The Sworn

[ POV: KAELIA BRYNN HALLOWAY ]

Liora’s small, cold fingers stayed locked in mine as three pitch-black sedans rolled into the school courtyard. The tires crushed the damp gravel with a slow, steady crunch beneath the eternal ceiling of Eclipse’s slate sky. There was never any sun here. The clouds hung low and swollen, a permanent shroud of mist that kept the daylight choked down to a dull, bruised twilight. Vampires hated direct glare, and our town gave them exactly what their pale skin demanded.

Dad stood beside us like an iron post. His thick arm wrapped over Liora’s shoulders, pulling her against his ribs, while his other hand clamped down on my shoulder. His fingers dug through the wool of my coat, trembling with a frantic, desperate rhythm. He did not look at the vehicles. His bloodshot eyes were fixed straight ahead, wide and hollow, staring down the approaching nightmare.

Liora shrank against his hip. Her lower lip wobbled, her breath catching in jagged little gasps as the engines died in unison. I squeezed her hand with everything I had left.

"I am right here," I said softly. "Look at me, Li. I am not letting go."

She gave a tiny jerk of her chin, blinking away the tears that clung to her dark lashes. The center car door clicked open.

A dozen Fang guards moved out from the front and rear sedans in sharp, practiced unison. They wore dark red coats that fell past their knees, cut straight and clean, nearly brushing the wet stones of the courtyard. They fanned out like vultures claiming a carcass, hands resting on the hilts of silver-tipped batons at their waists.

Then the passenger door of the center vehicle swung wide. A tall man stepped out onto the gravel. He wore a dark, tailored suit that looked expensive enough to buy our entire street, sharp at the lapels and immaculate down to the polished leather of his boots. Dark-tinted sunglasses masked his eyes, an absurd shield against the overcast gloom, but no one laughed. Power rolled off his shoulders like a winter draft. He was an escort from the high seat, cold and sharp-edged.

Principal Belmont hurried forward from the main double doors, his spine curving into a deep, groveling bow.

"Mr. Volden," Belmont said, his voice greasy with desperate respect. "We are honored by your prompt arrival."

Volden did not offer a greeting. He stood in the damp mist, his head turning slightly to take in the courtyard, the red-coated sentries, and finally the cluster formed by my family. His mouth was a straight, bloodless line.

"Is that the Sworn?" Volden asked. His accent was clipped and old, biting down hard on the syllables with foreign precision.

"Yes, sir," Belmont replied instantly, gesturing toward Liora like a merchant showing off prized stock. "The girl right there. Liora Halloway."

A few paces behind the principal stood Miss Blythe, flanked by two other vampire faculty members. She wore that same quiet, patient expression she always carried during homeroom. A witch in Fang territory, working alongside the blood-drinkers. I caught her gaze and looked away, my stomach turning sour. She had smiled at us every morning while knowing what kind of slaughterhouse this place really was.

Volden took two measured strides toward us, stopping just a few feet away. The scent of him hit my nose—cologne, old cedarwood, and the sterile, metallic chill that belonged to every High Fang.

"A Burner crossed the boundary lines for this child?" Volden asked, looking down his sharp nose.

Belmont rushed to validate himself, nodding so hard his double chin quivered. "Yes, sir. It breached the eastern gate and reached the second floor. I initiated lockdown protocol the moment the alarm sounded. We neutralized the threat inside the hall."

Volden’s head tilted. Behind the dark tint of his glasses, I felt the heavy weight of his appraisal dropping onto Liora. My sister pressed her face into Dad’s coat, her chest heaving against his ribs.

"Her Strike suggests an ancient bloodline," Belmont added, pitching his voice lower, though with vampire hearing it made no difference. "The resonance was immense. I believe she is Sworn to a True Born."

Volden remained motionless for two long heartbeats. When he spoke, he completely ignored the principal's deduction.

"Lord Zarok hosts delegates from the crown this weekend," Volden said flatly. "His lordship's annual inspection of the outer sectors will be postponed by seven days. Inform your council."

Belmont dipped his head again, subservient and eager. "Understood, Mr. Volden. We will maintain order until his arrival."

Volden’s head turned slightly. His gaze dropped to the principal’s left side. "The beast tore into you."

Belmont’s breath hitched. Thick linen bandages ran from his wrist all the way up under the collar of his suit jacket. Dark, oily stains had already seeped through the white cloth where Liora’s defensive burst had severed skin and muscle, mingling with the venom of the dead Burner.

Belmont leaned closer to the escort, lowering his chin to murmur against Volden’s shoulder. I strained my ears, catching only fragments through the wind. Then Belmont stepped back, his expression tight and sour.

"The older sister refuses separation," Belmont murmured. "She insists on accompanying the Sworn."

Volden’s jaw locked. His lips thinned until they were white, his nostrils flaring with cold irritation. For a second, I thought he would order the red coats to pin me to the gravel or rip my throat out right in front of the school steps. But he didn't waste the breath to argue.

He spun on his heel, his dark coat sweeping around his ankles as he walked back toward the open door of the sedan.

"Say your goodbyes now," Volden barked over his shoulder, waving a leather-gloved hand toward the car. "We leave this second."

He stepped inside the cabin, leaving the rear passenger door yawning open like an empty grave.

Dad spun us around so fast our coats tangled. The stoic mask he had maintained since the alarm bells first rang cracked down the middle. Thick tears broke over his eyelashes, spilling across his rough, stubbled cheeks. His skin was gray, the deep lines around his mouth carved by a grief so raw it looked like a fresh wound. First he had lost Mom to the dark politics of this realm. Now the Fang were taking both his girls in a single afternoon.

"Look at me, both of you," Dad whispered, his voice cracking on the words. He pulled us hard against his chest, crushing us together until I could hear the panicked thudding of his human heart. "Look after one another. Kaelia, hold her close. Liora, listen to your sister. I beg of you both."

Liora began to wail, her arms wrapping around his neck. "Dad, don't make us go. Please, Dad, don't let them take me."

"This is not the end," Dad gritted out, his cheek pressed against her curly hair. He rubbed his rough hand across her back, fighting his own sobs while his frame shook. "I will come for you. I will find a way through the city gates. We will be together again. You hear me? We will survive this."

"Now!" Volden’s voice cracked from inside the sedan like a gunshot.

Dad pulled back, holding us at arm’s length. His eyes darted past my shoulder, checking the red-coated guards who were already closing the circle. With a swift, practiced motion born of decades working over clandestine workbenches, he slipped his hand inside the deep inner lining of his work jacket.

His knuckles brushed against mine, shoving a dense, heavy roll wrapped in thick oilcloth straight into my coat pocket.

My eyes widened. The weight was familiar. The stiff corners of the wooden kit, the faint clinking of glass nestled against padded wool—it was the case. The life's work he kept locked beneath the floorboards of our cellar.

Dad leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he pulled me into one final, desperate hug.

"Guard it with your life," he breathed, so low the sound barely registered above the wind. "Use the mixtures with care until I reach you. Keep her alive, Kaelia."

He broke the embrace and pushed us toward the sedan. The red-coated guard stepped aside, his pale, aristocratic face devoid of anything resembling mercy. Belmont watched from the steps with folded hands, his eyes cold and satisfied.

I grabbed Liora’s wrist, stepping up into the vehicle first to pull her in after me. The leather seats were freezing. The air inside the cabin smelled of ozone, polished trim, and old death. The door slammed shut behind us with a heavy, pressurized thud that cut off the noise of the schoolyard entirely.

I pressed my face against the dark tinted window. Outside, through the charcoal glass, Dad looked tiny and frail. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the biting wind, staring straight at the glass he could not see through. As the car lurched forward and picked up speed, the mist crept out from the trees, rolling over the asphalt like grey water until his solitary figure dissolved into the fog.

Liora collapsed against my side, tucking her face into the crook of my neck. Her tears soaked straight through my collar, her fingers digging into my ribs as if she expected the seat beneath us to drop into an abyss.

"I have you," I whispered, resting my chin on top of her head. "I am right here."

The sedan sped past the boundaries of Eclipse, leaving behind the town square, the rusted wire fences, and the only life we had ever known. Everything vanished behind the blackened glass. We had no bags, no extra clothes, not even a change of shoes. Belmont had claimed Lord Zarok’s household would provide for our needs, but I knew the real reason. Unarmed, unsupplied humans were easier to control. We were prisoners wrapped in royal protocol.

The drive dragged on for four agonizing hours.

The road carved through the barren, frozen scrublands that separated our remote sector from the regional capital of Gallow. The vegetation grew sparser, the trees twisted into skeletal shapes under the heavy, low-hanging clouds. It grew colder with every mile. The farther north one traveled into Fang territory, the deeper the chill became, sustained by the ancient, unnatural magic woven into the soil by the ruling lords.

Liora’s sobs eventually wore her down into an exhausted stupor. Her breathing slowed to a ragged pattern, though her grip on my waist never loosened. I pulled the heavy wool of her coat tighter around her throat, keeping my back rigid against the leather seat. In the front passenger seat, Volden never moved. He sat like a stone carving, his head facing the gray horizon, silent and unreadable behind his dark lenses.

Dusk had fully settled into a dark, ink-blue twilight when the car finally slowed.

I lifted my head, blinking away the dry burn in my eyes. Through the windshield, the massive silhouette of Lord Zarok’s ancestral fortress loomed against the jagged mountains. It was a sprawling medieval stronghold constructed from dark, jagged stone, reinforced with modern ironwork and high watchtowers that pierced the fog. Immense iron gates, forged in the shape of snarling wolves and bat wings, swung inward with a low, mechanical groan.

Floodlights washed over the vehicle as we cleared the perimeter. Red-coated guards lined the gravel drive every ten paces, their silver weapons gleaming beneath the artificial glare. The sedan rolled to a halt in a broad stone courtyard flanked by towering buttresses.

I tapped Liora’s shoulder gently. "Li. Wake up. We are here."

She stirred, gasping softly as her eyes fluttered open. Fear snapped back into her face the moment she saw the high stone walls outside.

The car door flew open. Cold mountain air rushed inside, biting at our cheeks. Volden stepped out without looking back at us. On the gravel stood a woman wearing a crisp, high-collared uniform of dark navy blue. Her hair was pulled back into a severe knot, her posture stiff as a rod. She bowed low from the waist as Volden approached.

"His lordship awaits your report in the private study, Mr. Volden," she said, her voice smooth and devoid of inflection.

Volden gave a brief nod, cutting across the courtyard toward a side entrance without uttering a single syllable to us.

The woman turned her gaze toward the car. Her eyes were an unusual, pale shade of amber, scanning Liora with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. She did not look like a pure True Born, but there was enough turned blood in her veins to make her move with unnatural, predatory stillness.

"I shall conduct you to your chambers, my lady," the woman said, directing the title squarely at Liora.

Liora shrank back, her hand clutching my sleeve.

"Lead the way," I said, stepping between them to break the woman's stare. "We would like to get out of the cold."

The woman's amber eyes flicked to my face for a fraction of a second. She offered no smile, no acknowledgment of my intrusion, merely inclining her head before turning toward the grand entrance.

"Follow me, then."

We climbed the wide stone steps hand in hand. The chill in the air followed us right through the massive oak-and-iron doors into the interior. The fortress was an imposing blend of ancient gothic architecture and cold modern luxury. Enormous stone hallways stretched into shadows, illuminated by dim wall sconces shaped like iron claws. Heavy oil paintings lined the corridors—grim, centuries-old portraits of High Fang ancestors with hollow cheeks and sharp, judgmental eyes. In this world, mirrors were scarce; portraits were the only record the immortals kept of their physical forms.

We passed several patrols of red-coated guards, their heavy boots echoing off the flagstones. None of them spoke. None of them looked at us directly, yet I could feel their collective attention tracking the pulse in our throats.

After ascending a wide, winding staircase of polished grey granite, the woman in navy stopped before a set of double doors carved with intricate floral vines. She pushed them open, stepping aside to let us pass.

"Your quarters," she announced flatly.

I stepped across the threshold, pulling Liora with me, and stopped dead.

The suite was vast. The floors were made of polished black marble so dark and glossy they looked like a sheet of midnight ice, reflecting the pale light of the chandelier overhead. A massive four-poster bed draped in heavy charcoal velvet dominated the center of the room—a bed easily large enough to sleep six people. A stone fireplace crackled against the far wall, radiating a dry, necessary heat, while tall arched windows looked out into the foggy darkness.

"All essential provisions are prepared within," the attendant said, her eyes once again lingering on Liora's pale face. "A warm meal will be served precisely at eight o'clock. You are not permitted to wander the corridors unescorted."

She bowed from the waist, stepped backward into the hallway, and pulled the heavy oak doors shut. The latch clicked into place with a definitive, heavy snap.

Silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating.

Liora stood in the center of the black marble, her small frame swallowed by the sheer scale of the room. She turned in a slow circle, her breath hitching in her chest as she hugged her ribs.

"It is... it is bigger than our entire house," she whispered, her voice sounding small and lost in the cavernous space.

I forced a faint, crooked smile, desperate to chip away at the terror freezing her features. "Bigger than our house, the garden, and Dad’s workshop combined. If we got lost in here, it would take a search party two days to drag us out."

A tiny, choked laugh slipped past her lips. It was the first sound of relief she had made since the Burner burst through the classroom ceiling.

"Thank you for not leaving me," she whispered, her eyes shining with fresh tears. She wiped her nose against the cuff of her sleeve, looking up at me with raw, childlike vulnerability. "I was so scared they would lock me in a cage, Kaelia. I thought I would be entirely alone."

I crossed the marble floor in three strides, pulling her against my chest. I buried my face in her hair, pressing a firm kiss against her temple before resting my chin on top of her head.

"Nothing short of the apocalypse could ever pull me away from you," I said, my voice steady, leaving no room for doubt. "And if the world does end, you and I will be the last two standing on the ashes. Nobody takes you from me, Liora. Nobody."

She nodded against my shoulder, clinging to my jacket until her breathing evened out.

I pulled back slightly, tapping the tip of her nose. "Now, you smell like damp earth and burnt lockers. Go into that massive bathroom and run the water."

She offered another fragile smile and turned toward the adjoining arched doorway.

"Be careful with your hair," I called after her. "Keep it out of the water. We do not have our oils or our combs here, and I am not spending three hours detangling those curls with my bare fingers."

"I know, I know," she murmured, disappearing through the doorway. A moment later, the sound of rushing water echoed against the tile.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut, the warmth vanished from my face.

I walked over to the towering arched windows, grabbing the edges of the heavy charcoal velvet curtains. Far below, through the swirling banks of mountain mist, the estate grounds spread out into endless acres of black pine forest. Red coats moved through the fog in steady, methodical patrol patterns, their silver blades glinting beneath the courtyard spotlights. It was a fortress built to keep enemies out—and to ensure cattle never escaped.

I pulled the velvet drapes shut, cutting off the view.

Moving swiftly to the massive bed, I sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled Dad's heavy package from my inner pocket. The coarse oilcloth came undone under my fingers, revealing the dark wooden case nestled inside.

I pressed the brass catch. The lid popped open.

Lined up inside fitted velvet grooves were two dozen slender glass vials, each one sealed with black wax and labeled in my father's cramped, precise handwriting. Solutions of concentrated silver nitrate, purified aconite distillates, neurotoxins engineered to disrupt vampire motor functions, and caustic acid compounds designed to dissolve immortal cellular tissue on contact. It was his entire life's work—a portable arsenal created to level the playing field between fragile human flesh and immortal monsters.

The suppressant vial—the one that might have masked Liora’s scent before the Burner found her—was not here. But it didn't matter anymore. Her awakening had happened. Her Strike had marked Belmont’s arm with venom and power. The high courts knew what she was.

A Sworn. Bound by fate to an ancient Fang lord.

I ran my thumb over the cold glass of a vial labeled with a red cross. A lethal neural paralytic.

If some two-hundred-year-old High Born bastard thought he could claim my little sister like a piece of inherited property, he was going to swallow human poison before he ever laid a finger on her skin. I would burn this entire fortress to the ground before I let them turn her into a breeder or a blood pet.

I snapped the wooden case shut, wrapped it securely back inside the oilcloth, and slid it into the hidden inner lining of my pack behind the wardrobe.

My legs finally gave out. I collapsed backward onto the velvet spread, staring up at the intricate stone mosaic of the high ceiling. Shadows danced across the carved stone faces of gargoyles and wolves as the fire flickered in the grate. My chest felt hollow, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird beating against iron bars.

I placed a trembling palm flat against my breastbone, feeling the frantic, fragile pulse beneath my skin.

"Don't fall apart," I whispered into the empty air of the room. My throat burned as I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back the scream clawing its way up my chest. "Please. Don't fall apart."