Chapter Twenty
CRAVE
Pre-Dawn
Surrounded by my brothers, I stand in the center of the clubhouse, and for the first time in millennia, I understand what it means to be afraid of dying.
The realization crawls up my spine, ice cold, settling deep inside me. I’m still faster than most vampires. Still stronger than any human. But the invincibility that’s defined my existence for centuries?
Gone.
One well-placed stake. One blessed blade finding its mark. One lucky shot to the heart, and I’m dust.
Just like any other dead thing.
Sloane’s fear reaches me raw and unguarded, guilt pressing in close behind it. It settles deep, relentless, and I know without asking that she’s blaming herself for the Binding, for my vulnerability, and for making me something that can die.
I did this to him.
Her thoughts echo, sharp as broken glass.
I want to reassure her, to tell her she’s wrong, but the lie won’t form because she’s not wrong. Not entirely. I chose her over my own survival. And I’d do it again. But that doesn’t change the mathematics of what’s coming.
And coming soon.
Viktor’s army. Feral vampires who’ll smell my weakness the moment they get close. Rogue witches whose spells might actually land now. Demon-possessed humans who won’t hesitate to test whether an Original can still bleed out.
And me?
Diminished.
Exposed.
Mortal enough to die.
The clubhouse door swings open, and Rogue walks in, flanked by Scorch and Dread. They’ve been running perimeter sweeps, watching the horizon, counting the minutes until Viktor makes his move. But the moment Rogue’s golden eyes lock on me, his stride slows.
Lycans don’t need explanations. They read bodies. Posture. Scent.
And right now, mine is telling him something is wrong.
“Crave.” His voice drops, all command stripped away, leaving only something raw underneath. “It’s worse than you let on.”
I don’t answer immediately. I don’t need to.
Rogue steps closer, his nostrils flaring, jaw tightening as he bites back a snarl. “Your scent’s off. Thinner. Something’s been carved out of you.”
Scorch’s veins flare brighter, dragon fire reacting instinctively, heat rippling through the room. “How bad is the Binding?” he asks, his voice tight. “They didn’t just dampen you. They gutted you.”
“I’m running on speed and teeth. That’s it.” The words scrape on the way out.
Dread’s presence spikes for half a second, fear pressing in sharp and suffocating before he drags it back under control. The message lands anyway.
This isn’t a theoretical problem.
Rogue exhales slowly through his teeth. “So, this wasn’t about punishment,” he says. “It was about timing.”
“It’s a test,” I reply, forcing steadiness into my voice. “They want to see if Sloane can hold the line in live combat. If she fails…” I don’t finish the sentence.
I don’t have to.
Scorch swears under his breath, heat flaring again. “Ancient cowards. They’re trying to execute you without spilling a drop of their own blood.”
“They’re gambling,” Rogue corrects, eyes still on me. “With your life.”
I meet his gaze. “I’ve been gambling with it for thousands of years, brother.”
His jaw flexes, anger and fear warring behind his eyes.
“This time…” I add quietly, “… the stakes aren’t just mine.”
His eyes hold mine, and the pack bond that exists between us despite our different species pulses through the air. Lycans don’t abandon their alpha. Not when he’s wounded. Not when he’s facing death.
“You’re not alone,” Rogue says, and the words carry the weight of an oath older than vampire law.
“You’ve got a pack. Wolves don’t leave their own behind.
Not when they’re hurt. Not when they’re hunted.
” He glances at the others. “We don’t care if you’re weakened.
We don’t care if you’re killable. You’re ours. And we protect what’s ours.”
Something in my chest cracks. Not breaks, cracks open. Armor I’ve worn for so long I forgot it existed, splinters, fissures spreading wide enough to let something vulnerable through.
Scorch moves to my other side, close enough that the air between us shimmers.
Heat rolls off him in heavy waves, licking across my skin and drawing a sharp breath from my lungs.
The veins beneath his skin glow and throb in time with his pulse, molten red crawling up his forearms, a living fire searching for something to consume.
“Dragons neither,” he says, and despite the gravity of the moment, there’s a hint of that familiar dark humor in his voice.
“Even if you’re a bloodsucking pain in my ass, Crave, you’re our bloodsucking pain in the ass.
Viktor wants you? He goes through me first. And my fire burns hotter than any feral vampire can survive. ”
Suddenly, Dread appears from the shadows, his God-like presence making the temperature drop even as Scorch’s fire raises it. The creature of fear himself, able to manifest terror so profound it can stop hearts, looks at me with something that almost resembles affection.
“The harbinger of fear bows to no coven,” Dread says quietly, his voice carrying echoes of something ancient.
“You burn. We all burn. That’s how this works.
That’s how it always worked.” His eyes, dark as the void between stars, find mine.
“You think I’m letting some archaic assholes dictate when my president lives or dies?
Fuck that! When Viktor shows up, he’ll learn what real fear tastes like. ”
The weight in my chest grows heavier, but it’s not dread anymore. It’s something else. Something I haven’t allowed myself to feel in centuries because feeling it meant acknowledging I had something worth losing.
Belonging.
I sense Sloane approaching before I see her. Her presence burns bright as a star through our connection, terror and determination tangled together in equal measure. When she enters the room, every eye turns to her, and I watch my brothers assess what she’s become.
A Blood Witch.
An impossibility.
My mate.
The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken questions, until Sloane crosses the room and stops directly in front of me. Her hand finds mine, fingers lacing together, and the full force of what she’s feeling crashes over me like a tidal wave.
Love. Fierce, uncompromising, absolutely certain love that has no business existing between a monster and the woman he saved by making her one too.
“I’m not leaving your side,” she says, and her voice carries an edge of the Voice of Lilith, power thrumming beneath each word even though she’s trying to keep it controlled.
“When Viktor comes. When the battle starts. When everything goes to hell… and it will go to hell… I’m right there beside you. Fighting. Bleeding. Surviving.”
“Sloane—”
“No.” She squeezes my hand hard enough that her pulse thrums against my palm.
Through the Bloodfire singing between us, her Crimson Sight activates, seeing me not as a man but as the web of ancient blood I truly am.
Seeing the weakness. Seeing the absence where my Original power once resided.
Seeing everything and choosing to stand beside me anyway.
“You don’t get to protect me by dying. You don’t get to face this alone.
The Blood Oath made us one, remember? One life. One power. One destiny.”
“One death,” I finish quietly, because that’s the part she’s not saying. If I die, she feels every fading heartbeat until the bond releases. If she dies, I endure the same exquisite agony.
“Then we make damn sure neither of us dies.” Her eyes, those impossible crimson-gold eyes that mark her as Lilith’s descendant, hold mine with absolute conviction.
“You taught me what it means to choose power over fear. You gave me blood and magic and a future I never imagined. Now let me return the favor. Let me fight beside you. Let me be the weapon the Coven didn’t account for. ”
The air shimmers around her as her Bloodfire responds to her emotions, heat building until I can almost see the crimson flames dancing beneath her skin.
She’s learning control, but she’s still so new to this.
One wrong move, one loss of restraint, and she could ignite the Crimson Dawn the Coven warned about.
But looking at her now, warmth radiating from her, fierce determination flowing from her into me through our connection, I realize something fundamental.
I’m not afraid of her losing control.
I’m afraid of losing her.
“Together,” I say, and the word carries the weight of surrender and acceptance in equal measure. “We fight together. We survive together.” My hand tightens on hers. “Or we burn together.”
She rises on her toes and kisses me, hard, fast, and claiming, and everything she can’t put into words flows into me. The terror. The love. The absolute refusal to let me face death alone.
When she pulls back, Rogue is grinning. Scorch looks grudgingly impressed. Dread nods once, sharp and approving.
“Well,” Rogue says, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough that I feel it, another reminder of my diminished strength. “Looks like we’ve got a war to win. Someone want to explain the plan to our newly mortal president?”
“The plan…” Scorch says, his dragon fire flaring brighter, “… is we make Viktor regret every decision that led him to our door. We hold the line. We protect our own. And when dawn breaks…” His grin turns savage. “We’re still standing.”
“I’ll handle fear. Make Viktor’s army too terrified to fight effectively. But we need a strategy beyond ‘kill everything that moves,’ ” Dread states.
“Hex has wards layered throughout the building,” I say, forcing my tactical mind to engage despite the hollow ache where my power should be.
“Hades blessed weapons with death energy. Grizz reinforced the structure. We’ve got defensive positions mapped.
But it’s not going to be enough. Not with feral vampires and supporting forces. ”