The road stretched endlessly beneath her tires, the roar of the Harley her only steady companion. Wind whipped Raven's dark hair loose from its tie, stinging her cheeks, but she didn't care. Out here, there were no rules. No chains of expectation. No father's voice echoing in her skull about bloodlines, loyalty, or the empire of steel and leather he had demanded she inherit. She'd traded that crown the day she fled. The world might still call her club royalty, but to her, it was just another shackle she'd burned to the ground. The road gave her freedom—if only for fleeting miles.
But tonight, the road betrayed her. She hadn't meant to stumble into the fight. One moment she was pulling into a cracked parking lot outside a rundown roadhouse, the neon sign flickering like a dying heartbeat. The next, the world exploded into chaos. Claws. Fire. Shadows that weren't shadows at all. Her instincts screamed to run, but the sight froze her blood: something tall and pale pinning a man to the gravel, fangs flashing in the glow of a single busted streetlight. A vampire. She knew enough whispered myths to recognize one when it bared its hunger. Its head snapped toward her, eyes glowing crimson. A predator who had just scented a better meal.
She reached for the knife in her boot, though she knew the steel would do nothing. Her lungs filled with the coppery stench of blood. She was already preparing herself for death when he appeared—Alfa, the fae warrior. He moved like a storm—fast, merciless, lethal beauty wrapped in broad shoulders and a blade that sang when it met flesh. The vampire hissed, but Alfa didn't hesitate. His strike severed the creature's head in a blur, black ichor staining the gravel. Silence followed. Her breath came ragged, shaking.
And then she felt it. The pull. Alfa's eyes—silver as moonlight, piercing straight through her—locked onto hers. For a moment, the world stopped spinning. Something ancient whispered between them, a tether winding itself around her chest, dragging her closer.
"Stay behind me," Alfa commanded, voice low and edged with power. Every nerve in her body screamed run, but her legs betrayed her, rooted to the earth as if his words had become law. And maybe they had.
Because when the vampire's body hit the ground, it didn't just die. The act sent a ripple into the night, a call to something darker. Far away, in the gilded shadows of a throne drenched in blood and decadence, Jethro, the second prince of the vampire court, lifted his head. A smile touched his lips, cold and cruel. "Found you," he murmured, as if he had been searching all along.