POV VaeliraI don’t do it because I want to.That’s the lie I tell myself as I move through the lower quarter of Vireholt, where the stone streets sweat old blood and secrets cling to every shadow. The night presses close, heavy and aware, as if it knows exactly what I’m about to do.The bond is quiet.Too quiet.That’s how I know Cain is still hurting.Good.I stop beneath a flickering iron lantern where a vampire leans against the wall like he owns the dark itself. He’s older—centuries, at least. You can tell by the stillness. By the way his presence doesn’t reach, doesn’t hunger outward, but waits to be noticed.He’s tall, built lean and dangerous, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck with a strip of leather. His skin is pale in the way only true vampires are—moonlit, flawless, almost unreal. A thin scar cuts through one eyebrow, giving his sharp features a permanently amused edge.His eyes track me slowly, openly. Not crude. Assessing.“Lost?” he asks, voice smooth, accen
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