Epilouge

The woods were unnaturally silent, as if the very earth itself was holding its breath.

Deep within the dense heart of the no-man's land, beyond the Vampire Kingdom and far from werewolf territory, a small, crooked cabin squatted under a canopy of twisted trees. No road led to it. No sunlight ever seemed to touch its crumbling walls. Magic, thick and heavy, blanketed the place, shielding it from prying eyes.

Inside, the air was stifling. The scent of blood, herbs, and burnt magic clung to the walls like smoke. At the center of the cabin, on a rough-hewn altar made of stone, lay a body.

Martin Cole.

His chest barely rose with each breath, but he was alive.

The witch sat beside him, legs tucked under her, dark hair a tangled mess down her back. Her pale fingers hovered over Martin's battered face, tracing the faint bruises and deep scars left behind.

"My poor prince," she whispered, voice trembling with devotion. "They tried to take you from me. But I won't let them."

Her name was Lilith,