That night, Aria waited on the edge of the woods.
The cold bit through her coat, but she stayed still, knowing he'd come. And he did.
Dorian emerged without a sound, walking with that same unnatural grace—too fluid, too perfect. The moonlight made his features sharper, ethereal.
"I thought you'd run," he said softly.
"I wanted to," Aria replied. "But then the vampire hunter walked into the library today."
Dorian tensed. "Elias Thorn?"
"So, it's true. He's here for you."
"No. He's here for what I used to be." Dorian stepped closer, and the wind stilled, as if the forest itself was listening. "I haven't taken a human life in over a hundred years."
"That man in the woods—"
"Was bitten by another. A feral, not me. I was tracking it." He met her gaze. "You saw what I am, Aria. But you haven't seen why."
She hesitated, then said, "Then show me."
Dorian blinked—caught off guard. "You'd risk that?"
"I need the truth. All of it."
He studied her face, as if searching for fear. He found fire instead.
So he extended his hand. "Then come with me."
❖
The Blackthorn Estate had always been a mystery to the town. Few had ever been inside.
Aria stepped through its grand doors and into a world frozen in another time.
Candles lined the hallway. Paintings—centuries old—hung on the walls. She paused at a portrait of a younger Dorian, dressed in royal black and gold. His eyes were the same, only lonelier now.
He led her to a private study lined with books and maps.
"I was born in 1423," he began, pouring her tea with the ease of an aristocrat. "I was a prince. Loved. Worshiped. Until the night I was cursed."
"Cursed?"
He nodded. "My kingdom made a pact with something dark. An ancient blood god. I was offered as tribute—turned into a creature that could never die, never age. I became their weapon."
Aria sat in silence, her mind spinning.
"I fed. I killed. I ruled over shadows. But something remained… a piece of me that hated what I was. So I left. I've been running ever since—saving those I can, punishing those who turn feral."
"And Elias?" she asked.
"He's the last of a bloodline sworn to destroy me. His ancestors fought me in the 1600s. I spared one. He never forgave me."
Silence again.
Then: "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because you saw me," Dorian said, stepping closer, "and you didn't look away. You didn't scream. You stayed."
She looked up at him. "I should be afraid."
"But you're not."
"No."
Dorian's breath caught.
Then—suddenly—he flinched. His head jerked toward the window.
"What is it?" Aria asked.
He growled softly. "The feral. It's here. And it's not alone."
Before Aria could speak, the window shattered—glass spraying like ice—
And the hunter stepped inside.