Page 1
PROLOGUE – 40 YEARS AGO
A snarl pierced the silence of the night, the putrid odor of carrion filling the air as the shadows of massive paws appeared beneath the oil lamps on the empty street. Eyes like glowing amber peered from a shaggy head of mottled black fur, and thick saliva dribbled from the creature’s maw. Screams echoed through the streets, the residents of Aethermore City fleeing their homes as another creature barreled from the darkness. Black and crimson-coated fangs snapped at a brave man who dared to lift a crossbow and take aim.
He never got a chance to release the bolt—his throat was torn apart before he could even shout.
More shrieks and terror bled into the night. It wasn’t the first attack on the city. Far from it. For weeks there had been a rise in Lobofebris among the wolf shifters. The disease tore through the lycan packs like a plague, infesting their minds, turning wolf against wolf and invoking the insatiable need to hunt. No one was exempt from being prey, and the human population was especially at risk.
The infected lycans terrorized the neighboring territories, striking not just under a full moon but also on nights like tonight when the sky was eerily devoid of light.
It took countless spellcasters, vampires, and armed human authorities to end the infected lycans’ reign of terror that night. Even five infected wolves from the renowned Lucerin pack lay among their kills after a fight which lasted well into the rising sun.
Bodies were piled into wagons and taken to burial sites while the Ministry of the Occult deliberated for days over the best course of action.
Something had to be done. The disease needed to be wiped out, and the lycans needed to be dealt with—particularly the Lucerin pack at fault. The Ministry’s ruling led to the Occult Partition, the territories separating, and peace pacts being erected to protect all Occult and humankind. For a while it worked, though the centuries-long hatred between lycans and vampires only intensified. Almost every incident of a vampire and lycan crossing paths resulted in a fight or worse, so they mostly kept to themselves.
The Ministry of the Occult and the humans were secretly relieved by the friction between the Occult kinds. It meant the feared bloodwolves of the past—hybrids so dangerous their existence was forbidden—were unlikely to repopulate.
It wasn’t until decades later that another infected lycan attack occurred. This one, however, wasn’t against a human. This one wasn’t even publicized. There had been whispers of the return of the disease, but there wasn’t proof.
Until there was.
1
A REVEL GONE WRONG
AURA
The rhythmic thudding of my headboard against the wall rivaled the music outside my door. It sped up before tapering off as my senses came back down from a blissful high, and I released the wooden support as the vampire’s heat disappeared from behind me.
Before I could recover, I was pulled into the arms of his friend whose name I didn’t care to know. This man was blond and brown-eyed—a dhampir—so very different from the vampire’s red eyes and inky black hair. As I adjusted my legs on either side of the stranger, my hand reaching between our bodies, a knock on the door made me nearly jump out of my skin.
“Occupied!” I called out.
The blond’s fingers tightened on my bare waist, but Irving’s voice rang out from behind the door. “Alright, but Bellatrix is home.”
A shiver raced down my spine. “Fuck,” I mumbled, slapping the man’s hand away as I propelled myself off his lap. Grabbing my silk robe from over a nearby chair, I shoved my hands into the flowy sleeves and yanked the door open.
Irving’s red eyes dipped to the opening of my dressing gown. “Well, that’s more than I expected to see of a friend.” He averted his gaze to peer around me into the bedroom, eyebrows crawling up his pale forehead. Two? he mouthed.
“Irving—”
“Go, Aura!” he exclaimed in a whisper.
“Irving, focus.” I cinched the belt around my waist so tightly it hurt. “Did you say Bellatrix is here?”
“Yes, he did,” came a cold voice.
Irving’s eyes went wide, his face draining of what little color remained, and he pulled his long hair to the front of his body as if it could disguise his face. My mother’s scarlet stare cut through me from where she stood behind him.
“Aurelia,” she said, her saccharine voice masking the disappointment and disgust in her eyes.
I was well aware of her loathing toward me. On the day I was born, her sister was murdered in cold blood by the lycan who sired me. Of course, that was somehow my fault. It was always so fucking wonderful to be blamed for my own existence, for her trauma.
“I didn’t expect you to be back until tomorrow,” I told Bellatrix.
“Clearly.” She smiled, her fangs on display—threatening, but not quite. Shoving her long white hair over emaciated shoulders, her eyes darted to Irving. “You may leave, boy.”
My chest heated. “He has a name, and he hasn’t done anything wrong,” I said.
