Greta sat alone in the heart of her coven's sacred grounds. The moonlight spilled in through the open ceiling, casting silver shadows across the stone floor. Candles floated midair, their flames steady, almost like they were listening.
One leg crossed over the other, her hand resting on her chin, Greta stared blankly at the runes on the floor.
"…Lord of the Night, huh?"
Her voice echoed slightly.
She tapped her fingers against her jaw.
It made sense. The blood moon. The surge in monster activity. The strange pulse in the air last night that made even her magic go wild for a second.
Lucifer.
He wasn't just some turned vampire… not anymore.
"He's not just a vampire," she muttered. "He's the vampire."
The Progenitor. The one written about in forbidden pages. The one the old covens used to fear and respect. A being born from night itself. They said he ruled the darkness, walked the dreams of kings, and fed on gods when they were still young.
His title wasn't just flair.
