CHAPTER 106: A RECKONING IN FIRE

Blaze’s POV

"Did anyone feed from you?" I whispered, voice like death.

She nodded.

Rage flared again—hotter than the fire I’d summoned.

"Who, Clare?" I asked.

Her lips moved. A whisper, broken, but enough.

Red. She

Thelia.

Of course.

I turned, cradling her tighter, and raised my voice. It echoed across the burning chamber like thunder from the grave.

"Defang her. Or I will."

The fire grew in answer.

The vampires went still.

My father stood at the far end, watching me not with fear—but with interest, like I was a wild dog he’d always suspected might bite the hand that raised it.

Let him watch.

Let them all burn.

Because this? This was just the beginning.

That was the moment Clare passed out in my arms.

And I stood, with her cradled against me, and looked around at the vampires who had cheered, who had hooted, who had watched her be torn like prey.

They would burn.

His words slammed into the room like a thunderclap. Chairs cracked. Walls trembled.

Thelia let out a shriek louder than the fire when two of the elder guards grabbed her, yanking her head back with iron grips. Her eyes widened in horror.

"No—no, please, Father, tell them to stop! I only took a little! It was just a—"

She screamed as the first fang was ripped from her gum, blood spraying down her chin

*****

I stood in the center of chaos, the scent of burnt silk, scorched flesh, and blood thick in the air—yet none of it masked her scent. Clare.

She was shaking in my arms, barely conscious, her pulse thready against my wrist. Her torn shirt clung to her like a forgotten curtain in a crumbling cathedral. I wrapped my jacket tighter around her exposed chest, shielding what I could from the eyes that dared to gawk at her like livestock brought to slaughter.

The fire I’d summoned roared louder behind me, engulfing the ornate dining table in blistering, holy heat. Golden goblets melted into the polished wood. Candelabras toppled, hissing as they crumpled beneath the weight of my fury. Flames licked the walls, dancing with the glee of judgment long overdue.

Thelia and Lucas were still on the floor—screaming.

Their hands were bright torches now. The scent of burning vampire flesh would haunt even the damned. But I didn’t flinch. I felt nothing for them.

I’d warned them.

I’d told them my room was off-limits.

I told them not to touch her.

They didn’t listen.

Now, they paid.

Footsteps approached through the smoke—measured, calm, authoritative. Of course. My father. The man who taught me power, but never learned how far my fury could stretch once provoked.

"That’s enough, Blaze," he said, his voice cutting through the firelight like a blade. "You’ve punished them. Extinguish the flames."

I turned toward him slowly, the weight of Clare’s fragile body still firm in my arms. Her heartbeat was weakening. Every breath she took stoked the inferno inside me.

I met his gaze. He stood untouched by the fire, like a statue among ruins, but I didn’t see the centuries-old vampire lord—I saw the man who dared to treat my mate as if she were a toy passed around his degenerates.

"They dared to enter my room," I said, my voice low, colder than death itself. "I warned them."

He sighed as if tired. "You’ve made your point, son."

"No," I growled. "Not yet."

I turned my eyes to Marcus, who had been lingering by the wall, watching his twin scream. He froze under my stare. His shoulders tensed. Guilty. Afraid.

"You were there too," I said.

"I tried to stop them," Marcus stammered, eyes wide. "I—I didn’t touch her. I swear it, Blaze!"

I smiled—sharp, cruel. "Then you’ll be the first to understand mercy, Marcus. You get to keep your skin today."

He flinched when I stepped forward, the air around me vibrating with magic and rage. Lucas rolled, shrieking on the floor like a beast. Thelia was slapping her flaming wrist against the stone, howling.

"The only way to stop the fire," I said slowly, enunciating each word so even the half-mad could understand, "is to cut off the hands that dared touch what is mine."

Their screams twisted into panic. Pleading now. Groveling.

"Please, Blaze," Thelia sobbed, her red hair frizzing in the heat, cheeks blistering. "We didn’t mean to—"

"You meant to feed," I snapped, voice now hard as steel. "You meant to humiliate her. You laughed while she begged. You ripped her clothes. You slapped her."

Lucas tried to crawl. "I’ll never go near her again—"

"Too late."

My magic surged again, fanning the flames higher. They tried to scramble back, but the fire licked along the marble, chasing their shadows like judgment incarnate.

"Try to put it out," I said to no one in particular, "and the flames will intensify. It’ll eat the marrow from your bones. This is the price of disrespect."

My father stepped closer now, his tone sharper. "Blaze. The girl is safe. Enough."

"She’s mine." I looked at him, my gaze burning through generations of hierarchy. "And what is mine is sacred."

His mouth thinned but he didn’t speak. He knew the line. He knew I would not cross it lightly—but this was not a game of politics. It was primal. Territorial. Eternal.

I turned without another word, Clare secure against my chest. Her fingers twitched. Her head lulled against my shoulder. There was blood in her hair. That was enough.

The ring of fire—my circle of vengeance—opened only for me. I walked through it with Clare in my arms. Behind me, Thelia’s screams turned raw and choked. Lucas’s cries echoed like those of a damned soul in hell.

I didn’t look back.

Let them burn.

Let them bleed.

Let them learn what it meant to touch what was never theirs to touch.

I walked the halls like a god returning from war, my beloved cradled like an offering. Doors opened for me without a knock. Servants turned their faces to the floor. Even the shadows stepped aside.

When I reached my chambers, I laid her down gently on the bed—the same one they had dared defile with their presence. The scent of her still lingered here, but beneath it was a stench I vowed to cleanse with fire if I had to.

I pulled the blanket up to her chin, brushing her hair from her face.

She stirred.

"Clare," I whispered, my voice breaking through the rage that still coiled in my veins.

She didn’t wake.

But her chest rose. And that was enough... for now.

I sat at the edge of the bed, watching her, guarding her.

If they had drawn one more drop from her veins, I would have ripped them limb from limb. No fire. No magic. Just teeth and claws and old-fashioned death.

The fire had been mercy.

This was just the beginning.

They thought I was cruel before?

Now they’d learn what cruelty truly meant.

And no one would touch her again.

Third POV:

The dining hall, once a chamber of grotesque revelry, was now a blistering inferno of punishment. The grand feast had been reduced to ash and ember. Goblets once brimming with stolen blood had melted into warped, golden puddles on the stone floor. The ornate, centuries-old table blazed like a funeral pyre for the old order of things.

Everyone had fled.

Every vampire and human thrall had scrambled away, trampling over one another to escape the suffocating heat and the judgment that had descended like divine fire. None dared remain—not even the boldest of the king’s inner circle. The only sounds left in the scorched silence were the screams.

Thelia writhed on the floor, her once-flawless hands now disfigured torches of flame. The fire clung to her flesh like it was alive—like it had been taught to recognize guilt. The skin melted, sizzled, bubbled. It should have healed. Vampire flesh was resilient, reborn within seconds. But this fire was no ordinary flame. It was Blaze’s will, and it defied nature itself.

Lucas was no better. He was curled against the far end of the hall, biting down on his own wrist to keep from screaming but failing. Tears streaked down his face as the fire on his hands devoured him slowly, patiently, deliberately. Every second was a reminder: You touched what wasn’t yours.

Hovering in the center of it all, Marcus stood like a man on the edge of a moral cliff, a blood-stained butcher knife trembling in his grasp. His chest heaved with panic. He looked from the blade to Thelia, and back again.

"Stay still, Thelia," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "I can make it quick. I promise. You won’t feel the second cut if I get it right."

His twin screamed louder at that. "No! No, please, Marcus—don’t—don’t!"

"If I don’t, you’ll burn through the bones! Your whole arm—your face! I can’t watch you melt, Thelia!"

Lucas shouted through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "Don’t you dare touch me with that thing! Father! Father! Please—stop this!"

But the Vampire King stood aloof, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the blazing ruin his children had created. The fire reflected in his pitch-black eyes, but no concern lived there. Only calculation. Control.

He turned slowly to face them, his voice a measured whisper, cold enough to pierce the heat around him.

"My current concern is the girl."

Thelia and Lucas froze, blinking through pain and heat and blood.

The King continued. "The human... she must die. That is the only way to prevent the prophecy from unfolding."

Thelia tried to speak—tried to beg—but he cut her off with a glance that froze her tongue more effectively than the fire could melt it.

"You disobeyed Blaze. You entered his sanctuary. You touched his claim," he said. "You brought this upon yourselves."

Lucas dropped his forehead to the floor in agony, his blistered hands still aflame. "I didn’t mean—please—Father, I can’t lose my hands. I—I won’t survive like this—"

The King raised one hand and silenced him with a flick of his fingers.

"I have no time for consequences born of stupidity. Die, or remain handicapped. Either way, you are no longer my concern."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

The siblings, still screaming, reached after him—both of them broken and begging—but he did not look back. Not once.

The doors closed behind him with a finality that echoed through the smoldering ruins of the hall.

Marcus stood frozen.

Thelia sobbed.

And Lucas... Lucas began to laugh—high, mad, broken. Because he finally understood.

In this family, love was a lie.

Only power mattered.

And they had lost it all.