Zane's lids trembled as he slept, whispers drifting through his mind.
Elana's not safe. Go to her. Save her from him.
The image of the hickey on her skin flashed like a blade through his thoughts—
the final blow before he jerked awake, panting.
He would protect her.
Even if it costs him his life.
He rose from his bed.
Cara and Ceasar were still asleep, the castle unnervingly still—no minions, no footsteps, nothing but a thick silence.
He dragged a shirt over his bare chest and stepped into the hallway. Moonlight spilled through the tall castle windows, silvering the stone floors as he moved.
Hoping to find the room where Elana slept.
A swirl of wind swept past his ear, whispering—Down the hall.
Fear prickled his spine but after everything he'd seen in this world, nothing surprised him anymore.
Maybe it was a voice, maybe it was his own instincts.
Either way—saving her mattered more.
He hurried down the hall.
Reaching a thick dark wooden door, he knocked.
No response—
Until Elana's scream ripped through the silence.
Gritting his teeth he slammed the door open. "Elana!"
She was shaking on the bed, clutching the sheets to herself. "Who's there?" she cried.
"Did you lose your way, Zane?"
Azael's voice drifted from the balcony—cold, sharp.
His silhouette was the first thing Zane saw before registering the crimson eyes staring daggers at him.
**
Fen sniffed the carriage.
Flowers.
The vampire inside was silent, but he could feel her.
His wolves were in place, waiting, just in case she might be a little troublesome.
Fate itself seemed to be pushing him toward the one ending he craved—
Azael's downfall.
They had planned something invasive.
But the vampire leaving the castle—and leaving the cast—had made everything easier.
His wolf grinned, eager to see Azael's fury and confusion.
Fen shook the fallen carriage briefly, remembering when the army sorcerer blessed and protected these carriages for the royal family—no magic could penetrate or escape from within, even vanishing.
"You can come out," he called, "or I'll drag you out."
He wanted to give her a fighting chance. It could be interesting.
Silence.
His laugh cracked through the night as he gripped a short, razor-sharp stake between his teeth and began tearing at the carriage with his claws.
Its frame broke easily under the force.
Immediately the moonlight poured through the openings, touching pale skin.
He didn't hesitate, plunging the stake into her chest but she vanished.
Fen snarled, checking inside. No stake.
It had hit her.
She wasn't far. The scent of flowers lingered close—too close.
Mixed with the damned blood of a vampire.
He threw his head back and howled, calling his wolves to begin the hunt.
**
"You monster." Zane's voice shook with rage. "What are you doing to her?"
It had felt real.
Too real.
The weight on Elana's throat, the pressure that stole her breath—not a simple nightmare.
Didn't feel like sleep paralysis.
And then Zane had burst in.
And Azael…Azael was somehow there too.
"Zane," she said—just as Azael's scent hit her, cold fingers lifting her chin.
She jerked away from him, clutching the blanket to her nearly bare body.
"Get out," Azael said, voice deadly calm.
"I'll only leave if Elana tells me to." Zane shot back.
His voice barely finished before he began to choke.
Not gentle coughing—
but the desperate, wet, strangled gurgling of someone being crushed from inside.
Elana froze.
"Zane?" she whispered, terrified.
His voice dragged across the room—literally dragged—toward the balcony, where his screams tore through the air, raw and panicked.
She reached out toward Azael's last position, finding only cold empty air.
"No," she breathed. He was going to kill Zane.
"No," she screamed, pushing off the bed and stumbling forward, hands feeling blindly for the walls. "Please Master Azael—don't hurt him."
Zane's suffering grew worse, each sound tighter, more desperate. Horror twisted through her.
"Please!" she screamed, reaching the open balcony.
The night wind hit her immediately, sharp and cold, swirling around her bare legs. She groped at the air, trying to find where they were.
"Still deciding who's giving the orders, boy?" Azael asked, calm even as chaos strangled the space around them.
"Please don't drop me! Please!" Zane screamed, as he was able to after Azael spoke.
The cold bit deeper into her skin, forcing her to wrap her arms around herself.
"Get back inside, Elana," Azael ordered.
"Please don't kill him," she sobbed. "He only means well."
Footsteps rushed into the room—Cara's gasp slicing the tension, Ceasar's whisper trembling,
"What the hell…?"
Then a sickening, brutal impact hit the ground.
A body.
Zane.
Elana flinched, heart dropping.
"The next time you make me repeat myself," Azael said, voice edged with warning "not even her pleas will save you."
Zane's groaning rose faintly as Cara's gentle, terrified voice urged, "Come on."
Their footsteps retreated, as they took him out of the room.
The door closed.
Leaving Elana standing in the cold, trembling, alone with Azael.
**
Meanwhile in the forest…
Trisha crouched behind a massive tree.
The wooden stake lodged dangerously close to her heart throbbed with every beat—her body trying and failing to heal around the jagged wood the werewolf had driven into her.
Blood soaked through her dress.
She couldn't teleport into the cast, its magic sealed out all creatures beyond its walls and territory—she couldn't teleport too far from this part of the forest either.
She just had to focus on getting to safety first.
Her monochrome vision revealed several werewolves scattered through the forest.
She could try to move quietly around them.
She tested her strength again, trying to teleport, but her body barely managed two feet from where she last stood.
The huge stomp of the wolf's footsteps made her scramble behind the tree, biting down the sounds of her pain.
She prayed the insects of the night would mask her presence.
"I don't need a seer to tell me you're going to die tonight," its monstrous voice echoed, taunting through the stillness.
The stake twisted inside her and she slapped a trembling hand over her mouth to muffle the cry that nearly tore out of her.
Cold blood ran faster, coating her palm in red as she tried in vain to soothe the wound.
Maybe she could scream for Azael.
Maybe he would hear her.
Tears slid over the hand covering her mouth. But even if he heard. Could he reach her on time?
Her nephew would be expecting her.
He had promised to grow the dandelions she was bringing—this time in a field—his precious, blessed heart hoping to save her the trouble of harvesting them from the magical field of the castle.
Maybe she could try one more teleport, somewhere farther, and scream.
But the stake twisted deeper again, and her body still fought to heal around it.
The tearing and reforming of tissues/skin nearly blinded her with pain.
A sudden gust of wind swept past her. She opened her mouth to scream for Azael—but almost immediately the wolf pulled out the wooden stake.
And this time he didn't miss the clean, direct plunge straight into her heart.
**
Same time range.
Azael's gaze swept over Elana's trembling form, but her attention was fixed on the faint hum of the door—the last place she'd heard Zane and the others exit.
The thin white cotton she wore softly fluttered in the wind, threatening to ride above her already bare thighs.
The shape of her breasts pressed softly against the fabric, points of her nipples noticeable beneath it.
Desire flared within him, sharp and consuming.
He dropped from the air, his steps silent and commanding, making her startle and instinctively snap her head toward him.
The terror radiating from her was unmistakable—but he didn't care. Now, that bloody human would know better.
He moved toward her, each step deliberate. She shifted backward.
"Please don't come any closer," she whispered, voice trembling.
Azael reached for her, as if her resistance could finally snap some sense into him.
His fingers closed around her hand—and immediately, a soft sharp strike landed across his face.
She had slapped him.