Chapter 3

As he came closer, an irresistibly sweet scent hit me full force.

It was his blood.

The Blackwood family was right—what flowed through his veins was the forbidden blood that could heal our kind. If I could just sink my teeth into his throat and swallow even a single drop, the backlash from that filthy pig's blood inside me would disappear instantly. I'd even have the strength to tear every hunter here limb from limb.

I forced my mouth open, my fangs grinding together, but I was so weak I couldn't even lift a finger.

"Do it, Vincent! Cut this monster's head off!" Albert roared like a madman from the side.

Vincent's sword tip pressed against my chest. In the dim light, those gray-green eyes churned with emotions too intense for me to read. He didn't go for the kill. The blade only pierced the surface of my skin.

Then, in that very moment, dawn finally tore through the darkness in the east.

"Damn it, the sun's up!" Albert cursed. Apparently deciding that one quick strike would be letting me off too easily, he barked, "Don't dirty your hands, Vincent! Let her feel the wrath of God! Chain her to that old oak. We still have the purge at Blackwood Ridge to carry out!"

They bound me tightly to the trunk. The first blinding shaft of sunlight pierced through the leaves and landed straight on my shoulder.

"Ahhh—!!"

That was not pain any human being could ever understand. The sunlight was like shattered glass, driving through every pore and into every inch of my flesh. My skin instantly began to blister and char, and the stench of burning meat mixed with the metallic reek of blood.

"Enjoy the fires of hell, Lady Avira," Albert sneered, then turned and left with the rest of the hunters.

My vision turned blood-red, and despair and fury gnawed at my heart like venomous snakes. No... I couldn't die like this. Claire's scheme, Arthur's betrayal, the Blackwood family's torture... I hadn't dragged them into hell yet. I could not let myself burn into nothing.

Amid the unbearable agony, my consciousness finally dropped into darkness.

...

When I opened my eyes again, there was no blazing sun, no smell of scorched flesh.

The air was thick with the scent of wood and red wine, and I was lying in a bed. Even more unbelievable, the burning inside my body was completely gone, and my rebroken arms were filled with their old strength again.

"You're awake, my queen."

A low, husky male voice came from the shadows.

Vincent stepped out of the darkness. He had taken off the Blackwood family's signature trench coat and was wearing only a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. His complexion was always pale, but now there was an unnatural, feverish flush burning across his cheeks.

He walked to the bedside and stared at my unmarked skin with something close to obsession.

"You saved me?" I narrowed my eyes warily, my fangs sliding out on instinct. "Why? You're one of the Blackwood hunters."

"A hunter?" Vincent let out a cold laugh, then dropped to his knees in a stiff, abrupt motion at the foot of my bed. "They call me a heretic. Every day they carve verses of repentance into my back with silver whips. Avira, have you forgotten? Five years ago, in the underground cemetery in Manhattan, when the Blackwoods were hunting you down, they threw me out front as bait."

My memory snapped back in an instant.

That snowy night, I broke the necks of five hunters, but when I looked at a wounded, shivering boy covered in blood and grime, I pulled back my claws.

"I couldn't beat you. I thought I was dead for sure." Vincent's fingers trembled as they brushed the hem of my dress, his eyes burning with almost sick devotion and fanatic reverence. "But when you looked at me—at a filthy piece of bait like me—there was mercy in your eyes. You let me go... and from that night on, I knew the God the Blackwoods worshipped was a lie. You were the strongest, most beautiful deity in this world. Every day, I prayed I'd get to kneel at your feet again."

So that was it.

At that moment, my heart—already torn to pieces by betrayal—felt an almost cruel kind of sorrow. The so-called family I had raised like my own, the ones I had poured everything into, wanted me dead, while an enemy I had spared on a whim was willing to betray his entire bloodline for me.

"Since you're healed, it's time we paid a visit to those wonderful 'family' members who did this to you." Vincent rose to his feet, murder flashing in his eyes.

By nightfall, Vincent had driven me back to my own estate.

The front gate the hunters had blown apart still hung open. We made our way through the wrecked hallway and stopped outside the half-closed doors of the main sitting room.

The room was brightly lit.

Two figures were tangled together on the couch.