Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

MERCY

M ercy lay in the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling above her. She felt weak, drained, but not just physically. Her entire being felt diminished like someone had ripped away a piece of her soul and left a hollow space behind. Her arms were too heavy to move, and her chest ached—not only a kind of phantom pain from the wounds she had sustained in battle, but from the weight of everything she had lost in a single moment. Her independence. Her identity.

Her humanity.

The room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the faint, metallic tang of blood—her blood. It lingered, a reminder of the witch's blow that had shattered her body. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she'd woken, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. She couldn't shake the gnawing hunger deep inside her, a hunger that made her stomach twist with revulsion and fear.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the walls of the abbey, but all she could manage was to lie there, consumed by the overwhelming sense of betrayal and grief. She had always fought her own battles, always made her own choices. But this? This had been done to her. She hadn't asked for this. She hadn't asked to be turned into a vampire, to be stripped of everything she had once been into something she hated.

Her gaze drifted to the door, her jaw tightening when it creaked open, and Hunter stepped inside. He moved with his usual confident grace, his expression unreadable, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. His dark eyes flicked to her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Mercy's gut twisted and clenched. She didn't have the energy to yell at him again, but that didn't stop the surge of resentment that flared within her. She glared at him as he crossed the room, her eyes burning with anger, though she didn't say a word.

Hunter reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and pulled out a heavy crystal goblet. She eyed it warily as he poured a deep, red liquid from a flagon, the scent of what was inside hitting her before she could even see it—blood. It wasn't as thick as she'd thought it would be. He swirled it in the chalice, thick and rich, and her stomach twisted with both hunger and disgust.

"I brought you this," Hunter said quietly, holding the goblet out to her. "I mixed it with wine. You need to drink."

Mercy's lips curled in revulsion, her nose wrinkling as she turned her head away. "I'm not drinking that."

"You have to," he replied, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need to intake a certain amount of blood every so often, or you'll die."

She let out a hollow laugh, one that felt more like a sob. "Maybe that would be preferable. You didn't steal all of my choices when you chose to turn me into something you knew I loathed. I had begun to believe you lacked the all-consuming arrogance of your kind. My kind now, I guess, unless I choose to end it. That's a choice you can't take from me. Elyria will ensure that."

Hunter's expression darkened, the flicker of pain in his eyes turning to something sharper—anger. She knew she was being unreasonable, but she didn't care. She wanted to strike out at him, cause him the pain and confusion he had caused her. He set the goblet down on the bedside table with a clink, stepping closer to her, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"Preferable?" he growled, his voice low and rough. "You think I wanted this for you? You think I would've done this if I'd had any other choice?"

Mercy glared up at him, her voice trembling with the force of her resentment. "It should have been my choice, Hunter. You took that from me. You made this decision without even consulting me."

"Because you were dead, Mercy," Hunter snapped, his voice rising. "I didn't have time to debate the ethics of it with you. There was barely a spark of life left in you. For all intents and purposes, you were gone. Your heart had stopped. You had ceased to breathe. And I—" His voice cracked slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I couldn't let you go."

She stared at him; her chest tight with emotion. It was hard to argue with that. She had been dying. She remembered the searing pain of the witch's blow, the darkness closing in around her. She had been slipping away. But that didn't change the fact that she hadn't wanted this life—if it could even be called a life.

"You still did it," she whispered, her voice bitter. "You made that choice."

Hunter's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and anguish. "I turned my back on everything I've believed and held dear since the Neolithic Age to save you," he growled. "Do you have any idea what that means? Do you know what it's like to have everything you love, everything you know, ripped away from you? To be turned into something you despise?"

Mercy frowned, taken aback by the raw emotion in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

Hunter let out a harsh breath, his hands flexing as if trying to contain his emotions. "I was born before there was a recorded history. A warrior in a tribe of hunters and gatherers. I was turned by those who destroyed my village. I watched them slaughter everyone I knew, everyone I loved, and then they turned me—made me into one of them, a vampire. It was a punishment. A curse. I spent centuries hating what I was, fighting against it."

He paused, his gaze locking onto hers, fierce and intense. "But eventually, I realized I had a choice. I could let the darkness consume me, or I could fight back. I could use what I'd become to protect others, to fight for something better. That's what you have to decide now, Mercy."

She swallowed hard; her throat tight as his words sank in. She had never thought of it like that—never considered that he might have been through something similar, that he had fought the same battle she was now facing.

"Elyria was right," Hunter continued, his voice softening slightly. "You can deny what you've become, and it will kill you. Or you can embrace it, use it to fight. You've always fought on the side of the light; that doesn't have to change. You think the Shadow Sisters won't respect you now? You're stronger than you've ever been. You'll be a force no one can deny."

Mercy shook her head, her voice trembling. "You still made this decision for me."

Hunter nodded; his expression grim. "Yes. I did. But only because I couldn't lose you. From the time I woke as a vampire, I have never loved anyone more than myself… until now."

His words hit her like a punch to the gut, the weight of his confession settling heavily in the room. She opened her mouth to argue, to yell at him again, but no words came out. Her anger faltered, crumbling under the weight of her confusion and the raw truth of his feelings.

Hunter reached for the goblet again and held it out to her. "Drink," he said quietly. "I know you don't want to, but you have to. Trust me… I've been where you are. It isn't human. I killed a deer, drained the blood for you and brought the rest back to the butcher for those here at the abbey."

Mercy hesitated, staring at the blood with a mixture of fear and disgust. But there was also hunger, a deep, gnawing hunger that made her stomach twist painfully. She hated herself for wanting it—for needing it.

Reluctantly, she took the goblet from his hands, her fingers trembling as she brought it to her lips. The scent of the blood was overwhelming, rich and metallic, and she had to fight the urge to gag.

But when she took a sip, it wasn't what she had expected. The blood was warm, thick, but instead of the disgusting, coppery taste she had feared, it was… delicious. Her eyes widened in shock as the liquid slid down her throat, the hunger inside her easing slightly with every swallow.

Mercy recoiled, horrified by how good it tasted, and immediately pushed the goblet back at Hunter. "I can't," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I can't do this."

Hunter took the goblet from her and tipped it back toward her lips, his touch gentle but firm. "I understand," he said quietly. "I felt the same way at first. You're afraid that if you like it too much, you'll lose control. That you'll start killing people for it. I had the same fear."

She stared at him, hearing her exact fears said out loud, and he nodded.

"But you can master it, Mercy," he continued. "You don't have to kill anyone. You don't have to become a monster. You can take what you need without ever hurting an innocent person. And if you choose to, you can take from those who deserve to die—people who have hurt others."

His words made too much sense, and it scared her. Everything she had believed about vampires, everything she had feared, was crumbling in the face of what he was telling her. She didn't want to believe him, but the hunger inside her was so strong, so overwhelming, and the blood had tasted so good…

"I don't want to become like them," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"You won't," Hunter said firmly. "You're stronger than that. You've always been stronger than that."

She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since he had entered the room. There was something in his eyes—something she hadn't noticed before. Compassion. Understanding. Humanity.

"How did you do it?" she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. "How did you retain your humanity?"

Hunter's expression softened. "When they turned me, the vampires who did it thought they had created another of them to be used as fodder in their dreams and plans for conquest. But what they didn't realize was that they had created their worst enemy. I refused to let them win. I refused to become like them."

He paused, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I've spent centuries hunting those who think they can take whatever they want, who believe they're better than others just because of what they are. I've spent my life fighting for those who can't fight for themselves."

Mercy raised an eyebrow, a small, bitter smile forming on her own lips. "That sounds a little ironic, coming from a vampire."

Hunter chuckled softly. "Yes, I am aware of that. But it's the truth. Drink."

She allowed him to hold the goblet for her as she drained the glass. The room began to fill with a more comfortable silence, the tension between them easing for the first time since she had woken. Mercy felt her shoulders relax slightly, the weight of her fear lifting just enough for her to take a breath. She still didn't want this—still hated what had been done to her—but for the first time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she could survive it.

She looked up at Hunter, her gaze locking with his, and in that moment, something shifted between them. The anger, the resentment, the fear—it all faded into the background, replaced by something deeper. Something far more primal.

Her pulse quickened, but not from fear. Hunter stepped closer, his eyes darkening with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the pull between them growing stronger with every passing second.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Mercy's breath hitched, her heart racing as he closed the distance between them. She knew she should push him away, that she should still be angry with him, but all she felt was the overwhelming need to be closer to him. To feel his touch. To give in to the tension that had been building between them for so long.

Without thinking, she reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled him down to her. Their lips met in a fierce, desperate kiss, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

All that mattered was the fire between them, the raw, undeniable connection that had been simmering beneath the surface from the moment they had met.

Hunter growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her waist as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Mercy melted into him, her body humming with a new kind of hunger—one that had nothing to do with blood.

In that moment, everything else fell away.

There was only him.