The Name She Wrote in Blood

The ball was held at Ravencrest Keep. Vampire nobles drifted through the grand hall in their finest attire, dancing to elegant music.

I stood alone in a corner, dressed in a deep blue silk gown, coldly observing the scene.

The center of attention, of course, was Mortlock and Isabella. Isabella was in a shimmering silver gown that sparkled under the lights. She stayed glued to Mortlock's side, and their intimacy drew countless envious stares.

"It seems Prince Mortlock truly favors his little savior. He's completely ignoring his own mate..."

"So the rumors are true. The Prince and Grace really don't get along."

The whispers reached my ears, but I pretended not to hear. I sipped my glass of blood, my mind only on the Aethel Ruins, now just six days away.

"Lady Grace." A vampire approached me, a sneer on his face.

I offered a faint smile. "I find such gatherings... tedious."

"Oh, I understand," he said, lowering his voice. "It must be difficult, watching your own mate with another woman."

I didn't answer, just kept drinking. He was about to say more when Mortlock appeared, with Isabella still in tow.

His sharp gaze fell on the other vampire. "What were you saying to my mate?" Mortlock asked coolly. "Why don't you share it with me?"

The vampire was from a minor house. Terrified by the Prince's aura, he bowed quickly and scurried away.

I looked at Mortlock, at that possessive display, and felt a familiar mix of emotions. It was always like this in my past life. He would always choose Isabella over me, yet he never hid his possessiveness of me. That whiplash was the source of all my pain.

"By the way, Grace," Mortlock said, leaning close to my ear. His voice held a hint of guilt. "I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"About the Consort's chambers…" he began, looking troubled. "I was hoping you could wait a little longer before moving in. Isabella is staying there now, and it would be hard for her to adjust so suddenly. I hope you can be understanding."

The Consort's chambers. The rooms that should have been mine as his bonded mate, now occupied by Isabella. And he was asking me, his wife, to give up my own chambers for his "savior."

"Of course," I said, a faint smile on my lips. "No problem."

Mortlock beamed. "I knew you'd understand."

Just as the last flicker of feeling in my heart died out, a sharp whistling sound cut through the air.

"Look out!"

A silver-tipped bolt shot down from a high window, aimed straight for Isabella. Silver is a deadly poison to our kind. A direct hit could mean severe injury or even death.

Mortlock reacted in a heartbeat. He shoved Isabella behind him, shielding her with his own body. The bolt grazed his shoulder and embedded itself deep in the opposite wall.

But it wasn't over.

A second and a third bolt followed, and the hall erupted into chaos. Nobles screamed and scattered. In the stampede, someone shoved me hard, and I lost my balance, stumbling backward.

Just then, a bolt flew in from the side, striking me in the left shoulder.

"Ah!"

Searing pain shot through me. The silver began to eat at my flesh, and my vision went black as I nearly passed out from the agony. I clutched the wound as blood seeped through my fingers, staining my blue dress red.

Through the crowd, I saw Mortlock clutching Isabella, whispering to her, trying to calm her down.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here," his voice was heartbreakingly gentle.

He hadn't even noticed me on the floor.

Not until a Duke shouted in panic, "Lady Grace! You've been hit!"

Only then did Mortlock finally look up in my direction. As he did, the pain overwhelmed me, and I slipped into darkness.