The scent of aged oak and dark cherries lingered in the air as they cautiously descended into the wine cellar.
Rows of expensive vintages lined the wooden racks against the stone walls, their glass bottles glinting under the dim light. But none in the group spared them a glance.
Jaxon led the way as they strode toward the farthest corner, where a massive floor-to-ceiling wine rack stood.
Following a momentary pause, he reached for the third bottle on the left in the second row—an unlabeled black glass bottle.
The moment he turned it, a deep click echoed through the chamber.
The moment he turned it, a deep click echoed through the chamber.
A low groan followed as hidden gears stirred to life, and the wine rack began to slowly shift aside.
Jaxon was only familiar with the process up to this point.
Outsiders would never have guessed that the manor had been built atop an ancient underground crypt—the resting place of a vampire queen.
But no one had truly managed to enter the crypt itself. And for one simple reason—behind the wine rack was an immovable, or rather, unopenable stone door.
No hinges. No handle. Nothing.
Generations before them had tried everything to open it—brute force, fire, even tracking down witches in hiding and seeking their aid. But all efforts had ended in vain.
Eventually, they came to one conclusion—that the door would only open upon the vampire queen's awakening.
Judging from Alexander's absence in the cellar, the hypothesis was likely correct. He had already entered the crypt alone.
Jaxon's chest tightened at the thought, unease and anxiety creeping in.
That was an ancient figure they would be dealing with—a being who had existed for more than two millennia.
Amidst his thoughts, the wine rack completed its shift, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending into darkness.
A gust of damp, icy air surged upward from below, sending a shiver through every member of the group.
The door had truly opened.
Jaxon stared in a daze, his gaze trailing the narrow crack along the left wall, where the stone door had vanished into.
But time was of the essence.
He snapped out of his trance and turned to those behind him, his voice low and grim.
"Stay alert, everyone. The alpha is already in there, but since we can't be sure of what we're walking into, we must proceed with utmost caution. Understood?"
The group nodded in unison.
Jaxon scanned their young and determined faces and found himself praying—something he hadn't done in years—for this not to end in casualties.
It was already hard enough for their race to survive up till now, especially with the procreation rate being alarmingly low. So, he would hate to see these painstakingly cultivated and precious young talents end up severely injured or worse, dead.
But then a bitter smile crawled up his lips.
Since when did he start putting his hopes on illusory things like prayers?
Rather than that, wouldn't it be better for him to trust himself, his pack, and above all, in their alpha—Alexander?
With that resolve, Jaxon composed himself and took the lead in stepping into the passageway.
* * *
Meanwhile.
In the heart of the crypt, Alexander stood just steps away from an ancient-looking coffin on a raised altar, his expression and body taut.
The reason was simple.
Moments ago, the same coffin that had shook so violently it seemed on the verge of busting into splinters, had suddenly become calm and quiet.
But instead of feeling relieved, he felt a deeper unease.
He was right to be wary.
It all happened in the blink of an eye—the lid of the coffin suddenly blasted open with shocking force, hurtling straight at him.
Reacting instantly, Alexander dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding being hit. Then, he watched as the lid slammed into the stone wall with a thunderous crash, and didn't so much as crack.
Turning back toward the coffin, Alexander froze.
A woman, her beauty unlike anything he had ever seen, sat upright within it, her unblinking eyes locked on him.
Her features were exquisitely delicate—from the high, sculpted cheekbones to her full, crimson lips.
Long raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall.
Her alabaster skin, smooth as porcelain, seemed to glow faintly even in the dim light.
But it was her eyes that truly mesmerized and drew him in—for they were like two molten pools of liquid gold.
They fascinated him so much that Alexander couldn't help but take a step forward, wanting to look at it from a closer range.
Fortunately, he managed to catch himself in time.
What the hell am I doing?!
Alarm shot through him and his eyes sharpened with suspicion and guardedness when he looked at the woman before him.
She had to be using some kind of enchantment. How else could he explain the sudden, irrational pull toward her?
Then, she spoke.
"You... smell... sweet."
Her voice, raspy from disuse, drifted into his ears like the soft whisper of a spell in the dark.
Alluring. Dangerous.
But the real danger came not from her words, but from within.
The moment she spoke, his wolf stirred, then howled.
As if drawn by some irresistible force, it rammed against the barriers of his mind, desperate to emerge. Then, through their mind link, Alexander heard a word that made his blood run cold.
No. Impossible.
Something had to be wrong—this couldn't be real.
Alexander's mind was reeling as he fought to contain the raging beast within.
In his distracted state, he barely noticed when the woman vanished from the coffin into his arms—until he felt a sharp prick on his neck.
He jerked his head up, eyes widening in disbelief as her fangs sank into his skin.
Pain. Then... pleasure.
His first instinct was to push her away. But something strange happened—again. His wolf, previously frenzied, now purred like a content cat before settling down, calm and still.
But it wasn't just the wolf.
Alexander felt it too.
The urge to pull her closer—bury his hands in her hair, let her keep drinking—was terrifying in its intensity.
As a result, his hands, instead of pushing her away, edged toward her h—
No.
The little reason he had left forcibly resisted.
He clenched his jaw, suppressing the moan rising in his throat, and with every ounce of remaining willpower, shoved her back.
His chest heaving from the physical and mental exertion, and with his neck still stinging from the bite, Alex's eyes locked on her.
His voice came out as a growl, tight with fury, yet laced with confusion.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
The woman didn't answer right away. Instead, she smiled—a slow, sultry curve of her lips that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
But whether it was from fear or something darker, something far more dangerous, even he couldn't say.
"You taste just as sweet," she murmured, licking her lips with unhurried grace.
Alexander's hand curled into a fist.
How dare she look at him like that? Like he was a delicacy?
Her delicacy.
Did she take him for a blood slave?
His father and grandfather had always said this vampire queen was unlike any other. That she was something more. Special.
But in his opinion—at least from what he's seen so far—there was absolutely nothing different about her.
Just another bloodsucking bat!