"CONRAD!" I snapped, storming through the smoking entryway of the villa. "Get the car ready. Now."
He didn't question me. Just moved—fast—toward the garage as I grabbed a thick hooded cloak from the coat rack and pulled it over my head with shaking hands.
I was still healing. Barely.
But I didn't care.
I needed to see him.
Tiffany. She'd be waiting after school—alone. And if Mavier was still lurking in the daylight like some rabid, jealous dog, then I wasn't taking any risks.
The car pulled up before the doors had even fully opened. I slid into the back seat, cloak pulled tight, the pain of the sun immediate. But I bit down on it. I was running out of time.
"School first," I told Conrad. "Then straight to the hospital."
"Yes, Lady Seraphine."
The drive was short, but every minute dragged. My hands were blistered where they peeked past my sleeves. The sun crept in through even the tinted windows, burning the edges of my skin despite the wards layered over the car.
By the time we pulled up to the curb of Tiffany's school, I was sweating. Smoke curled faintly from my gloves. I saw her before she saw me—sitting on the edge of a planter, one earbud in, picking the icing off a cupcake like she had no idea the world had shifted.
Then her head turned.
She blinked.
Stared.
And frowned.
I stepped out of the car.
She stood slowly, confusion plain on her face. "What the—Seraphine?"
Her eyes swept over me—from the hood pulled low over my face to the gloves, the cloak, the thick boots... and then, her gaze dropped to my hands.
She gasped.
"What—are you—are you burning?!"
I didn't answer. Just opened the car door. "Get in. Now."
Tiffany didn't move.
She just kept staring, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with something sharp and dawning. "Wait a second. Wait a fucking second—are you—"
"In the car, Tiffany," I said again, firmer this time.
She obeyed, but not without another few seconds of pure teenage shock. The door slammed beside her and we were off again, speeding away from the gates like something might be chasing us.
Maybe something was.
She turned in her seat to stare at me, squinting. "Okay. Um. So I'm gonna ask a question and I want you to not lie to me."
I said nothing.
She gestured wildly. "You're literally smoking, Seraphine. You're covered head to toe. Your skin is, like, peeling. You're avoiding sunlight like it's holy water and you're never outside during the day. Is this a weird cult thing or are you a goddamn vampire?"
I exhaled slowly, turning to look at her with a tired, blistered smile.
Tiffany's eyes went round. "Holy shit. I knew it!"
"Language," I muttered.
"Don't 'language' me! My brother is dating a vampire! I live in a vampire's house! You—oh my God—this explains so much. The no mirrors thing. The quiet butlers. The cold hands. The fact that your skincare routine is literally nonexistent but you look like a goddess. Cassian has been sleeping with a vampire—"
"That's not important right now," I cut in sharply. "He's in the hospital. That's what matters."
She went pale.
"What happened?"
"A car crash," I said. "He's stable, but he was hurt. Badly."
Tiffany was quiet for a second.
Then: "You're going to eat the guy who hit him, aren't you?"
I sighed.
"I mean, I'm not judging. Just asking."
I looked out the window as the hospital came into view, my voice quiet. "No. But someone is going to bleed for it."
Tiffany sat back. Slowly. Her hands folded in her lap like she wasn't sure if she should be terrified or impressed.
"Okay," she said finally. "This is a lot."
I nodded once. "It is."
"But Cass is alive?"
"He is."
"And you're not going to, like... turn me?"
"I've had plenty of opportunities, haven't I?" I said dryly.
She looked at me sideways. "...That's fair."
The car slowed in front of the ER.
I reached for the door. "Let's go see your brother."
Tiffany followed, still stealing glances like she couldn't decide whether to keep talking or not.
But she did.
As we reached the hospital doors, she whispered, "He really loves you, you know."
My hand paused on the door.
"I know," I whispered.
The sliding glass doors hissed open, spilling air-conditioned chill over my still-smoking gloves. I winced, but kept walking.
Tiffany trailed a step behind me, her footsteps fast and uncertain. She kept looking up at me like I might disappear or combust right there in the sterile hospital hallway. Her curiosity buzzed around her like static, but to her credit, she kept her mouth shut—barely.
The woman at the check-in desk looked up, did a double take at the hood pulled over my head and the scorched patches on my sleeves, and immediately plastered on a customer service smile.
"Ma'am, you can't—"
"I'm here for Cassian Roan," I said, voice like ice cracking. "He was admitted less than an hour ago. Car accident. Head trauma. Rib fractures. Twenty-three years old."
She blinked. "Are you family?"
Tiffany stepped forward. "I'm his sister."
I didn't look at her. Just pulled the hood lower.
The nurse hesitated, fingers hovering over her keyboard. "Uh—one moment please."
She clicked away, typing faster as the silence stretched. Behind us, someone moaned down the hall. A monitor beeped somewhere nearby. The scent of antiseptic and old blood coiled in my nostrils—sharp, artificial, wrong. My fangs ached.
"He's in trauma room six," the nurse finally said, glancing between us. "Vitals are stable. The doctors are running scans now. You can wait in the adjoining room, but please—"
I was already walking.
Tiffany scrambled after me. "Sera, wait—jeez, could you slow down? I've got, like, human-sized legs."
I didn't slow. Icouldn't.
Every hallway felt too long. Every fluorescent light above us singed a little more of my exposed skin, even filtered as it was. The wards in my cloak were fraying fast. I needed to feed again soon. But not yet.
Not until I saw him.
Room six came into view. A nurse stepped out just as we arrived and froze when she saw me—hooded, black-cloaked, pale hands curled into fists at my sides like I'd just walked out of a Gothic horror novel.
"Miss—"
"We're family," Tiffany said quickly, flashing her best teenagedon't-fight-me-on-thisglare.
The nurse looked like she wanted to argue.
I lifted my head, just enough for her to see my eyes.
She swallowed hard and stepped aside.
The lights in the trauma room were dimmed. Machines beeped in steady rhythm. He lay on the bed, shirtless, a line of bruises blooming across his ribs. An IV in his arm. Oxygen in his nose. Hair messy. Face pale.
But breathing.
Alive.
Tiffany stopped beside me, letting out a slow, trembling breath.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "He looks… like crap."
I stepped closer. My knees almost gave out again.
"Cassian," I said softly.
His eyelids fluttered.
Barely.
"Cass?"
"Holy shit," Tiffany muttered. "He heard you."
I reached for his hand and brushed my fingers lightly over his knuckles.
Burned fingers.
I didn't care.
He shifted, just a little. A faint sound escaped his throat—my name, barely audible, like a whisper carried on the edge of a storm.
"I'm here," I breathed.
And I wasn't going anywhere.