Liora's POV
The blood on my pillow tells me everything I need to know.
I wipe my mouth with shaking fingers, staring at the crimson stain. My heart pounds too fast, then too slow, like it can't remember how to work properly. Because it can't. Because I'm dying.
"Liora?" Papa's voice drifts up the stairs. "Are you awake?"
I shove the pillow under my bed and grab a clean cloth, scrubbing my lips until they hurt. When I look in the cracked mirror above my washbasin, a ghost stares back. Silver-blonde hair that used to be golden brown. Violet eyes sunken into pale skin. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut.
Twenty-four years old and I look like a corpse already.
"Coming, Papa."
I descend the narrow stairs carefully, gripping the railing. Even small movements steal my breath now. Our cottage smells like herbs and medicine, the scent so familiar it usually comforts me. Today it just reminds me that nothing Papa brews can save me.
He sits at our wooden table, his healer's bag open beside him. When he looks up, his eyes are red. He's been crying again.
"Don't," I say before he can speak. "I can't handle it today."
"The blood sickness is progressing faster." His voice breaks. "I examined your samples this morning. Maybe two weeks if we're lucky."
Two weeks.
Not the month I was promised.
Something inside me cracks open. I've spent twenty-three years being the good daughter. The responsible one. The girl who never complained, never asked for anything, never lived. I took care of Papa after Mama died. I helped him with patients. I followed every rule.
And for what? To die in this cottage without ever experiencing anything real?
"No more waiting for death, Papa." I grab my red dress from the hook by the door, the one I've been saving for something special. "Tonight, I'm going to the tavern. I'm going to find someone handsome and finally live before I die."
Papa's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. "Liora, you need rest. You can barely walk up the stairs without—"
"Without what? Dying?" I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my ears. "I'm dying anyway. At least let me do it on my terms."
"Please." He reaches for me, but I step back. "Just a few more days. Let me try the new treatment. Let me—"
"Save me?" The words taste like ash. "You can't, Papa. No one can. So stop trying to keep me locked in this cottage like I'm already in my grave."
His face crumples, and guilt stabs through my chest. But I can't apologize. If I apologize, I'll stay. If I stay, I'll waste my last days being careful and quiet and good.
I'm so tired of being good.
I storm toward my room to change, each step sending sparks of pain through my weak legs. The red dress is beautiful, the only pretty thing I own. I saved for a year to buy it, dreaming of wearing it to the harvest festival. But I never did. Too practical. Too worried about what people would think.
Tonight, everyone can think whatever they want.
I'm pulling the dress over my head when the church bells start ringing.
Not the regular evening bells.
The warning bells.
My blood turns to ice.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no."
I forgot. How could I forget?
Tonight is the Selection.
Papa appears in my doorway, his face pale as death. "Liora, get away from the window. Close the curtains. Maybe if they don't see you—"
"It doesn't work that way." My voice sounds hollow. "The lottery finds you no matter where you hide."
Every year, the vampire kingdom chooses one woman from our village. They call it an honor. They say she becomes a bride to Prince Theron Nightshade for thirty nights before joining the immortal court.
Everyone knows what "joining the immortal court" really means.
Death.
Three hundred years of Selections. Three hundred women chosen. Not a single one ever came back.
"Your bloodline hasn't been called in five generations," Papa says desperately. "The odds are—"
"I know the odds." I grip the windowsill, watching villagers flood toward the square. "I'm safe. We're safe."
But my heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape my chest. Like it knows something I don't.
The Selection square fills with frightened families. I can see the Hendersons clutching their daughter Rose. The Blackwoods pushing their twin girls behind them. Mrs. Chen crying openly while her son tries to comfort her.
They all have someone to lose.
I'm already losing myself.
Strange thought: if my name is chosen, would it even matter? I'm dying anyway. Two weeks in a vampire castle or two weeks coughing blood in Papa's cottage. What's the difference?
"Liora." Papa's hand closes around my wrist. "We should go. Show our faces so they know we're complying with the law. But stay close to me. Don't draw attention."
I nod, but something reckless is building inside me. Something that whispers: maybe being chosen would be better. At least I'd die doing something interesting. At least I'd see the infamous Nightshade Castle before my heart stops.
At least I'd meet a vampire prince before I become a ghost.
We join the crowd. The square is packed with bodies, everyone pressing together like closeness will protect them. Papa keeps his arm around my shoulders, but I can feel him trembling.
The temperature drops.
Frost spreads across the cobblestones despite the warm evening air.
They're coming.
Black carriages roll into the square, pulled by horses with eyes like burning coals. The crowd parts, people scrambling back. A tall vampire steps down from the first carriage, his movements fluid and predatory. He's beautiful in a terrifying way, with dark hair and eyes that seem almost kind.
"I am Cassiel, guard to Prince Theron Nightshade." His voice carries across the silent square. "By ancient law and blood magic, we conduct the Selection."
He pulls out a crystal, and it glows with inner fire.
My heart stops.
The crystal spins, faster and faster, cycling through names I can't read. Every woman in the square holds her breath. Mothers grip their daughters. Fathers pull their families close.
The crystal slows.
Slows.
Stops.
Pulses with brilliant red light.
A name appears in the air, written in flames:
LIORA ASHBORNE
The world tilts.
Someone screams. I think it's Papa.
Every eye turns toward me.
Cassiel's gaze finds mine across the crowd, and something flickers in his expression. Surprise? Recognition?
"No!" Papa shouts, pulling me behind him. "Take someone else! She's sick! She's—"
"The lottery has chosen." Cassiel moves toward us, the crowd parting like water. "Will Liora Ashborne come willingly, or must we use force?"
My mouth is dry. My legs are shaking. This can't be happening. Five generations. Five generations of safety.
Why now? Why me?
Then that reckless voice whispers again: why not?
I was dying in two weeks anyway. At least this way, I'll die somewhere interesting. At least I'll finally have an adventure.
At least someone will remember my name.
I step around Papa before I can change my mind.
"I'll come," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "I was dying anyway."
The square erupts in shocked whispers.
Cassiel's eyes widen slightly. "Interesting," he murmurs.
Papa grabs my arm, desperation making him rough. "Liora, please. Don't do this. Let me talk to them. Let me—"
"It's okay, Papa." I kiss his cheek, tasting his tears. "Maybe I'll finally get to live before I die."
Cassiel extends his hand.
I take it.
His skin is cold as winter, and when our fingers touch, something electric shoots up my arm. His eyes flash with something I can't name.
"Welcome to your final month, Liora Ashborne," he says quietly. "Though something tells me it won't be quite what anyone expects."
The black carriage door opens like a mouth waiting to swallow me whole.
I climb inside.
And as we pull away from everything I've ever known, one thought burns through my mind:
I'm going to meet the vampire prince who's killed three hundred women.
What if I'm the one who finally breaks him?