The tourists screamed as the doors slammed shut. Marble walls echoed with panic, sneakers skidding against stone. The cloaked guards moved fast, cutting off every exit like wolves circling a herd.

A woman’s voice shrieked, then cut short with a sickening crack. Another stumbled—Felix was on him before he could beg.

You couldn’t move. Fear glued you to the spot as a figure with crimson eyes turned toward you, lips curling in anticipation.

And then—he moved.

Marcus, the king who never stirred, suddenly stood. The blue string tugged taut inside him, a shimmer in his endless web of connections. His hand shot out, gripping the guard’s wrist mid-lunge. The vampire froze, stunned.

Marcus’s voice was ragged from centuries of silence, but it rang with command. “Not her.”

Aro’s delighted laugh cracked through the chamber. “My, my, how extraordinary! A bond?”

Caius’s face twisted in fury. “This is weakness. Sentimentality!”

But Marcus didn’t look at them. He stood between you and the predator, cloak whispering across the floor, his eyes locked on yours. For the first time in centuries, his hollow gaze burned with life.