Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
HUNTER
T he words ‘I'd rather be dead’ echoed in Hunter's mind like a death knell, each syllable cutting deeper than any blade. He staggered back, retreating from the anguish in Mercy's voice as though her pain had physically struck him. The sound of her sobs followed him out of the room, a gut-wrenching noise that twisted his insides. His mind was a whirlwind of remorse and confusion, but there was one thing he couldn’t shake—he had saved her life.
Hadn’t he? Or had he condemned her to something worse?
The door clicked softly behind him as he stepped into the hallway, the oppressive weight of the abbey's stone walls closing in on him. His chest felt tight, and he sucked in a breath, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating pressure building inside. He loved her—he who had never loved anything more than himself, not in all of the time he had existed. He loved her, and that love had left him no other choice. He could not simply do nothing as he felt her life force slip away. Instead, he had acted in order to save her—but had he made that choice for her or for himself?
Outside in the corridor, the doctor and Brie were waiting. Both looked up the moment Hunter appeared; their expressions filled with concern. Greg offered a small, hesitant smile. Brie’s face, usually so stern, softened as she saw the anguish written across Hunter’s face.
"How is she?" Brie asked quietly, though the answer was written all over his expression.
Hunter couldn’t find the words to answer, the lump in his throat too thick to speak around. Instead, he shook his head, raking a hand through his dark hair in frustration.
“She’s angry,” Hunter managed to rasp after a moment, his voice strained. “She said… she said she’d rather be dead.”
The doctor sighed; his eyes filled with sympathy. "She’s in shock. It’s a lot to process, Hunter. Give her time."
Brie nodded, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. "You saved her. No matter what she says now, deep down, she’ll understand that eventually. She just needs time to adjust. You made the right choice. No one here thinks otherwise."
“She does, and isn’t hers the only opinion that matters?”
“While that might be true in the end,” said Greg, “often our knee-jerk reaction to something we never conceived is not the way we feel in the end. Ask Oliver’s mate, Roz. She did not react well to having been turned. But now, she will tell you it’s the best thing that ever happened to her, as it was the turning point in her life for everything else.”
Hunter wanted to believe them, but Mercy’s words kept replaying in his mind, louder and louder. He couldn’t stop hearing the bitterness in her voice, the raw pain as she realized what she had become. She hadn’t wanted this—hadn’t asked for it. And he had given it to her anyway.
The truth of her accusation that he had done it as much for himself as he had for her kept echoing in his mind. She wasn’t wrong about that.
Before he could reply, the soft sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Hunter looked up to see Elyria approaching, her fae grace evident in every step. Her face was impassive, unreadable, as always, but her eyes were sharp, taking in the scene with a quiet understanding. As she drew closer, she gave Hunter the briefest of looks—a silent acknowledgment of his pain. She paused only for a moment, her fingers brushing his arm in a fleeting gesture of sympathy, then moved past him and into Mercy’s room without a word.
Hunter stared after her, his chest tightening even more. He trusted Elyria—knew her calm, pragmatic demeanor could help Mercy in a way that he couldn’t right now. But it still felt like someone was driving a wedge between him and the woman he cared about.
The door to Mercy’s room didn’t close completely, and Hunter, standing just outside, found himself listening to the low murmur of Elyria’s voice as she spoke to Mercy. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, torn between giving them privacy and the deep, unshakable need to know what was happening.
Inside the room, Elyria’s voice was soft but clear, her tone as pragmatic as ever. “You’re awake. Good. We have much to discuss.”
Mercy’s response was muffled, but Hunter could hear the sharp edge of anger in her voice. “What’s there to discuss? I’m dead, right? Or close enough. I can feel it… this awful hunger.”
Elyria’s reply was calm, measured. “That hunger you feel is the beginning of your transition. You’re not dead, Mercy. You’re something in between now. A vampire. It’s a process, one that will take time, but you will adjust.”
Hunter clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. He wanted to burst back into the room, to explain why he had done it, to ask her to forgive him, but he knew now wasn’t the time. He had to give her space, no matter how much it tore at him.
Mercy’s voice cut through his thoughts again, trembling with frustration and fear. “I don’t want to adjust. I don’t want this at all. How could he do this to me?”
Elyria’s voice remained steady. “Because you were dying. Hunter saved your life in the only way he knew how. In addition to the dark magic eating your very essence, you would have bled out from the witch’s attack. You had a gaping hole in your chest, and your heart wasn’t beating.”
“Someone else could have done something—claimed me and turned me from falcon-shifter to something else. There were other choices…”
Elyria snorted. “In case you’ve forgotten, that witch was summoning some of the darkest magic I’ve ever seen into this world. The rest of us had our hands full. Others were dying all around us, and we had to let them because we were putting everything we had into stopping her.”
Mercy was silent—thinking, perhaps?
“Your heart had already stopped by the time he acted,” continued Elyria. “He was desperate to save you, so he did what he did. That was his choice, and yes, it was one you had no say in, but now you have to decide how to move forward.”
Hunter’s chest tightened painfully. He knew Elyria wasn’t offering false comfort—she wasn’t that kind of person—but hearing it laid out so plainly only made the weight of his decision press harder on him.
There was a long silence in the room. Mercy’s breathing was shallow and ragged, but when she spoke again, her voice was lower, more controlled. “And this hunger? It’s driving me crazy. I can feel it… deep inside me. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch.”
“That’s the hunger for blood,” Elyria said matter-of-factly. “It’s your body’s way of telling you what it needs. You’re a vampire now, Mercy. You’ll need blood to survive.”
Another silence followed, and Hunter could almost feel Mercy’s disgust from where he stood. He knew how repulsed she would be by the idea of drinking blood, of needing it to survive. She had always been proud, independent, someone who didn’t like to rely on anyone or anything. And now, she was trapped in a state of existence that required feeding on others.
Hunter’s own guilt gnawed at him. He knew her story, knew how much she hated vampires because of what had happened to someone she loved. A lover or a family member, he didn’t know the exact details, but the wound had been deep enough that she had built her life around keeping herself as far from vampires as possible. And now, she was one.
Elyria’s voice broke the silence again, her tone still calm but slightly more compassionate. “There are pros and cons to your new life, Mercy. You have heightened senses now, greater strength, and immortality. But yes, there are drawbacks—the need for blood, the connection to the darkness that all vampires share. It will be hard, but you have three choices: fight it, embrace it, or end your own life.”
Mercy let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “Embrace it? How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to live like this?”
Elyria didn’t sugarcoat it. “By accepting what you are. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll find balance. Denial will only make it harder. You’re stronger than you think, Mercy.”
Hunter heard the scrape of a chair and imagined Elyria standing, preparing to leave. “Take your time. But know this: you are not alone. You have allies here. Hunter, for all his flaws, saved your life because he loves you. Don’t throw that away.”
Hunter stiffened at those words. Elyria rarely offered personal opinions, and that she had said that to Mercy meant something. His chest tightened further. He couldn’t stand out here any longer, couldn’t just listen while Mercy grappled with this reality without doing something to help.
Was she right? Hadn’t he just done to her what had been done to him and for which he had hunted an entire species since the Neolithic Age? He shook his head. No. Those who had destroyed his home and wiped out his people had cursed him so he would remember. They had acted in arrogance, with hatred, and for conquest. What he’d done to Mercy had been done for love. She would come to understand that. She had to; he would give her no other choice.
Before he could fully think it through, Hunter pushed away from the wall. He needed to give her what she needed most right now—blood. He knew the hunger she was feeling would only get worse, and if she didn’t feed soon, the pain would intensify.
With one last glance toward the partially open door, he turned and strode down the hallway. The stone walls of the abbey felt cold and unforgiving as he walked, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He didn’t know how to make this right, but he could at least provide what Mercy needed to survive the first stages of her new existence.
He left the abbey’s main building, stepping into the cool evening air. The shadows were already stretching long across the landscape, the sun dipping below the horizon. The night was his domain, and now, it was Mercy’s, as well.
Hunter took a deep breath, feeling the familiar shift in his body as he tapped into his vampiric nature. His senses heightened, his vision sharpening in the dim light, and the world around him seemed to slow. He focused, searching for the scent of prey.
A moment later, he caught it—deer grazing near the edge of the woods. It was a common target, one that would give Mercy the sustenance she needed without the moral implications of feeding on a human. And the whole animal could be used—blood for him and Mercy, the meat and other parts for those at the abbey.
Hunter moved swiftly through the trees; his footsteps silent as he homed in on the animal. His instincts took over, the predatory nature of his kind rising to the surface as he approached his prey. Within moments, the deer was down, its blood rich and warm as he collected it in a flask. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to feed him and Mercy, to stave off Mercy’s hunger, to give her the chance to make sense of everything without the gnawing pain of starvation.
As he lifted the body of the stag and made his way back to the abbey, Hunter’s mind raced. How could he explain to her what he had done? How could he make her understand that he had acted out of love, out of desperation, because the thought of losing her was unbearable?
He had never cared about anyone like this before. Not in any of the centuries he had lived, not in all the battles he had fought. Mercy was different—she had challenged him, intrigued him, and now, she was tied to him in a way neither of them could undo.
The abbey loomed ahead, its towering stone walls a reminder of the sanctuary it provided. But right now, it felt like a prison. Hunter clenched his jaw, determination setting in. He would help Mercy through this. No matter what it took, he would show her that her new existence wasn’t a curse. It was a second chance, a chance to live—and to live alongside him, if she would let him.
After summoning the butcher to deliver the rest of the deer, Hunter reached the door to the medical unit and paused for a moment, steadying himself. The weight of Mercy’s earlier words— I’d rather be dead’ —still hung heavy in the air, but he couldn’t let them stop him now.
With a deep breath, Hunter pushed open the door and stepped inside, the flask of blood clutched tightly in his hand. Mercy needed him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
And he wasn’t going to let her face this alone.