Chapter 1

My husband was a vampire lord, bound by a blood oath to the Elders. Forbidden from ever completing a mate bond.

But he bonded with me anyway. Every time it stirred between us, it punished him — ten minutes of agony that brought him to his knees.

Ninety-nine times, he endured it.

"Worth it," he'd whisper against my hair. "Every single time."

He carved a mark into my collarbone with his own blood. A seal. If I was ever in danger, all I had to do was activate it, and he'd come for me. No matter where. No matter what.

I believed every word.

Then the Crimson Blight came. An ancient death curse that burns through a vampire's blood core from the inside, slow and irreversible. I didn't understand how it found me. I was a Blood Hunter captain — disciplined, careful. This kind of curse didn't just appear.

Theron locked me in the sealed chamber beneath our manor. "Quarantine," he said. "Just hold on. I'll find a way to save you."

I held on.

That was three days ago. Maybe four. I'd lost count somewhere between the second silver brand and the third time they drained my veins dry.

Theron had brought in vampires from a rival clan to perform some kind of purging ritual. He said it was the only way to contain the curse.

They didn't seem interested in containing anything.

"Still not screaming, Captain?" The tall one crouched in front of me, twirling a silver-tipped rod between his fingers. "Your husband was very specific about the procedure. Said you could handle it."

My tendons had been severed hours ago. I couldn't move my hands, couldn't kick. I was strung up by iron chains like a carcass in a butcher shop, blood dripping from my fingers onto the stone floor.

He pressed the rod into my inner arm. Slow. Deliberate.

Silver hissed against skin. I bit down so hard my fangs cracked.

"There she is." He grinned. "The great Blood Hunter. Knew you had a voice in there somewhere."

Between the burning and the bleeding, I remembered the mark.

I pressed what was left of my consciousness into the seal on my collarbone. The mate bond flickered open — thin, fragile, but alive.

Theron. Please. Come get me.

His voice came through. But he wasn't talking to me.

"...had no choice." Cold. Measured. The voice of a lord making a calculation. "The Blight was meant for Elowen. She's too fragile — ordinary silver burns her skin. She'd never survive it."

An Elder's voice cut in. "So you used a forbidden transfer rite on your own wife?"

"Sera is a Blood Hunter. Her body can take more punishment than any pureblood. She'll hold."

"And you're certain of that?"

A pause. "She's my wife. She should bear this for me. Once the Blight runs its course, I'll make it up to her."

Make it up to me.

The Elder pressed further. "You know it was Sera who dragged you out of the rubble during the Clan War. Not Elowen. Why do you insist on crediting that girl?"

"Marrying Sera already betrayed Elowen's devotion. I won't let her suffer the Blight on top of that."

His voice softened — a tenderness I hadn't heard in months. But it wasn't for me.

"A woman going through this kind of thing — her life is over, Theron. You understand that?"

He sighed. "I know."

He knew.

He knew what this would do to me, and he did it anyway.

I lay in my own blood, staring at the ceiling of our manor — our home — and laughed until the tears came. Then the tears stopped coming at all.

A cramp ripped through my abdomen. I choked, gasping, tasting iron.

"She's hemorrhaging." One of the ritualists backed away. "Hold on — is she carrying?"

I was. Three months. I'd found out just weeks ago. I was going to tell Theron at the Blood Moon feast. He'd talked about having a child for years. A nursery in the east wing. Teaching them to ride.

Through the bond, the Elder's voice turned sharp. "Theron — she's in critical condition. The pregnancy —"

"Don't." His voice cracked. "Don't tell me the details. I can't hear it right now."

"But the final stage of the procedure —"

"Has to be completed exactly as prescribed. If anything's skipped, the Blight rebounds onto Elowen."

I heard every word.

He couldn't bear to hear what was happening to me. But he could bear to let it happen.

My baby was too small, too fragile for what my body was going through. I felt it fading — the tiny life I'd been protecting for three months, slipping away because its father decided I was the expendable one.

I'd wanted to give him a family.

None of that mattered now.

I pressed my hand against my belly, and stopped fighting.

The tall one walked back in, carrying a tray of silver instruments I hadn't seen before. He glanced at the blood pooling between my legs and paused.

"Seventh round done," he said to someone behind him. "Your lord wants the full eight?"

A voice from the doorway: "His instructions were clear. All eight. Exactly as prescribed."

I closed my eyes.

I didn't scream for the eighth.