‘Contentment.’
There’s no contentment in tonight’s work. No peace in the bodies we left scattered through the forest. No redemption in the terror we inflicted.
Just protection and survival.
The same things I’ve been fighting for since the curse took root.
Scar appears at my shoulder, moving with that unsettling vampire silence. “We’ll find him. The one who got away. We’ll end this before it becomes a real problem.”
“And if we don’t?”
The ancient vampire’s expression doesn’t change. “Then we do what we’ve always done. We adapt. We survive. We protect what’s ours.”
I want to believe him.
I want to trust that five centuries of experience mean he knows how to navigate disasters I can barely comprehend. But the flame in the dome flickers once, then resumes its slow deathspiral, and I’m reminded that time runs differently for dragons. We burn bright and fierce, consuming everything in our path, until suddenly there’s nothing left to burn.
Not even ourselves.
“Get some rest,” I tell Scar, turning away from my reflection. “We’ll regroup in the morning. Figure out our next move.”
He nods and disappears, probably to feed properly after the hunt. Now that he’s had a taste, he will want to quench that thirst before it takes over completely.
We donotneed a repeat of Scar going rabid like in 1802.
So, when he gets the desire to feed, we have Ruckus go to the blood bank in town, seeing as he can bend luck to his will, he is the only one who can get in and out undetected every damn time.
I head toward my quarters, exhaustion finally catching up with adrenaline’s retreat. But as I pass the table where Calder still sleeps, Luna’s soft singing providing comfort even in unconsciousness, something shifts in my chest.
Protection.
Family.
Purpose.
Maybe notcontentment, not yet.
But something close enough to keep the flame burning.
At least for one more night.
Chapter Four
ROXY
The headlights carve twin tunnels through darkness so thick it feels solid, pressing against the windshield like something alive. My hands grip the steering wheel at ten and two, knuckles white from more than just the cold seeping through the car’s failing heater. The Appalachians rise on either side of the narrow mountain road, ancient sentinels that don’t give a damn about one photographer stupid enough to venture this deep into territory that forgot civilization existed decades ago.
My camera bag sits in the passenger seat, expensive equipment nestled in foam padding, each lens a small fortune I can’t afford to replace. Three days documenting ‘abandoned’ territories for a nature magazine spread that’ll probably pay half my rent if I’m lucky. But the shots are worth it, untouched wilderness, forests that haven’t seen human footprints in generations, the kind of raw beauty that reminds people why they should care about places like this.
The kind of beauty that also kills you if you’re not careful.
And I am being careful. GPS marked on my phone, emergency beacon in my pack, enough supplies for five days, even though I’m only planning three. My mother would say this was inevitable. At twenty-six, I’m apparently still proving her right about my talent for ending up exactly where I’m not supposed to be.
Especially in mountains like these ones, where it’s said that things go bump in the night.
The road curves sharply, gravel and snow crunching beneath tires as I navigate another hairpin turn. My high beams catch something ahead, movement, frantic and desperate. I ease offthe gas, squinting through the windshield as a figure stumbles onto the road, waving arms overhead in the universal signal for‘Stop! Please, God, stop!’
My foot hits the brake automatically, training from too many defensive driving courses overriding the voice in my head screaming that this is how horror movies start. The car slides slightly on loose snow before the tires catch, bringing me to a halt twenty feet from where the man now stands in my headlights, swaying like he’s drunk, concussed, or both.
