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If she broke her promise to me, I’ll find her. But if someone took her from me, I won’t just find them. I will burn them to the ground. And heaven forbid if someone hurt her... I’ll tear the whole damn world apart.
“Keep searching,” I say, my tone dangerously low.
‘We won’t stop until we find her,’ Nico replies before darting back off into the shadows.
No. I won’t. No matter how long, no matter what it takes, I will not stop until I bring her home or I can be sure that she is safe.
Until then, I will not stop; I will never stop.
That ismypromise.
Chapter Seven
When the darkness unravels around me, I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here or how I will ever get back.
But I know things will never be the same.
The swirl of leathery black wings and shadows consolidates into a cloud in front of me, solidifying back into the form of the red-eyed man.
My father.
I could pretend that I don’t believe it. I could tell myself that I’m in shock and that this stranger might very well be lying to me. But it would be a cruel joke at best. The truth is, I knew who he was the minute he mentioned my mother. I saw it written on his face that resembled mine, felt it in the back of my mind the same way his voice had echoed there.
It made sense, really. This was the reason I could mind link to him. It’s the reason my eyes are violet instead of blue like my mother’s and my uncle's, the crimson undertones marking me irrefutably as something different. Because whatever this man may be... he is not a wolf.
“Apologies, child, but I had to get you out of the shifters’ territory. Crossing another king’s border can be a delicate affair, even without having to worry about the sunrise. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk a rogue interrupting our reunion.”
Reunion? I nearly snorted.
Tristan felt guilty about taking me from my old pack, saying that he’d kidnapped me. But my mate had offered me his hand. He’d offered me a choice.
This is something entirely different.
I scan my surroundings, searching for anything I might be able to use as a weapon, trying not to remember the way broken champagne glass bit into the skin on my palms what feels like a lifetime ago.
I’m standing in what appears to be an empty throne room. We’re inside a castle—not just a villa or a mansion, but a proper stone pillars, towers, velvet drapes, princess-worthy castle.
“What are you?” I ask under my breath, staggering back from the man who now watched me with a curious, almost catlike gaze.
“I am Marco Silas, King of Night,” he says, lifting a hand to his chest before bowing gracefully.
More like the king of ambiguously-unhelpful-answers.
I frown at his words, noticing the way darkness follows his every movement as if his shadow is a living thing that clings to him like a cape.
“So... you’re an Alpha of sorts?”
The man’s brow furrows in distaste, but there is a twitch in the corner of his lips that hints at amusement as if the notion itself is laughable.
“Of sorts,” he repeats. “Packs are for wolves and covens for witches. What I lead is a clan of nightwalkers.”
Nightwalker? The word tugs at something buried deep in my memories. A hushed word whispered with great urgency, a scary story meant to keep children from misbehaving. But that sort of monster is more commonly known by another name, and I can’t help but take a small involuntary step backward, my jaw hanging loose in shock.
“You’re a vampire.”
Again, his lip twitches, and he folds his arms across his chest with an almost predatory sort of patience.
“My kind and I have been called many things. That is one of them. But tell me, child, what shall I call you?”
