Three Werewolves and a Vampire Queen

(ELARA MONTOYA POV)

The scent of stale blood, cheap liquor, and human fear was Elara's constant companion, clinging to the wool blanket like a shroud. But the words that tore through her sleep were far worse.

"You know, for a half-breed servant, your cot always smells exactly like old blood, cheap liquor, and sin. I really should have it burned."

The voice, laced with cruel amusement and the cold, metallic scent of a pureblood vampire, slammed into her skull. Elara tried to curl deeper into the mattress, not fighting the rough shake on her shoulder, but the primal urge to disappear. She was a ghost of the Crimson Talon Clan, and ghosts did not draw attention.

Lili Álvarez, her blood thrall and keeper, didn't relent. Lili sat heavily on the cot's edge, the movement violent enough to send the flimsy frame shuddering-a brutal, physical announcement.

"Rise and shine, Elara!" Lili's voice was too bright, too mortal. This wasn't the dawn; it was the unholy hour before it.

"Go to the Netherworld," Elara muttered into the pillow. The words were a prayer and a threat.

"Get up, child." Lili patted her back, a touch that always felt like a genuine spark of warmth quickly smothered by dismissive duty. "The Sire's manor won't clean itself."

Lili was right. The work was endless, a perpetual penance for her parents' treason. Elara's body was a monument to that crime-a constant, searing reminder of the Blood-Breaking rituals and the deep, ruler-long scars that mapped her body's 'sins.' She was the disgraced daughter, the spit-upon shame, forced to atone with a scrubber and a bucket.

Elara pushed herself up. The Quarters' tiny, barred window offered no light. She had managed four hours of rest after purifying the Grand Hall following Kael Whitmore's Blood-Feast. Kael, the Sire's heir, the spoiled, vicious brat whose entitlement had shattered her night.

"I hate all nights that end with a dawn cleanup," Elara ground out, the fatigue an anchor dragging her down. "It's eternal punishment for a treason I didn't commit."

Lili pressed a cool, paper cup into her hand. "A sip of Vita-Mix, and a dash of true blood. Drink it all, Elara. You need to keep up your strength."

The synthetic blood substitute was meant to keep her weak, yet functional. Every sip tasted like ash and captivity.

"More like, I need to go back to my cot to keep up my strength," Elara countered, but her defiance was a hollow echo. She was trapped.

She slipped behind the torn privacy curtain and exchanged her shift for her uniform: a faded, dark tunic that was her battle dress.

"If you don't move, the Sire will have your blood," Lili said, opening the thin wooden door.

That threat didn't just snap Elara awake-it felt like a whipcrack on her soul. Today, she was scheduled for the pre-Ascension cleanings at The Sire's Manor, preparing for Kael Whitmore's final ceremony. She had to clean the floors for the boy who would one