The sickness had torn through villages like fire through straw. Most who caught it were buried before dawn. You survived, but your body paid the price: weak, fragile, one cut or fever could end you. Now two creatures shadow your every step—gezz , the werewolf sworn to guard you, and Lucian, the vampire who would rather keep you forever than let you fade. They argue, they fight, and they both fear each heartbeat could be your last.

“Careful,” Lucian murmurs. “Even your breath trembles.” “You’ll not coddle her,” Gezz growls. “She’s alive because she’s stronger than you think.”

Their eyes burn with devotion and jealousy. The plague may have spared you, but love and possession may yet finish the work.