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“Now,” he says, voice dropping to a hypnotic cadence, “find the division within yourself. The line where human ends and vampire begins. See it clearly in your mind.”

I search inward, past the guilt and fear, past the memories of blood and violence. Somewhere deep within my consciousness, I sense it—a fracture, a fault line running through the core of my being. On one side, the PI, the boxer, the man who loved Catherine. On the other, the predator, the hunter, the son of Dmitri.

“Do you see it?” Abe asks softly.

“Yes,” I whisper, the word barely audible.

“Good. Now imagine that line beginning to blur. The two sides flowing into each other, not fighting, not competing, but merging. Becoming one.”

I try to visualize it as he describes—the fracture healing, the separate aspects of myself no longer at war but in harmony. It feels impossible, like trying to blend oil and water, but I persist, focusing on Abe’s voice guiding me deeper into the meditation.

Time loses meaning as we continue, the ritual drawing me further inward. I become aware of a rhythmic chanting—Ezra and Adonis, their voices blending in some old language I don’trecognize but somehow understand. It speaks of wholeness, of acceptance, of strength found in unity.

And slowly, painfully, something begins to shift. The division I’ve sensed becomes less stark, the boundaries more permeable. I can feel my vampire senses sharpening even as I maintain complete awareness, complete control. The hunger is there, but it no longer threatens to consume me. The power flows through my limbs, but it’s mine to direct, mine to command.

“You’re doing well,” Abe murmurs, his voice seemingly coming from very far away. “Just a little more?—”

The sound of shattering glass tears through the meditative silence.

My eyes snap open as a bestial roar fills the room. Through the broken glass door overlooking the ocean, a nightmare creature launches itself into our midst—humanoid but wrong, distorted, its body covered in coarse dark hair, its face elongated into something between man and bat, leathery wings extending from its shoulders.

“What the fuck—” I begin, scrambling to my feet.

“Get back!” Abe shouts, interposing himself between us and the creature. “They created him! He’s feral!”

The monster lands in a crouch, head swiveling as it surveys the room with glowing yellow eyes. It’s wearing the tattered remains of what might once have been an expensive suit, now hanging in ribbons from its misshapen body.

It can’t be.

“Marco?” I breathe, the name slipping out before I can stop it.

The creature—Marco—turns at the sound, its gaze locking onto me with predatory focus. Whatever humanity might once have existed in those eyes is gone, replaced by raw animal hunger. It—he—lets out another roar, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.

“How is this possible?” Lena asks, her voice tight with shock. “I thought he was dead.”

“I thought so too,” I say, just as Marco lunges toward me with frightening speed, claws outstretched. I dive aside, rolling across the floor as he crashes into the spot where I’d been standing. The meditation has left me sharper, more coordinated, vampire reflexes responding instantly to the threat.

Adonis intercepts Marco’s next attack, his massive arms wrapping around the feral vampire in a bear hug. But Marco’s strength is unnatural, even by vampire standards. He breaks free with a savage twist, sending Adonis crashing into the wall with enough force to crack the column.

“Cut out the heart!” Ezra shouts, racing out of the kitchen with a butcher knife. He slashes at Marco, drawing a line of black blood across the creature’s chest.

Marco howls in pain, recoiling from the blade. His wings beat furiously, creating a downdraft that sends furniture sliding across the floor. Then he’s moving again, faster than before, dodging Ezra’s next strike and barreling into Valtu with the force of a freight train.

They crash through the glass coffee table, a tangle of limbs and snarls. Valet is no stranger to combat—I’ve seen him fight, seen him rip out Tatiana’s heart with brutal efficiency. But Marco in this feral state is something else entirely, savage and unpredictable.

A claw rakes across Valtu’s face, drawing blood that seems to drive Marco into greater frenzy. His head darts forward, jaws snapping inches from Valtu’s throat.

I look around frantically for a weapon, any weapon. My gun is long gone, lost somewhere during my compelled journey to find Lena. The ritual dagger Abe used sits on the floor where we’d been meditating, but it’s meant for ceremony, not combat.

Abe suddenly comes running out from around the corner, an axe raised above his head as he yells a battle cry. He’s about to bring it down on the back of Marco’s head when the beast kicks back, getting Abe in the shins and knocking him off balance.

Marco has already shifted targets, his yellow gaze fixing on Lena with terrifying intensity. He throws Valtu aside with one powerful sweep of his arm, then lunges toward us with a speed that defies physics.

I try to intercept him, but he bats me aside like I’m nothing, sending me crashing into one of Abe’s bookshelves. Pain explodes along my back as books rain down around me.

By the time I regain my feet, Marco has Lena. One clawed hand wraps around her throat, lifting her off the ground as she struggles against his grip. The other vampires are all down—not dead, but injured, struggling to recover from the vicious assault.

“No!” I shout, lunging forward, grabbing the butcher knife from the floor.