LOGINWhen Autumn encounters the enigmatic and devastatingly handsome Tristan Jordan in downtown Chicago, she quickly realizes he's no ordinary man—he’s a vampire, and he knows who she is. What begins as a chance meeting spirals into an intense and magnetic connection that neither of them can ignore. Autumn soon learns she’s been under surveillance by the vampire world due to her unique bloodline, which may carry untapped magical power. As she and Tristan grow closer, their bond deepens—literally. Through Tristan’s bite, their souls become psychically linked, giving them the ability to communicate without words and feel each other's emotions. But love doesn’t come without shadows. Tristan harbors secrets of his own: a dark past, a chaotic younger brother named Jaiden with dangerous ambitions, and a vampire world divided by ideology. As Autumn moves into a new house with her best friend Jade and begins a new college semester, her life shifts from ordinary to surreal. Vampire politics, ancient bloodlines, and supernatural threats swirl around her. Soon, she’s being stalked by Jaiden, who is obsessed with making her his vampire bride—or worse. As her mystical ancestry begins to awaken, Autumn is drawn into a deeper war: between light and dark, power and purpose, legacy and love. She must learn to control her gifts, guard her heart, and survive the pull of ancient forces that seek to claim her. In the final chapters, Autumn embraces her destiny—not just as Tristan’s beloved, but as a powerful force in her own right. She faces the Hollow, confronts her shadow self, and finds the strength to forgive, love, and transform.
View MoreThe Council of Night had never felt colder.The opera house beneath New Orleans was carved from stone and memory, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, its velvet seats arranged in a perfect crescent around a sunken dais of black marble. Once, music had risen here—human voices, orchestras, applause. Now the air held only breath and judgment.Autumn stood alone at the center.Frost ghosted from her mouth when she exhaled, though the chamber wasn’t cold in any mortal sense. Thirteen seats loomed around her, occupied by figures whose gazes carried weight: witches wrapped in ancestral wards, revenants bound to unfinished oaths, one thing that was no longer alive and never truly dead.She hadn’t brought the Book.It was gone&
The page smelled like wax and stormlight.Not paper. Not age. Something sharper—ozone and old spells, like the air before a summer strike when the sky hasn’t decided whether to break yet.Autumn set it carefully on the stone altar in her ritual room, hands steady only because she forced them to be. The pendants lay beside it, positioned with deliberate symmetry: the newer flame-bright one to her right, the older dagger-bound pendant to her left. They hummed softly, out of sync, like two hearts that had never learned to beat together.She had bathed before coming here.Saltwater, cold enough to sting. She’d scrubbed until her skin burned, murmuring the old words her grandmother used to insist on during full moons—to clea
The map wasn’t a map.It had no borders, no scale, no legend. No tidy promise of here is where you are and here is where you’re going.It was a memory.Etched into the inside cover of Mirabella’s journal, invisible until heat coaxed it into being. Jade had found it by accident, distracted and half-awake, setting her mug of tea down on the corner of the open page. Steam curled. Paper warmed.And something answered.Runes bloomed like embers beneath the parchment, lines threading outward in slow, deliberate arcs. Not drawn so much as remembered into place. Jade had gone still, breath caught halfway to
The journal was heavier than it looked.Not in weight alone, but in intention—as if the pages resisted being opened, as if they remembered every hand that had ever hesitated over them. The leather creaked softly when Autumn shifted it in her lap, the sound too loud in the quiet.She sat curled in her reading chair, legs tucked beneath her, toes pressed into the familiar groove in the rug where she always sat when she needed grounding. The fire beside her had burned down to a low, watchful glow, embers pulsing like a living thing. Shadows climbed the walls and retreated again, never settling.Tristan had gone to meet Dominic before dusk, his absence lingering like an unfinished sentence. Jade was in the tower, surrounded by books and wards and her own kind of silence. For once, the house was still—no footsteps






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