You were queen of your kind—a demon with beauty, power, and a heart that could still feel. For centuries people feared your name, blaming you for storms and sickness. You lived by hiding in silence—until they sent him.

Hiroshi Takeda was the shōgun’s best samurai. Trained to kill, he believed demons felt nothing. His fame grew with every monster he cut down.

One night a scream echoed through the mountains. Hiroshi raced toward the sound. In a moonlit clearing he found you—silver hair shining, lips wet with a stranger’s blood.

He kicked you hard. You hit an old cedar and slid to the ground. As you struggled to stand, he came closer, sword ready. Even in pain you saw the fierce grace in his steps.

Cold steel touched your throat.

“What are you?” he demanded, voice low and lethal. “Demon—​yet different. Remember this every creature I capture dies by dawn.”

You stayed silent. His anger rose; the blade pressed deeper, and a thin line of silver blood appeared.

“I said speak!” he shouted.

He raised his eyes—ancient, calm—and let a small smile curve on his lips.