Wakes up as though it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
What the hell?
I turn to the door, and I seeher.
A human.
She’s nothing extraordinary at first glance. Mid-twenties, dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail, wearing scrubs under a worn leather jacket. Exhaustion clings to her as a second skin I can smell. It’s bone-deep weariness that comes from seeing too much, feeling too much, carrying too much. Her eyes sweep the bar, wary but curious, uncertain what drew her here but powerless to stay away.
I know that look.
I’ve worn it for centuries.
She moves to the bar, sliding onto a stool in front of Eden, our banshee bartender. Eden glances at the newcomer, and even from across the room, I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes. Not recognition of the woman, but of somethingabouther.
My fingers tighten around my glass.
The woman orders. Even with my super hearing, I can’t hear what she says amid the crowd of muffled voices surrounding us, but Eden nods and starts mixing. Seraphine’s song shifts and grows stronger, but the woman doesn’t react. She doesn’t lean in. She doesn’t relax the way everyone else in the room does.
Interesting.
Then she turns, just slightly, scanning the room as though she feels my eyes on her.
Her gaze finds mine.
And the world tilts.
It’s not dramatic.
Not some fairy-tale moment where everything else fades away.
But something passes between us in that look. Something electric, ancient, and utterly unexpected. Her eyes are hazel, green, brown, and gold all mixed together, and when they lock onto mine, I see something flicker in their depths.
Crimson and Gold.
Just for a second.
Just a flash.
My Bloodfire roars to life, surging through me with an intensity I haven’t felt since my turning. It’s not hunger, not the usual craving for blood, death, and chaos.
This is something else.
Somethingmore.
Desire.
Recognition.
Inevitability.
“Brother.” Rogue’s voice cuts through my thoughts. The lycan slides into the booth across from me, his too-perfect face arranged in an expression of amusement. “Your shadow just moved on its own.”
I glance down. He’s right. The shadows around me, always present, always still, they’re writhing like living things, reaching toward her, with the sense they know something I don’t.
“Shut up, Lucian,” I mutter, using his real name instead of his road name, Rogue.
I force my shadows back under control.
