Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“I shouldn’t have this. This is very old,” he explains, setting both items on the floor between us. “Older than the Ivanovs, some say older than Skarde himself. It’s meant to reconcile the divided self, to heal spiritual wounds.”
“How did you get that?” Lena asks.
He exchanges a look with Valtu. “You learn a few things over the years. Make friends with the right people.”
“You’ll feel vulnerable during the process,” Ezra warns me, moving to light candles around the room. “Open. It’s important that you not resist, no matter how uncomfortable it becomes.”
Great. More vulnerability is exactly what I need right now.
Abe uncorks the vial, tipping a single drop of its contents onto his finger. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, reaching forward to draw a symbol on my forehead.
The liquid burns against my skin, not painfully but with a strange, tingling heat that spreads through my skull. I feel my muscles relaxing without conscious effort, my breathing slowing to match Abe’s steady rhythm.
“Now,” he says, voice dropping to a hypnotic cadence, “find the division within yourself. The line where human ends and vampire begins. See it clearly in your mind.”
I search inward, past the guilt and fear, past the memories of blood and violence. Somewhere deep within my consciousness, I sense it—a fracture, a fault line running through the core of my being. On one side, the PI, the boxer, the man who loved Catherine. On the other, the predator, the hunter, the son of Dmitri.
“Do you see it?” Abe asks softly.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word barely audible.
“Good. Now imagine that line beginning to blur. The two sides flowing into each other, not fighting, not competing, but merging. Becoming one.”
I try to visualize it as he describes—the fracture healing, the separate aspects of myself no longer at war but in harmony. It feels impossible, like trying to blend oil and water, but I persist, focusing on Abe’s voice guiding me deeper into the meditation.
Time loses meaning as we continue, the ritual drawing me further inward. I become aware of a rhythmic chanting—Ezra and Adonis, their voices blending in some old language I don’t recognize but somehow understand. It speaks of wholeness, of acceptance, of strength found in unity.
And slowly, painfully, something begins to shift. The division I’ve sensed becomes less stark, the boundaries more permeable. I can feel my vampire senses sharpening even as I maintain complete awareness, complete control. The hunger is there, but it no longer threatens to consume me. The power flows through my limbs, but it’s mine to direct, mine to command.
“You’re doing well,” Abe murmurs, his voice seemingly coming from very far away. “Just a little more—”
The sound of shattering glass tears through the meditative silence.
My eyes snap open as a bestial roar fills the room. Through the broken glass door overlooking the ocean, a nightmare creature launches itself into our midst—humanoid but wrong, distorted, its body covered in coarse dark hair, its face elongated into something between man and bat, leathery wings extending from its shoulders.
“What the fuck—” I begin, scrambling to my feet.
“Get back!” Abe shouts, interposing himself between us and the creature. “They created him! He’s feral!”
The monster lands in a crouch, head swiveling as it surveys the room with glowing yellow eyes. It’s wearing the tattered remains of what might once have been an expensive suit, now hanging in ribbons from its misshapen body.
It can’t be.
“Marco?” I breathe, the name slipping out before I can stop it.
The creature—Marco—turns at the sound, its gaze locking onto me with predatory focus. Whatever humanity might once have existed in those eyes is gone, replaced by raw animal hunger. It—he—lets out another roar, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.
“How is this possible?” Lena asks, her voice tight with shock. “I thought he was dead.”
“I thought so too,” I say, just as Marco lunges toward me with frightening speed, claws outstretched. I dive aside, rolling across the floor as he crashes into the spot where I’d been standing. The meditation has left me sharper, more coordinated, vampire reflexes responding instantly to the threat.
Adonis intercepts Marco’s next attack, his massive arms wrapping around the feral vampire in a bear hug. But Marco’s strength is unnatural, even by vampire standards. He breaks free with a savage twist, sending Adonis crashing into the wall with enough force to crack the column.
“Cut out the heart!” Ezra shouts, racing out of the kitchen with a butcher knife. He slashes at Marco, drawing a line of black blood across the creature’s chest.
Marco howls in pain, recoiling from the blade. His wings beat furiously, creating a downdraft that sends furniture sliding across the floor. Then he’s moving again, faster than before, dodging Ezra’s next strike and barreling into Valtu with the force of a freight train.
They crash through the glass coffee table, a tangle of limbs and snarls. Valet is no stranger to combat—I’ve seen him fight, seen him rip out Tatiana’s heart with brutal efficiency. But Marco in this feral state is something else entirely, savage and unpredictable.