Lucian had promised himself he would not kill again. Not here, not so soon. But hunger was a cruel master, and it had been three nights since he'd tasted blood.
He wandered the alleys of Elmswick like a wolf pacing the edge of a village. Every heartbeat he heard was a drum calling him to feast. Yet he resisted. He remembered too well the last town, the last massacre, the fire in his veins when he lost control.
But then came the girl. Clara. Her scent was unlike the others—warm, sharp, alive in a way he had not known for centuries. She was not merely food. She was temptation.
And temptation, for monsters, is always the beginning of ruin.