The night did not welcome them.
It held its breath.
A hundred shadows gathered beyond the Blackwood gates, their presence pressing against the boundary like a storm waiting to break. The air itself felt charged, thick with something ancient and restless, as though the land understood what stood before it—and what was about to happen.
Rowan stood at the front.
Still.
Unmoving.
The iron gates towered before him, dark and unyielding, their surface etched with symbols that did not belong to any human language. They did not gleam. They absorbed light. The closer one looked, the more it became clear—
this was not metal alone.
It was bound.
Sealed.
Something older than iron held it together.
Rowan's gaze lingered on the surface for only a moment.
Then he felt it.
Not the gate.
Not the estate.
Her.
Faint.
Distorted.
But there.
Alive.
His jaw tightened.
Behind him, his clan waited. A hundred vampires, silent and coiled, their presence controlled but ready, every instinct sharpened toward one command.
They did not move without him.
They did not breathe without purpose.
And tonight—
they were not here to negotiate.
Rowan lifted his hand slowly.
Not to strike.
To call.
The connection stretched outward—not to the gate, not to the estate—
to the one who had taken her.
The response came instantly.
A line opened.
Cold.
Measured.
Lucien.
"You came faster than I expected."
Rowan's expression did not shift.
"Return her."
The words were quiet.
Carried not by volume—but by certainty.
"Unharmed."
A pause.
The night seemed to lean closer.
"And no one has to get hurt."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
Lucien's voice returned, softer now, edged with something deeper than calm.
"You already took her once."
The words settled like something unfinished.
Something remembered.
A beat.
"I won't let you take her again."
Rowan's eyes darkened.
There was no hesitation.
No warning.
His hand dropped.
"Break it."
The command fell—and the night shattered with it.
His clan moved as one.
The first strike hit the gate like thunder.
A shockwave rippled outward, the iron vibrating violently as the unseen barrier flared to life. Light—not natural, not warm—spread across its surface in jagged lines, the witch's spell reacting instantly, resisting with a force that pushed back just as hard.
But it wasn't enough.
Another strike.
Then another.
The ground trembled beneath the impact, cracks forming along the edges of the gate as the spell strained, stretching beyond what it was meant to hold.
Rowan stepped forward.
Each step was deliberate.
Measured.
The energy in the air sharpened as he approached, the barrier reacting more violently now, as though it recognized him—as though it knew.
It pulsed.
Bright.
Aggressive.
Warning.
Rowan didn't slow.
His hand lifted.
And then—
he struck.
The impact was not loud.
It was absolute.
The barrier fractured.
Light splintered across the gate in a blinding flash as the spell tore apart under the force of it, the iron beneath cracking open with a violent, echoing snap that tore through the silence of the estate.
For a single moment—
everything held.
Then the gates broke.
They didn't fall.
They gave way.
Shattering outward as the force tore through them, iron bending, snapping, collapsing under pressure that no longer had anything to contain it.
And then—
they were inside.
—
Chaos followed.
The estate woke all at once.
Figures emerged from the shadows, movement flashing across the grounds as the Blackwood clan reacted instantly, their formation breaking into motion, defensive lines forming without command.
Too late.
Rowan's clan surged forward, their advance unstoppable, overwhelming the space with speed and precision that left no room for hesitation.
The first clash came fast.
Violent.
Bodies collided, the sound of impact sharp and immediate as the night filled with motion—shadows against shadows, power against power, the air tearing with every strike.
Rowan didn't stop.
Didn't engage.
Not yet.
He moved through it.
Past it.
His focus fixed on one thing—
her.
—
Inside the estate, the shift was immediate.
Lucien felt it before the first strike landed.
The barrier didn't just weaken—
it broke.
The force of it cut through the estate like a blade, sharp and undeniable, the kind of power that didn't announce itself—it arrived.
His gaze lifted slightly.
So.
It had begun.
Behind him, the room remained still.
Trisha lay where he had left her, her breathing uneven now, her stillness fractured by something deeper than unconsciousness.
The mark pulsed.
Once.
Sharp.
Alive.
Lucien turned toward her slowly.
"He's here."
Not a question.
A fact.
Eliza stepped forward, her expression sharpening as she felt it too.
"Stronger than expected."
Lucien didn't respond.
He was already moving.
"Prepare to leave."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
No trace of doubt.
The estate no longer mattered.
The clan no longer mattered.
Only this—
remained.
Eliza's gaze flickered toward him, a faint smile touching her lips.
"You're abandoning your territory."
"I'm choosing priority."
That was all.
He stepped forward and lifted Trisha without pause, her body yielding against him, her head falling slightly against his shoulder as though the motion had stirred something deeper within her.
The mark burned.
Stronger now.
Lucien's grip tightened—but he didn't stop.
Behind him, the estate erupted into motion.
Orders were given.
Defenses collapsed.
And for the first time in decades—
the Blackwood stronghold fractured.
—
Outside, Rowan moved through the chaos like it didn't exist.
A vampire lunged toward him—
and was gone the next second, thrown aside with a force that didn't slow his stride.
Another tried to block his path—
Rowan didn't even look at him.
Didn't need to.
The man hit the ground before he understood what had happened.
There was no rage in it.
No wasted movement.
Just efficiency.
Lethal.
Precise.
He reached the entrance without resistance.
The doors didn't open.
They shattered.
Wood splintered outward under the force of his entry, fragments scattering across the floor as he stepped inside without breaking pace.
The estate met him in silence.
But not stillness.
Movement flickered in the corners, shadows shifting as members of the Blackwood clan attempted to regroup, to reorient—
to survive.
Rowan didn't acknowledge them.
His gaze moved once across the space.
Searching.
Reaching.
Nothing.
His jaw tightened.
"She's not here."
The realization settled fast.
Too fast.
Behind him, his clan poured in, securing the space with ruthless efficiency, any resistance met and ended without hesitation.
One of them stepped forward.
"Some are escaping."
Rowan turned.
"Stop them."
No emotion.
Just command.
The response was immediate.
The hunt shifted direction.
—
They didn't all make it.
A handful of Blackwood vampires were dragged back, forced to their knees against the cold marble of the main hall, their resistance broken before it could even form.
Rowan approached slowly.
The room fell silent.
He didn't ask immediately.
Didn't need to.
His presence alone was enough.
"Where is he."
The words were low.
Controlled.
Final.
The first one hesitated.
A mistake.
The pressure hit instantly—not physical, not visible, but unmistakable. It pressed down on them, sharp and suffocating, stripping away whatever composure they had left.
"We—we don't know—"
Rowan's gaze didn't shift.
Another stepped in quickly, fear overriding loyalty.
"He acted alone."
A breath.
"The clan didn't know—this wasn't ordered—"
"Who helped him."
The question cut through everything else.
"Witch," one of them said immediately. "He's working with a witch—she's the one who sealed the gate—"
Rowan stilled.
That explained it.
Partially.
"Where."
"We don't know—we swear—he left—he took her and left—"
Silence followed.
Then—
Rowan turned away.
They weren't lying.
And that—
made it worse.
—
The search began immediately.
Every room.
Every corridor.
Every hidden passage the estate had to offer was torn through with brutal efficiency, his clan moving with purpose, leaving no space unchecked, no shadow unexplored.
Nothing.
No trace.
No scent.
No presence.
Like she had been—
erased.
Rowan stopped in the center of the upper hall.
Still.
Unmoving.
The bond stretched outward again.
Thin.
Distorted.
Interfered with.
But not gone.
Never gone.
His eyes closed briefly.
Focusing.
Reaching.
Silence.
Then—
a whisper.
"Rowan…"
His eyes snapped open.
The sound hadn't come from the room.
It hadn't come from the estate.
It came through the bond.
Faint.
Fragile.
But real.
His entire body stilled.
Listening.
"Rowan…"
Closer this time.
Not physically.
Something else.
Something deeper.
His gaze shifted slightly, locking onto something unseen.
Direction.
The interference wasn't gone.
But it had weakened.
Just enough.
His voice dropped.
Quiet.
Certain.
"I hear you."
The words didn't echo.
They didn't need to.
Because somewhere—
beyond the estate—
beyond the distance—
she felt it.
And for the first time since she had been taken—
the distance between them began to break.