POV Natalie
Running through the forest while being chased by homicidal werewolves is definitely not how I planned to spend my evening. But here we are, because apparently my life is just one long series of increasingly ridiculous emergencies that would make a soap opera writer weep with envy.
The pack borders blur past me as I push every ounce of supernatural speed I possess. My legs are screaming, my lungs are on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got twigs in places twigs should never be. Behind me, howls echo through the trees—the beautiful sound of the hunt, of apex predators who’ve been given official permission to turn me into supernatural chum.
Absolutely fucking charming.
Three days of torture, two days of surviving on whatever woodland creatures I could catch, and one spectacularly dramatic wedding crash have officially exceeded my physical capabilities. I’m running on fumes, spite, and the rapidly fading adrenaline that comes from nearly dying in front of fifty people who hate your guts.
I cross into vampire territory just as my legs decide they’re done cooperating. Like, completely done. I stumble, catch myself on a tree, and realize I’m about thirty seconds away from face-planting into the forest floor and becoming werewolf kibble.
But I’m home. Sort of. If home is the place where people also want you dead, just for different reasons.
The Crimson Coven compound looms ahead, all gothic architecture and brooding “we’re definitely not compensating for anything” energy. Normally, seeing those familiar towers would be comforting—like a security blanket made of stone and centuries-old vampire superiority complexes. Tonight, they look like tombstones marking the grave of my spectacularly short life.
I’m maybe fifty feet from the main entrance, planning my dramatic collapse, when she appears.
Lira. Standing in the courtyard like she’s been waiting for me to show up and ruin her entire evening. Arms crossed, expression somewhere between deeply disappointed mother and absolutely fucking murderous vampire overlord.
This day just keeps getting better.
“Well, well, well,” she says, voice dripping with the kind of false sweetness that usually precedes someone getting fed to something with more teeth than empathy. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
I try to think of something clever to say. Something witty and defiant that might defuse the situation or at least buy me five minutes to come up with an actual defense for my recent life choices.
Instead, what stumbles out of my mouth is: “Hi.”
Brilliant. Truly, I am a master of diplomatic negotiation. They should give me my own talk show.
“What do I hear about you fucking around with werewolf enemies?” Her voice starts quiet, conversational. The calm before the hurricane that’s about to destroy my entire existence. “What do I hear about you disrupting peace summits, crashing weddings, and generally behaving like a hormone-addled teenager instead of a Nightshade heir?”
Each word hits like a physical blow. Because she knows. Of course she knows everything. The vampire information network is probably more efficient than the NSA and twice as ruthless.
“Lira, I can explain—”
“Explain?” She laughs, and it sounds like expensive crystal being systematically destroyed by someone who enjoys the sound. “Oh, darling, you’re absolutely going to get the chance to explain. Tomorrow. To the entire Council. Right before they vote on your permanent exile.”
My blood turns to actual ice. “What?”
“Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences? Did you really believe you could betray everything we stand for and just waltz back home like nothing happened?” Her smile could cut glass. “Like you could choose some werewolf over centuries of vampire tradition?”
“I didn’t betray—”
“You fell in love with a werewolf!” The words explode out of her like she’s been holding them back through sheer force of will and vampire self-control. “You chose her over your own kind! Over your family! Over everything we’ve built!”
And the worst part? She’s absolutely right. I did choose Avery. I’d choose her again, given the chance, exile and all.
“Guards!” Lira snaps, and suddenly I’m surrounded by vampires in full combat gear who look like they bench-press small cars for fun. “Lock her in the tower. Double the restraints. Triple them. I don’t want her escaping before her trial.”
As they drag me away—because apparently I’m too exhausted to put up even token resistance—Lira’s voice follows me like a curse designed specifically to ruin my night.
“You have one night to prepare your defense, Natalie. I suggest you use it wisely.“