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The moment I saw Eamon standing over Hadrian’s fallen form, my heart stopped. My King lay on the ground, his body drenched in blood from multiple deep gashes across his chest, shoulders, and arms. A cold dread gripped me as I rushed into the arena, halting at its center. The weight of countless eyes fell upon me, but I hardly noticed. My breath hitched, and hot tears streaked down my cheeks.

Eamon let out a low growl and motioned for two nearby guards to remove me. He should have known better than to send rogue werewolves after me. The moment I unsheathed my claws and released a warning snarl, they hesitated, instinctively stepping back, recognizing my strength.

I knew I couldn’t interfere in Hadrian’s battle. This was his fight, his honor at stake. And though I was no match for Eamon, I refused to stand idly by while my mate’s spirit dimmed before my eyes. He had fought too hard for us to be together—losing him now was not an option.

When his gaze found mine, I saw the fire in his eyes flickering, threatening to extinguish. The sight shattered me, but surrender was not an option.

The commotion I caused had bought Hadrian precious moments to recover, and Eamon knew it. He snarled at me in frustration, demanding that I leave. Raising my hands in feigned surrender, I slowly backed away, buying Hadrian more time.

Locking eyes with him once more, I mouthed, I love you.

His breath hitched, his gaze widening in response.

A slow, determined smile tugged at my lips before I took another step back. Then, from the depths of my soul, I let out a cry that echoed through the arena:

"Kill that bastard already! Eamon doesn’t deserve to live!"

My words ignited an explosion of fury in Eamon. His entire body tensed before he let out a thunderous roar.

"You treacherous bitch!" he bellowed, betrayed by the only family he had left.

Then, like a force of nature, he charged at me, moving faster than my eyes could track. My stomach clenched in terror. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.

A vicious snarl ripped through the air.

My eyes flew open just in time to see Hadrian—my Hadrian—catch Eamon in a crushing grip, his arms locked around the hybrid’s chest.

"Don’t you dare touch her!" Hadrian roared, his voice raw, his strength unwavering despite his wounds.

With a sudden, brutal twist, he hurled Eamon over his shoulder, sending him crashing into the dirt. The force of the impact sent him skidding to the arena’s center.

For a fleeting moment, Hadrian’s gaze met mine. My heart clenched at the sight of him—his wounds were deep, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. He was on the brink of collapse. And yet, he smiled at me, a silent promise that he was far from finished.

Then, he turned, his focus locked on Eamon.

While Eamon relied on brute strength, Hadrian wielded unparalleled speed.

The crowd fell into stunned silence as my King launched a relentless assault, each strike landing with lethal precision. With every blow he delivered, I felt his energy return—felt his will to fight rekindle.

And I knew.

I was his strength.

Watching my half-brother fall under Hadrian’s fury did not break me. I did not grieve for him, nor did I feel guilt. Eamon may have shared my blood, but he was a monster. A beast who had slaughtered thousands to build his army. He would have been sentenced to death by any ruling court. Today, that judgment was being carried out by my King.

Blow after blow, Hadrian crushed him, his rage tempered by unwavering purpose. The crowd barely breathed, stunned by the shift in the battle.

Hadrian’s strength came at a cost. I knew that the more he moved, the slower he healed. How much longer could he endure?

Eamon had underestimated him, and now, he was paying the price. When Hadrian leaped forward, Eamon extended his claws, desperate to land a fatal strike. But my King was faster.

With a single, precise swing, Hadrian’s claws sliced clean through Eamon’s arm.

A deafening howl tore from Eamon’s throat as he dropped to his knees. Blood gushed from the severed limb, staining the arena floor in seconds. His weapon—his strength—was diminished.

I gasped, clutching my chest, praying it was over.

Then Eamon laughed.

A hollow, bone-chilling sound, laced with pain, fury, and madness. It scraped against the air like jagged glass, sending a shiver through my spine.

Hadrian, unmoved, called out, “Surrender, and I will spare you.”

But Eamon had already made his choice.

With a final, guttural roar, he lunged at Hadrian, his remaining claws poised to tear through flesh.

I held my breath as they collided. A whirlwind of vicious strikes churned the dirt into a thick cloud around them. When the dust settled, both were kneeling, their bodies drenched in crimson.

I didn’t hesitate. I ran.

As I closed the distance, my heart thundered in my chest.

Then, I saw it.

Eamon’s arm fell limp at his side, while Hadrian’s claws remained buried deep within his chest.

The battle was over.

Eamon’s black irises remained locked on Hadrian, but the spiteful grin that had twisted his face began to fade. With one final, brutal pull, Hadrian withdrew his claws, shredding the hybrid’s heart. The monster was dying.

A deafening uproar erupted from the crowd. Panic spread like wildfire among the outcasts who had once rallied behind Eamon. Realizing the inevitable vengeance of the vampire kingdom, they scattered in fear, their loyalty dissolving in an instant.

Eamon’s body crumpled to the ground.

In his final moments, his gaze searched for me. When our eyes met, a faint, almost fragile smile curved his lips before the last remnants of life drained from him. As his form reverted to that of a human, a sharp breath escaped me. My chest tightened with something unexpected. Regret.

What if I had known about him before he waged this war? Could things have ended differently? If we had found each other sooner, could I have saved him from the hatred that consumed him?

But he had known about me long before I knew of him. He had the time, the resources, the power to find me. And he hadn’t.

Was I too insignificant to be his sister back then?

Had he only reached out once I had proven my strength—once I had become valuable?

I already knew the answer.

The thought fractured as a sound shattered through my daze—the heavy, sickening thud of Hadrian collapsing.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips. Terror seized me.

I ran to him.

His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. I fell to my knees, gathering his battered body into my arms as my tears welled, blurring my vision.

"Left pocket…" His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and broken.

Heart hammering, I frantically nodded and reached into the pocket of his combat pants. My fingers closed around something solid—a flare gun.

I pulled it out, showing it to him with trembling hands.

"Give Gareth a signal…"

I barely processed his words before my body moved on instinct. Raising the gun, I fired.

The flare shot into the sky, illuminating the darkness with a burst of crimson. Moments later, the Royal Army stormed the grounds, swiftly subduing Eamon’s followers. The battle was won.

But none of it mattered.

My gaze snapped back to Hadrian. His eyes had fluttered shut. His skin had gone cold beneath my touch.

"No." The word came out broken, barely a whisper.

I leaned closer, my voice trembling. "Open your eyes… Hadrian, please, open your eyes!"

I patted his face, desperate to wake him. He didn’t move.

Something inside me shattered. A raw, soul-crushing howl tore from my throat, my chest tightening so painfully it felt like I was being crushed from the inside out.

He couldn't die.

He couldn't.

How was I supposed to go on without him? How could I exist in a world where he no longer did?

I kept stroking his face, his hand, my tears falling onto his unmoving body. Around me, soldiers rushed through the battlefield, but I heard nothing. Saw nothing.

There was only him.

Only my dying King.

If I were human—if I still had mortal blood running through my veins—maybe I could have saved him. Maybe my blood could have healed him. I would have given up every ounce of strength I had as a vampire if it meant bringing him back.

"Thalassa!"

A voice broke through the haze.

I turned, barely registering Gareth and Caspian striding toward me.

Caspian’s expression darkened the moment his eyes landed on Hadrian’s still form. His stride quickened. In an instant, he was at our side, examining the King’s motionless body.

Gareth dropped to his knees beside me, his face etched with unmasked concern.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at Caspian, my voice cracking. “Caspian?”

I begged him for hope.

He hesitated before offering a small, uncertain smile.

It wasn’t the answer I had been praying for.

The world around me spun, my thoughts dissolving into a fog. I barely registered Gareth barking orders or the soldiers arriving with a stretcher. I hardly remembered them lifting Hadrian’s body or the moment I found myself sitting beside him in the helicopter, my hand gripping his cold one, pleading for a response.

He never gave me one.

Days passed. A week.

Still, he remained unconscious.

And I remained trapped in the unbearable silence of his absence.