POV Avery
When I hear Natalie’s voice cutting through that chamber like a blade through silk, my heart does this stupid fluttering thing that probably violates several laws of physics. She’s standing there in front of a room full of ancient vampires who want her dead, and she’s defending me. Defending us. Defending the idea that love doesn’t have to follow species guidelines.
The chamber feels like a powder keg about to explode. Every vampire in the room is leaning forward, hanging on every word, probably calculating how this revelation affects their own political standings. The air tastes like electricity and barely contained violence.
I’m standing in the back of the gallery, technically not supposed to be here at all. Getting into vampire territory required calling in favors I didn’t know I had, sneaking through patrol routes, and basically committing about seventeen different acts of war. But watching Natalie face down a room full of bloodsuckers alone? Not happening.
“She saved me,” I say, loud enough for the entire chamber to hear. “Saved me from marrying a psychopath who would have used me as a broodmare before sacrificing me to whatever dark god he serves.”
The vampires start murmuring again, but I’m not done. Not even close.
“Natalie Nightshade is the reason I’m standing here instead of being buried in a shallow grave after producing Björn Bloodfang’s heirs. She risked everything—her life, her family, her entire existence—to stop a monster you all were too blind to see.”
The reaction is immediate and explosive. Vampires don’t like being called blind, apparently. Who knew?
The chamber erupts. Voices raised in anger, confusion, disbelief. Ancient bloodsuckers who probably haven’t raised their voices in centuries are suddenly yelling like they’re at a sports bar during playoffs.
“Impossible!”
“A werewolf in our sacred chamber!”
“How did she even get in here?”
“This is blasphemy!”
“Guards! Remove this creature!”
But the guards aren’t moving. They’re looking at Lira, waiting for orders that aren’t coming. Because even they can see that something bigger is happening here than just a romantic scandal.
“She crashed my wedding knowing she’d probably die there. She exposed the real enemy while you were all ready to exile her for falling in love with the wrong species.”
I can see Natalie from across the room, her face a mask of controlled emotion. But her eyes—Jesus, her eyes are blazing with something that looks like pride. Pride in me, in us, in the fact that we’re standing here together against impossible odds.
“QUIET!” Lira’s voice booms over the chaos, and it’s like someone hit a mute button on the entire room. “EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LET ME THINK!”
Dead silence. Even the ancient vampires know better than to argue with Lira when she’s in full command mode. The woman could probably intimidate a hurricane into changing course.
She turns to the council, who are huddled together like a supernatural book club discussing their least favorite romance novel. Their whispered conversation is too low for most people to hear, but my werewolf hearing catches fragments.
“…unprecedented situation…”
“…political ramifications…”
“…never had a case like this…”
“…what’s the protocol for…”
“What’s the verdict?” Lira asks, cutting through their deliberation with characteristic directness.
“Give us a minute,” one of them says, and they all start whispering among themselves like teenage girls planning a sleepover.
While they’re having their little democracy moment, Lira turns to me with an expression that’s part admiration, part disbelief, and possibly part calculation about how to use this situation to her advantage.
“You’ve got serious balls coming into vampire territory,” she says.
“Things I do for love,” I reply, because apparently near-death experiences have turned me into a greeting card.
Natalie catches my eye from across the room and mouths “thank you” with a look that makes my chest tight in the best possible way. Like everything we’ve been through, every risk we’ve taken, every bridge we’ve burned, has led to this moment.
The council breaks their huddle and approaches Lira like they’re about to announce the winner of a really fucked-up beauty pageant. Their faces are masks of supernatural diplomacy, giving away nothing about what they’ve decided.
“We’ve reached a decision,” the head councilman says, voice carrying that particular brand of authority that comes from being old enough to remember when dinosaurs were just a twinkle in evolution’s eye.
The chamber goes dead quiet. Even the air seems to hold its breath. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
“Natalie Nightshade will not be exiled.”
Relief floods through me like a dam bursting. She’s not going to die. She’s not going to be cast out to go insane and walk into the sunrise. The weight that’s been crushing my chest for days suddenly lifts.
“However,” he continues, because apparently good news always comes with a caveat, “she will be banned from the Crimson Coven. Effective immediately. She is no longer one of us.”
The words hit the room like a bomb. Natalie’s face goes pale, but she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break. Just stands there taking it like the absolute badass she is.
“She does not belong to the Crimson Coven anymore,” Lira says, making it official. “She is no longer a Nightshade.”
So she’s not dying, but she’s losing everything else. Her family, her identity, her entire world.
And somehow, looking at her face, I don’t think she regrets it for a second.