Chapter 221: Consequences of the Attack.

Wykes Manor loomed before them like an ancient promise, its Victorian towers silhouetted against the already darkening sky. The tall windows reflected the warm light of the interior lamps, and for a brief moment it seemed… safe. Too far from the alley, the blood, the broken ice, and the presence that still seemed to cling to their skin.

But the path to the entrance arch was anything but simple.

Damon was visibly limping. His tall, normally firm body now seemed supported more by stubbornness than real strength. His right arm hung stiffly, his fingers still trembling involuntarily, while his back was soaked in blood already darkened beneath his torn clothes. Each step was accompanied by a stifled grunt, his teeth clenched to keep out something worse.

Morgana was with him, practically holding him under her arm, even though she was clearly at her limit. Her normally confident face was pale, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion. Her hair, once neatly styled, clung to her sweaty forehead, and her breathing was short and uneven. Her hands were cold, not from conjured ice, but from sheer exhaustion.

“Just… a little more,” Damon murmured, his voice hoarse, more to himself than to her.

Morgana didn’t respond immediately. She only nodded slightly, adjusting his arm over her own shoulders, even though she felt her legs threaten to give way with each step. The iron gate was already behind them; now only the carved stone arch marking the main entrance to the mansion remained.

When they finally crossed it, something gave way.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no explosion of energy or immediate collapse. It was simply as if both their bodies understood, at the same time, that they were already home.

Morgana’s legs gave way first.

She let out a low sound, almost a sigh, and Damon’s weight became unbearable. He tried to steady himself, tried to pull her back, but his own body no longer obeyed. They both tumbled together, falling to their knees on the polished stone floor of the hall, the impact eliciting a groan of pain from both of them.

Damon fell sideways, barely supporting himself on one arm before finally sprawling on the floor, breathing heavily. Morgana slid down until she was sitting against one of the columns, her gaze lost, the world slowly spinning around her.

For a few seconds, only the sound of their breathing echoed in the enormous hall of the mansion.

Then, hurried footsteps.

“Damon?! Morgana?!”

Aria’s voice cut through the air urgently. She emerged from the side corridor almost running, her eyes wide at the scene before her. The simple dress she wore contrasted with her alarmed expression, and she stopped abruptly a few meters from them.

“What happened?” “Aria…” she asked, already kneeling beside Damon, her hands hovering in the air, unsure where to touch first.

Damon tried to answer, but the only sound that came out was a heavy breath and a muffled groan.

Morgana took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus.

“Aria…” she began, her voice weak but firm enough to be heard. “We were… attacked.”

Aria turned to her immediately.

“Attacked? Here? In the city?”

“No,” Morgana replied, swallowing hard. “On the way back. A group of assassins. They’d been following us since before the tavern.”

Aria’s eyes narrowed.

“Guild assassins?”

“Yes… and no,” Morgana said. She placed a hand on her chest, as if trying to stabilize her heartbeat. “First it was them. Several. Organized. They came after me… the succubus that was taken.”

Aria held her breath.

“And then?”

Morgana closed her eyes for a second, gathering her strength.

“Then another one appeared,” she continued. “He wasn’t from the guild. Not like the others. He was… different. Too strong. Too old.”

Damon made a low sound, agreeing without words.

“He didn’t come to kill,” Morgana said. “He came to measure. To see.”

Aria felt a chill run down her spine.

“Did he say anything?”

Morgana nodded slowly.

“He said he now knows where to look. And that the game has become more interesting.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Aria looked from Morgana to Damon, observing his condition more closely now. The blood, the marks of melted ice, the residual energy still trembling in the air around them.

“You two…” she began, her voice faltering slightly. “You shouldn’t have survived something like that.”

Morgana let out a weak, almost nonexistent laugh.

“I know.”

She tried to move, but the world spun violently. The last thing she saw was Aria’s face approaching too quickly, the alarmed expression turning into contained panic.

“Morgana?” Aria called. “Morgana!”

There was no answer.

Her body relaxed completely, her head drooping to the side, her eyes closing as if exhaustion had finally overcome any remaining resistance.

“Morgana!” Aria repeated, now with real urgency.

Damon forced himself to lift his head.

“She… just fainted,” he murmured. “Exhaustion.”

Even so, his tone reassured no one.

Aria took a deep breath, pushing away the shock with effort. She stood quickly, raising her voice throughout the mansion.

“Bring help! Now!” she ordered. “Call the healers! Bring stretchers, water, everything!”

The previously silent lobby came alive.

Servants emerged from different corridors, some running, others stopping at the sight of the two, their eyes widening in shock. Two of them approached Damon, while others tended to Morgana carefully, avoiding sudden movements.

“Slowly,” Aria said, kneeling again beside Morgana. “She’s alive. Just very tired.”

Damon closed his eyes for a moment, the relief coming too heavy to ignore.

“Sorry,” he murmured, once more to himself. “I should have…”

Aria placed her hand firmly on his shoulder.

“No,” she said. “You did what you could. You both did.”

The servants began to carefully lift Morgana, placing her on an improvised stretcher. Damon tried to protest when they attempted to move him as well, but the strength simply wasn’t there anymore.

“Don’t fight,” Aria said, looking him in the eyes. “You’ve fought enough for today.”

As they were carried inside the mansion, to separate care wings, Aria stood for a few seconds in the lobby, observing the blood on the floor, the ice that hadn’t yet completely melted, the clear traces of a battle that should never have reached that place.

She clenched her fists. “What the hell attacked you…” she murmured to herself.

The lobby was still teeming with movement when two new presences appeared almost simultaneously.

Ester was the first.

She slid through the side arch like a blade, her pace too quick for someone who had only “come to see what was happening.” Her gaze swept across the hall in a single second—the blood on the floor, the remnants of ice, the agitated servants—until she found Damon lying unconscious, being supported by two servants.

The world seemed to shrink.

“Damon.”

The name came out softly, too controlled for someone who felt the ground disappear beneath her feet.

She ran.

She knelt beside him, disregarding her dress, her hands firmly touching his face, his neck, searching for signs. Weak breathing. Irregular pulse. Unsteady energy.

“Damn…” she murmured.

Lily appeared right behind her, stopping abruptly at the sight. Her usual smile simply didn’t appear. Her eyes gleamed for a strange instant—not with excitement, but with pure demonic instinct awakening at the smell of blood.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked, her voice more serious than Aria had ever heard her speak.

Aria approached, still trying to coordinate the servants.

“They were attacked,” she said bluntly. “In the city. On the way back.”

Ester slowly looked up at Aria.

“Attacked… by whom?”

Aria shook her head.

“Assassins. A guild, it seems. And then… something worse.”

Before Ester could press any further, quick footsteps echoed down the main staircase.

Firm. Decisive.

Elizabeth appeared at the top, her dark dress contrasting with her pale skin, her eyes too fixed for someone who had only been summoned in haste. She asked nothing. She didn’t slow down.

She descended the steps almost running.

When she saw Damon on the floor, something changed in her face. Not shock. Not panic.

Silent fury.

She stepped across the space between them and knelt beside him, gently pushing away the servants’ hands.

“Leave,” she said, in a low but firm tone.

They obeyed immediately.

Esther opened her mouth.

“Elizabeth—”

But it was too late.

Elizabeth cupped Damon’s face in both hands, leaned down, and kissed him.

It wasn’t a delicate kiss.

It was deep, intense, laden with something ancient and too heavy to be mere affection.

The instant their lips touched, a red mist began to ooze from Elizabeth’s body, like liquid smoke, enveloping Damon completely. The air in the lobby shifted, becoming dense, pulsating, almost alive.

His wounds began to close.

First the superficial ones. Then the deep ones. The blood receded, the skin recomposed itself, the muscles aligned as if time were being forcibly pulled back.

Ester’s eyes widened.

Aria unconsciously brought her hand to her mouth.

Lily stood completely still, feeling the demonic energy vibrate in a way that made her skin crawl.

Elizabeth slowly stepped back, taking a deep breath.

Damon was still unconscious, but now he seemed… whole.

Without hesitation, Elizabeth turned to Morgana, who lay unconscious on the other stretcher. She approached her, repeating the gesture, kneeling with the same silent urgency.

She kissed Morgana.

The same red mist enveloped the succubus, sliding across her skin, entering invisible wounds, closing cuts, restoring drained energy. Morgana’s body reacted, her chest rising in a deeper, more steady breath.

When Elizabeth pulled away for the second time, something was wrong.

Esther was the first to notice.

Elizabeth’s right hand… had changed.

The skin was wrinkled, dull. The slender fingers seemed longer, the veins bulging. It was as if that hand had aged decades in a few seconds.

Aria felt a knot form in her stomach.

“Elizabeth…” she murmured.

Elizabeth looked at her own hand for a moment. She didn’t seem surprised. Just… calculating.

Then she turned back to Damon.

She knelt again.

And, without any warning, she tilted her head and bit his neck.

It wasn’t brutal. It wasn’t careless. It was necessary.

The blood gushed just enough.

Elizabeth closed her eyes as she drank, her body trembling slightly. The red mist returned, now flowing in the opposite direction, entering her like a warm breath.

The aged hand began to change.

The skin stretched. The wrinkles disappeared. The color returned. In a few seconds, it looked exactly as before.

She pulled away, wiping her lips with her thumb.

Absolute silence.

Esther remained motionless, her face rigid, trying—and failing—to fit what she had just seen into any acceptable logic.

Aria couldn’t look away.

Lily was the first to break the silence, her voice low, almost respectful.

“…So this is how you do it.”

Elizabeth rose slowly.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

She looked at Damon, then at Morgana, making sure they were both breathing well. “They will live,” she said. “But this doesn’t end here.”

Esther stood up abruptly.

“You want to explain,” she said, her voice hard as ice. “Now.”

Elizabeth met her gaze without hesitation.

“Later,” she replied. “When they wake up.”

She turned to Aria.

“Double the mansion’s security. Call Nyx.”

Aria nodded automatically.

Elizabeth then cast one last glance at the blood-stained foyer.

“Because if they attacked Damon within my territory,” she finished, with a smile too cold to be human, “that means war.”

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