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Roan exhales sharply through her nose, then mutters something under her breath—too low for me to catch.

“So,” she says at last, “what do they look like, these enforcers? I should know who to gut if they show up.”

The sheer practicality of it punches the air from my lungs.

“You’re serious?” I whisper.

She looks at me then. Really looks. “You’re bleeding and hunted and alone. I'm going to at least get you upright before we part ways.”

A strange heat settles in my chest—something close to gratitude, something dangerously close to hope.

“They wear dark armor,” I murmur.

Finally, she stirs, pushing herself upright. “Well,” she says, voice a touch lighter, “guess we have a plan for the day. Stay alive and try not to piss off any vampire clans.”

She turns away, adjusting her cloak and slinging her pack over her shoulder. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Roan,” I call softly, before she steps away.

She pauses.

“Thank you,” I say, the words small but true.

She glances back over her shoulder, eyes meeting mine across the space between us. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t caught your damn rabbit.”

Then she vanishes into the trees, and I’m left alone with the fire, the morning light, and a heart I didn’t realize had started to ache for something more.

Roan

Ihaven’texactlydonethis before.

The ruins disappear behind me as I trudge through the midmorning light, my boots sinking into damp earth. The day is still young, sky a pale wash of blue streaked with thin clouds. It’s quiet—too quiet—and I keep glancing back at the crumbling arches, half expecting something to emerge from the mist. She’s still in there, tucked against stone and shadow, bleeding slow and quiet.

She’s a vampire.

The word still sounds foreign in my head. It shouldn’t. I’ve heard all the stories—old wives’ tales, tavern mutterings, horrified whispers. I’ve killed bandits, soldiers, mercenaries…but never a vampire. I’ve avoided that lot. Never thought I’dmeetone, let alone sit across from her, wrap her shoulder, watch her fall asleep by a fire I built.

And now I’m out here hunting a rabbit not to eat, but to drain. To save her.

Gods, what the hell am I doing?

I lengthen my stride, boots crunching over grass as the sun warms the far hills. Aria can’t run if trouble shows up—not in her state. That wound of hers is still too deep, too raw. Her hunger’s worse than she let on. It’s in the way she flinched from the firelight, in the tension coiled under her skin. I saw it in her eyes this morning—golden and wild and starved.

And still… she didn’t touch me.

Shecouldhave. She looked like she wanted to. But she didn’t.

That counts for something.

The land slopes gently downward, and I spot a narrow path where deer tracks have left the earth soft and uneven. The breeze carries the scent of pine and something faintly metallic. I scan the underbrush with practiced eyes. I’m no expert hunter—I’m better at taking down two-legged opponents—but I’ve trapped enough game to get by. Usually it’s for meat. For survival.

Not for blood.

The absurdity of it all almost makes me laugh, but the knot in my chest keeps the sound buried.

A flicker of movement catches my eye—a rabbit, half-hidden beneath a tangle of ferns. It’s still, twitching its nose, nibbling at dew-covered greens. I crouch low, heart steady, hand moving to the hilt of my knife.

It’s small. Too small. But it’ll have to do.