** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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Stones crunched beneath Zane, breaking loose from the pile of rubble and rolling with a crash over the old cobblestones. The promise of his death was in their eyes, and the angry soul mirrors of the bloodsuckers flashed at him while the white cat's shoulders trembled with tension.
He had to run. Flee. Put as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuers if he wanted to escape. He knew that.
And yet, for a moment, not a muscle in his wiry body moved. He seemed frozen in place as his gaze traveled past the scion to the vampiress who had held his life in her claws.
'Move!' he screamed inwardly, but his body would not obey.
She could have killed him. His vendetta would have ended before it even began, and she could have collected the substantial bounty on his head. She could have increased her rank and reputation. And that was what all the children of the Blood Lords wanted. The rise, the praise, and the attention of their master.
And the bloodhunters, in particular, were merciless. Those vampires who had made it this far were primarily old and had long since lost their compassion. Blood hunters only did what they were ordered to do. It didn't matter to them whether their target was a fae or a human, an old man or a child, a poor man or a rich man. It was said that they had come so close to death that they acted like its messengers - and death made no distinction.
This one moment had been her chance. But she didn't sink her long claws into his throat or tear it apart.
For what reason?
Why had she hesitated?
Why had she given him this chance?
Had she felt the same as him?
The questions piled up inside him like the rubble beneath him, stretching his muscles like a bowstring and yet not allowing the arrow to fly.
It was not his way, and yet his gaze lingered longer on the cold face with the silver strands that danced in the breeze and followed the quick movements. It was as if a part of him wanted to ensure she was ...
