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From his hidden vantage point, he caught sight of movement near the warehouse entrance. Gina was there, guiding two young whelps through a careful feeding. Her dark waves caught the faint light as she steadied one trembling fledgling, her voice a gentle, lilting murmur of encouragement. The sight tugged at something deep in Rolf’s memory—how patient and kind she’d been with him in those chaotic first months after his turning, when he had been little more than a snarling beast. She was a true dam, fierce and nurturing in equal measure.
And Mathias was an honorable and true sire. The kind of leader worth following into fire or shadow without hesitation. Rolf’s loyalty, once cracked by hunger, had settled back into something pure and unwavering. He would return when his time was served and prove himself worthy again.
His gaze shifted slightly and landed on Zeke standing nearby, ever the watchful shadow at Gina’s side. A flicker of sharp, unexplained animosity curled low in Rolf’s gut. He looked away quickly, jaw tight.
The moon would turn soon enough.
***
Carson
Carson twisted in the sheets, lost in a dream that wasn’t his own. He walked dirt roads under a fat and pregnant moon, the paths disappearing beneath him. A sister’s laughter echoed from a distant porch. Then pain—blistering, burning awakening under merciless sun. Guilt over the first feeding. The first death. Then there was the slow gathering of lost souls into a camp. Faces flickered past in a confusing feed: Zeke’s steady gaze, Gina’s seductive sorrow, Rolf’s feral hunger. Through it all, the sun murmured promises of release, growing louder with every bond formed.
He woke gasping, his body slick with sweat. Mathias loomed over him in the darkness, eyes black with need and a flare of fear. Carson reached up, fingers tracing fresh bite marks along his collarbone—deep, possessive, already knitting closed with unnatural speed. The skin tingled, healing faster than it should, the bond’s essence working its insidious magic.
“You were in my head,” Carson murmured, voice rough. “Your past. The sun. I could see how she’s calling you louder, more insistently because of me.”
Mathias didn’t deny it. Instead, he descended, cool lips claiming Carson’s in a devouring kiss. The sex that followed was climactic, desperate—a collision of fear and craving. Mathias pinned him to the mattress with a bruising hold, thighs spreading Carson wide. One powerful thrust seated him deep, taut groin pulses matching the frantic beat of Carson’s heart. Their bodies were fused completely, Mathias moving with savage grace.
“Mathias—fuck—” Carson arched, nails raking down the vampire’s back as every stroke ignited even more taut strings of passion.
Sharp fangs grazed the healing marks, reopening them just enough for the metallic scent to bloom between them. Whispering promises filled the air—not the sun’s, but Mathias’ gravel-filled voice: “Stay with me. Let me give you everything. The high you crave.”
Carson shattered first, convulsing shudders racking his frame as his orgasm ripped through him in blinding waves. Mathias followed with a roar, flooding him while drinking deeply, the bond flaring white-hot.
In the trembling aftermath, Mathias collapsed over him, still buried deep, his seldom-used heart pounding against Carson’s chest. The words lingered—the sun’s seductive Call echoing in the link, Gina’s warning, the ruins of Carson’s human life.
Carson stared at the ceiling, body singing with ecstasy even as his mind fractured. The healing bite marks itched with promise and peril. Freedom felt like a distant, colorless dream. Yet the cost...
He turned in Mathias’ arms, voice breaking with raw need and terror. “Do I even want freedom anymore? Or is this ruin all that’s left?”
***
Three days later, Carson stood at the bathroom sink and stared at his own reflection like it belonged to someone else.
He knew the truth now. Not the fragmented, fever-dream version he had been living inside, but the plain shape of it. Mathias had given him every piece. The bond. The slow erasure that could still claim him. The ritual that might kill him. The sun that was growing stronger because of what they were to each other.
Carson waited for the panic to hit the way it used to.
It didn’t.
Instead, there was a strange, hollow calm. The kind that comes after a long fever finally breaks.
He turned the faucet on and watched the water run over his hands, colder than it should have felt. The marks on his throat were gone again, yet his eyes looked clearer than they had in weeks. He almost looked like the man who used to show up to work on time and answer emails and pretend he was fine.
That man felt very far away.
He dried his hands and walked back into the main room. Mathias was still resting in the shuttered back chamber, the bond a low, steady hum riding along at the edge of Carson’s awareness. Carson sat on the side of the bed and looked at the closed door for a long time.
He understood the risks now. He understood what staying could cost him. He understood what leaving would cost Mathias.
The knowledge sat in his chest like a stone he had decided to carry. Not because he was reckless. Not because the high still sang in his blood (though it did). But because the alternative—walking away from the only thing that had ever felt real—had become impossible to imagine.
Carson lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and let the quiet settle around him.
He was still afraid.
He was still choosing it anyway.
