Chapter 2 Bloodline Recognition (Cain POV)
I don't breathe for the first hour after meeting Mira Ashford.
Don't need to, technically. Breathing is a habit, a performance to maintain the illusion of humanity. But around her, I'd forgotten to keep up the act.
"You look like you've seen the sun," Lyra says, cornering me after Literature class. Her platinum hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her amber eyes, mark of her age, nearly two hundred years, are sharp with concern. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. You smell like panic and…" She leans closer, inhaling delicately. "What is that? Ozone? Burnt metal?"
I pull away from her scrutiny. "Drop it, Lyra."
"Not a chance. You've been weird since lunch. Actually, you've been weird since that new girl showed up." Her eyes narrow. "The human. What's her name? Mira?"
"She's not human."
The words slip out before I can stop them. Lyra goes perfectly still in that way only very old vampires can, absolutely motionless, like a statue.
"Explain."
"I don't know what she is. But when I got close to her, there was this… reaction. Her bracelet started burning, and touching her felt like grabbing a live wire."
"Did she compel you?"
"Vampires compel, Lyra. Humans don't."
"Exactly. So what is she?"
I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. "I don't know. But whatever she's wearing on her wrist isn't jewelry. It's a ward. Protection against something."
"Against us, maybe?" Lyra's voice goes cold. "Cain, what if she's a hunter?"
The word sends ice through my veins. Hunters, humans who've dedicated their lives to destroying vampires. We've been at war with them for centuries, an endless cycle of violence and revenge.
But Mira doesn't feel like a hunter. She feels like… something else. Something that makes my long-dead heart want to beat again.
"She's a student," I say, not quite believing it myself.
"So were the last three hunters who infiltrated vampire nests. They posed as students, gained trust, then struck when we were vulnerable." Lyra grips my arm. "You need to tell Silas. Now."
Silas Valemont—my sire, over four hundred years old, and the unofficial leader of our coven at Silvercrest. He won't be happy about this.
"Fine. But I handle the interrogation."
"Why?"
Because the thought of anyone else touching Mira, threatening her, makes something feral wake up inside me. Because even knowing she might be here to kill us all, I can't shake the feeling that she's mine somehow.
"Because I'm the one she reacted to. If she's hunting vampires, she'll be drawn to me."
Lyra studies my face for a long moment. "You're interested in her."
"I'm being strategic."
"You're being stupid. Whatever she is, Cain, she's dangerous to you specifically. Don't you feel it? That pull?"
I feel it. That's the problem. Every instinct I have screams at me to find her, to get close to her again, to unravel the mystery of why touching her felt like coming home after centuries of wandering.
"I'll be careful."
"You'll be dead." But Lyra releases my arm. "Fine. Talk to Silas. But Cain? If she's a hunter, you kill her. No hesitation."
I find Mira in the library that night, tucked into a corner study carrel with a stack of books about local history.
She doesn't look up when I approach, but her shoulders tense, telling me she knows I'm here.
"Researching the area?" I ask, sliding into the chair across from her.
"Could say the same about you." She marks her place with one finger. "Following me?"
"Coincidence. I study here every night."
"Sure you do." But her lips quirk in what might be a smile.
This close, I can see details I missed earlier. The sprinkle of freckles across her nose. The small scar on her left eyebrow. The way her dark hair falls in waves that catch the lamplight.
And underneath it all, that scent. Not quite human, not quite anything I recognize. It makes my fangs ache in a way that has nothing to do with hunger.
"What are you really doing here, Mira?"
"Could ask you the same question, Cain."
"I asked first."
"I'm a student. Here to learn, make friends, have a normal high school experience." The words are textbook, rehearsed.
"Liar."
Her eyes flash—silver for just a moment before returning to their normal dark brown. "Excuse me?"
"You're not here for a normal experience. You're here for a reason. And I want to know what it is."
"Why do you care?"
Because you make me feel alive again. Because your scent is driving me insane. Because touching you felt like breaking a curse I didn't know I was under.
"Because you're dangerous," I say instead.
"So are you."
We stare at each other across the table, both breathing slightly too fast. Her heartbeat is racing—I can hear it, strong and steady and absolutely intoxicating.
"What are you?" I ask again, softer this time.
"What are you?" she counters.
"You know what I am. Don't you?"
Something shifts in her expression—acknowledgment mixed with fear. "Yes."
"Then you know you should run."
"I don't run."
"You should. Whatever brought you here, whatever you're planning, it's not going to end well."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning." I lean forward, dropping my voice. "There are vampires here who've lived for centuries. Who've survived wars and revolutions and countless hunters. They won't hesitate to kill you if they think you're a threat."
"And you?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "Would you kill me?"
The question hangs between us. I should say yes. Should make it clear that loyalty to my coven comes before whatever this strange attraction is.
But looking into her eyes—silver flickering beneath brown—I know I'm already lost.
"I don't want to find out," I say honestly.
She nods slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Then we're agreed. We'll stay away from each other."
"Agreed."
Neither of us moves.
"You should go," she says.
"So should you."
"I was here first."
Despite everything; the danger, the impossibility, the fact that we might be natural enemies, I smile. "Fair enough."
I stand to leave, but her voice stops me at the end of the row.
"Cain?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth… I don't want to hurt you either."
The confession hits me harder than any threat could. Because it means she feels it too—this impossible pull, this sense that we're connected in ways that defy logic and loyalty and every survival instinct we should have.
"Get some sleep, Mira. Tomorrow's going to be complicated."