5. Thorne

5

THORNE

My gaze tracks her movement in almost slow motion. She leaps at poor Dennis, sipping from his to-go cup of synthetic blood, making him yell in panic as she grabs at it and rips the lid off it like a woman possessed. The scent of blood fills the air, and I can see the moment it overwhelms her completely. She gulps it back, throws the cup on the floor and then eyes up poor Dennis like he is her next meal. She launches herself at him, scaring him half to death.

Before Flint or his father can react, I intercept her mid-leap. I wrap my arms around her delicious curves, and I'm struck by how small she feels, how fragile despite the inhuman strength coursing through her. Her skin is cool to the touch, even for me.

She kicks and screams, her body twisting in my grip as she fights for the blood. Any blood, it seems. Her claws lash out at my skin, leaving stinging trails across my arms. I grit my teeth against the unusual burn, tightening my hold. The scent of my blood mingles with the synthetic stuff, and it makes her even more determined to get her fangs into someone.

"Easy," I murmur, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. "Easy now, princess." The surprising endearment slips out, natural on my lips. There's something about her, something that calls to me on a level I don't quite understand yet.

But she's beyond reason, lost in the throes of bloodlust. Her fangs snap inches from my face as she twists and tries to bite me, her eyes wild and unfocused. This close, I can see flecks of red in her irises. She is completely lost right now. Definitely a vampire. Definitely new and, if I were to hazard a guess, abandoned by her sire. It makes me want to rip their throat out for leaving her to suffer like this. It's cruel and unforgiving.

A crowd is gathering to see the chaos, but luckily, Professor Blackthorne appears, his face a mask of concern and determination. With a wave of his hand and a muttered incantation, a shimmering barrier appears around us. The violet-haired woman thrashes in my arms, but her movements become sluggish, as if she's moving through water.

"I've got her," Blackthorne says, his voice tight. "You can let go now, Thorne."

Reluctantly, I release my hold on her. As soon as I do, Blackthorne's spell takes full effect, and she floats suspended in the air, still struggling but unable to move. Her eyes dart around wildly, filled with hunger and fear that tugs at something deep inside me.

"Eldra," Blackthorne calls, "assist me, please. We need to get Violet to her room and contained."

The blue-skinned receptionist nods, hurrying around her desk. Together, she and Blackthorne guide the floating, still-fighting Violet away. I watch them go, fighting the urge to follow, to make sure she is okay.

As they disappear down a corridor, I turn my attention to Flint and his father. The younger Snow Dragon looks worried. His father, on the other hand, appears more composed, though there's a tightness around his eyes that betrays his concern.

"What in the seven hells was that about?" I demand. "Who is she? Where did she come from?"

Flint runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've noticed he makes when he's stressed. "Her name is Violet," he says, his voice low, He glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before continuing. "I met her a little while ago. She was desperate, trying to escape."

"Escape from where?" I ask.

Flint's face darkens, a shadow passing over his usually calm features that intrigues me more than it should. "An ancient vampire called Nathaniel. She said he turned her against her will. Killed her parents, kept her prisoner for weeks. She was desperate to get away."

I feel a sudden and shocking surge of rage at his words, hot and fierce. As a Dark Fae noble, I've seen my fair share of cruelty and manipulation. The politics of the Fae court can be brutal, alliances shifting like sand beneath your feet. But this is something else entirely. To turn someone against their will and apparently deprive them of blood is unconscionable. Even by the often-twisted standards of supernatural morals, this is extreme.

"So, you decided to play hero and rescue her?" I ask, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from my voice. It's not that I disapprove—far from it. But it's a risky move, one that could have serious consequences.

Flint's father, who has been silent until now, speaks up. His voice is deep and rumbling like distant thunder, carrying the weight of his authority. "My son asked for my help," he says, his gaze steady and unapologetic. "He believed the girl was in genuine danger. I chose to trust his judgement. Nathaniel can deal with me if he chooses this battle."

I nod slowly, processing this information. It's a lot to take in. My gaze drifts to where Violet disappeared, and I'm surprised by the intensity of my concern for her. I've only exchanged a brief glance in the courtyard with her earlier, and yet, I feel drawn to her in a way I can't explain. Is it simply the mystery surrounding her? Or is it something more ?

"She needs help," I say, more to myself than to Flint or his father. "Support. She has no idea what she's become or how to control it." I think back to her frenzied state, the raw hunger and fear in her eyes. It must be terrifying to be thrust into this new existence without guidance or understanding.

Flint nods eagerly, seeming relieved that I'm not condemning their actions. "That's why I thought MistHallow would be the best place for her. Here, she can learn to control her new abilities, to understand what she is now, and she'll be safe from Nathaniel."

I'm not so sure about that last part. If this Nathaniel wants her back, he won't give up easily. MistHallow is powerful, yes, but not impenetrable. But I keep these doubts to myself for now. MistHallow is one of the safest places for her to be, and right now, that's what matters most.

Despite all of this, I make a silent vow to protect her. As the son of one of the most powerful nobles in the Dark Fae Kingdom, I'm not unfamiliar with danger. My childhood was one of privilege and politics, of shadowy corridors and whispered secrets. I was groomed from birth to take my place in the intricate dance of Fae politics, to wield power and influence with the same ease as I manipulate shadows.

But it's not an easy place to live.

I remember the endless lessons in etiquette and strategy, learning to read the subtle shifts in expression that could mean the difference between alliance and betrayal. I was taught to see every interaction as a game of chess, to always be three moves ahead. My father would stand over me as I practiced, his voice cold and demanding. "Weakness is not an option, Thorne," he would say. "In our world, the weak are devoured."

Trust is in short supply, and you treat everyone as an enemy unless they prove otherwise, and even then, you can't take it for granted.

But beneath the lessons and the expectations, I always felt there was something missing. The endless conspiracies of the Fae court, the constant jockeying for position... it all felt hollow somehow. Empty. I wanted something more real and substantial beyond the glittering fa?ades and honeyed lies of court life.

When I heard about MistHallow from my cousin, Prince Zephyr, about the opportunity to study alongside other supernatural beings, to learn about magick beyond the narrow confines of Fae tradition, I knew I had to come. It was a chance to broaden my horizons, to understand the wider supernatural world in a way few Fae ever do.

My father was furious, of course. He saw it as a rejection of everything he'd worked for, everything he'd tried to instil in me. I can still see his face, twisted with disappointment, as I told him of my decision.

But my mother, in a rare show of defiance, supported my decision. I'll never forget the moment she stood up to my father. Her words still resonate. Learn. Grow. But never forget who you are .

So here I am, navigating this world of diverse magicks and cultures for my third year running. It's been challenging, eye-opening, and more fulfilling than I ever could have imagined. I've learned things about magick —and about myself —that I never would have discovered in the cloistered world of the Fae court.

I've made friends that I trust with my life, one of them the Dragon shifter glaring at me as my mind wanders all over the place, scattered by this delicate vampire who has been thrown into the lion's den.

I turn back to Flint, my mind made up. "We need to help her. Whatever Violet needs, we need to protect her. She is vulnerable, and we can't let anything hurt her." The words surprise me even as I say them, but I know they're true. Something about Violet has awakened a protective instinct in me, a desire to see her safe and thriving, and mine.

Flint looks surprised, his eyebrows rising slightly. But he nods with a small smile. "You feel it, too?"

I ignore the burning gaze of Flint's dad and nod, trying to appear nonchalant even as I feel a possessive surge at the thought of Violet. It's not a feeling I'm used to, and it excites me but also unnerves me. "Consider me intrigued."

I meet the gaze of Flint's father steadily, refusing to be intimidated. I may be young by Fae standards, but I am still a noble, trained to hold my own in the face of far more intimidating figures than him. After a moment, he nods, seemingly satisfied with whatever he sees in my eyes. He appears to have taken an active role in this woman's life as her saviour, and that's fine.

For now. But one day, that will be my role.

"Very well," he rumbles, his voice like gravel. "I'll speak with Professor Blackthorne about arranging for both of you to assist in Violet's transition."

He moves off in the direction Blackthorne went with Violet, and I lock gazes with Flint. "What in the actual hell?"

He shrugs. "Exactly as I told you. She was being held, and when I tried to create a distraction to help her escape, Nathaniel realised something was up, and we didn't have time to mess about. I told Dad to help her and bring her here. He did."

"You have created a shitstorm waiting to happen."

"You don't fucking say," he drawls. "But not a fucking chance was I leaving her there to be mistreated by an eight hundred-year-old vampire with a penchant for young women."

My skin crawls at that. "Did he touch her?" I bite out.

"No clue."

"If he did, I will kill him with my bare hands."

"Get in line, mate," Flint says with a deadly look on his face. It's not often he gets riled up, but this situation has got under his skin. Or rather, Violet has. I understand it, up to a point. I know she is special, but right now, I don't know why. It's a gut feeling, and my instinct is rarely wrong .

"Let's go and find Caine. He needs to know what's going on."

Flint nods and we take off to find our third, our minds clearly still on Violet and how we can help her transition.