"It's not over,"

"It's not over,"
I woke with a jolt, breath catching in my throat, the twins’ voices still lingering like fading echoes—soft, distant, as though they were calling to me from behind a wall I could almost, almost reach through.

The sound wasn’t clear, not really, more a feeling than a voice, but it trembled through me with the unmistakable weight of truth. I felt them. I felt them.

For a heartbeat, hope flared so brightly it almost hurt. The moment was fragile, a trembling wisp of smoke slipping through my fingers the instant I tried to hold it. But even as it vanished, the warmth of it remained, glowing faintly in my chest like an ember refusing to die.

I lay still in the darkness, staring at the ceiling that felt too heavy, too silent. A part of me wished I hadn’t come home at all. The healing hall had been safer, quieter, a place where I could sit beside their still bodies and pretend that my presence alone could anchor them. There, I could listen to the rhythm of their breathing and convince myself it meant something. That it meant they were coming back.

But I had never felt them there. Not once. Not like this.

Here, in my room, in the place that still smelled faintly of them, I had felt them brush against me like a memory waking up. As if they were searching for me. As if they were trying to find their way home.

“Did you feel that, my love?” I whispered, my voice barely more than breath. My hand drifted to my abdomen, fingers trembling as they pressed gently over the tiny, unnoticeable swell that held the only piece of them, I still had. “Your daddies are still here. They’re still fighting. They’re going to come back to us…”

The words didn’t feel like a lie this time. They didn’t feel like something I said just to keep myself from breaking. For the first time in weeks, belief stirred—shy, uncertain, but real. A timid happiness unfurled inside me, delicate as new flowers pushing through frost.

Something had shifted. I knew it with a certainty that settled deep in my bones. I had felt Skye’s fierce spark, Kairn’s steady warmth—felt them as clearly as if they were standing just beyond the door, waiting for me to open it. They weren’t lost. Not yet.

“It’s not over, baby,” I whispered under my breath. “I won’t let it be…”

And in that quiet, trembling moment, hope didn’t feel like a dangerous thing. It felt like a promise…

Leviathan

I don’t know how long I spent dragging myself across the forest floor—minutes, hours, maybe days. Time had dissolved into a blur of pain so sharp it felt like it was carving pieces out of me with every breath. All I knew was agony. A deep, grinding, bone‑deep torment that refused to fade, refused to numb, refused to let me slip into the mercy of unconsciousness.

Healing had never been a problem for me. Not once in my entire life.

Alpha Shadowthorne had torn open half my face when I was a child, and I’d healed in a matter of weeks. Broken bones were usually a single day’s inconvenience. Bruises vanished in hours. Cuts sealed before the blood even dried. My body had always been reliable, always strong, always ready to knit itself back together.

But now…

Now every inch of me screamed. Every breath was a knife. Every movement sent a fresh wave of fire rolling through my shattered ribs and splintered limbs.

Tyranni had done this. Tyranni, with her impossible strength and that terrible, shimmering power in her eyes. I’d known she had magick in her—anyone who’d seen her fight would know that—but I’d never imagined she carried the kind of power she unleashed in the battle.

She had broken my bones with a single glare.

If I weren’t drowning in pain, I might have been impressed. Might have even laughed at the absurdity of it. But right now, all I could do was crawl, dragging my ruined body through the dirt, trying to get away from the battlefield, from the humiliation, from the memory of my pack turning their backs on me the moment they realized I couldn’t protect them from her.

The forest was silent except for my ragged breathing. Silent… until it wasn’t.

I smelled them before I heard them. That musky, cloying scent of age‑old decay, like flowers left too long in stagnant water. It curled into my nostrils, thick and unmistakable.

Not wolves. Not human. Something older. Something wrong.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” a voice crooned, soft and melodic, carrying a faint lilt of amusement. “A lost pup.”

I snarled, or tried to. The sound came out broken, more pain than threat. I didn’t have the strength for this. If they were going to kill me, they needed to get it over with. I didn’t have the will to fight, not anymore.

“Now, now, Leviathan,” she purred.

Her footsteps were light, almost soundless, and then she was kneeling in front of me. I forced my head up, vision swimming, and saw her face.

I’d seen her before.

But I couldn’t remember where.

Her features were delicate, almost ethereal—high cheekbones, pale skin, eyes too bright to be natural. Something about her tugged at a memory buried deep, but the pain made it impossible to grasp.

“Twenty years,” she murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. Her touch was ice cold. “I’ve been waiting, Levi. And you’ve failed me…”

Failed her?

I didn’t even know who she was. And yet… something about her felt familiar. Like a dream I’d forgotten the moment I woke.

“Your bones are shattered,” she said with a smile that was far too pleased. “And they’re not healing. Magick is tricky that way…”

I gritted my teeth. “If you’re going to kill me—”

“Now, why would I do that?” she asked, tilting her head with a curious expression, like she was studying a strange insect. “I still need you.”

“Need me?” The words tasted bitter. My pack had abandoned me the moment Tyranni showed her true strength. No one needed me. No one ever had.

Her smile widened. “If death is your wish, Leviathan, I will gladly oblige you. But… if you want to finish what you started and rule the region like a true Alpha…” She leaned closer, her breath cold against my cheek. “Well, let’s just say you’ll have a rough couple of days ahead of you.”

My stomach twisted. “What do you want?”

“What we’ve always wanted,” she whispered.

And then she smiled—truly smiled—and the illusion of humanity slipped. Her lips pulled back, revealing razor‑sharp fangs that gleamed in the faint light.

Not wolf. Not witch. Not human.

Vampire.

The realization hit me like another blow to the ribs. My breath caught, my vision blurred, and for a moment I forgot the pain entirely. She watched me with a predator’s patience, waiting for the understanding to settle.

“Tyranni Woodrow,” she finished, her voice a silken blade. “We want her. And you, Leviathan… you’re going to help us get her.”