Seraphina's POV
The vampire's hand releases my throat.
I collapse to the warehouse floor, gasping. The silver blood case lies beside me, still intact.
"Marcus," the commanding voice repeats from the shadows. "I said let her go."
My attacker—the vampire named Marcus—steps back quickly, like a scolded dog. "Sorry, boss. Thought she was a snack."
Boss?
A figure emerges from the darkness. My heart stops.
It's him. My ex-fiancé. Marcus Thornfield. The man who destroyed my life six months ago.
But he's different. Paler. Fangs gleaming when he smiles. Red eyes instead of brown.
He's a vampire now.
"Hello, Sera," Marcus says casually, like we're meeting for coffee instead of in a warehouse where I almost died. "You look terrible. What happened to your hair?"
I can't speak. Can't breathe. The world tilts sideways.
"Oh, right." Marcus laughs. "You became a blood courier. My bad—that was part of the plan."
"Plan?" I finally croak out.
"The whole thing, sweetheart. The frame-up. The trial. Getting you convicted and sent here." He crouches down to my level. "Viktor needed you in the courier system where he could track you. I just helped make it happen. And my reward?" He flashes his fangs. "Immortality."
Rage explodes in my chest. "You're a monster."
"Literally now, yes." Marcus grins. "But you should thank me, Sera. Viktor has big plans for you. You're special—more special than you know. And soon, you'll understand exactly what you are."
Before I can ask what he means, footsteps echo through the warehouse.
"We need to go," the other Marcus—the vampire who attacked me—says nervously. "The Guild will notice she's late."
My ex-fiancé stands up. "Run along, little courier. Deliver your blood. Keep playing your part." He leans close. "And Sera? Don't tell anyone about our little reunion. If you do, I'll make sure Jade visits your baby brother Jake. He's twelve now, right? Sweet kid."
The threat freezes my blood.
They leave me there, shaking on the floor. After several minutes, I force myself to stand, grab the blood case, and stumble back outside. The delivery address is three blocks away.
I complete the drop-off in a daze. The vampire who receives it barely glances at me.
On the transport van back to the facility, I sit in silence. Marcus is alive. Marcus is a vampire. Marcus threatened Jake.
And he said Viktor—whoever that is—has plans for me. That I'm special.
What did he mean?
Six months pass like a nightmare I can't wake from.
I make deliveries. I follow rules. I keep my head down and my mouth shut. I don't tell anyone about Marcus because I can't risk Jake's safety.
Every night, I lie in my cell and think about my ex-fiancé's words: You're special. You'll understand what you are.
What am I?
On a freezing Monday morning, Gregor calls morning assembly. We line up in rows—twenty couriers who survived the last six months. Twelve others didn't.
"Assignments," Gregor announces, reading from his tablet. "Courier 198, Eastern District. Courier 203, Southern District. Courier 247—"
He pauses. Looks up at me. Smiles.
My stomach drops.
"Courier 247, Northern Territories. Blackthorn Keep. Lord Lucien Nocturne."
The room goes completely silent.
Someone behind me gasps.
I feel the color drain from my face.
"No," I whisper.
"Yes." Gregor's smile widens. "Personally requested you, Dr. Vale. Isn't that an honor?"
Every courier is staring at me with pity. They all know the stories about Lucien Nocturne.
He's the most dangerous vampire lord in existence. Beautiful as death itself. He kills every mate the blood bond tries to give him—twenty-three women over three hundred years, all dead by his hand. They say his heart died long ago. That he's more monster than vampire.
And he destroys everyone around him.
"But I—" My voice shakes. "Please, sir. Any other territory. I'll go anywhere else—"
"Are you refusing an assignment, 247?"
Refusing means immediate execution. I know the rules.
"No, sir," I say quietly.
"Good." Gregor hands me a special silver case—larger, heavier than normal deliveries. "You leave in an hour. Try not to die too quickly. I want to hear all about it when you don't come back."
The other couriers avoid my eyes as I take the case. They're already treating me like a ghost.
In the preparation room, I change into the formal courier uniform—grey, with my barcode visible. My hands shake so badly I can barely fasten the buttons.
A girl named Riley, one of the few who's been kind to me, appears in the doorway.
"I'm sorry," she says softly. "Everyone knows Northern Territory is a death sentence."
"I know."
"They say Lord Nocturne is cursed. That he can't love, can't feel anything. And anyone who gets close to him..." She trails off.
"Dies," I finish.
Riley nods. "But maybe... maybe you'll be different?"
I want to laugh. Or cry. Nothing about me has been different. I've been broken, betrayed, and thrown away like trash. Why would this be any different?
"Thanks, Riley," I say instead.
She hugs me quickly and leaves.
One hour later, I board a special transport—this one armored and heavy. The driver doesn't speak. We head north.
The landscape gets darker. Colder. Mountains rise in the distance, wrapped in mist.
After three hours, we reach Blackthorn Keep.
It's a fortress carved into the mountain itself—all black stone and sharp towers that stab at the sky like knives. The mist is so thick I can barely see the gates.
The driver stops. "End of the line. Walk the rest."
"You're not coming with me?"
"I like living." He unlocks the doors. "Good luck, courier."
I step out into the freezing mist, clutching the blood case. The transport drives away immediately, leaving me alone.
The gates to Blackthorn Keep stand open. Waiting.
I walk through them because I have no choice.
The courtyard is empty. Silent. My footsteps echo on black stone.
Then I feel it—a presence so powerful it makes my knees weak. Someone is watching me.
"You must be the courier," a voice says from behind me.
I spin around.
And stop breathing.
The most beautiful man I've ever seen stands there. Tall, black hair, silver eyes that glow in the mist. His face is perfect—too perfect. Like death carved into features that make you forget to be afraid.
Until you remember what he is.
"I'm Lord Lucien Nocturne," he says calmly. "And you..." His silver eyes pierce through me. "You smell wrong."
Before I can respond, he moves faster than I can see. His hand grabs my chin, forcing my head to the side.
"Impossible," he whispers, his breath cold against my throat. "You're human. You should smell like food. But you smell like—"
His fangs sink into my neck.
Pain explodes through me. Then something worse—burning, searing agony that starts in my chest and spreads through every nerve.
Lucien jerks back, his eyes wide with shock and horror.
Over his heart, a silver mark appears. Glowing. Burning into his skin.
And I look down at my own chest to see the same mark blazing over my heart.
A crown wrapped in thorns.
"No," Lucien breathes. "Not again. Not you."
The world tilts. The mate bond—the thing I learned about in training, the curse that kills women who bond with him—has just formed between us.
I'm going to die.
Lucien's hand moves to his sword.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice hollow. "But I have to kill you now."