Chapter 1
The hold walls pressed in from all sides.
Brick and stone, once a shield against danger, now smothered me in guilt. I needed out of Palace Hold. One night without scrutiny. Without the weight of my name.
These walls held me for decades. Tonight, I would step beyond them. No guards. No leash.
I waited beneath the eastern colonnade, helm lowered, insignia hidden. Just another armored figure in the courtyard. The rose quartz gravel still held the day’s heat, crunching under the shifting, restless boots of almost twenty riders.
This patrol of riders was my escape.
Above us, silk banners stirred, crimson and black, Palace Hold’s colors rippling like blood in water. Torchlight flickered across the main gate’s glazed blue tiles, casting the illusion of a wet sheen.
From the darkness, I scanned their impressively calm faces. They’d seen blood, and they were ready to spill more. It should make me feel safer. Instead, it reminded me just how weak I was.
I didn’t channel vampiric power. Not anymore.
My shoulders tensed, then eased.
No. Not weak.
I was fast, nearly a match for a rider when he shadowsprinted, surging forward with power. My blade work was precise, lethal. I may not use power, but I had control.
That was enough.
A stone column radiated warmth across my back, steadying my breath as I stood not twelve feet from their huddle. Close enough to catch every word, yet deep enough in shadow to go unnoticed.
They clustered in loose groups, tightening buckles, checking blades, tossing jokes around the silence.
I hadn’t come for their chatter. I came to vanish, riding through the mortal streets, lost in motion. Desperate for breath without regret. No pretending I wasn’t dangerous.
But then I caught it—my name, low, clipped, like a cut to the ribs.
“That assassin, the one with silver blood, she asked about the Coven’s Fury. Right before Anders bit her.”
My heart stuttered, mind racing.
Fury.
The name I never chose. The name I couldn’t shake.
Everyone thought they knew my story. At least the version inked into record. But I knew what they whispered—traitor, slayer.
Let them whisper. I deserved my fate here. Not entombed in stone, but in duty. Buried alive beneath the weight of what I’d done.
So, I buried myself in work because it hurt less than remembering. Out of sight. The intelligence company was the only place I let myself exist. Even my own riders didn’t know me. They saw the mask. The lord’s daughter, the intelligence captain, the shattered war hero who came back wrong.
But the weight was cracking me open. That’s why I planned my escape tonight.
I let my gaze drift over the group, identifying the speaker. He looked young, loud, and too proud of his rumor to lower his voice. His words cut through the still air, slipping past the gate’s stone arch and echoing through a courtyard once built to keep vampires out. Now, sheltering us instead.
Me, most of all.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t step forward, instead listening intently.
A veteran rider, his sleeve stitched with injury patches, shook his head. “Silver Assassins are posing as savorys?” He dragged a hand down his scarred chin. “Clever bastards.”
I was so taken aback by the sound of my name that I missed the first part of what the young rider said. Assassin. As in Silver Assassin. The elite group of mortals devoted to the total eradication of our kind.
The Silver Assassins weren’t simply probing our defenses.
They were hunting the Coven’s Fury. Hunting me.
And this new style of attack was clever. Turning our hunger into a trap.
Mortal savorys worked the kitchens, prepping meals and animal flasks, keeping us fed. But their blood—warm, willing—was what truly sustained our forever life.
The novice wasn’t impressed. “They’re only mortals, Calder. Anders killed her too quickly. I would’ve made her suffer.”
His voice sounded brave, but his eyes betrayed the doubt.
No. He wouldn’t have. Not if she bled silver.
It was always easier pretending they were beneath us. Weak. Disposable. That lie made the killing cleaner. I’d seen what the Silver Assassins could do. Fanatics, every one of them. Poisoned their blood, sharpened their blades, and walked into death just to take one of us with them.
Calder snorted. “That’s big talk, Leiv. Silver was already chewing through his insides. Anders was lucky to finish her.”
Dull pain thrummed through my left arm as I pressed my right palm to the blue-scarred knuckles of my left. Silver sickness carved those marks deep into the bone. The ache still pulsed beneath the skin.
I’d survived.
Barely.
The Assassins haunted the city, hiding in plain sight. They ruled the streets, but our strongholds stood firm.
Until now.
If they were striking here, inside our walls, they’d grown bolder. Smarter. I doubted they’d smuggled one of their own into our kitchens. More likely, she betrayed us willingly.
“She did put a dagger in his throat,” Leiv said, milking the attention. “But Anders kept his mouth shut about the Coven’s Fury.”
Calder’s face darkened. “The Lord save us if we can’t keep Fury safe.”
Leiv's sneer sharpened. “She should be the one keeping us safe.”
“Watch your mouth.”
Leiv raised his voice. “What’s she done for us since we got here? She’s healed, right? I’ll drag her out myself and point her at the mortals.”
Calder moved. Fast. His fist cracked against Leiv’s jaw, sending him reeling.
“You’ll regret that,” he said, stepping in. “You don’t unleash a caged wolf in the middle of a battlefield...” He leaned closer. “Not unless you want to get bit.”
My jaw tightened beneath my helm at the comparison.
Not bad, Calder. Not all wrong, either.
A wolf bites to hunt or defend. I’ve bitten to erase.
That choice kept me caged here. The Coven’s monster.
I should feel grateful for living in a place as gorgeous as Palace Hold. The mortal kings who once ruled Mithras built it as a network of lakes and courtyards. Gardens bloom behind iron gates. Aqueducts feed cool water into tiled bathing chambers. The barracks gleam. Polished furnishings line the halls.
It was beautiful. But it was still a cage.
A gilded one, maybe.
But not tonight. Tonight, I would slip out the front gate.
My power rattled in my chest as often as I rode the perimeter walls. Always pacing, pressing. If I could break free of these physical walls, maybe I could find the strength to sustain the ones inside.
The courtyard quieted as Chaplain Matthieu Ferris strode over from the palace cloisters, long stole swaying with each step. At his heels came another officer, sharp-eyed and wiry, the kind who was always overeager, always trying to prove something.
As everyone knelt for the Chaplain, I quietly joined the edge of the rider’s huddle, lowering myself next to them. Left knee plates struck the gravel, right arms braced helms in ritual.
I might break the rules tonight, but I wasn’t fool enough to miss a prayer and tempt bad luck. I responded in unison with the others. “The fallen ride with us.”
The words hit a little harder than I expected. This was why I didn’t break the rules.
Well. Not in a long time.
Matthieu walked the line of kneeling riders, one hand raised in blessing, “May the Lord keep your eyes sharp, your horses’ swift, and your mission foremost.” He turned his back to the gate, placing himself between us and the city beyond.
“The stability of Mithras rests on your shoulders,” he intoned. “Fight for your fellow riders on your left and your right.”
Something in me clenched. He believed every word. His captain’s pin matched mine, gleaming at his collar. He knew loss. His mate died in the first days of the occupation, when they both served as healers. I’d seen him once in those days, surrounded by tinctures and blood flasks, whispering prayers over the dying.
Healers and chaplains weren’t so different. One mended the body, the other the soul. After silver slowly ruined the one he loved, Matthieu turned to the only faith left to him.
While Matthieu spoke, grooms readied the warhorses poised beneath the gate. Still as statues. No stamping, no head tossing, no nostrils flared.
Did they sense it? Our hunger.
It lived right under the skin, but this patrol kept theirs buried in discipline.
Their control was impressive, but it mocked mine. I drank to silence my power, not thirst. The less I hungered, the deeper it slept. But lately, that balance shifted. My power stayed active longer after each feeding, its absence never quite complete.
I should be afraid.
Instead, relief surged—and with it, shame.
The tang of old, coppery blood lingered at the back of my tongue and memory surfaced.
Power stirred beneath my ribs, like it remembered me.
I blinked and I was there. At the Battle of the Veil.
Drenched in smoky blood at the mouth of the city gates. My squadron half broken behind the lycan enemy lines. The wolfen body of their alpha lay under me. Steam curled off his bloodied hide in the dirt, clawed hands twitching, jaw slack.
Colonel Góra’s voice echoed from somewhere—sharp, relentless. He saw it in me from the start, back at officer school. The way bloodlust bent around me instead of burning me out. He’d pushed for battlefield trials.
He got them.
I was the only vampire who could channel multiple powers at once. I shadowsprinted past enemies before thought could catch up, struck harder than they could blink, and healed as fast as the blows landed.
And something darker moved with me.
It ended the battle with smoke, blood, and silence.
And it ended who I’d been.
The mortal’s city, Mithras, lay open. Its lycan defenders, dead. Colonel Góra’s cavalry rode through the breached city gates without resistance and killed the mortal King who thought he was safe behind this stone gate.
I remember the heat more than the pain. My armor cracked as it cooled.
My father, Lord Marcus Rathi, found me collapsed on a ridge of scorched earth, too stunned for speech. He had stared. To this day, I don’t know if he was proud or afraid.
The Lord paraded me through the streets like a hero. I made it as far as the healing tents, collapsing there, and not waking again for three months.
The riders heard the truth. Their champion broke in body and soul. Only Góra and the Lord knew the real cost.
I halted the memory before it locked my spine.
Calder’s voice and Leiv’s accusation weighed on me. The riders didn’t know everything, but they guessed enough.
“Leave none behind,” Matthieu said, lifting his gaze to the heavens. His eyes glowed pale vampire blue, bright against his dark skin.
Silence settled.
A shout rang out, shattering the silence.
From the outer causeway.
Two guards sprinted through the gate, carrying a third. Her armor hung loose at the shoulder, scorched and gashed from collarbone to wrist.
“They made it past the outer perimeter before the archers dropped them,” one of them panted. “Guard post three. She didn’t see it coming.”
Matthieu moved fast with old instinct. “Hold her steady. Someone fetch ash with water.”
The guard groaned as Matthieu pressed her blistered, silver-burned skin.
One of the others lost his grip. Her body hit the stone, hard. Limbs seizing, shoulder smoking. Silver sickness burned through her.
I recoiled without thinking, unsettled by the smell of decaying meat laced with rot and metal, like infection steeped in coin.
My back hit something solid. Warm. Unmoving.
A warhorse.
I caught the saddle, steadying myself, breath shallow.
The horse snorted, but the rider didn’t flinch.
I looked up, bracing for disdain, or worse, recognition.
The Patrol Leader angled his head, faceplate down, eyes lost in shadow. His voice was low, almost amused.
“Easy, Captain. I’m not hunting you.”
Just a tease, a flick of attention, but it made my pulse jump.
He didn’t move or offer help. Simply let the silence stretch while I found my balance and stepped away.
I noticed there were no Palace Hold markings on his saddle. This patrol came from a smaller holding, probably backfill. Other patrols were scheduled, but this one was perfect for my escape.
The wiry officer stood, pale. Rattled. “We’ll resume the briefing. Riders, form up. Helms on.” He brushed dust from his breeches with a folded notebook. “This mission's a standard supply escort,” he said. He crossed his arms, drawing attention to the Right Hand insignia on his shoulder, lips sewn shut with thick gold thread. A gruesome reminder.
I recognized the freshly minted officer—Stephen Chae. Young and new to the palace. I remembered hearing he’d come from Hammam Holding, in the old city district. I wondered what he made of the wide halls and quiet gardens here, he still looked out of place.
Apprehension stirred low in my chest. If he recognized me, he might report me.
I didn’t dare ask the Colonel to leave the hold. Góra expected obedience. If he found out, he’d punish me. Not loud or bloody. My parentage shielded me from enforced silence, but not from him. He’d find another way and he’d enjoy it. He always did.
Tonight, I wore standard cavalry black and borrowed armor masking my insignia. My saber sat at my hip, a short sword across my back.
My spurs were the only true tell, etched wolf heads with real canines ripped from the fallen lycan alpha at the Battle of the Veil.
But Stephen’s eyes passed over me, without recognition.
“There’s continued attacks here in the palace district,” he said. “No indication of enemy forces near your destination at the wharves. Weather is clear and visibility favors us.”
I tuned out the rest, watching Matthieu reassure the wounded guard. I told myself she’d live.
The Silver Assassins kept testing our perimeter. I’d read the reports. But seeing it this close was different.
If they were watching Palace Hold, then riding beyond the gate was the safest move.
Out there, they wouldn’t expect me.
The logic was thin. I held onto it anyway.
For the first time in a long time, I craved the thrill of the unknown—the danger waiting in the mortal streets.
I was tired of the safety of my chambers, the dull rhythm of intelligence work. Too many secrets clung to these walls. Too many eyes tracked my every move.
I needed something else.
Something I chose.
“Cheers to a smooth ride,” Stephen finished, ticking a box in his notebook.
Stephen might be a problem.
The riders rose, mounting up. I moved quickly, intercepting Stephen and Matthieu, who passed the injured guard over to a healer.
“Nice job, Lieutenant,” I said.
Praise caught him off guard. “Thank you, but I didn’t realize any officers were joining.” Panic flashed through his widened eyes. “The Colonel said this patrol was riders only. If he finds out I missed something—”
I offered a careful smile. “I’m only here as an unscheduled ride-along.”
Stephen flipped through his notes, shaking his head. “This means changing the manifest…”
No. Góra might read the manifest. If he saw my name, he’d recognize my defiance.
Matthieu cut in, before my objection, tone dry. “I don’t think anyone here is arguing with an officer. Are they?”
I bit down on a smirk. We were all officers. Arguing, tactfully.
Stephen looked wholly unconvinced.
“The Patrol Leader should be the final word,” Matthieu added, gesturing toward the mounted figure I was already too aware of.
He sat astride the massive dapple-grey, reins in hand. The black plume on his helm stirred faintly in the breeze.
I hadn’t meant to ask the Patrol Leader’s permission. He was just a rider. Ordering him would’ve been easier. But now, I needed his approval.
His stare landed on me like a gauntlet. He’d heard everything and I awaited his judgment.
My breath caught. Would he deny me? Report me?
Chest tightening, the judgment and scrutiny scraped against my skin. One wrong breath and I’d lose the anonymity I clung to.
Swallowing hard, my mind fought to calm the worry. They didn’t know me.
The Patrol Leader leaned slightly forward on his horse. Considering.
Why was I reacting so strongly to this male?
My fingers twitched toward my saber.
No, Fury. Don’t reach for your weapon.
Instead, I reached for something older. Something hidden.
I hesitated, but only for a breath while my awareness drifted inward, brushing up against the sealed vault inside me where I kept my power locked away.
My mind screamed not to touch it. Once I opened that door, even a crack, closing it might be impossible.
But I needed something…clarity, steadiness, control.
A reminder.
Gently touching the vault door, I felt the edge of my power. It stirred beneath, slow and molten, answering like it waited. It didn’t roar, it breathed. Whispering against my touch like a promise.
I exhaled carefully and, with practiced discipline, sealed my power down even tighter.
The vault door wouldn’t open. Not today. Not ever.
My power retreated.
Without power, I was at a disadvantage, but I was in control. Total control. I lifted my chin and met the Patrol Leader’s gaze.
He urged his horse forward a couple of steps. A curtain of power, cool and thick, rolled over my skin like smoke… or silk. It curled around my cheeks, my mouth. My lips tingled, flushed. Almost like being kissed.
What in the realm was that?
My pulse pounded. My own power rose, straining in answer. I locked it down again and forced my body still. I didn’t know who touched me or where it came from.
The Patrol Leader?
Without a word, the Patrol Leader gave a curt nod.
Permission.
I was in. And whatever came next, I’d be riding straight into it.
