The last carriage wheels ground over gravel at three in the morning. I watched from our window as lanterns bobbed away into darkness, the announcement celebration finally dead.
Success, by every measure—two hundred witnesses to the Blackwood heir's legitimacy, signatures on documents, toasts raised and futures secured.
Sleep came like drowning, pulling me under into nightmares that tasted of copper and winter.
A shadow with no face tearing into Nathaniel. Claws raking through leather and flesh while he screamed soundlessly. Blood painting frost-burned grass black.
I jolted awake gasping. Alistair's hand found mine in the dark, fingers cool and steady.
"What is it?" His voice carried that particular gentleness reserved for my distress.
"Just dreams." I pressed my face into the pillow, willing my heart to slow. "Terrible but... unclear."
"The stress of tonight. The excitement." He stroked my hair with careful precision. "Rest. You're safe."
But rest brought the same horror on repeat—Nathaniel torn apart by something wearing shadow for skin.
Each time I woke, Alistair was there, murmuring comfort, never pressing for details I couldn't give. By dawn, I'd given up on sleep entirely.
* * *
The household erupted into post-celebration chaos—servants stripping linens, footmen cataloging damages, Kathrin's voice ringing from the morning room as she tallied accounts. Perfect cover for disappearance.
I knew exactly where his room was. Third floor of the east wing. I climbed the narrow stairs and opened his door without knocking.
Nathaniel lay on his side facing the small window, bandages wrapped thick around his torso. At the door's creak, he twisted sharply, trying to lever himself upright. Pain carved lines across his face.
"Don't." I closed the door with a soft click. "You'll tear the stitches."
"Helena." He managed to push himself to sitting despite my protest, back pressed against the headboard. "You shouldn't be here."
"Yet here I am." I crossed to the bed and took his hand—rough with calluses, warm despite blood loss. "Tell me what happened. The truth this time."
"Which truth do you want?" His fingers tightened on mine. "The simple one where I was mauled by a wild animal? Or the complicated one that puts you in mortal danger?"
"The real one."
He studied my face, measuring something behind his eyes. "The Order sent me here. Not for pest control—for something specific."
"A vampire."
"An elder. Ancient beyond measure." His thumb traced my knuckles with absent intimacy. "The Order's been hunting it for three centuries. Maybe longer. Every attempt fails. Every knight who gets close ends up drained or disappeared."
"Three centuries?" The words scraped my throat.
"At minimum. Some records suggest it predates the Order itself." He shifted, bandages pulling. "We tracked fresh kills to this region. Bodies in Ashford, Whitmore, moving south. Then nothing. The trail died like it never existed."
"And you think it's here?"
"I know it's here." His jaw locked. "I found it last night. Or rather, it found me."
"In the wine cellar."
"Feeding on a kitchen maid. Young thing, maybe sixteen." His eyes darkened. "I tried to intervene. It moved faster than anything should move. Turned my own stake against me, then used claws for these decorations."
He gestured at his bandages with bitter humor.
"It could have killed you."
"Instantly. Easily." His expression hardened. "But it didn't. It wanted me conscious. Wanted me to hear what it had to say."
"Which was?"
Instead of answering, he shifted forward, free hand rising to trace the line of my throat. "Christ, you're beautiful when you're frightened."
Heat pooled low in my belly, shameful and immediate.
Even bandaged and battered, his body radiated that barely-leashed power that had first undone me. The shoulders still broad, the hands still sure, the mouth that knew exactly where I burned.
"You're injured—"
"Not dead." He pulled me closer, and I let him. "Not even close."
His mouth found mine—hungry, demanding, tasting of copper and laudanum. I kissed him back for a heartbeat, two, before sanity reasserted. I pulled away, pressing my palm to his chest.
"The message. What message did it give you?"
"You don't quit, do you?" But he smiled, that crooked grin that meant trouble. "Always pushing for answers."
"Tell me what it said."
His expression sobered. "You won't like it."
"I haven't liked anything so far. Continue."
"The elder knew exactly who I was. Called me by name, rank, mentioned my training." He paused, watching my face. "Then it said something about the estate. About what makes this place special."
"Which is?"
"A pregnant woman." His grip turned painful. "It said pregnant women are irresistible to vampires. That they can hear both heartbeats—mother and child—from impossible distances."
Ice shot through my veins.
"The double rhythm. It's like a beacon, drawing them from miles away." He leaned closer. "The elder said more vampires will come. That your pregnancy announcement just painted a target on this estate."
"That's why it was here? Because of me?"
"Because of what you carry." His hand slid to my belly. "The elder called it 'the sweetest music.' Said the combined heartbeats create a frequency vampires can't ignore."
"But Alistair hasn't—"
I caught myself before revealing too much.
"Your husband's been ill, distant. Maybe he doesn't know what calls to him." Nathaniel's eyes bored into mine. "But others will. Any vampire within fifty miles now knows exactly where to find a pregnant noblewoman."
"You're trying to frighten me."
"I'm trying to save you." His fingers pressed harder against my stomach. "The elder threatened me. It said the Order always fails because we don't understand—vampires aren't just hunters. They're drawn to certain prey like moths to flame."
"And pregnant women—"
"Are the brightest flame of all." His voice dropped. "The double heartbeat, the increased blood flow, the hormonal changes—everything about pregnancy sings to them. You're not just carrying a child, Helena. You're carrying bait."
The weight of it crashed over me. Every vampire within hunting distance would hear my heart paired with my child's, an irresistible symphony calling them to feed.
"The estate has guards—"
"Against human threats. Not against things that move like shadow and strike like lightning." He cupped my face with bandaged fingers. "The elder could have killed me in seconds. Instead, it wanted me to tell you this: more will come. They'll be drawn by what grows inside you."
"I need to warn Alistair—"
"Warn him about what? That his pregnant wife is a beacon for monsters?" Nathaniel's laugh held no humor. "What's he going to do? Post more guards? Bar the windows?"
"He'll protect us—"
"He can't protect you from nature itself. From what you've become simply by carrying that child." His hand stayed pressed to my belly. "You're in danger, Helena. Real danger. And that vampire's interest centers on you as much as on Alistair."