ASHES OF THORN

Prologue: The Blood Pact

Thorne Manor, London - Winter, 1846

The fire crackled with unnatural color-violet and blue, casting sickly shadows that danced like dying souls across the walls of the ancient chamber. Lord Emmerich Thorne, gaunt and wild-eyed, knelt at the center of a circle of runes carved deep into the stone floor, whispering a name that should never be spoken.

Behind him, the woman lay motionless-her eyes wide with fear even in death. A noblewoman. A virgin. The final offering.

The wind howled against the manor's stained glass, and the candles flickered as if the house itself held its breath.

A voice answered the summoning.

It was not heard, but felt-scraping against the spine like ice and ash. A figure emerged from the shadows. No footsteps. No face. Only presence.

"You bargain for legacy," the entity rasped, "and offer blood for power."

"I offer what must be paid," Emmerich said, forcing steel into his voice. "My sons will rule. Their names will echo for centuries. I want-immortality of legacy."

The demon moved closer, tendrils of darkness coiling around the room.

"Then your sons will inherit your name... and your curse. Let them build your empire-but never touch love, never feel a woman's warmth, never sire another heir. The Thorne line ends with fire."

The pact was sealed in blood. Not Emmerich's-but the woman's. The one who screamed only once, then never again.

⸻

Two centuries later, in the heart of London's steel and shadow, the last Thorne prepares to rise-unaware that his inheritance is more than wealth. It is a curse written in lust, blood, and betrayal.