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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 outhere 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—bloodfor 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.
CHAPTER 17
MERCY
Mercy lay in the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling above her. She felt weak, drained, but not just physically. Her entire being felt diminished like someone had ripped away a piece of her soul and left a hollow space behind. Her arms were too heavy to move, and her chest ached—not only a kind of phantom pain from the wounds she had sustained in battle, but from the weight of everything she had lost in a single moment. Her independence. Her identity.
Her humanity.
The room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the faint, metallic tang of blood—her blood. It lingered, a reminder of the witch’s blow that had shattered her body. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she’d woken, but it didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. She couldn’t shake the gnawing hunger deep inside her, a hunger that made her stomach twist with revulsion and fear.
She wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the walls of the abbey, but all she could manage was to lie there, consumed by the overwhelming sense of betrayal and grief. She had always fought her own battles, always made her own choices. But this? This had been done to her. She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’tasked to be turned into a vampire, to be stripped of everything she had once been into something she hated.
Her gaze drifted to the door, her jaw tightening when it creaked open, and Hunter stepped inside. He moved with his usual confident grace, his expression unreadable, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. His dark eyes flicked to her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Mercy’s gut twisted and clenched. She didn’t have the energy to yell at him again, but that didn’t stop the surge of resentment that flared within her. She glared at him as he crossed the room, her eyes burning with anger, though she didn’t say a word.
Hunter reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and pulled out a heavy crystal goblet. She eyed it warily as he poured a deep, red liquid from a flagon, the scent of what was inside hitting her before she could even see it—blood. It wasn’t as thick as she’d thought it would be. He swirled it in the chalice, thick and rich, and her stomach twisted with both hunger and disgust.
“I brought you this,” Hunter said quietly, holding the goblet out to her. “I mixed it with wine. You need to drink.”
Mercy’s lips curled in revulsion, her nose wrinkling as she turned her head away. “I’m not drinking that.”
“You have to,” he replied, his voice firm but not unkind. “You need to intake a certain amount of blood every so often, or you’ll die.”
