But underneath that…vampire.
Newly turned.
The bloodlust radiates from her in waves so powerful that it makes my teeth ache.
We round the corner, and there she is.
A woman. Early twenties, maybe. Covered head to toe in blood that’s already drying to rust-colored stains on her clothes, her skin, her hair. She stumbles through the open gate like a drunk trying to remember how to walk, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
A new scion.
Fresh from the turn, probably less than a day old, based on the feral hunger burning in her eyes.
She’s going to attack.
The bloodlust is too strong, too new, too completely overwhelming for someone who doesn’t even understand what they’ve become. I see it in her body language, the way her muscles coil, the way her fangs, barely formed, still sharp as fuck, descend when she catches our scent.
I shift my weight, preparing to intercept. Ready to put her down if necessary. It’s not personal. It’s just what happens when a scion loses control this close to the clubhouse.
But then her eyes lock onto mine.
And the worldstops.
Not like Thanatos’ magic, not that artificial, brutal freezing.
This is different.
This is every cell in my body recognizing something it’s been searching for without knowing it existed. This is the lycan in me, the beast that lives for duty, pack, and protection, suddenlyscreamingthat everything… everything I’ve ever been, every oath I’ve ever taken, every purpose I’ve ever served, it’s all led to this moment.
Toher.
The word blazes through my mind with absolute, unshakeable certainty.
Fated mate.
The thing lycans whisper about in old stories, the bond that transcends choice, logic, and even the sacred oaths we swear to vampires. It’s rare, most lycans never find their fated mate, spend centuries bonded to vampires and packs without ever knowing what it feels like to have your soul recognize its other half.
But I know.
Right now, staring at this blood-soaked, newly turned vampire woman who’s swaying on her feet as if she might collapse or attack at any second, I fucking know.
She’smine.
And Ihaveto protect her.
Witheverythingin me.
WitheverythingI am.
The realization slams into me with physical force. My bond with Crave, the connection I’ve carried for over two hundred years, the sacred oath that defines my entire existence, suddenly… shifts.
It doesn’t break.
That’s impossible.
A lycan’s bond with their vampire is forged in magic older than civilization itself.
It can’t be severed, can’t be undone.
