23

THE LAST KILL

The forest smelled like pine, blood, and lies.

Ronan Vale crouched on the ridge above Blackthorn Hollow. Below, one light burned. One vampire.

Two centuries of hunting had taught him 3 things:

1. Vampires always lie.

2. Vampires always kill.

3. This one would die tonight.

Lady Selene Drayce. The last pureblood. The queen who never left her castle. Until now.

Intel said she was alone. Weak. Perfect.

He kicked the cottage door in.

It wasn’t a cottage. It was an orphanage.

And she wasn’t feeding. She was reading.

Selene sat in a rocking chair, 12 sleeping children around her. _Where the Wild Things Are_ in her lap. Her lips were red — with paint. She’d been painting suns and wolves on the walls.

She looked up. Not scared. “You’re late,” she said. “I expected you at sunset.”

Ronan froze. Claws out. Wolf snarling _enemy enemy enemy._

“Get away from them,” he growled.

“I could have killed them all before you got here,” Selene said. She closed the book. Gentle. “If I wanted blood, Alpha, I’d take a city.”

“Vampires don’t protect humans.”

“Wolves don’t either,” she said. “Yet here you are. Not killing me. Why?”

Because the little girl beside her was holding Selene’s cold hand. Sleeping. Safe.

“Step outside,” Ronan said. “Or I end you in front of them.”

Selene stood. Tall. Pale as moonlight. Black hair to her waist. Red dress like dried blood. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful — before they destroy you.

She walked past him. Didn’t run.

He caught her scent. Not death. Winter roses and old books.

His wolf whined. _Not enemy._

Outside, the Blood Moon was rising. Fat. Red. Wrong. It should be 3 weeks away.

Selene went white. “No.”

“Last words?” Ronan’s claws were at her throat.

“The prophecy,” she whispered. “_When wolf and vampire bleed together…_”

The ground cracked.

Red light exploded from the moon. Hit them both in the chest.

Ronan roared. A mark burned over his heart. A wolf. Howling.

Selene screamed. Same spot. A bat with wings spread.

When the light died, they were on their knees. Gasping.

Ronan touched his chest. The mark was hot. And he could feel her — her racing heart, her cold fear, her 200 years of sadness.

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing,” Selene gasped, crying blood. “The Blood Moon. If you die, I die. If I die, you die. For 30 nights.”

A howl split the night. Not his pack. Shadows moved in the trees. Red eyes. Not vampires. Not wolves. Hunters.

“The ones who want the war to never end,” Selene whispered. “They’ll kill us both.”

Ronan stood. His body moved without him. He stepped in front of her.

His wolf screamed: _Protect. Mate. Mine._

No. Enemy.

Then Selene grabbed his wrist. Ice.

Their marks burned. And for one second, he felt it:

Her 200 years of loneliness.

Reading to orphans because no one read to her.

Painting wolves because she missed the world before the war.

The shadows got closer.

Ronan looked at her. Not a monster. A woman about to die.

He pulled her behind him, claws out, and snarled at the dark:

*“Touch her. And I’ll rip your throats out.”*

Selene’s hand tightened on his arm. Surprised.

The Blood Moon watched.

For the first time in 200 years, an Alpha wolf protected a vampire.

*Rule #1: Kill all vampires on sight.*

*Rule #1: Broken