Mated to the Mad Lord-Chapter 283: Open door

Cain’s footsteps echoed through the corridors, merging with the panicked shouts and frantic commands of guards. The mansion’s once serene and imposing halls were now fractured by chaos. The polished mahogany walls, adorned with portraits of Cain’s ancestors, were splattered with blood. Crystal chandeliers swayed precariously, their delicate tinkling a stark contrast to the guttural screams and the sickening crunch of bone. Guards clashed with each other in confusion, their eyes wide and uncertain, their loyalty to Cain warring with the primal fear gripping their hearts. Orders barked over intercoms barely made sense, overlapping and contradicting, adding to the disarray.

Henry appeared, his face flushed, sweat glistening at his temples. His usually immaculate uniform was disheveled, the fabric torn at the shoulder, and his breathing was ragged. His usual calm demeanor was shattered, and his eyes met Cain’s with a mixture of relief and dread. In his hand, he clutched a bloodied sword, its blade chipped and dull from use.

"Lord Cain!" Henry’s voice cracked, the strain evident. "It’s the Vampire Lords! All six of them — they’re here!"

"All six?" Cain repeated, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with venom. A chill sliced through him, colder than the deepest winter night. This wasn’t a skirmish; it was a declaration. "Vazer?"

Henry swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. His eyes darted toward the front of the mansion, where the sounds of carnage were loudest. "I counted! He had to be among them! They’ve breached the main gates. It’s a massacre out there, Cain. The guards — they’re being torn apart."

The weight of Henry’s words hung heavy between them, a suffocating presence. Cain’s mind raced, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and dread. The six lords — the most powerful of Red, each a force of destruction in their own right. Their alliance was fractured and volatile, rarely ever unified. The fact that they were here together meant something far more dangerous — a coordinated, ruthless strike. This wasn’t just an attack; it was a message. A message that Cain’s defiance had finally pushed them too far.

"You received no letters from Vazer?" Cain demanded, his voice a sharp edge, cutting through the chaos. "Why didn’t he alert us?" he wondered more to himself than aloud, his mind racing through the possibilities.

"Because he probably betrayed you," Henry whispered, his voice barely audible but still heard, each word a dagger to Cain’s trust. "Lord Cain, this... this isn’t a fight we can win. We need to retreat. If we stay—"

"Do I look like I have any intention of running? If we stay, we defend our home!" Cain barked, his eyes flashing with a ferocity that made Henry flinch. The bond with Violet surged through him — a tether that anchored him even as chaos threatened to consume everything. Leaving wasn’t an option, especially because of how dangerous it would be to do such a thing. The thought of Violet, alone and vulnerable, fueled his resolve.

Henry’s face twisted with frustration, his hands clenching into fists. "Lord Cain, if we fight, we die. All of us," he said, leaving a lot unsaid. His eyes pleaded with Cain, begging him to see reason.

Cain was powerful; he might survive if he ran. But Henry had no doubt in his mind that he would be completely torn apart. The guards, the servants, everyone who had sworn loyalty to Cain — they would be slaughtered. The mansion, a symbol of Cain’s defiance, would be reduced to rubble.

’Do you understand that? These aren’t just any vampires. These are the lords. We cannot hold them off,’ Henry thought, not daring to voice his thoughts any more than he had already done. The sounds of destruction echoed down the halls — shattering glass, the screech of metal bending, the guttural screams of guards falling. Cain’s hands tightened into fists, his claws extending, ready to fight.

The mansion’s foyer was a disaster — debris scattered, splintered wood from shattered doors, glass glimmering like jagged stars on the marble floor. Blood pooled in sickening puddles, the metallic scent clinging to the air, thick and nauseating. Cain stepped carefully, his boots crunching on broken glass, his eyes scanning the wreckage. The once-grand hall, a testament to his family’s legacy, was now a battlefield.

He didn’t have to look far.

They were there — waiting. Five figures stood in the half-lit ruin of the once-grand hall, their presence an oppressive force. Their red eyes gleamed like embers, hungry and unyielding, each pair fixed on Cain with a predatory intensity.

Lord Dravile stood at the center, tall and rigid, his black hair slicked back and framing a face that seemed carved from marble. His gaze was a mixture of disdain and amusement, lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, the veins on his forearms pulsing like roots beneath the surface of pale skin. His presence was commanding, a living embodiment of authority and cruelty.

Beside him, Lady Rasha, her fiery red hair a cascade of bloodied curls over her shoulder, grinned with wicked delight. Her crimson eyes glimmered, burning holes into Cain with unrestrained malice. Her fingers, adorned with golden rings, flexed slowly, the tips of her nails extending into sharp, lethal claws. She was a tempest, a whirlwind of violence and beauty.

To her right, Lord Javi leaned against a shattered pillar, his lithe form draped lazily, but his posture deceived no one. His sharp, narrow face was a mask of indifference, yet his eyes burned with intensity. He flicked a chipped fang with his tongue, a glimmer of irritation brimming beneath his lethargy. His movements were fluid, like a predator stalking its prey.

Hayna, masculine with short, choppy hair and a body carved from lean muscle, watched Cain with a twisted smile. Her stance was predatory, shoulders loose yet poised. Her hands flexed at her sides, the movement calculated — deliberate. She was a storm waiting to break, her every breath a promise of violence.

And then there was Lady Mooza, the most unassuming of them all, with her soft features and doe-like eyes. But her gaze was the most unsettling, a quiet, detached cruelty that sent a chill along Cain’s spine. She stood still and serene, her gentle expression betrayed by the thirst in her red eyes. She was a viper, her venom hidden beneath a veneer of calm.

They were waiting for him.

"You’ve finally shown yourself," Dravile drawled, his voice a silken purr laced with poison. "The prodigal son of Black. The traitor."

Cain’s muscles tensed, his gaze snapping between each of them. The air was suffocating — a predatory tension that promised blood. His heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of fear and defiance.

"What do you want?" Cain demanded, his voice steady, though his heartbeat thrummed a violent rhythm beneath his skin.

"To return a debt," Lady Rasha sneered. Her nails clicked against each other, a metallic, grating sound. "For Lord Masdaw."

The accusation hung heavy, the weight of it pressing against Cain’s chest. He held their gazes, a flicker of defiance crackling in his eyes.

"I didn’t kill him," Cain growled. "You know that."

A low chuckle escaped Lord Javi. "Do we? You’re a snake, Cain. We should have cut off your head ages ago."

Hayna grinned, her teeth sharp and gleaming. "And now we will."

Lady Mooza’s eyes narrowed, her voice delicate but chilling. "We don’t care for your excuses. A Red Lord’s death cannot go unpunished."

The circle tightened. Cain’s pulse spiked, his instincts flaring. His gaze flitted rapidly, calculating the distance to each of them. They were too close — too ready.

A realization struck him like ice: there were only five.

Where was Vazer?

His stomach twisted. Vazer — the lord whose ability could unravel the very fabric of identity. The one who could take any shape, any form. Anyone. Cain’s breath hitched. If Vazer had already infiltrated — if he was someone among his own forces, someone close — Violet.

His blood ran cold.

"Looking for someone?" Hayna taunted, her voice mocking, grating.

Before he could react, they lunged. A flurry of motion, limbs and claws and fangs. The world blurred.

Lord Dravile’s fist collided with his jaw, sending him staggering. Lady Rasha’s claws slashed at his side, ripping through fabric and skin, a hot line of blood burning his ribs. Javi’s knee drove into his stomach, and Hayna’s claws found his shoulder, pinning him with a strength that belied her lithe frame.

Lady Mooza’s fingers, deceptively delicate, wrapped around his throat. Her grip tightened, her gaze unblinking.

"Does it hurt, Cain?" she whispered, her voice an unnerving lullaby. "Good."

Pain flooded him, hot and blinding. His muscles trembled, but his mind was sharper — desperate. He roared, twisting violently, his own claws erupting from his fingertips. He slashed out, catching Javi’s face, raking through flesh. Blood sprayed, a hiss of pain breaking through Javi’s smirk.

The circle broke — only for a heartbeat. Cain staggered back, breaths ragged. His vision swam, the faces of the vampire lords glaring at him with lethal intent. There was no way out. Not alone.

His mind was a storm of violence and fear. He needed to reach Violet — he needed to make sure she was safe. If Vazer had already found her—

"Let’s end this," Dravile commanded, his voice cold and final.

They moved again, a coordinated wave of death.

And Cain knew — if he fell here, there would be no one left to save her.

Back inside the room, Violet sat trembling. The alarms still blared, each shrill blast hammering against her ears. Her mind raced — a chaotic tangle of fear, dread, and the horrible, helpless realization that she could do nothing.

Her fingers tightened on the blanket draped around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the locked door. Each scream that echoed through the halls twisted a knife deeper into her heart. Every sound became a threat — a step, a breath, a whisper of something outside.

"Cain..." she whispered, her voice breaking, a prayer lost in the cacophony.

And then, in the suffocating silence between the alarms, came a knock — heavy, deliberate.

Her breath caught, her body frozen, eyes wide.

"Violet," a familiar voice called from the other side.

"Open the door."