Blood Illusion, the Heir That Never Was

"I'm moving to the northern gothic castle."

I announced it at the breakfast table.

Lucius froze, his knife hovering over a slab of blood-seared steak.

His brow furrowed—the tell-tale sign of a displeased Lord.

"Why? The manor has the best blood-servants and physicians."

"My bloodline is restless," I said, letting a hint of fragility into my eyes. "It's too loud here. Lilith's piano playing, all the parties… I'm worried it's not good for the heir."

The word "heir" changed everything.

It was the most important piece in his game—the scapegoat.

"Very well," he said, his tone softening. He even placed his hand over mine, the cold of his skin making me sick. "You are my Lady, Rhiannon. You require absolute tranquility. I'll have a guard detail escort you."

He was lying.

I saw the relief in his eyes.

Sending me away meant he could be with Lilith without any pretense.

He wouldn't have to worry about me hearing her moans from the room next door.

I moved into the northern castle.

It was remote, surrounded by a dense, dark forest. The perfect hiding place, and the perfect training ground.

I ordered the blood-servants to spray high-concentration scent-blockers around the castle grounds.

The excuse: my pregnancy made me hypersensitive to smells.

The truth: I needed to cover up the fact that I didn't smell like milk and honey.

The next few months were a grotesque one-woman show.

Lucius visited every fortnight, playing the part of the "devoted mate."

But his gifts betrayed him.

For me, cheap blood-plasma products.

But according to the Covenant blood bank records I'd hacked, he'd been withdrawing "First Blood."

A sacred relic that could bring the dying back from the brink of final death.

Its destination? Lilith's apartment, of course.

It was clear the werewolf mongrel was draining the life from her. Lilith was weakening fast.

Staring at the massive expenditure on the screen, I thought of my last life.

I had been on the verge of death, begging him for a single drop of First Blood.

What did he say then?

"It's a strategic reserve for the Covenant. It cannot be wasted on a woman who might be carrying another's bastard."

And now, he was giving it freely to the woman carrying a monster.

I sneered and finished painting the final blood-rune.

A single drop of my essence fell from my fingertip, sinking into the complex circle drawn on the floor with ancient dust.

My body was lighter, my skin paler, almost translucent. But a cold, ancient power was surging through my veins once more.

I was once the Covenant's deadliest Bloodsworn Champion, the only one with the right to challenge the Lord's seat.

For Lucius, I had sheathed my fangs and played the part of a graceful vampire Lady.

Now, the predator I once was had finally awakened.

"My Lady, you're looking radiant these days," said Marcus, the Covenant's physician, during a routine check-up.

He was an old, experienced vampire with sharp eyes.

"Thank you," I replied coldly.

Marcus hesitated, then lowered his voice. "I saw the Lord take Lady Lilith to the Sacred Springs again yesterday. The whispers in the Covenant… they say Lilith is the one carrying the true pureblood heir, and that you…"

He trailed off, his eyes full of pity.

"My Lady, your mother once did me a great service. I only trust what I see. If you ever need anything, I will always be on your side."

He thought I was the poor, clueless wife.

I stood up from the ritual circle, pulling on a silk robe to cover my illusory belly.

"Let them talk, Marcus," I said, picking up a goblet of blood wine. "Lucius is the Lord. He knows what he's doing. As long as my heir is born safely, I am content."

Marcus looked like he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue.

If he knew what I was really planning, his heart would probably stop on the spot and send him into torpor.

I didn't care about Lucius and Lilith.

In fact, his obsession with her was my greatest advantage. It kept him too distracted to check on me with his heightened Lord's senses.

Otherwise, even with the amulet, his Lord's senses might have pierced the illusion and discovered the truth: the heir in my womb was nothing but a phantom.

Six months flew by.

As my "due date" approached, Lilith's desperation became palpable.

That night, the castle doors burst open.

Lucius stormed in, drenched from the rain, his face pale and radiating a sick, frantic energy.

He was in a hurry.

My informant had told me Lilith's water had broken half an hour ago.

The half-breed monster was tearing her womb apart, the pain was killing her.

Lucius needed my "heir" to swap with hers. Now.

"Rhiannon!" Lucius strode into the bedroom, holding a crystal goblet.

The liquid inside was an eerie dark red and gave off a cold vapor.

"My Rhiannon, I know you haven't been well," he said, his voice trembling—not with concern, but with nerves. "Drink this," he urged. "It will ensure our heir has the strongest bloodline."

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him.

My sense of smell was sharper than ever.

It wasn't a tonic.

It was a mixture of Powdered Holy Light, high-concentration birthing inducers, and Quietus Flower.

It would force violent contractions in a vampire and leave her weak and helpless afterward—a puppet in his hands.

Last time, I drank it. I passed out on the ritual bed, letting him swap my child.

“It’s for the heir, right?” I purred, taking the goblet.

My fingers traced its cold rim, a silent promise of the chill to come.

He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the cup as if it held his salvation.

“Yes,” he croaked. “For our heir. Drink it. Fulfill your purpose.”

His fear was a palpable stench in the air, thicker than the storm outside.

Without me, his precious Lilith was dead.

I raised the goblet, the acrid smell of betrayal stinging my nostrils.

I met his gaze over the rim, and for a split second, I saw it: the raw, ugly flash of triumph in his eyes.

He wanted this. He wanted me weak and broken.

“Lucius,” I repeated, my voice a blade wrapped in silk. “Are you sure this is for our heir?”