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Isaac The rules for choosing the new bride were clear. They cared about looks — face, body, posture. They cared about blood scent. And most of all, loyalty. The first two tests were easy. Almost too easy. They lined us up in the courtyard, two nights before the blood moon. Blue flames flickered in silver chandeliers above us. We stood there while vampires watched us from a high balcony, silent and serious. They looked at everything — our skin, how we stood, how we moved. The Devereux didn’t just want power. They wanted beauty too. I stood tall, shoulders relaxed, chin up. I tried to look proud, but not full of myself. The blood I had taken made my skin glow a little, just enough to look more like them. A little smoother, a little more attractive. Marcus was on the other side of the courtyard. His arms were crossed, and he was wearing that annoying smile he always had — part laugh, part insult. I glanced at him, then looked away like he didn’t matter. He didn’t like that. “Medo

Chapter 4 Lucien I never wanted a bride. Not really. The whole idea of it—choosing someone to stand beside me, when I could barely trust the people I shared blood with—was laughable. But here I was, standing on the dais, watching masked smiles and sharp eyes parade before me like wolves dressed in silk. Father called it strategy. Mother called it tradition. I called it bait. “Keep your head up,” Elias muttered beside me. “Don’t let them see you drift off.” “I’m not drifting,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I’m watching. Every twitch. Every step. Especially him.” I didn’t need to point. Elias knew who I meant. The one who called himself Medor Thornwell. He was too smooth, too clean for an exile. Every movement of his tonight had been too controlled. I watched the way he fought Marcus—fast, precise, like someone who’d been trained to kill in silence. Not someone who’d been banished and left to rot. “He’s good,” Elias said after a pause. “But not clever enough to fool you?”

Chapter Three Isaac Lucien looked at me with sharp, silver eyes. “Who are you, really?” he asked again. His voice was quiet but strong, and it felt heavy on my chest. The talking around us stopped. Everyone was watching us in the big hall. My heart beat fast. I wanted to run away and hide in the shadows. But if I ran, it would mean death—and failure. I forced my jaw to relax, lifted my chin, and gave a slow, calm smile. “I guess people here don’t like secrets?” I said, my voice smooth but a little teasing. “My name is Medor Thornwell. I was kicked out by my family in the west. I’m here to find my place with the powerful Devereux family, where strength and smarts matter.” Lucien’s eyes got smaller. I could see he wasn’t sure if he believed me. For a moment, I thought I failed. But then his face changed a little—he wasn’t happy, but he was interested. “Trust isn’t easy to get here,” he said, stepping closer. I wanted to step back but stayed still. “Especially from someone who’

Chapter Two Isaac The sun was rising slowly. The sky still looked sleepy. My bag lay on the ground, ready to go. Then Aunt Eleanor spoke behind me. “You’re a fool, Isaac. A blind fool.” She was angry. But mostly she was scared. I could hear it. “I know,” I said. I didn’t turn around. I just kept looking at the road. Then I heard Lydia crying. I turned. She was on the porch, shaking, eyes red. “Please don’t go,” she said. “We can run away. Just us. Start over.” I walked over and wiped her tears. “I have to, Lyds,” I said. “I don’t have a choice.” Evelyn stood next to her. She wasn’t crying. She just looked at me. “If you leave now,” she said, “we might never see you again.” I rested my forehead on hers. She smelled like lavender. It hurt. “You will,” I whispered. “I promise.” Then Sebastian came. He had his crossbow, looked stressed. “You’re really doing this?” he said. “You know how bad this could go.” “One mistake and that’s it.” “I won’t screw it up,” I said. “Y

Chapter One: The Night It All Began Isaac “Isaac, take Lydia and hide!” My dad’s voice cut through the noise like a knife, sharp, panicked. I froze. My little hand clutched Lydia’s tight. She whimpered, her tiny fingers shaking in mine like they might slip away. The fire was everywhere behind us, lighting up the house in angry orange and gold. Everything was breaking. Crashing. Screaming. Then I heard it—Mom’s voice. Her scream. It cut through me like a sharp knife. “Go! Now!” Dad yelled again. I couldn’t see him, but his fear was loud enough to shake the whole house. He was fighting them off—the Devereux. The monsters we’d only ever heard about in stories. I pulled Lydia closer and ran. We threw ourselves into the pantry. I slammed the door shut and leaned my back against it, heart pounding. My arms tightened around Lydia. I didn’t care if it hurt… I wasn’t letting go. I couldn’t. Through the tiny cracks in the old wooden door, I saw them. Shadowy shapes