Chapter 1

"Life is nothing without choices. And every choice has a cost."

My name is Selene Monroe, and this is my story.

“Get her!” a guard shouted.

Selene bolted down the narrow glass corridor leading out of her dungeon, her heart hammering against her ribs. Who the hell ratted me out? Her pulse spiked when she saw who was waiting.

Faith.

The same Faith who had once shared secrets with her, the same girl who promised to always have her back. Now she stood in the middle of the hallway, calm as stone, eyes cold.

Behind her, soldiers appeared from the

dark, rifles raised, red dots crawling over Selene’s skin.

“You,” Selene whispered, her throat raw. Then louder, broken with fury, “You fucking traitor.”

Faith’s lips curled into a smirk, though something flickered in her gaze. “Come now, Selene. I don’t want to fight you.”

Selene’s voice shook with hurt that bled into rage. “After everything we’ve been through? After every promise we made—you sold me out? Why?”

Faith’s jaw tightened. “Because I serve no one but the Red Dawn Sisters. We never had a choice. None of us did. The sooner you accept that, the less it will hurt.”

Selene laughed bitterly, her eyes darkening. “No, Faith. That’s where you’re wrong. My choices are mine alone. Not theirs.”

Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “I am Selene Tessa Monroe Caelum. I answer to no one.”

With one swift motion, she tore the locket from her neck and hurled it to the floor. Her hand stretched toward it, and the seal shattered. Power rushed back into her veins like wildfire, black lines streaking beneath her skin. Faith’s eyes widened—she hadn’t known Selene could break it.

“And tonight,” her voice shook the air itself, “I take my power back.”

A violent wind ripped through the corridor. The air trembled as her magic surged, slamming Faith and the soldiers into the walls and ripping the weapons from their hands. The ground rumbled, the building shook under the weight of her unleashed magic.

Lights snapped red. Sirens wailed.

Warning. Structural integrity failing. Collapse in two minutes. Evacuate immediately.

The metallic voice echoed across the castle. Chaos followed—witches shrieking, running for their lives as walls shuddered and glass cracked.

Selene didn’t wait. She darted to the elevator, every muscle tight with adrenaline.

When the doors opened, headlights cut through the smoke outside. Annalise sat behind the wheel of a sleek black car, grinning like the devil.

“Hop in, sweetheart,” she called.

Selene jumped inside, slamming the door just as Annalise floored the gas. Tires screamed against asphalt, and the car shot into the night. Behind them, the castle collapsed in flames.

--

Five months back…

Every vampire froze mid-battle when Lucien dropped from the rooftop, Selene limp in his arms.

From the dark, a black jeep skidded to a halt. The engine cut.

The driver’s door slammed open. Stiles stormed out, fury twisting his features. His voice ripped through the night.

“Selene!” His eyes locked on Lucien. “What the hell did you do to her, you monster?”

A ripple of snarls cut the air. Vampires bared their fangs, enraged that a wolf dared invade their ground.

Two women threw open the jeep’s doors, silver-loaded guns raised, steady hands locked on their targets.

“Enough!”

The single word cracked through the chaos. The vampires froze, obeying without question.

Lucien’s eyes were ice, as he looked at Stile. “Take her. Leave this place before your stench alert more vampires.”

Stiles’s chest heaved, fury choking him. He stormed forward and tore Selene from Lucien’s arms. For one breathless moment, his eyes fell on her—her lashes barely fluttering, her face too pale. His heart shattered, grief warring with rage.

He hissed, low enough for Lucien alone. “If she doesn’t wake… I’ll find a way to kill you with my own hands.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t falter, but in the silence between them lived everything he refused to admit—loss, fear, and a pain he’d never name.

Stiles carried Selene back to the jeep, cradling her as if she were already his to protect. He laid her down gently, brushing a hand across her hair. For one last moment, he turned. His eyes burning into Lucien’s. That look said everything words couldn’t.

Then the door slammed, the engine roared, and the jeep vanished into the night.

When the car vanished beyond the territory line, Lucien finally exhaled. He turned to Derrick, “Zeke is unconscious on the rooftop. Bring him before word spreads."

“Yes, my prince.” Derrick leapt for the roof—only to find it empty. No body. No trace.

His growl echoed, “My prince, Zeke is gone!”

Lucien’s head tilted back, furious. “Find him. If he escapes… we are doomed with what he knows.”

--

Zeke’s Abode

The dungeon door cracked open. A guard stepped in, set a glass jug of blood on the steel table, and left without a word.

Zowy came to with a cough that scraped her throat raw. Her ribs burned where the spikes had pinned her down. Her eyes were swollen, vision rimmed in red. Blood streaked her face and kept dripping from her nose.

She looked around. No Sera.

Her gaze locked on the jug. It sat among knives, clamps, and a coil of wire.

How long have I been out?

She whispered to herself, voice barely a breath. A House Veyron return-bind, left her lips, locking eyes with the liquid.

Per sanguinem fusum et sanguinem sumptum, quod mihi facis, tibi revertitur. Vulnus meum vulnus tuum est, finis meus finis tuus est.

“By blood poured and blood taken, what you do to me, rebounds to you. My wound is your wound, my end is your end.”

The surface of the blood shivered. Heat rose. A thin thread of steam curled up and vanished.

Footsteps. A voice at the door. “Leave us.”

The guard bowed and slipped out.

Sera walked in like she was stepping into a tasting room and not a cell. “Poor thing,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “If you had just talked, none of this would be necessary. Somewhere in your little circle is a girl who ends my family. I am protecting what I love.”

“I told you,” Zowy rasped, “I do not know anything.”

Sera’s smile sharpened. “You were in the king’s room, searching. What were you after, witch? His ring? You could strip daylight rights with a whisper, could you not?”

Zowy met her eye. “He was about to leave that morning. Would he really forget his daylight ring?”

Silence. Then a small nod from Sera. “Of course not. So what was it?”

Zowy kept quiet.

Sera sighed like she was bored. She poured the blood into a crystal glass, took a slow drink, and refilled. Red stained her mouth. “If you will not speak, you will die.”

She reached for a knife, stepped in, and slashed Zowy’s forearm.

Sera screamed.

She stumbled back, clutching her own arm, blood spilling through her fingers in an identical line. The cut did not close. Her skin did not knit. Her eyes went wide.

“What did you do?”

Zowy lifted her head. Her voice steadied. “You drank what I bound. From this second on, every hurt you give me lands on you. If I am killed to die, you die.”

Sera stared at the wound, breathing hard. She pressed her palm over it and waited. Nothing. No healing. No seal. Just pain.

She tried to play it off. “Clever girl.”

She grabbed a smaller blade and nicked Zowy’s shoulder. A matching sting bloomed in her own. She flinched, lips parting. The second cut bled too.

Sera’s gaze flicked to Zowy’s eyes. “House Veyron. I thought you people were extinct.”

“We keep our heads down,” Zowy said.

Sera stepped closer, testing a different angle. Her pupils thinned, power sliding behind her stare. “Look at me.” The compulsion came smooth and soft. “Tell me what you were searching for.”

Zowy’s lips curved in the faintest mockery. Her voice cut through the haze without hesitation.

“I am a Veyron. Your mind tricks don’t touch me.”

A heartbeat of silence. Sera’s jaw tightened. For the first time, she looked uncertain.

“You think this saves you,” Sera said, voice low. “It buys you time. That is all.”

“Time is all I need.”

Sera glanced at the jug, then back to her bleeding hand, calculation moving across her face. “You used my drink to hitch the bind. There is always a tether. I will find it, and when I cut it, I will see that you are dead.”

“Maybe,” Zowy said. “But not today.”

Sera held her stare another long second. Then she turned toward the door. “Bring the salve,” she called to the hall. “And lock this cell with iron. No one touches the witch but me.”

The command echoed away. Sera looked back one last time, eyes cold. “Enjoy your little win, Zowy. I will enjoy taking it back.”

The door shut. Bolts slid home.

Zowy let her head rest against the chair. Pain pulsed through every inch of her, but the corner of her mouth lifted anyway.

“Time,” she whispered. “I can work with time.”