The scent of copper and salt air swirled about Minach’s head as he reached for the knife that lay on the ground next to Amara. Grasping it tight in his right hand, he hesitated for only a moment before slicing into his left wrist, pressing the wound immediately to her lips.

“She may hate me for this later,” he said quietly. “But I don’t care about that; I can’t. Better to have her alive on this earth and despising me than dead.” If he failed, if she turned into a Forsaken, it would mean a lifetime of torture for her as well as for him. But for God’s sake, at least this way she had a chance to survive the day. At least he wouldn’t lose her entirely.

At first the Enlightened didn’t move, her limp body cold and clammy under his touch. Her face was still frozen, unconscious, his blood marking a red streak across pale skin. But after a few seconds, Minach felt her lips come to life, clamping around the wound, drinking his blood greedily, hungrily, savouring his taste, his power. Her eyes were still sealed shut, but the blood of the Dragon shifter was feeding her, sustaining her. Giving her new life.

Suddenly her eyes sprang open to the sound of gasps from the onlookers. Amara had changed, her dark irises brightened to the lightest shade of blue. Minach nearly leapt up with shock at the sight. He knew that colour; he’d seen it on some of the shifters in Perthewey. These were the eyes of a Wolf, the eyes of a being whose animal was near the surface, ready to break free of its human form.

They were the eyes of a strong, healthy shifter.

Amara pulled herself up as soon as she realized what was happening, thrusting her face and body away from Minach. Blood laced her lips, tinting them a healthy red. Her cheeks, too, were flushed, the ashen hue gone from her complexion. She was more beautiful than ever, more alive than Minach had ever seen her. But a look of utter horror marred her features.

Worse than that, a look of hatred.

“What have you done to me?” she cried, wiping the blood away with the back of her hand and staring at the crimson streak left behind on her skin. “Minach, what did you do?” She looked up at the others, her expression accusing, livid, unforgiving.

“You were going to die,” Minach said softly, reaching a hand out to touch her. “Amara, I couldn’t lose you. I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear it. It was my selfish need…”

“Go, all of you,” she commanded, her voice deep, dark and menacing. “You don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t know what’s about to happen.”

“What do you mean?” asked Trix. “Amara, you’re alive now because of what Minach did.”

The Enlightened narrowed her eyes and glared at the Hunter. “I’m not alive,” she snarled. “You’ve never seen an Enlightened change. You’ve never witnessed the fall. It will come fast, and when it does you’ll wish for your sake that you’d just let me die. Now leave. Please, just go, and don’t come back.”

Minach opened his mouth to protest, but instead he turned and began to trudge in the direction of the village. The others followed him. Only Trix lingered for a moment, eyes locked on her friend’s.

“Amara,” she said, “You have to know that he did what he did because he cares about you.”

“You don’t get it, do you? No one will ever care about me,” she growled. “No one.”

With that, she rose to her feet and stormed through the cottage’s back door, slamming it behind her.

* * *

Amara threw herself onto a chair in the kitchen and wept in heaving sobs, her face buried in her hands. She hadn’t cried like this in many years, not since her childhood. She wept for the same loss that had crushed her then. She wept for her lost innocence. She wept for her loss of the man she loved.

For what she would become in a matter of minutes.

He’d turned her into a monster. The change would destroy her quickly, corrupt her mind, steal away her clarity. She would wander the streets of London one day soon, murderous and cruel. Desiring the blood of every human who walked by her, and it would be hell on earth. Minach had brought the blood-seeker inside her to the surface, given her the cruel gift of a long, tortured life, when it would have been kinder to let her die.

A restlessness was already overtaking her. She could feel the strange, mounting energy coming from somewhere deep inside. She couldn’t sit still, not for long. Some powerful force was warning her, telling her to get out of this house, and now. No doubt the horrid creature inside her already wanted her to hunt, to seek a victim. To feed her newly stoked addiction. She was nothing more now than a murderous, hateful goddamned junkie.

Giving in to the desire, she stood up and marched to the door, cracking it open. Minach was already long gone, thank God. She didn’t want him to be her first victim. Even if sanity deserted her, she would find a way to keep her distance from him, from Trix, from all of the Guild, from now on. She would never see them again; it was a promise she made to herself. They might be powerful shifters, but they would never be safe when she was around.

She pulled a few steps away from the house before turning back to stare at one of its windows. She could see herself reflected, vivid and rosy-cheeked among her green and grey surroundings. Her torn-up shirt hung off her like a rag, dark stains reminding her of the violence Tryst had inflicted on her. Reminding her of how close she’d come to dying. She pulled at the fabric, tearing it away from her flesh, and looked down.

The wounds, which had been so deep and bloody, were gone now. Only streaks of dried blood remained in their place.

“This makes no sense,” she muttered. “The Forsaken aren’t healers. They’re not immune to injury.”

It must have been Minach’s blood that had healed her. Something in him had forced the wounds to close. Well, he’d healed her just in time for the coming madness to set in.

She waited, frozen, for the bloodlust to show its face. She’d seen newly turned Forsaken before. Their first minutes were always filled with a sort of demented fervour, an impulsive rage overtaking their bodies as they convulsed on the ground, an agonizing transition like a seizure dominating their extremities.

It was in that moment that they came into their new bodies like wild creatures readying themselves for a hunt. The newly-turned were animals with no control over their minds. That was what she had to look forward to. It was her new fate.

Tormented, she waited and watched her reflection. But the bloodlust never came. Amara felt nothing but an aura of strength, power. Her mind remained clear, her body whole.

What’s happening to me? Why hasn’t it come?

She stepped towards the window, examining her face more closely. It was when she looked at her eyes that shock overtook her for the first time. Her irises had gone so light that they all but glowed. These weren’t the strange, frightening eyes of a Forsaken. They were her Wolf’s. Eyes that she’d once thought she’d never see again.

“What’s going on?” she asked the air around her. “I don’t understand…I drank his blood. I can still taste it on my lips. I should have been corrupted.”

It was finally starting to sink in: the fragile hope that the change would never come. An old, familiar feeling was returning to her body, one that she hadn’t enjoyed in years. She dared a few steps into the open field next to the house, and when no spins or madness overtook her, she moved towards the wooded area beyond the property. This would be her first true test, and she could hardly muster the hope to pass it.

Gradually, she sped up her pace to a jog, challenging her body to find its strength. For weeks she’d felt too weak, too frail to run as she used to do. The affliction of her cursed nature had made its way too invasively into her bloodstream; she’d turned all but anemic, suffering from many bouts of pure exhaustion. But now her muscles and lungs seemed to gain energy with each step, gathering strength from her speed.

A smile spread across her lips and she shut her eyes, letting the cool wind strike her face as she sped along. Even the rocky territory underfoot was no obstacle; with each step she found her balance, her feet moving in easy strides beneath her.

For a moment she let her mind picture her Wolf, the companion from her youth who’d been shut out of her life for far too long. Her Wolf was her freedom, her escape. Her Wolf was proof that she was capable of redemption; that she could be something other than a monster. Come back to me, she whispered. Come back and tell me what I want to know.

A moment later she felt four giant paws beneath her, striking the ground hard as she bounded along at blinding speed. Opening her eyes, she could see that the world had regained its colour. Bright greens, a vivid blue sky. Even the rocks coated in lichen had altered to beautiful, subtle shades of yellow and grey. She could see everything around her, down to the most minute detail. Outlined feathers of birds flying overhead. The crease in a blade of grass in the distance, twitching in the wind.

Halting for a moment, she sat on her haunches, panting with pleasure, her head turning to look about. But her Wolf didn’t want to stay still for long. After so many months of absence, all she wanted was to romp through the wild, to dash at top speed towards the woods ahead.

Nearly there, Amara told her. We’ll make our way through and see how things go. She hardly dared hope that this feeling of utter euphoria could be permanent. Hardly believed that the bloodlust had been conquered at last.

She bounded into the woods, navigating with incredible speed between trees of all shapes and sizes before she realized how small the clump of forest actually was. Within seconds she’d burst through onto the other side, and now she found herself staring out at a solitary country house.

Standing just outside of the building was a man, sweeping a stone pathway.

Amara’s déor froze, taking a tentative step backwards. This was the first time she’d seen a human since she’d consumed Minach’s blood. This would be a test of her will, of her addiction. A Forsaken coming upon a solitary figure would have been sorely tempted by the man’s very heartbeat, would crave the sustenance that flooded his body.

But neither the Wolf nor the woman wanted anything to do with the stranger. Amara’s first instinct was to hide herself, and she revelled in that desire. She turned on a dime and sprinted back through the woods towards the cottage. There was only one thing to do now.

She had to find Minach.