They argued about me for days.
The werewolves said I was a weapon waiting to be sharpened. The vampires claimed I was stolen blood, a crime that demanded correction. Humans—if any still cared—were not consulted.
I didn't belong anywhere.
Ryn trained me relentlessly, pushing me until my muscles screamed. She never apologized. She never softened her blows. But when I collapsed, she carried me without complaint. Her touch was careful, reverent in a way she never acknowledged.
Seraphine visited at night.
She spoke to me like an equal, like someone who saw me not as a soldier, but as a choice. She told me stories of the old war, of how love once ended a massacre—and how fear restarted it.
Between them, my heart fractured.
Ryn was loyalty, fire, and protection. Seraphine was temptation, truth, and danger. And I was something new—something both sides feared.
One night, as the moon rose full and unforgiving, I realized the cruelest truth of all:
I didn't want to choose.
I wanted them both.
And in a world built on ancient hatred, that desire alone might be enough to start a war that would burn everything down.