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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’sface, 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’twantto 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, shewasone.
