Chapter 2

The castle was busy from early morning.

Servants hurried back and forth preparing for the reception;the candle sconces in the hallways had been polished to gleaming;even the stone floor had been freshly scrubbed.

At seven in the evening,the motorcade arrived.

Celeste Montford stepped out in heels,her free hand looping naturally through Darian's arm.

She was beautiful.

Darian turned and said something to her.She laughed.

I stood deep in the covered walkway,twenty meters away,watching without moving.

The tour lasted just over an hour.I followed on the edge of the group,keeping a distance carefully calibrated to be unnoticeable.

When they reached the entrance to the greenhouse,Celeste pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The flower garden his mother had planted herself spread open under the lamplight—night-everlasting blooms,an entire room full,every one a deep and bruised violet,growing in this castle for decades.

Celeste held a teacup in one hand,a stirring rod in the other,gently circling through the cup as she drifted between the flower beds.Then she turned,and her gaze landed directly on me.

She stopped.

"You're Elaina?"she asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"How long have you served the patriarch?"

"About six years."

She looked me over from head to foot."I find you rather an eyesore."She took a sip of her tea,her voice languid."Don't let me see you again."

I lowered my head."I understand."

It was then that she let the teacup drop.

It shattered on the floor.

"Kneel."

I froze—but I was only a blood hunter.Faced with her command,I had no choice but to comply.

A flicker of surprise crossed Darian's face.Then,the next moment,it smoothed back to calm.

"She deserves the correction."

I knelt.

The broken china dug into my knees.Blood welled at once.

Darian turned his attention back to Celeste,gesturing toward the nearest night-everlasting bloom and beginning to recount its history.

Those stories,he had never once told me.

Passing servants would steal a glance in my direction.None of them stopped.None of them asked why.

In Hawthorn Castle,punishment needed no explanation.

The pain in my knees grew.

The shards had only pierced shallow—but my healing worked faster than an ordinary vampire's.Skin closed over the wounds within seconds,blood stopped,only for the shift of porcelain against the new flesh to tear it open again.Blood seeped out.Healed.Tore open again.

Over and over.Flowing continuously.Healing continuously.Flowing again.

A crueler punishment than an ordinary wound.

By the time it ended,my legs had gone entirely numb.

I don't know how I made it back to my room.

After dark,someone knocked lightly at my door.

When I opened it,I found a tube of antiseptic cream on the floor,weighted down by a folded note.No name.

I recognized the handwriting.Darian's.

I let out a quiet,humorless laugh,pushed both the cream and the note back over the threshold,and shut the door.

I didn't need anything from him anymore.

I needed this pain.

It kept me clear-headed.

I was done being his secret lover.

I was done being his blood hunter.

I was leaving Hawthorn.

I knew the cost of leaving—Richard had mentioned it once in passing.Severing from a clan wasn't a matter of signing a document and walking away.It was a trial by punishment that would leave a vampire in agony.

But what could possibly hurt more than today?

Tomorrow,I was going to find Richard and sign the separation papers.