Evelyn’s POV.

Claire stared at me like she didn’t recognize the person sitting beside her. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her fingers were locked around the seatbelt, white-knuckled.

“You’re not serious,” she finally whispered.

“I wish I wasn’t,” I murmured.

I didn’t expect her to understand. Hell, I barely did. But the truth sat between us, heavy and irreversible. My sister—the girl I’d sworn to protect—was looking at me like I was a stranger.

Maybe I was.

“You let some thing bite you?” she choked, her voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

“I didn’t have a choice, Claire. You were dying. They said you wouldn’t make it through the night.”

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. She turned away. “So what now? You drink blood? Sleep in a coffin? Burn in the sun?”

“It’s not like that. I—I haven’t hurt anyone.”

Yet.

The word lodged in my throat like a shard of glass. The hunger had been growing all day, relentless and sharp. I was keeping it at bay by sheer will—but the way Claire’s pulse fluttered in her neck, how warm and alive she looked…

I turned to the window and bit down on the inside of my wrist until the pain snapped me back into control.

Claire wiped her face. “So what happens now?”

“You go home and rest. I’ll figure the rest out.”

“Evelyn…”

“I’m still me,” I said, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I’m still your sister. That hasn’t changed.”

She nodded slowly, like she wanted to believe me but didn’t know how.

I watched until she made it inside. Then I drove.

And the moment I was alone, the hunger came roaring back.

I didn’t stop until I reached the woods on the edge of town—close to Gideon’s mansion, far from temptation. I needed space. Air. Silence.

But the night was too loud now. Every heartbeat in the forest. Every rustling insect. Every trace of blood in the soil.

And then, as if summoned by thought, he stepped from the shadows.

“You told her,” Gideon said.

I didn’t flinch. I was too tired to be startled.

“Of course I did. She’s my sister.”

“And what did she say?”

“What do you think?” I snapped. “She was terrified.”

He studied me. “You haven’t fed.”

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not again.”

“You’re starving.”

I didn’t answer. My silence said enough.

Gideon stepped closer. “That vow won’t hold forever. You’re running on instinct now. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then help me,” I said, my voice hollow. “Teach me how to live with this.”

A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

He led me deeper into the trees. The air changed around us, thick with power. It hummed against my skin—the way it always did near him.

“This is a controlled space,” he said. “Here, you learn. You fail. You bleed. But you don’t die. And you don’t kill.”

“Cozy,” I muttered.

He didn’t laugh.

“Close your eyes.”

I hesitated—then obeyed.

“Now listen. Smell. Feel. Who’s nearby?”

At first, there was nothing. Then—like a painting forming in the dark—I felt them. A rabbit, skittish. A fox, pacing. Two deer. Their warmth glowed in the shadows like lanterns. I could hear their hearts, taste the thrum of life on my tongue.

“Go,” he whispered.

I ran.

My body moved before thought, sleek and hungry. I caught the rabbit first—held it trembling in my hands—but I couldn’t do it.

I let it go.

Gideon was suddenly beside me, silent as breath.

“You’re resisting everything,” he said.

“Because it’s wrong.”

“You can’t survive on guilt, Evelyn.”

I stared at my trembling hands. They didn’t feel like mine anymore.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I,” he said quietly.

Something shifted between us then—not warmth, but recognition. The kind that only comes from shared exile.

He stepped closer. “Let me show you how to carry it.”

I hesitated.

Then nodded.

He extended his wrist. “Drink. Just a little. It’ll ease the hunger. Help you focus.”

“What are you—”

The scent hit me first. Rich. Ancient. Electric. My throat ached. My teeth ached.

“Evelyn,” he said, voice low. “You have to trust me.”

I met his eyes.

And I bit.

The world split wide.

Heat, lightning, memory—all of it surged through me. I tasted centuries in his blood, sorrow and strength and something harder to name. I drew back, gasping.

Gideon didn’t move. His gaze held mine—steady, unreadable.

For the first time since I turned, I didn’t feel hollow.

“I’m scared,” I whispered. “But I don’t want to fight it anymore. I want to learn.”

His lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Good. Fighting alone only breaks you. But understanding? That’s power.”

The mansion loomed, its silhouette carved from shadow. Inside, the walls breathed cold. Gideon moved through the darkness with ease, every step precise, deliberate. He handed me a small leather-bound book.

“This is the beginning. The rules. The truths. The things that will keep you alive.”

I flipped through its pages. Bloodlines. Warnings. Predators hiding in plain sight. Rituals and restraint. My heart thudded—not from fear of the hunger—but from the enormity of the world I’d been dragged into.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked.

He paused.

“Because I know what it means to lose control. And because…” His voice dropped. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His words pierced something I hadn’t realized I was guarding. I swallowed hard.

That night, curled on the cold floor of the training room, I realized something awful and true: I wasn’t just fighting for Claire anymore.

I was fighting for me—for the thread of humanity I hadn’t let go of yet.

And for Gideon.

Who wasn’t just a stranger anymore.

But something more.

Just as sleep pulled me under, a whisper curled through my mind, dry and cold:

“You belong to the night now… but your soul is still at stake.”

Outside, the shadows stirred.

And I knew—

We weren’t alone.