebastian's thoughts churned as he moved, his gaze flickering to the portrait. His mother's serene expression did little to calm the storm brewing within him. Don't they understand the intensity of the matter? If this event doesn't go according to plan... He clenched his fists, recalling his father's voice warning him: Your temper will get the better of you.
The sound of the door creaking open interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Santiago, the elder of the Aetos clan, entering with his usual measured grace. The older man's presence seemed to absorb the tension in the room, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light as he offered a warm, knowing smile.
"Ah, Santiago," Sebastian said, forcing a smile as he extended his hand. His voice was smooth, hiding the turmoil beneath. "It's always a blessing to have you visit."
Santiago's handshake was firm, his eyes crinkling with the wisdom of countless years. "Sebastian, you always know how to flatter an old man," he replied, his tone laced with gentle amusement.
Sebastian gestured to a plush, high-backed chair near the fireplace. "Please, have a seat. Your presence here is an honour."
Santiago settled into the chair, the leather sighing under his weight. He took a moment to survey the room, his gaze lingering on the portrait above the fireplace. When he finally spoke, his tone was more serious, the pleasantries giving way to the gravity of his visit. "I was sceptical when you took over after your father, Apollo. He left behind a formidable legacy."
Sebastian nodded, his jaw tightening at the mention of his father. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that mirrored the conflict within him. "It's been a challenge," he admitted, his voice low. "But I'm adapting."
Santiago leaned forward, his hands clasped together, the lines on his face deepening. "Sebastian, our clans—the Adamos, the Aetos, the Ariti—we've been intertwined for centuries. Your clan, the Adamos, has always been the most powerful. With your father's death sixteen years ago, there were expectations that you would produce an heir to solidify your leadership. But now, with these killings... we're at risk of exposure. The civilians are noticing, and the cops are catching on. We can't keep hiding and covering up these mistakes."
Sebastian drew in a slow, deep breath, the air in the room feeling heavier with each word Santiago spoke. He was well aware of the dangers they faced, but the thought of bringing a child into this cursed life—a life that demanded so much sacrifice—was something he couldn't reconcile.
"I'm aware of the situation," Sebastian said, his voice steady, though a flicker of frustration coloured his tone. He turned to face Santiago, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Immediate action has been taken against the newbies. As for the heir, an heir isn't going to stop these killings. My responsibility is to protect our people and keep our existence hidden. I understand your concerns, Santiago, but I won't be pressured into fathering a child just to appease the clans."
Santiago's gaze softened, his expression one of understanding, though the concern remained etched on his face. "Bringing new blood into our clans is always risky, especially for our kind. Many mothers don't survive, and that's why we often depend on converting others. But by refusing to produce an heir, you risk the unity of our clans. Without a clear line of succession, there's uncertainty, and that breeds dissent."
Sebastian felt a surge of anger rise within him. He turned abruptly, his hand slamming down on the edge of his mahogany desk, the impact reverberating through the room. The fire flared momentarily in response, casting wild shadows across the walls. "AND HOW HAVE I DONE THAT? BY SIMPLY HAVING EMPATHY FOR THE MOTHER OF MY CHILDREN?" His voice echoed, laced with a mix of anger and hurt. "Our kind lives for centuries. I will rule the clans until my dying breath. Whatever happens afterward isn't my concern."
Santiago held up his hands, his voice calm but firm. "I didn't mean to pry into matters that don't concern me, Sebastian. I'm merely offering a helping hand."
Sebastian's anger ebbed as quickly as it had risen. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though the edge remained. "I understand, Santiago. But let's focus on the immediate threat—the newbies. We need to account for all newly converted members and identify anyone who has disappeared or moved out of our reach. We can't let our existence be exposed."
Santiago nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face as he rose from his chair. "I'll leave you to it, then. Just remember, Sebastian, leadership isn't just about strength. It's about foresight, about ensuring the future of our kind."
As Santiago left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, Sebastian turned once more to the portrait of his father and mother. His father's stern gaze seemed to pierce through him, a silent reminder of the expectations he bore. His mother's eyes, soft and kind, offered a stark contrast—a reminder of the cost of those expectations.
He lingered by the fireplace, his mind drifting back to the past. The room around him faded as memories began to surface, memories he had long tried to suppress. Sixteen years had passed since that day, since the moment that changed everything. The doctor's words echoed in his mind as if spoken only moments ago: Her life or his, and his mother had chosen him.
No chance of starting my own family, he thought bitterly, because I ruined it 16 years ago.
The guilt gnawed at him, a constant companion that he had learned to live with but never fully silence. He straightened his posture, pushing the memories back into the recesses of his mind. There was no time for regret, not now, when the future of his clan was at stake.
His attention was drawn to a soft knock at the door. It was one of the younger members of the clan, a messenger by the name of Elias. The young man hesitated at the threshold, clearly sensing the weight of the room.
"Lord Sebastian," Elias began, his voice steady but respectful. "We've received word from the scouts," Elias said, urgency in his voice. "Three more bodies—same pattern. Outskirts of the city. All within the last twenty-four hours."
Sebastian's jaw tightened. That made four in total. The world only knew about Maria Cooper. The other three—he had to make sure they'd never reach the news.
"Were we first on scene?"
Elias nodded. "Yes, sir. Our cleanup teams got there before local authorities. No police involvement. We staged them as wildlife maulings—disfigured enough to avoid suspicion."
Sebastian exhaled slowly. "Good. Keep it that way. We can't afford panic, not yet. Let the humans chase shadows while we wash out these law breakers."
Elias hesitated wondering if it would be proper for him to make this statement "But may I say sir, the way they killed those victims.. it's as if they are making a statement becoming louder not caring who would have found those bodies ."
Of course they are, Sebastian thought bitterly. This isn't just about power or survival anymore; it's about sending a message.
"Thank you, Elias," Sebastian said, his voice clipped. "Alert the others. I want patrols increased, and I want detailed reports on every move these converts make. If they slip up, I want to know about it immediately."
Elias bowed slightly and hurried out of the room, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts once more. The fire crackled in the silence, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out, reaching for something just beyond the light.
Sebastian moved to his desk, his eyes catching on an old map spread out across the surface. The territories of the clans were marked in red, their borders carved out long ago by treaties and blood. But now, those borders were beginning to blur, the lines of loyalty and power shifting with each passing day.
He reached for a pen, marking the locations of the recent attacks on the map. They formed a pattern, a deliberate trail leading closer and closer to the heart of his territory. This wasn't just a series of random attacks; it was a strategy, one designed to provoke and destabilise.
Whoever is behind this knows exactly what they're doing, he thought grimly. And they won't stop until they've drawn us into a full-blown conflict.
Sebastian knew what was at stake. The peace his father had fought so hard to maintain was fragile, hanging by a thread. One wrong move, one failure to act decisively, and it could all come crashing down. He would not let that happen. Not while he still had breath in his body.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Sebastian began to draft a series of orders, his pen moving swiftly across the paper. He would tighten security, bring in trusted allies, and root out the threat before it could spread any further. There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt. The safety of his clan, of everything his father had built, depended on it.
And as he worked, the fire in the hearth continued to burn, its flames dancing in the darkness, a symbol of the light he would protect at all costs.