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William’s transformation continues with each rune that is implanted. His body becomes more substantial, more real. His breathing grows ragged as the magic rewrites his existence, anchoring him to this plane through Isolde’s blood-infused runes.

By the fifth rune, the process has taken on a rhythm of its own. Extract, transfer, watch as William becomes more whole, more alive. His skin has a flush to it now, his muscles defined and solid beneath my hands as I work the barb into his flesh.

“The sixth one is at the base of your skull,” I warn, positioning the barb. “This will be worse.”

Isolde makes a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Just get on with it, for fuck’s sake.”

I press the needle into the delicate skin at the base of her skull, and her entire body convulses. Silver light explodes outward, blinding in its intensity. The stones around us glow, responding to her unleashed power.

Cassiel struggles to hold her down as she thrashes, her screams now taking on a nightmarish quality that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. The sixth rune is deeply embedded, wrapped around nerve endings that connect directly to her brain.

“CJ,” Cassiel warns, his voice strained. “Her power is destabilising.”

“I know,” I growl, working the barb with surgical precision despite the chaos of energy whipping around us. The forest trembles, trees bending inward as if drawn by Isolde’s pain. “Almost there.”

With a final twist, the sixth rune releases its hold. As it comes free, a shockwave of power ripples through the clearing, knocking Cassiel backwards. The silver blood from this extraction flows differently. It hovers in the air, forming intricate patterns before settling back onto Isolde’s skin.

William is nearly whole now, his body solid from the waist down, his torso flickering between corporeal and spectral states. His eyes burn with hunger as he watches the sixth rune glowing on the tip of the barb.

“Give it to me,” he demands, his voice resonant and alive.

I position the barb at the base of his skull, and he tilts his head forward in anticipation. The needle slides in with surprising ease, eagerly accepting what was stolen from Isolde. The rune detaches with a soft click, and William’s head snaps back, a cry of pleasure-pain tearing from his throat.

“The last one,” Isolde whispers, her voice raw from screaming. “The crown.”

This is the one I’ve been dreading. The rune at the crown of her head, the one that pulsed with that malevolent black light. I position the barb carefully but then pause. Shrugging, I think fuck it, and use my vampire speed to get it done as quickly as possible. In less than a second, it’s out.

“Fuck!” Isolde screams as the final rune is ripped from her crown, her back arching off the stone in a violent spasm.

The black-silver essence of the seventh rune writhes on the barb like a living thing, pulsing with dark energy that makes my stomach turn. Unlike the others, this one seems sentient, aware, and furious at being removed.

William is nearly whole now, his form solid from his feet to the base of his skull. Only his face still flickers between corporeal and spectral, but his eyes are burning with intensity as he stares at the final rune.

Isolde pushes herself up on trembling arms, silver blood still trailing down her spine in glowing rivulets, as I lean over William and again, using my vampire speed, ram the rune into the top of his head.

The rune enters William’s head with a sound like a thunderclap.

His body goes rigid, every muscle locking as the final piece of Blackridge’s monitoring system integrates with his newly corporeal form.

The black-silver energy races through him, illuminating his veins like a lightning storm trapped beneath his skin.

“William?” Isolde gasps.

He doesn’t answer. The seventh rune, the crown connection, completes the circuit. The other six runes along his spine light up in sequence, creating a cascading network of power that pulses in rhythm with a heart that hasn’t beaten in a century.

Then, with a final violent convulsion, William collapses face down onto the stone.

Silence falls over the clearing. The air feels charged, electric, as if the molecules have been rearranged by what we’ve just witnessed. I reach out cautiously to touch William’s shoulder, half expecting my hand to pass through.

It doesn’t. His skin is warm, solid. Alive.

“Did it work?” Cassiel asks.

Before I can answer, William’s hand shoots out, gripping my wrist with crushing force. He rolls over, his eyes flying open, and I find myself staring into irises that swirl with silver, black, and emerald green. A perfect storm of power and hunger.

“I’m alive,” he whispers. He lets me go and sits up, staring at his hands, turning them over to examine every line, every crease.

Then he touches his face, his chest, his arms, marvelling at the solidity of his own existence.

“I’m alive,” he repeats, louder this time, a laugh bubbling up from deep within him.

It’s a beautiful, terrible sound. It’s the jubilation of a man who’s been denied everything for a century.

I back away, giving him space.

Isolde is watching William with wide eyes, her bare skin glowing faintly in the moonlight, silver blood still trickling from the seven wounds.

“William,” she whispers, reaching for him.

He turns toward her voice, and the expression that crosses his face is devastating in its intensity. Hunger, possessiveness, gratitude, and something darker, something primal that makes my markings burn beneath my skin.

“My queen,” he breathes, and then he’s moving, faster than I anticipated for someone who just regained physical form.

He slams her back to the stone as their lips meet in a kiss that’s violent, desperate.

William’s hands tangle in her hair, holding her face to his as if afraid she might disappear before they move lower, fumbling with the button on her jeans.

Between the two of them, they tear at each other’s clothes.

Cassiel watches with interest from his position.

“You’re welcome,” I grit out, leaning back against a tree as I watch them devour each other.