Page 84

“You’re safe now, prince.” Owen’s steady voice carried the weight of his military background. His hand squeezed my foot through the blanket, a gesture so paternal it made my throat tight.

Great Uncle Johnathan watched me, his power filling the room like gathering storm clouds. Something about my words had caught his attention, but exhaustion was already pulling me under before I could question it.

“Rest now, little bat.” Zane’s voice was gentle but carried that alpha tone that brooked no argument. His fingers threaded through my hair, grounding me in this reality.

My body felt heavy, drained. The brothers moved closer, surrounding me with their scents, their presence. Something inside me settled, like finding shelter after a storm.

“Don’t leave,” I murmured, already drifting back into darkness—but a gentle darkness this time, wrapped in midnight and lightning and sunshine.

“Never,” they promised in unison, their voices twining together like strands of fate.

As sleep claimed me, I felt safer than I had since waking up in this supernatural world, surrounded by three alphas whose presence made my inner vampire purr with contentment. Their scents followed me into dreams, promising protection, promising more.

Chapter 19

Percy Hutton stared at his reflection in the antique mirror, fingers tracing the spot where the Blackthorn’s signet ring had rested for the past century. The bare skin felt wrong, naked. Like everything else that had been stripped from him—his title, his status, his very identity as a vampire noble.

God, Percy was tired. Tired of the perfect smile, the careful manners, the endless political dances that New Vale demanded. For centuries he’d worn the mask of the perfect noble son, playing at civilization while his true nature screamed for blood and chaos.

All it took was one tiny vampire prince to shatter that carefully constructed facade.

Percy’s hands clenched, cracking the mirror’s ancient surface. The spiderweb fractures distorted his reflection, turning aristocratic features into something darker, more primitive. More true. Finally, the outside matched what lurked within.

That night at the Crystal Palace still burned in Percy’s memory. The humiliation of being forced to kneel, to beg forgiveness from a minor vampire prince who shouldn’t even exist. The Whitlock brothers’ overwhelming display of powerhad been bad enough, but it was that Valentine nobody’s presence that truly haunted him.

There had been something about Luca—a light that called to the darkness in Percy, awakening a hunger he hadn’t known existed. Even now, Percy could feel that pull, that maddening compulsion trying to make him kneel. It made him want to destroy that boy, to snuff out that light that dared try to control him.

Dark Haven called to Percy like a siren song. He’d heard stories of its brutal beauty, of ancient vampires who embraced their true nature without New Vale’s pretense of civility. Where power wasn’t measured in council votes and diplomatic ties, but in blood and conquest. Where the strong ruled and the weak served—or died.

Percy moved silently through the darkened mansion, timing his steps between guard rotations. The Blackthorn library’s forbidden section held what he needed—theCrimson Grimoire, an ancient tome containing secrets of blood magic that Dark Haven’s vampire lords had sought for centuries. One book to buy his way into paradise.

A week ago, Percy had overheard a conversation that still echoed in his mind. He’d been lurking outside Alpha Blackthorn’s study, mapping guard patterns for tonight’s theft.

“The signs are clear, Sebastian,” Lord Richard Blackthorn Sr.’s voice had carried through the door. “Dark Haven’s hunters are already searching.”

“Uncle, these fated ones are merely legend,” Alpha Blackthorn had responded, though something in his tone suggested uncertainty.

“Tales that Dark Haven takes seriously enough to send hunters,” the elder Blackthorn had insisted. “You must be vigilant. If your fated mate appears?—”

“I have more pressing concerns.” Sebastian’s dismissal had been clear. “The clan requires?—”

“The clan requires its alpha to find his mate.” Lord Blackthorn’s voice had hardened. “Before Dark Haven finds them first.”

Percy had dismissed it then as the ramblings of an elder obsessed with ancient prophecies. But now, as he crept through shadows toward the library, new whispers reached him.

“—did you see Lord Blackthorn’s face when the ancient blood reacted to him? I haven’t seen him this excited since finding those prophecy scrolls?—”

“—Lady Elena’s journals mentioned these exact symptoms. The fever, the strange effect on ancient beings… Alan swears he saw Alpha Blackthorn’s hands trembling?—”

“—and Lord Johnathan Whitlock himself at the hospital? When was the last time three elders gathered for one fledgling vampire’s fever?—?”

“Do you think…” One voice dropped even lower, trembling with excitement. “Maybe this is… he’s the first… you know…”

“A fated one?” another whispered back. “The one the elders have been searching for for centuries? I mean, the signs, the awakening of the tomb under Council Hall…”

“Shhhh! You know we’re not supposed to speak of it! But… did you feel it? That strange compulsion when he looked at you?”

“Sweet blood, this morning was…” The vampire’s voice softened with reverence. “We were delivering the promised daily vial—you know how precious that ancient blood is—and there he was, this tiny thing drowning in silk blankets, looking more like a doll than a vampire. Until he smiled at us. Have you ever seen sunlight hit crystal? That kind of pure, breathtaking radiance that makes you forget how to stand?”