Valerian Cross 38      

The world was a blur of pain and feverish dreams for Valerian. Darkness pulled at him, thick and suffocating, dragging him deeper into an abyss where he could hear the echoes of his sister's screams and the mocking laughter of that damned vampire, Lucien.

Every breath burned, every shift of his body sent fresh waves of agony coursing through him. His chest felt as if it had been ripped open—because it had been.

And yet, he was alive.

Barely.

The scent of herbs and something sharp, metallic, filled his senses, mingling with the distant crackle of fire. His fingers twitched against soft fabric, and when he finally forced his eyes open, all he saw was a dimly lit chamber—stone walls, shelves lined with bottles and vials, and the flickering glow of candles casting restless shadows.

A figure moved nearby.

Evelyn.