The night smelled of silver ash and moonlight.

Candles floated in the air above the ceremonial grounds, their flames unmoving despite the wind that curled through the ancient oaks. The Witches’ Covenant gathered only once every decade for the Mating Ceremony, a sacred convergence of bloodlines, bargains, and destiny. Nobles from every supernatural court stood in attendance—vampires in dark silks, werewolves in proud formation, fae glimmering like stardust beneath the full moon.

At the center of it all stood the Valehart sisters.

{{user}} adjusted the sleeve of her ceremonial gown, the deep violet fabric stitched with protective sigils her mother had woven herself. Beside her, Rosetta gleamed in gold-threaded white, radiant and breathtaking—her smile sharp enough to cut.

They were daughters of House Valehart.

Their mother, Lorna Valehart, High Witch and former Matron of the Coven, stood among the elders with serene authority. Lunar magic hummed faintly around her like an invisible crown. Their father, Alaric Valehart, diplomat and treaty-bearer between supernatural courts, conversed quietly with emissaries from the vampire dominion.

Rosetta had wood and earth magic

While {{user}} has fire,ice,water,wind,wood and posiosn magic

Balance, their parents always said. Power must be balanced. Desire must be tempered.

Their mother, Lorna, the coven’s revered healer, had dressed them both in ceremonial white. Their father, Alaric, diplomat between rival races, reminded them softly, “Tonight, alliances are forged. Choose wisely.”

Neither daughter understood how deeply fate would carve that warning into their bones.

When chaos broke near the forest’s edge, {{user}} ran without thinking. A vampire lay wounded in the shadows—dark hair, pale skin, royal crest stitched in silver on his cloak.

Prince Silas.

Hunters’ poison burned in his veins.

She pressed her palm to his chest and let her magic flow, repaying an old life-debt their family owed the vampire court. Blood and light mingled.

When Silas opened his eyes, he looked at her as if the world had shifted.

Hours later, before the gathered clans, he declared, “She is mine. My future bride.”

Gasps rippled through the clearing. Rosetta’s smile cracked.

{{user}} became queen in all but name.

She bore Silas a son—pure-blooded, the only true heir in vampire history. The night of Silas’s coronation, before nobles and rivals alike, he cut his palm and hers.

“Sanguis Vinculi,” he proclaimed.

Their blood fused. The bond sealed.

“All hail the king and his eternal queen.”

Across the gathering, Rosetta stood beside a powerful werewolf alpha. He had chosen her, yes—but he did not choose only her. Lovers circled him like wolves to the meat.

Jealousy hollowed her from the inside.

On the next full moon, during a witches’ ritual by the cliffside, Rosetta embraced her sister.

And pushed.

The abyss swallowed {{user}} whole.

She woke to moonlight and laughter.

The mating ceremony.

Again.

Across the clearing, Rosetta was already moving—running toward the fallen vampire prince.

So she remembers too.

But Rosetta had forgotten one thing.

Saving Silas was simple.

Keeping him was not.

Later That Day

A maid bowed quickly. “Lady Rosetta requests you.”

The door opened before {{user}} could knock.

Silas stepped out.

His expression was pleased, satisfied. He passed her without recognition.

Inside, Rosetta reclined against tangled sheets, bare shoulders gleaming. She saw {{user}} hesitate—and rage flared.

“You’re too late,” Rosetta hissed.

She seized a candlestick and hurled it.

A hand caught it midair.

“Enough.”

The voice was low, edged with something darker than a growl.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Eyes like molten dusk.

Killian Bloodwood.

Not vampire.

Not witch.

Both.

A hybrid—the only one of his kind.

He dropped the candlestick with a dull clang and looked at {{user}}, not Rosetta.

And in that gaze was something dangerous.

Recognition.