LOGINSilver has lived her life in the dark. No family. No past. Just hunger and shadows. When she crosses paths with Travis, a wandering vampire who sees the raw, broken girl behind her fangs, she tastes love for the first time—and it’s intoxicating. Together, they roam the world, chasing survival, chasing belonging, chasing a place where monsters like them can breathe without fear. But hunters never rest. And love makes her vulnerable. When the shadows close in, Silver must choose between running again or fighting for the only person who ever mattered. The cost will be blood. The price will be heartbreak. Because in her world, love isn’t a salvation—it’s a death sentence.
View MoreThe door shut behind us like a verdict. The wards sang once—short, satisfied—and went quiet as grave dirt.Maeve took one look at my arm and swore in Irish that sounded older than manners. Niall already had a cloth in his hand. He pressed it to the cut, calm as a funeral director who’s seen enough to skip theatrics.“Glamour?” Maeve asked.“Three of him,” I said, nodding at Lucian. “All annoying. Two accurate.”Lucian snorted. “Which two?”“I’ll plead the Fifth.” I let Niall’s cloth do its job and didn’t flinch when he poured something that smelled
The air the next morning didn’t smell like rain—it smelled like expectation. Ireland had moods, and this one was sharp enough to cut skin.Maeve was stringing herbs above the doorway when I came downstairs. “You didn’t sleep,” she said without looking.“I tried,” I said. “The house had opinions.”Niall poured me a mug of blood warmed with sea salt. “The house likes to test new tenants. If you passed, it’ll stop whispering.”I almost told him it ha
Sleep didn’t come easy. The sanctuary had too many kinds of quiet.When I gave up pretending, I followed the draft down the corridor until the floor dipped and the air changed. The stairwell hadn’t existed yesterday. That was the thing about this place—it liked to improvise.At the bottom, the light came from a single brass lamp. Shelves crowded the stone walls, loaded with jars, relics, and books that sighed when I passed. It smelled like clove smoke and old storms.Lucian was there, sleeves rolled to the elbow, sigils chalked down his arms. The lines pulsed faintly—wards or scars, hard to tell.“Can’t sleep?” he asked.“Sleep and I are in a trial separation,” I said.
The body arrived before dawn, dragged behind a horse through the rain.Brother Malachy and two novices laid it on the flagstones beneath the altar. The gargoyle’s eyes still glowed faintly, amber fire sinking back into stone. Its broken wing jutted at an impossible angle; sigils carved into its chest had blackened like burnt script.The church that wasn’t a church anymore smelled of salt, ash, and blood that wasn’t human.Father Aedan Crowe stood over the ruin in silence. His robes were simple—wool, unadorned—but the air bent around him like light refusing to touch shadow. His face was carved lean by time and conviction, a single line of scar cutting from temple to jaw.“Who?” he asked finally.






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