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Her blood.

Vaelor smiled as though discussing the weather. “You’re slower than I imagined.”

Elarian answered him with violence.

Ignoring the knife still lodged against her side, she drove her forehead into his face with enough force to crack cartilage. Bone broke with a satisfying crunch. Vaelor staggered half a step, more offended than injured even as blackened blood spilled from his deformed nose.

She used the opening immediately.

Her wounded arm came alive, fingers closing around the dagger still lodged in her side. With a fierce battle cry more animal than elf, she slashed low—not for his heart this time, but for the tendons behind his knee.

Steel bit into flesh, but not deeply enough.

Vaelor hissed and leapt backward with impossible speed, white silk darkening where the blade’s edge had kissed his flesh. He glanced down at the ruined cloth almost curiously before his gaze returned to Elarian.

“Even dying, you still fight.” The words were almost affectionate. “I wondered whether the stories had exaggerated you.”

Elarian’s breathing changed.

Lucan heard it immediately. Shallow—too shallow.

She kept one hand pressed against the wound beneath her ribs while the other held the dagger, its point unwavering despite the blood now slipping steadily between her fingers.

She looked magnificent.

Gods curse him, she looked fucking magnificent.

Cornered animals often became beautiful in the final moments before they died: every instinct sharpened, movements distilled into something honest. He had seen it countless times—had felt the thrill of closing in, knowing escape had become impossible. The scent of fear mixed with blood intoxicated his senses until he forgot he was once a human who’d loved deeply.

But Lucan refused to watch it happen to her.

Vaelor took a leisurely step forward.

“I expected better from Reshva’s favorite hound.”

Lucan moved.

There was no decision.

Only instinct.

Shadows exploded across the ruined sanctuary.

The darkness struck before either assassin or elder vampire fully registered it, surging over broken marble like an ocean loosed from the night itself. It crashed between them with enough force to splinter ancient stone, black tendrils coiling around Vaelor’s limbs before he could finish his next step.

For the first time since entering the alcove, genuine surprise crossed the older vampire’s face.

“My…prince?” he stuttered.

Lucan did not answer. He crossed the distance in a single heartbeat, placing himself squarely between Vaelor and Elarian. He could feel her behind him. Could hear the uneven rhythm of her breathing. Could smell the coppery sweetness of her blood soaking into her clothes.

Something ancient and vicious unfurled inside his chest.

Not hunger—something infinitely worse.

Move!

Vaelor recovered with astonishing speed.