Author's Note:- This chapter brings the first real intersection between Aiyana's growing legend in Paris and the Order's discovery of her existence.
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Location: Saint-Germain Bell Tower
Timing: Mid-night
The wind tasted of ash and rain atop the Cathedral of Saint-Germain.
Lucien D'Arden stood upon the bell tower's edge, his long coat whispering around him like smoke. Below stretched Paris — a glittering tapestry of sin and candlelight. Even after three centuries, mortals never changed: always chasing warmth in the dark.
And tonight, the dark watched back.
From the rooftops, he could see her — a woman in black silk moving through the market crowds near the Seine. The mortals parted unconsciously around her. Predator and prey, yet none of them knew.
Lucien's hand tightened on the hilt of the blade strapped across his back. Its steel shimmered faintly red, forged with the blood of his ancestors.
> She walks in daylight.
She feeds without turning.
She carries the scent of the Queen's blood.
The words from the Order's messengers echoed in his mind.
The reborn queen.
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The Order of Crimson Blood
Deep beneath Paris, in the crypts older than any cathedral, the Dark Order convened. Twelve vampires, ancient and ruthless, sat around an obsidian table carved with runes that pulsed faintly with living blood.
Lucien stood at its center, silver-haired and cold-eyed, a creature carved of moonlight and steel.
"Lucien D'Arden," spoke Elder Morvane, his voice echoing through the chamber, "you have served as the Order's sword for three hundred years. We summon you now because a shadow stirs in your dominion."
He tossed a crimson-sealed envelope onto the table. Within lay a photograph: Aiyana Vale — smiling faintly, standing in the glow of a Parisian boutique.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "She looks human."
Morvane sneered. "And yet she walks under the sun, feeds without frenzy, commands the minds of mortals. Our informants call her La Femme Rouge. No sire claims her. No record names her."
Another elder leaned forward, her eyes like onyx. "The energy surrounding her… it is Seraphine's."
The name struck the chamber like thunder. Even the torches flickered.
Seraphine.
The Crimson Queen. The mother of their curse. The one Lucien himself had been destined to destroy — and failed.
He had killed her body three centuries ago, sealing her soul in ashes beneath the catacombs. But blood never stays buried forever.
Morvane's voice cut through his thoughts. "We fear her essence has chosen a new vessel. A young vampire born outside our laws. If so, she must be purged before the Blood Moon rises again."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "I will find her."
"And when you do?"
He looked up, eyes cold as the steel at his side. "I will finish what was left undone."
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The Hunt Begins
Night fell over Paris like ink spilling across glass.
Lucien moved through the streets unseen, a shadow among shadows. The city knew his presence instinctively—dogs fell silent, candles dimmed, and even the air grew still.
He followed her trail: the whispers of men who dreamed of her, the faint trace of power woven through the minds she'd touched. A month's worth of legends and desire led to one name: Aiyana Vail.
In a crowded square, a street artist painted her likeness from memory — eyes too bright, smile too sharp.
Lucien watched silently. "She haunts them," he murmured. "She's learning to rule without trying."
He almost admired her.
Almost.
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The Encounter
Aiyana felt him before she saw him.
She was in a perfume boutique near the Tuileries, sampling jasmine and amber scents that reminded her of the night air after rain. Her mind was quiet, her telepathic barriers folded tight around her thoughts.
Then a presence entered her sphere — ancient, commanding, inhumanly still.
She stiffened. Usually, she could hear mortal thoughts like pages fluttering in the wind. But this mind… was a locked book of iron.
She turned.
Lucien stood by the door, silver hair catching the light, eyes gray as forged steel. He looked out of place and timeless all at once — like a statue that had decided to move.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
She tried to read him — and found nothing. No whisper, no emotion, no pulse of thought. It was as if she had touched the void.
He smiled faintly. "Impressive trick," he said in French. "Most of our kind go mad trying to hear everything at once."
Aiyana tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. "And you are?"
"Someone who has been sent to understand what you are."
"How polite. Most hunters skip straight to the killing part."
"I prefer conversation before violence," Lucien said, stepping closer. The scent of him — cool metal and ancient rose — hit her like memory.
Their gazes locked again, predator to predator.
"Tell me," he murmured, "do you hear me now?"
Aiyana's eyes narrowed. "No. And that bothers me."
"Good." He smiled, but there was sadness in it. "Because if you could, you'd see what I was sent to do."
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The Council's Warning
Later that night, Lucien returned to the Order's hidden catacombs. The elders waited, their eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
"Well?" Morvane demanded.
"She's young — a month old at most. But the Queen's blood runs strong."
"Then she is Seraphine reborn."
Lucien hesitated. "No. She's… different. The Queen's essence may sleep inside her, but the girl fights it. She does not kill for pleasure. She feeds like a dreamer."
"That makes her more dangerous," another elder snapped. "Mercy is a human disease. If Seraphine's spirit is awake in her, the Blood Moon will draw it out. You know what that means, Prince D'Arden."
Lucien's hands tightened. "Yes. If she becomes the Queen again… I will kill her."
But the words tasted like ashes.
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Meanwhile — Aiyana's Reflection
In her penthouse, Aiyana paced before the mirror. Her mind was restless, her senses sharp.
That man — Lucien — had been a void. No thoughts. No heartbeat she could touch. And yet something in him had pulled at her, something ancient and aching.
Only one answer echoed in her mind to that handsome stranger's mystery.
Vampire. Just like her. But older, faster and enchanting and dangerous at the same time.
When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his presence, like cold moonlight on her skin.
Then the mirror rippled.
> So, you've met my beloved executioner.
Seraphine's voice. Velvet and cruel.
Aiyana gritted her teeth. "Stay out of my head."
> Impossible. You carry me, child. You carry our throne.
The mirror showed not her own face but Seraphine's—eyes like molten gold, lips curved in knowing smile.
> Do you think you can escape what you are? Even he could not resist me. That prince you find so fascinating — he once loved me.
Aiyana's chest tightened. "Lies."
> Ask him yourself when he comes for you.
The mirror shattered.
Aiyana stood amid the glittering shards, breathing hard, eyes burning crimson.
For the first time since her rebirth, she felt something close to fear — and something far more dangerous: curiosity.
Who was Lucien really? And why did the echo of his name make her heart — dead or not — tremble?
When a devil falls in love, it's the most hauntingly beautiful thing ever. And the world should be terrified, for he will go to the depths of hell for her. 🥀🥀
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End of Chapter 6