Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
DECLAN
Pain. That was all I knew. It roared in my ribs, sharp and punishing, every breath a fresh agony.
Blood pooled in my mouth, thick and metallic, dripping from my split lip as I coughed.
My arms trembled as I tried to push myself up, but my body had nothing left to give. Above me, Gael loomed, his piercing gaze unreadable. The bastard could end it now.
I could see it, could feel it, the moment he decided to sink his fangs into my throat, or hell, just snap my neck like a twig.
Instead, he crouched, studying me like some dying animal he hadn’t decided whether to kill or walk away from.
“Do you really want to die here, Declan?” His voice was almost… gentle.
I bared my teeth. “You’ll… kill me either way.”
“No,” he said, leaning closer. His inhuman eyes bore into mine, sending a sickening shudder down my spine.
Gael continued, “Not today. But if you come after me again, I’ll finish what I started. And if you push me, I’ll make sure Donovan is next.”
My vision blurred, not from pain, but from the sheer rage that exploded inside me.
Donovan. How dare he say his name?
I clenched my fists, forcing my battered body to move, to lash out, to do something, but Gael only smirked and stepped back.
“I promise,” I rasped.
Gael’s eyes flickered with something. Satisfaction, maybe. A silent acknowledgment of the weight behind my words.
“You’d better,” he murmured.
Then, just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away, vanishing into the swirling snow outside. I slumped back against the cold, blood-soaked floor of the barn, gasping.
My vision swam, nausea curdling in my gut. This was my fault. My team, my men, were dead, their bodies strewn across the barn like discarded dolls.
If I had never pursued Asher and his vampire lover, they would still be alive. And Asher…
I squeezed my eyes shut. Asher was gone. The thought hit like a blade to the gut, slow and cruel, twisting deeper the longer I let myself sit with it.
Donovan’s last remaining family member was dead.
I wanted to believe otherwise. To tell myself that maybe, just maybe, he had gotten away, that he had found some way to survive.
That he had done what I couldn’t and saved himself. But I wasn’t a fool. Asher should have listened to me.
He should have come home. Asher should have never put himself in this mess in the first place, should have never let himself get tangled up with a vampire.
And yet, even as I thought it, even as the anger boiled in my chest, I knew deep down that it wasn’t as simple as that.
I wanted to blame him. I wanted to rage at him for throwing away everything. For turning his back on the Guild, on everything we were raised to believe.
But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was his face.
The way he had looked at Gael. Like the world had finally made sense. Like he had finally found something worth fighting for, worth dying for.
And maybe that was the real reason it burned so much. Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him for it.
I wanted to. But all I could feel was the crushing weight of failure.
Because I had let Donovan convince me to try and save him. And for what? What the hell had it even accomplished?
My men were dead. All of them.
I had failed them. I had failed Asher. I had failed myself. The anger swelled, hot and blinding, a wildfire in my chest.
I clenched my fists, teeth grinding so hard my jaw ached, the raw rage threatening to consume me, to choke me.
I wanted to hit something. To tear something apart. To burn the whole world down until there was nothing left.
But then the cold crept in. Slow. Heavy. Like a dull ache settling into my bones, into my very soul. What was the point?
What good was anger when it wouldn’t change a thing?
There was no use being mad at Donovan. It wasn’t his fault. He had begged me to help, and I had said yes. I had chosen this.
There was no use being mad at Asher. He had made his own choices, just like I had. And now, he was gone. And Gael—
I exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh escaping before I could stop it. Gael had won. Simple as that. I had made my choices. And now, I had to live with them.
I let my head rest against the freezing ground, exhaling sharply.
Snow drifted in from the barn doors, the storm howling outside. I wasn’t going anywhere. My body wasn’t going anywhere.
A buzzing sound. I dismissed it. Probably a dying lightbulb, or maybe my own brain short-circuiting. Then I heard it again.
A sound too familiar to ignore. My phone.
Somewhere beneath my torn jacket, the device vibrated against my chest. With numb fingers, I fumbled for it, my vision darkening at the edges.
Before I could look, before I could even lift the screen. A snarl split the silence. I stiffened. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I wasn’t alone.
A rustling noise followed. From the shadows, something crawled toward me. Not like Gael.
There was no sharp suit, no knowing smirk. No calculating stare that told me he was always three steps ahead. This thing was hunger made flesh. Feral. Starving. Mindless.
Its sunken eyes locked onto me, a glint of rabid desperation flickering in their depths. I didn’t have time to react. It lunged, a blur of bone-thin limbs and snapping teeth.
I tried to roll, but the agony in my ribs exploded, hot and white, locking my body in place for a split second too long.
Too long. The thing crashed into me, jaws gaping, fangs flashing. I twisted at the last second. Its teeth slammed together, missing my throat by an inch.
A shriek tore from its throat, so high-pitched and piercing it sent a spike of pain through my skull.
Then it was scrambling toward me again, a grotesque thing moving on all fours like a rabid animal.
It was starving, and I was the only meal in sight. I had no time. No weapons. Nothing but sheer, brutal desperation. I lashed out. My knee connected with its gut. Not enough.
I grabbed a splintered plank from the floorboards, the wood rough against my bloody fingers. And I drove it into its chest.
A sickening crack. The rabid vampire jerked violently, back arching, clawed fingers scrabbling at my arms. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t strong enough.
The thing lunged again.
And then—
A bite. Hot. Searing.
Teeth sank into my shoulder, tearing through flesh like paper.
I roared in pain. The world tilted. My vision blurred at the edges, red-hot agony blotting out all thought. I snapped. With a wild, unhinged snarl, I slammed my fist into its face.
Once. Twice. Again. Again.
Until I felt the crunch of bone beneath my knuckles. Its grip loosened.
I barely managed to shove it off before it collapsed in a twitching heap, eyes rolling back, body spasming violently.
Then stillness.
The only sound left was my own ragged, shallow breathing. My pulse thundered in my ears. My muscles trembled, every inch of me screaming in pain.
I glanced down.
Blood. So much of it. My blood.
It poured from the open wound on my shoulder, staining my already ruined clothes, soaking into my skin like ink.
A cold, sick realization gripped my chest. It was too late. My breath hitched.
No. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I stared at the corpse of the thing that had done this to me, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs.
My thoughts were a mess of white noise, panic clawing its way up my throat.
Vampire bites weren’t instant death.
Not always.
But this? This was different.
I could feel it. A wrongness spreading beneath my skin.
My fingers twitched. My vision swam. A strange, unnatural cold seeped into my bones, coiling around my chest like a vice.
I barely noticed the buzzing at first. It was faint. Distant. A sound that didn’t belong.
Then my body jerked. A sudden, overwhelming nausea crashed into me, twisting my stomach, making my skin crawl. The buzzing sound grew louder. Persistent. Insistent.
My phone. My phone.
With numb fingers, I reached for it, barely registering the movement. The screen glowed, too bright, too sharp against the dark. Donovan.
I blinked. My mind was slipping, my thoughts unraveling like frayed thread. I shouldn’t call him. I shouldn’t drag him into this. But my thumb moved on its own.
The phone rang once. Twice.
"Declan?"
His voice. Familiar. Steady. The only thing in my world that had ever been constant. Hearing him again hurt. Because it was good to hear him. Too good.
And I knew, I knew this would be the last time. For a moment, my mind drifted, slipping through my grasp like sand.
The pain in my body, the ice in my veins, the unnatural hunger gnawing at my insides—it all faded as memories surfaced.
I saw us, years ago back when we were kids.
The day my parents died, their bodies lowered into the ground while I stood there, numb, unable to cry, unable to feel anything but the gaping emptiness inside me.
I remembered staring at their graves, my fingers clenched into fists, barely breathing.
And Donovan, eleven years old and stubborn as hell, had climbed a tree just to keep watch.
The two of us sneaking into the kitchen, laughing under our breath as we stole leftover cake. His hair had been messy, his eyes bright with mischief.
Frosting smeared on his cheek.
I had wanted to wipe it away. I had raised my hand to do just that, but I had stopped myself. Because I had felt it then, even though I hadn’t understood it yet.
That ache. That terrible, terrible ache. We could have been something, I thought. In another life, maybe. A better one.
The weight of it crushed me, dragging me back to the present. Focus, Declan. Focus.
I forced myself to breathe, but my chest burned, my ribs grinding together like broken glass. I could feel the change clawing through me, relentless and merciless.
My body wasn’t mine anymore. I had to do this now.
"Declan?" Donovan's voice came again, sharp with worry.
My throat closed up, emotion choking me, the sheer relief almost as unbearable as the pain. I tried to swallow it down. Tried to be strong.
But I wasn’t. Not anymore.
I tried to speak. Nothing came out at first.
"Donovan."
I barely recognized my own voice. Shaky. Weak. His breathing hitched.
“Declan, where the hell have you been?" Donovan demanded. "I swear if you don’t—"
"Listen," I cut him off, my grip tightening around the phone.
There was no time. I had to do this. Now. I swallowed hard, my body trembling from the effort of staying human. I could feel it, the change creeping in, sinking its claws into me.
My ribs ached, but not like before. Not like something broken.
Like something rearranging. The hunger was creeping in. The kind I had spent my whole life hunting down.
"Donovan," I whispered again.
Silence.
His voice, softer. "Declan?"
I closed my eyes. Breathed in. And whispered the only thing I knew he would understand.
"End this. Please. Before it's too late."
“What happened?” Donovan demanded, his voice sharp with worry.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stay lucid. Every nerve in my body screamed, my muscles twitching with something unnatural.
The hunger was there now, gnawing, insistent, wrong. But I forced it down.
“I—” My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. I swallowed hard, tasting blood. “I tracked Asher and Gael. Went after them. I think Gael killed Asher.”
A sharp breath on the other end. “And?”
I clenched my jaw. Keep talking, Declan.
“Gael took out my whole team,” I admitted, hating how weak I sounded.
Then, a low curse. I could picture Donovan now—his fingers curled into fists, his jaw tight, that familiar anger flashing in his eyes. I should’ve stopped there.
Should’ve spared him what came next, but I couldn’t. He needed to know.
“Gael didn’t kill me,” I continued, each word a struggle. My vision blurred. The edges of my world flickered between light and shadow. “But I wished he did.”
Another pause. Then softer this time, “Declan…”
I ignored it. If I stopped now, I wouldn’t get the rest out.
“A rabid vampire must’ve scented my blood,” I rasped, fingers tightening around my phone like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. “It wasn’t like Gael. It was feral. Starving. I fought, but—”
I faltered.
A sharp inhale from Donovan. “But what?”
I exhaled shakily, my body betraying me, the fever spiking. “I wasn’t fast enough,” I admitted. Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
Then Donovan’s voice came, tight with barely controlled panic. “You’re saying—”
“I was bitten.”
Three words.
That was all it took. I heard the way his breath hitched, the moment his world cracked apart.
“No,” Donovan whispered.
“Donovan,” I whispered, my strength slipping fast. “You need to listen to me.”
“No, shut up.” His voice shook with something raw. Something desperate. “You’re gonna hold on, you hear me? You’re not turning, Declan. I won’t let you.”
I almost laughed at that. As if he had any power over this. Over fate.
“I need you to do something for me,” I said instead.
“What, Declan?”
“If I lose control—”
“Don’t,” Donovan began.
“I need you to end it,” I finished.
“No!” The word came out broken this time.
My heart ached at the sound.
“This isn’t up for debate,” I murmured, my body trembling as the infection took root. Spreading. Twisting.
The transformation wasn’t instant; it took time, at least forty-eight hours.
“You’re not dying.”
"It's too late," I whispered. "You know it is."
"Bullshit!" His voice cracked. "I'm coming to get you. Just hold on."
I opened my mouth, but my fingers slipped, the phone tumbling from my grasp. I didn’t hear what Donovan said next.
The cold sank into my bones and the darkness swallowed me whole.