“They don’t hunt,” he continues quietly. “They destroy.” He exhales sharply. “Then Lucian goes and marks you. No vampire marks a human. Ever. But of course he does. Because whatever twisted, catastrophic force tied you two together made him obsessed with you. Any other night, any other woman, he wouldn’t have spared a second glance.”
That one doesn’t just hit.
It cuts straight through my chest.
I fold inward, wrapping my arms around myselflike I can hold my heart together, like I can protect myself from the poison pouring out of him.
“But even if I could forgive all of that,” Silas says, his voice cracking despite himself. “I still fucking hate you.” He swallows. “I hate you because he marked you and won’t even change you.”
His eyes are wet now, as fury and grief pours from him.
“So, when you die, he dies.”
The room tilts.
“Do you understand that?” he snarls. “Because of you, I’m going to lose my oldest friend. My brother. The man who’s stood beside me for hundreds of years.” His voice drops to something raw. “All because of you.”
I can’t argue. He’s right. If I die, Lucian dies. I’ve been selfish, too wrapped up in the now.
The realisation fractures something inside me. My heart caves in on itself as tears burn behind my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so, so sorry.”
And for the first time, the weight of loving Lucian feels heavier than the fear of dying.
“Leave us.” Lucian’s voice slices through the room, sharpened with murder.
Silas turns slowly to face him. “Lucian,” hebreathes, his name falling from his lips, heavy with pain and regret.
I just stand there, staring at the man—no, the vampire—who marked me, knowing it would cost him his life.
“I said get. The. Fuck. Out.” Lucian’s words are soaked in violence.
Silas hesitates, then looks at me. His eyes soften for just a second before he turns and leaves.
“Lucian, don’t be mad at him,” I rasp, my throat burning. “He’s right.”
The door closes, and Lucian moves. In one step, he’s in front of me, his presence crushing the air from my lungs.
“If I die,” I whisper, my voice breaking, “you die.”
The words hit like they’re new. Like I haven’t already been gutted by them.
“You knew this,” Lucian says quietly.
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t think about what it would steal from you. How it would take you from everyone. From everything.” My gaze drops to my trembling hands. “You didn’t even choose me. I didn’t choose you.” My voice caves in. “This…” I gesture weakly between us. “Is it even real?”
“Don’t.” His voice snaps, raw and shaking. “Don’t even think that.” He grabs my hand andpresses it to his chest. “Everything I feel for you is real.”
“If Silas is right,” I whisper, barely breathing, “then how do you know? What if everything we feel was forced on us? Whatever did this to us, what if none of it is ours?”
“What Sister Mary Joan said doesn’t change how I feel.”
My heart stutters, and the blood drains from my face.
Sister Mary Joan.
My hand flies to my mouth. The room tilts. Memories slam into me; bedtime stories, whispered prayers, candlelight shadows on stone walls.
