Page 45 of Winterfall Destiny

"They?" I ask. "Are our friends here?"

"No," replies Andrei for her. "I can't hear Maeve's heart."

"It could use magic to hide them," I whisper.

"It?" says the First disparagingly. "Watch how you talk about me when I can hear you."

I could apologise but don't, dragging a hand through my hair instead.

The hallway ends with a door, this one carved with strange, primitive pictures and runes, similar to the ones in the room we left. The First touches the door that obediently slides open, revealing a circular space.

The walls are hewn from the same unyielding stone and the air thick—not with dust, but with the weight of magic. Several lanterns cast long shadows across the room. As the others join me, we're swallowed by an unseen energy that infuses every breath taken in this space.

But the focus of this room punches air from my lungs.

Central to this chamber, one female and three males occupy four thrones, each chair a masterpiece of stonework, their designs intricate and imposing, as if conjured from the earth and onto the dais they perch on. The four figures, lifeless as the stone surroundings, sit regally in a straight stance, hands resting on the chair arms.

They're dressed in elegant clothing, pristine velvets, silks, and brocades, adorned with intricate embroidery and fine lace. Each wears a different colour, subdued yet rich, with no modern touches. Their skin is paler than normal, matching their environment, creating a stark contrast with the dark, luxurious fabrics of their clothing.

Hemia vampires. Old ones.

I've never seen vampires resembling these; eerily beautiful, with an otherworldly presence. Their faces, with high, pronounced cheekbones and unnaturally large eyes, hold a sorrow that chills my soul, their expressions serene yet inscrutable.

Time hasn't changed them because this place is timeless. How many years have they sat and witnessed the emptiness in silence?

Despite their stillness, there is a latent power within them, a sense of the original hemias' strength trapped. I reach out with my magic, attempting to sneak into their minds or touch their energy, but there's none.

I dart a look around. Are there other seats waiting for us? No. The stone door scrapes closed, and the First wanders around to stand behind the vampires, a hand on each shoulder of the two men in the middle.

"Fucking hell," breathes out Dorian. "They do exist."

"Who?" I look at him blindly. "What is this?"

"Are we here to replace them?" asks Andrei hoarsely, the question forming in my mind, too.

"No, no. Can't you count? There're only three of you." The First taps her lips.

Crap. If I knew what the First planned, I could prepare myself, but I've no bloody clue at all. "Who are they, Dorian?" I ask.

"Tell him," says the First and squeezes each man's shoulder. "I love hearing folk tales."

Dorian slides hands into his pockets, all too casually for such a tense situation. "They're the original originals from the hemia line."

"And who are they specifically, Dorian?" she asks, like a teacher bringing students on an excursion to a museum.

This is a museum—a mausoleum with vampires frozen in living death.

"My vamp half descends from one—Reznik." He wrinkles his nose. "The family line ended, now that I've killed my vampire parents."

"Petrescu and Tepes are original families too," says Andrei hoarsely, face blanched whiter in horror.

"Yes, these are the four families who first plotted to trap me," says the First and mock pouts. "Almost succeeded."

"And now you'll do the same to us?" My heart thumps harder. No. Who will protect Maeve when she needs? Because I don't think I'm getting out of here.

The First huffs. "I said no, Tobias. Now, Dorian, who's the fourth?"

"I'm only aware of three original families," says Dorian.

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