She was a blur of motion so fast that the leaves barely quivered in her wake. His eyes—trained to hunt, forged in relentless pursuit—did not waver. He was human and could never hope to keep up with that speed, but all he needed to do was wait.
No creature, no matter how fast, could sustain such speed forever. And when exhaustion crept in, when the moment came—the fragile instant when they drew breath— that would be his chance.
He struck at the instant she stopped, exploding out of an inconspicuous gathering of leaves, silver sword flashing, its deadly tip seeking the heart.
She was gone in the blink of an eye, missing the strike and reappearing atop a tree branch as if she had always been there. A wicked smile curved her lips.
"Is that the best you can do, hunter?"
Smoke bombs erupted at his feet, swallowing him in a swirling haze. He knew she could still smell him—her senses far too sharp for simple deception. But scent alone wouldn't be enough. He had already torn his clothing into scraps and scattered them across the area, his presence fragmented in all direction. Confusion was his ally.
The first rule of fighting a vampire: never take them head-on.
Disorient. Distract. Survive.
She had been his mentor, the one who drilled the lesson into him until it became instinct: neutralize their sense of smell. It was their sharpest weapon, the one that could trace him no matter how well he hid. After countless attempts, he had perfected his system. Sometimes, he would carry a perfume with an overpowering scent, waiting for the moment he could get close enough to spray it on her, disrupting her senses. Other times, he would smear himself with dirt or even animal droppings, masking his own scent in the filth of the wild. It was a brutal strategy, but against a predator like her, survival demanded nothing less.
The forest breathed around him—slow, ancient, and watchful. Twilight draped the world in bruised shades of violet and gray, while mist laced through the trees like fading memories. Moss softened his steps, and the hush of dusk pressed in close, muffling even the whisper of his breath.
She couldn't find him.
But he hadn't found her either.
That was fine.
He unsheathed his dagger, the metal dull in the low light, and drew it across his arm with a practiced calm. Blood welled like a rose blooming in slow motion. He let it spill into a scrap of his shirt, folded with care, then pressed crushed leaves—bitter mint and ghostroot—to his skin, the scent thick and strange enough to smother the truth.
Then he vanished into the trees, swallowed by silence.
It didn't take long. The smell of his blood, carried by the wind soon got to her.
"Hey!"
Noah moved quickly, silent and focused. Seraphine's voice shattered the stillness, sharp and irritated.
She stepped through the mist, her movements smooth but direct. Her pale hair clung to her face, her glowing blue eyes scanning the area. She approached the bloodied cloth without hesitation.
Noah was already behind her.
His sword struck with precision, piercing her back cleanly, through bone and heart.
She gasped, blood spilling over her lips. Her body jerked, then went still. Slowly, she turned her head, locking eyes with him.
"…Good work," she whispered. She glanced at the chewed leaves covering his wound, understanding flashing in her expression. There was no fear, only acknowledgment.
A faint smile played on her lips as she collapsed.
Noah pulled his blade free without a word. She crumpled at his feet, silent, motionless. Under the moonlight, her skin looked almost translucent. Her lashes trembled, barely noticeable.
He wiped the blood from his sword onto his torn shirt.
"Get up," he ordered. "We don't have all night."
She remained still for a moment before slowly rising. Blood glistened at the corner of her mouth, but her wound was already gone—skin smooth, unmarked.
"So cruel," she murmured, the words hollow, her expression unreadable. "Even if I can't die, it still hurts."
She blinked, watching him. "You could at least show some sympathy."
"Vampires don't need sympathy. Only death."
His voice was flat. He turned and walked away without looking back, disappearing into the trees.
Seraphine watched him go, then clapped—slow, deliberate.
"Wow," she said. "You could really play a villain."
She smiled and followed him, moving noiselessly through the forest. Humming under her breath, she paused beneath a branch, lifting a finger to catch a droplet of water. She brought it to her lips as though savoring it.
Noah walked alone.
His jacket was torn, his shirt stained with dried blood.
His silence was absolute.
He was a hunter. That was all.
And his purpose remained unchanged: kill vampires.
The one trailing behind him had been his mentor.
And the object of his hatred.
The vampire moved effortlessly, unbothered by pain or consequence.
She caught a falling leaf between her fingers, turning it as if examining something fragile. Moonlight caught strands of her hair, giving her an unnatural glow. Her lashes flickered, her steps barely disturbing the earth beneath them. Humming—always humming—without reason, without care.
Everything about her was wrong.
She didn't die when she should have. She didn't feed when she could have. She didn't fear the blade meant to end her.
And worst of all—she was his mentor.
She had taught him everything. How to fight. How to track. How to kill. A monster had trained him to hunt monsters. She had chosen him, not the other way around.
And one day, he would be the one to kill her.
That was their agreement.
Every time his blade found her heart, he wished it would be the last. That she would fall and stay fallen. That blood would mean something. That silence would finally follow.
But it never did.
Not a silver blade through the heart.
Not the clean severing of her head.
Not even a stake, driven with the force of his hatred.
She always came back. Sometimes groaning, sometimes laughing.
She even walked in sunlight, unbothered, as if it welcomed her rather than warned her. As if she belonged in both light and dark.
It was unnatural. Infuriating. And still, he followed her. Or perhaps… she followed him.
Noah halted.
His nose twitched. Copper. Smoke. Something worse beneath it—wet, sharp, wrong. His senses would never match hers, but they were more than human. And right now, his body was on edge.
Instinct screamed.
Danger.
He didn't move, only listened, breath shallow. The forest had stilled with him. Behind him, the humming continued.
Something was in the brush—twenty paces ahead. Unmoving.
He shifted without a sound, sliding toward a moss-darkened tree. One knee to the earth, muscles tense. The scent hadn't faded. It was watching.
And then—
She bumped into him.
"What's up?" Seraphine whispered, voice light, nearly playful. "Why'd you stop?"
He didn't answer. Just turned and shoved her face away with the heel of his hand, cold and mechanical, like swatting an insect too familiar to crush.
She blinked, unfazed, lips pouting slightly as he crouched again out of sight.
"Hey," she said, not even bothering to whisper now. "Be nice to me."
Of course she was loud.
She was always loud.
Noah grit his teeth. She was reckless. Stupid. Unfazed.
But sometimes—just sometimes—her recklessness served a purpose.
So he stayed low, eyes locked ahead. Waiting.
If the thing in the bush didn't know what she was,
she might just make the perfect bait.
"Are you even listening?" Her voice was light, but quarrelsome. "You know, you were far more interesting when you were younger. Cuter too. Now, you're always so quiet… so cruel."
She waved a hand dismissively, "Maybe I should stop letting you hunt. Hunting is bringing out the worst in you. Don't you think?"
That careless talking—so casual, so unconcerned—was what emboldened the creature lurking in the shadows. It saw its chance. Silent as mist, it leapt from the darkness, landing on a tree branch with predatory grace. Then, without hesitation, it launched itself toward Seraphine, its maw splitting wide—a cavern of needle-like teeth, ready to tear into flesh.
Noah was a shadow, swift and silent, materializing behind Seraphine in the blink of an eye. With a flick of his wrist, the sword flew through the air, its blade biting deep into the vampire's flesh, pinning it to the tree from which it had leapt. The creature's life was snuffed out in an instant, its body hanging limp.
Seraphine's startled cry shattered the quiet forest, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Wha! Did you... did that thing just try to attack me? I mean me?"
Noah's gaze was as cold as the blade he wielded. He wiped the blood from his sword with an almost indifferent gesture, his eyes never leaving her. "Is there a point to your presence?" he asked, his voice low, the irritation threading through each syllable.
He had no patience for her endless chatter. This hunt was his—his alone. He didn't need her here. He was strong enough to face the Savants without her meddling, and yet, here she was, disrupting his silence.
""How rude!" Seraphine's voice flared with indignation. "I'm here to help you, you understand?"
Noah raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in his gaze as if asking, How, exactly?
She folded her hands in disapproval, her eyes narrowing at him. "Stop using your clothes as a blood towel. It's disgusting."
He sighed, the sound a low exhale, and brushed past her words like wind over stone. Whatever she wanted—whatever nonsense was in her mind—there was no getting it out of her. They had known each other for four years, and in all that time, Noah had come to see her as a perplexing puzzle. Sometimes, he thought she was a fool with a hero's complex, a well-meaning idiot. Other times, he wondered if she was far more calculated, hiding some devious intent, something dangerous for him.
Years of enduring her games had taught him patience. She always grew bored eventually, always found another distraction, another toy to amuse herself with. The waiting had become second nature to him—a quiet endurance. He knew that if he stayed still long enough, if he gave her nothing to push against, she would tire. And when she did, the game would end… for now.
Noah slid his sword into its sheath and moved forward. The full moon cast cold light over the dark forest. According to the hunter's intel, there should be a vampire nest nearby.
He had been walking for some time. Aside from Seraphine's sudden appearance—his first kill of the night—nothing had happened. No movement, no signs of life.
Was the information wrong? He considered calling the hunter again but hesitated. If a nest was here, he would find it soon enough.
"Why aren't you answering me? After everything I've done for you, don't I deserve some decency?"
Noah didn't look at her. His jaw clenched. "This isn't a stroll through the snow. There are Savants nearby. At least a dozen. So shut up."
She scoffed, loud and theatrical. "Savants? Please. You think I'm scared of a few bloodthirsty freaks? Do you know who I am?"
That was it. The familiar flare of irritation crawled up Noah's spine. He was one breath away from slamming her into a tree and walking off.
"Shut. Up," he said through gritted teeth.
"Don't tell your master to shut up," she muttered, stretching with an exaggerated groan. "I should be at a ball right now, dancing, drinking wine, flirting. But no—I'm out here. Again. With you."
"I'm twenty," he snapped. "And I've been hunting vampires on my own for nearly three years. Save the lectures."
She waved him off. "You're still a child. I'm the adult. And every time you run off alone, you crawl back bloody. You don't know what you're doing."
"I told you not to care," he said coldly. "I'm still going to kill you in the end."
"I know," she said quietly. "And I won't stop you. But until that day comes, I'm not letting you face this alone."
He turned to her, eyes narrowed. "If you're coming, then stay quiet."
She smiled, sharp and amused. "Your attitude's disgraceful. You should show a little respect. I'm old enough to be your mother."
""Don't talk about my mother," Noah growled, slamming his hand against a tree. The impact reverberated through his arm, but the pain was nothing compared to the fury boiling inside him. How could she dare compare herself to the woman she had taken from him?
His teeth clenched so hard they ached as he fought to control his rage.
Seraphine fell silent, her usual chatter finally stilled. Perhaps his anger had reached her. Perhaps she realized she had crossed a line.
Noah exhaled sharply, trying to rein himself in. She was always like this—careless with her words, oblivious to the hurt they caused. She had no filter, no restraint, and more often than not, she said things that made him want to lash out. If he thought it would make a difference, he might have.
He pulled his hand away from the tree, letting his shoulders relax. Without another word, he started walking again.
Seraphine followed, quiet for once, though her presence was far from subtle. She hummed softly, plucked at leaves, and crouched to examine insects and snakes along the path. Her silence was a small mercy, but it did little to ease the storm still raging in Noah's chest.
Noah tuned her out, forcing himself to focus. He moved with practiced precision, each step soundless—a habit born of years of hunting. Her constant fidgeting behind him might render it pointless, but he couldn't abandon the discipline.
Then, he saw it—a house, shadowed and still. He ducked low, his instincts sharp. As Seraphine drifted past him, oblivious, he reached out and caught the trailing edge of her white dress, pulling her back without a word.
"What? What is it?"
Noah shot her a glare sharp enough to silence her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, nodding in understanding.
He scanned the house. No movement, no figures lurking in the shadows. Overgrown bushes and shrubs nearly swallowed the entrance, masking it from sight. The place was abandoned—except for the faint glow of light deep within.
Odd. Savants didn't need light, and humans wouldn't survive in a place this remote. That left only one possibility.
"Could it be your family?" he murmured.
Seraphine stiffened. Then bristled. "Are you crazy?"
He had expected that. Before she could yell again, his hand was over her mouth.
Her outburst had already drawn attention. In the house, something moved. And then, they emerged—figures that looked human, but crawled on all fours, eyes glowing red like neon signs in the pleasure districts. Their gaping mouths stretched wide as they sniffed the air, searching.
"Stay quiet," Noah ordered, releasing Seraphine and pulling his blade free.
She smirked. "Sometimes I think you forget who I am."
Then, in an instant, she was gone. When she reappeared at the house, she held two severed vampire heads in her hands.
Noah fought the urge to drive his blade into the ground just to release the frustration clawing at his chest. He straightened, his voice low but firm. "That was my kill."
Seraphine scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. These things are nothing to you—they're children." She tossed the heads to the ground, flicking her fingers in disgust. "Ugh, their blood is all over me. Noah, give me your cloth."
He barely had time to respond before something lunged from the house—long, thick tentacles shot forward, tearing into Seraphine, splitting her clean in two.
Noah ducked, instinct taking over. Then he ran.
This wasn't a Savant.
He didn't panic. Seraphine couldn't be dead. He knew that much. Years of experience told him this creature wasn't a low-class vampire. If anything, it was two—maybe three—ranks above a Savant.
Savants were the weakest kind—barely human, barely sentient. They were the ones most hunters encountered, the common breed. But Noah had heard stories from those lucky enough to survive encounters with the others—the Lords.
The ones who created Savants.
And hunters never fought those alone.
Noah moved swiftly, putting distance between himself and the creature in seconds. He smeared black dirt over his body, masking his scent, and shifted positions with practiced stealth. He crouched low, listening for any sound.
The creature was fast—far faster than a Savant. Its speed rivaled Seraphine's, though her carelessness had been her downfall. She never bothered to evade danger, too confident in her invulnerability. But this time, even she hadn't been quick enough.
"Helloooo, I know you are out thereeee," the creature called, its voice slithering through the night.
Noah froze. Savants couldn't speak. This was something else—a Lord, perhaps. The stories said they looked human and could talk.
He crept on his hands and knees, circling the shadow that drew closer. It sniffed the air, searching for him. When that failed, it listened. Noah needed to disrupt its hearing. He pulled out a small gadget, aimed, and launched it. The creature caught it mid-air.
"What's thisss, a toy?" it hissed.
Boom.
The explosion rang out, deafening. The creature's ears would be ringing, but it wouldn't be seriously hurt. Noah seized the moment, rushing forward and slicing at its leg. He didn't anticipate the tentacles—long, thick, and deadly—that lashed out, wrapping around his ankle. He slashed at them, the silver blade cutting through, burning the flesh like molten butter.
He retreated, slipping back into the shadows, moving constantly to avoid detection.
"A fucking hunter," the creature snarled, its tone sharp now, no longer dragging its words. Tentacles whipped through the air, snapping trees and scattering leaves. One hit would be fatal.
It was clearing the area, narrowing down Noah's hiding space. This was bad.
Noah glanced toward Seraphine. She was still on the ground, her body mending slowly. She wouldn't be any help.
He pressed his back against a tree, rolling away just as a tentacle smashed into it.
"Ah! Found youuu!"
The creature appeared in front of him, but Noah was ready. He drove his blade into its reaching hand.
The vampire howled, its rage echoing through the night as it lashed out with a tentacle, grabbing Noah and pulling him close.
"Stupid hunter, stupid, stupid!" it shrieked, its voice manic.
Noah slashed at the tentacle, severing it, but two more wrapped around his arm, slamming him against a tree. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. Rule number two of hunting vampires: never lose your weapon.
Noah cried out—not in pain, but in fury. He reached for the fallen blade with his left hand and drove it deep into the tentacle holding him, forcing it to release him. He rolled away, out of reach, and tried to retreat into the shadows. But the vampire was fast, cutting off his escape.
"Nah, nah, we aren't doing any more hiding," it sneered, its glowing eyes fixed on him. "Ooh, you're good looking. I'm going to enjoy you."
Noah's options dwindled. The vampire was too close, its speed too great. If it reached his throat, the fight would be over. Blood loss would seal his fate.
He didn't hesitate. Dropping to the ground, he drove his sword into the vampire's feet in quick succession. The creature howled in pain, its surprise evident. It grabbed Noah, lifting him off the ground, its teeth bared in fury.
"You're going to pay for that, you little human shit! I will—"
Its words cut off as Noah opened his mouth and sprayed silver liquid into its eyes. The vampire screamed, releasing him in agony. Noah turned to flee, but a tentacle lashed out, slicing through his side, tearing skin and fabric alike.
Noah pushed himself up and sprinted across the open field, seeking cover. He dove behind a tree, pressing against the rough bark as he took a quick assessment.
The vampire was still thrashing, cursing, its tentacles whipping wildly through the air as it searched for him. Good—he had blinded it.
But it had come at a price. Blood poured from his wound, hot and steady. When he glanced down, the severity hit him—skin torn away, raw muscle exposed. He wouldn't be able to hide for long.
The vampire's body had slowed, but not its tentacles. They writhed, coiling like predators, waiting for a command.
Then, in a quiet, eerie voice, it spoke.
"You're bleeding. I can smell your delicious blood."
Noah dove aside, but in his desperation, he stumbled—falling hard onto his wounded side.
Noah crawled, breath coming in ragged gasps, dodging another strike just in time. The vampire cackled, shrill and unhinged, its laughter cutting through the night like a blade.
He clenched his side, ignoring the pain, forcing himself to focus. Killing this creature wasn't possible. Not now. He knew that. This was a losing battle, and his blood—his usual distraction—was useless against its relentless tentacles.
He had to escape.
Rule number three of hunting vampires: know when to retreat.
Killing vampires was necessary. But not this one. This was not the monster he had spent fourteen years training to destroy. Those vampires—the ones that still haunted his dreams—were faster, stronger, more ruthless than anything else in this world.
And he, Noah Hale, was the one destined to end them.
He couldn't die here. Not like this. Not to *this* creature.
But how? What was his way out?
A fleeting thought crossed his mind. If only Seraphine were here.
He crushed the thought before it could take hold. Seraphine was his enemy. A vampire. One of the creatures he hunted. How could he even think such a thing?
Hate propelled him, self loathing stilled his mind. Noah rose to his feet, stripped off his jacket and tore his shirt into makeshift bandages, quickly wrapping his wound to slow the bleeding. He rolled away from another strike, keeping his movements sharp, controlled.
"My eyes are healing, my feet too," the vampire taunted, voice thick with malice. "Soon, you'll be dead. You've caused me more trouble than you're worth, hunter. Tell me—when I find you, would you like to be flayed first or ripped apart like your girlfriend?"
Noah ignored the words, rising to his feet and backing away before breaking into a sprint. He had to put as much distance between them as possible before the vampire regained full mobility.
Seraphine had once kicked him in the stomach while drilling a lesson into his head: Survival is more important than pride. He had never forgotten it. Running wasn't a failure—it was strategy.
Yet, as he fled deeper into the trees, his gaze flicked back toward the house. Seraphine was still on the ground. Still unmoving.
She should've healed by now.
Was she dead?
No. That's impossible.
Noah barely had time to process the impossibility of Seraphine's death before the vampire was upon him. A kick to his chest sent him flying, his body crashing through a tree. Pain erupted everywhere, sharp and unrelenting. Blood filled his mouth, spilling out in a crimson stream as he coughed.
Before he could recover, a tentacle yanked him up by his ponytail, forcing him face-to-face with the monster. Its sharp jawline and glowing red eyes were inches away, its purple hair framing a twisted grin.
"Planning to run away, are we?" it sneered. "You should've thought of that before causing me more pain than I've ever felt in my lifeeee."
Noah's hand moved instinctively, reaching for his weapon, but the vampire caught him mid-motion. It chuckled, low and mocking. "Quick with your handsss, aren't you, my little pet? But I've had enough of that."
Noah didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the sword over both their heads, catching it in his other hand. He drove it forward, aiming for the vampire's chest, but the creature pulled back just in time, laughing as if this were all a game."
The vampire's grin wavered, its confidence shaken. "You surprise me," it murmured, voice thick with grudging admiration. "I've never met a hunter—no, a human—who thinks as fast as you. It would be a shaaame to end you, but you've made me suffer terribly. I couldn't possibly let you liveee.
Noah tightened his grip on the sword, fingers slick with blood. His body ached, his vision blurred, but still he stood. He wouldn't beg. Wouldn't run. If this was the end, he'd meet it on his feet.
Then her voice came, cutting through the haze like a blade. Calm. Almost amused. "You've done the same to me."
He dropped to his knees, scanning the dark—And then he saw her.
Seraphine stood on the rooftop, framed by moonlight. Her silver-blonde hair shifted in the wind, but her eyes—those glowing blue eyes—were steady. Watching. Judging. Her arms were crossed, a faint smile on her lips. "You've done it now," she said, the chill in her voice belying the curve of her mouth.
The vampire staggered back. His face twisted in horror. "No… I killed you," he said, voice cracking. "How are you still alive?"
Noah didn't move. Didn't speak.
For the first time tonight, the vampire looked afraid.
Seraphine tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "I guess you didn't know—I'm a vampire, just like you."
The creature gaped at her, shaking its head, purple hair whipping furiously. "That's impossible. I tore you apart. No vampire can live without their heart!"
Seraphine's smile widened, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, did I say like you? I meant better than you. Killing me—I could overlook that. I could even let you live. But hurting him?" She gestured toward Noah without looking. "That is unforgivable."
Then she moved.
One moment she stood atop the roof, the next, she was in front of the vampire, her hand buried deep in its chest. Noah turned, eyes widening as he processed what had happened.
She had his heart in her hand.
The vampire choked, his glowing eyes locked onto her face in disbelief. Noah watched, waiting—searching—for something familiar in her expression. But the woman before him looked entirely different.
"Never ever do that," Seraphine said, voice low, cutting.
The vampire coughed, blood spilling from his lips as his body trembled. "Spare me. I understand. I won't do it again. Please. I'm just a humble—"
His words died as Seraphine pulled his heart free from his chest. The heart in her hand pulsed once, then stilled.
The vampire crumpled forward. She extended a single finger and pushed him away, letting him fall flat onto his back.
Dead.
Noah swallowed hard, unable to look away. Seraphine sighed, exhaling slowly. Blood streaked her pale face like crimson petals on porcelain skin.
Then she turned her glowing blue eyes to him.
And smiled.
Noah swallowed hard, an unfamiliar fear constricting his chest as Seraphine stepped closer, the vampire's heart slipping from her hand to the ground. It fell with a thump that made Noah tighten his hold on his weapon as he watched her get closer to him.
"You're bleeding!" she gasped, voice sharp with alarm. "That jerk—look at what he did!"
Before he could react, she had already taken his sword, pushed him onto his back, and set to work on his wounds. Her fingers moved with precision, but her expression was twisted with genuine distress.
"It's deep," she whispered, eyes flickering over the torn skin. Familiar blue eyes.
"Not that deep," Noah muttered, the fading adrenaline leaving him exhausted. She had saved him. Again.
"Does it hurt?" Her pale hand hovered near his lips. "Here. Take my blood."
He shook his head. Drinking Seraphine's blood was a necessary evil, but he hated it—hated every part of it. He knew the truth; her blood had made him stronger over the years, sharpening his senses, increasing his speed. But that didn't make it any less repulsive.
Seraphine didn't wait for his consent. With a sharp flick of her fingers, she tore into her own flesh. Blood surfaced, thick and rich.
"Drink," she commanded.
Noah resisted, but didn't fight. The liquid was warm, unsettlingly sweet—nothing like the coppery taste of human blood. He hated how it settled in his chest, how it coursed through his veins, igniting something beyond his understanding. He hated everything about it.
Then, the pain in his side flared before swiftly fading. His skin stitched itself back together, smooth, unmarked.
Seraphine suddenly swayed, her breath warm against his face as she slumped onto him.
"Hey—get up," Noah grumbled. "Don't rest on me."
"I feel sleepy. Just a minute." Her voice was drowsy, heavier than usual.
Noah blinked. Vampires didn't sleep except at dawn. And dawn was still hours away.
She wasn't tired—she was starving.
Understanding hit him like a blade. She had lost too much blood—first from his attack, then from the vampire's strike, and now from healing him.
Why did she always do this?
Irritation prickled at him. He was supposed to hate her. And he did. But she was making it impossible. She had saved his life fourteen years ago, and she had done it again tonight. She had trained him, cared for him, been there when he didn't want her to be.
Yet he still wanted her dead.
If he had the strength, he would kill her now. And she would let him.
Instead, he shifted, pulling her into his arms. Her long hair flowed like mist as he carried her, sword sheathed, back toward town.
She slept, lashes fluttering, breath steady.
Unlike other vampires who lost control at the sight of blood, Seraphine could restrain herself. She never fed impulsively. But when she did—she never left the person alive.
Since Noah had known her, it had happened four times.
She once told him it was her curse.
The curse of the Avalon family—the Bloodthrone. A clan of monsters who could never stop themselves from killing everything around them.
Seraphine's resolve had always been fragile, a delicate thread stretched too thin. For a year, she fought against her nature, but in the end, the hunger always won. She would kill again, and each time, it broke something inside her. That was why she longed for death—why she sought an end to her cursed existence.
And that was why Noah couldn't forgive her. No matter how much she cared for him, no matter how many times she saved his life, her hands were stained with the blood of others. To him, her remorse wasn't enough. It could never be enough.