Ren stared at the silver gun loaded with silver bullets. He could use it with his eyes closed but right now, he’s lost too much blood to function properly.

His vision was blurring and his hands... they were shaking.

"I can’t... I can’t aim, Cilian. My hands are shaking too much," Ren admitted.

Cilian looked at his soaked fabric and felt a pang of pain in his chest.

"Then don’t aim. Just fire," Cilian replied, his voice soft for a second. "At least one bullet will hit him and it’ll throw him off balance."

Ren’s fingers felt like lead as they curled around the grip of the pistol. The silver metal was cold, a sharp contrast to the sticky heat of the blood soaking his clothes. Every time the SUV jolted, a white-hot flash of pain surged from his abdomen, making his head spin.

​"Cilian..." he gasped, the word barely a breath. His vision was tunneling, the world outside the window turning into a smear of gray and orange.

​"Now, Ren! Do it!" Cilian roared, his voice cracking with a desperation he had never shown before. Cilian was fighting the steering wheel with one hand, his other arm locked in a brutal struggle to keep Julian’s clawed hand away from Ren’s throat.

​Ren lifted the gun. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Through the shattered window, Julian’s face was a nightmare of pale skin and glowing eyes, his mouth open in a hiss of anticipation. The vampire wasn’t even looking at the weapon; he was looking at Ren like he was a feast.

​Ren didn’t aim. He couldn’t see straight through his tears and the dizzying blur of his blood loss. He simply pointed the heavy barrel toward the source of the snarling and pulled the trigger.

​BANG!

​The recoil sent a jolt of agony through Ren’s wounded stomach, making him cry out. The silver bullet hissed through the air, catching Julian in the shoulder.

​A horrific, high-pitched scream tore from Julian’s throat as the silver burned into his pale flesh.

The impact jerked his body backward, his grip on Ren’s shoulder finally breaking. He tumbled away from the speeding car, a streak of black smoke trailing from his wound as he hit the pavement and rolled into the darkness.

​"Good! That’s my darling," Cilian hissed, his chest heaving as he slammed the SUV into a higher gear. "Keep the gun up, Ren. Stay with me. We’re almost there."

​Ren let the gun sink into his lap, his strength completely spent. He looked at Cilian, his eyes half-closed. The Alpha was driving like a madman, his face set in a mask of lethal focus, but his hand reached over to grip Ren’s shoulder, squeezing tight.

​"I... I hit him," Ren whispered, his voice fading.

​"You did," Cilian said, his tone thick with a dark, twisted pride. "You’re a Pierce, Ren. Even broken and bleeding, you’re more dangerous than all of them."

​Ren leaned his head back, the sound of the wind through the broken window roaring in his ears.

​"Cilian," Ren murmured, his eyes finally slipping shut. "Don’t... don’t let them take me."

​"Never," Cilian promised, his voice a low, terrifying vow that followed Ren into the blackness. "I’ll burn the rest of the world before I let go."

...

The clinic was silent. Ren lay in the bed, bandaged and pale. The heavy fog from the surgery was gone, but it was replaced by a hollow feeling.

For months, he had lived for revenge. Now that the truth was out, that goal was gone. He had no family to avenge and no home to return to. He felt like nothing.

Cilian sat by the bed. He had changed his clothes, but he still looked tired. He took Ren’s hand and kissed it slowly.

"You’ve been quiet for a long time, Ren," Cilian whispered. "Why are you so deep in thought?"

Ren didn’t pull his hand away. He looked at the man he had hated for so long.

"I was thinking about what’s left," Ren said. His voice was weak. "I spent every day hating you. I lived for it. Now that I know the truth... I don’t have that anymore. I don’t have anything."

Cilian’s grip tightened. "You have me. You’ve always had me."

"But who am I now?" Ren asked. A tear fell down his face. "I’m just a prize you kept. Without my hate, I’m empty."

Cilian leaned in close. "You aren’t a prize. You’re the only thing that’s real to me. If you can’t find a reason to live for yourself yet, then live for this." He kissed Ren’s knuckles again. "You aren’t a slave anymore, alright? You’re free."

Ren looked at him, his heart thumping painfully.

"Is this what freedom feels like? Being stuck with a monster? My monster?"

Cilian gave a small, dark smile. "It’s better than being sold by ’saints,’ isn’t it?"

"Yeah," he muttered, turning his face away to hide his sudden flush. "I think so."

Cilian watched the soft color rise on Ren’s neck, his smile widening just a fraction. He didn’t push. He knew Ren was processing a lifetime of lies in a single morning.

"Hungry?" Cilian asked, his voice dropping to a more normal, gentle tone. "The doctors said you need to eat to help with the blood loss. I can have anything brought here."

Ren didn’t look back at him yet. He was staring at the IV line in his arm, watching the clear fluid drip. "Anything?"

"Anything," Cilian confirmed.

"I want the spicy noodles from that shop near the old apartment," Ren said. It was a small, human request—a memory of a time before the island, before the blood. "The one my brother used to hate because of the smell."

Cilian’s expression shifted, a momentary shadow crossing his face at the mention of the brother who had betrayed Ren. But he simply nodded. "I’ll have someone get them. But you’ll have to eat slowly. Your stomach is still healing."

Ren finally turned his head back to look at him. "Cilian?"

"Yes?"

"What happened to Julian? He isn’t dead. Silver in the shoulder won’t kill a vampire like him."

Cilian stood up, straightening his black shirt. The softness in his eyes didn’t vanish, but a cold, sharp edge returned to his posture.

"He isn’t dead yet," Cilian agreed. "But he’s hiding. He knows I’m hunting him now. He’s no longer a threat to you, Ren. I’ve doubled the guard at this clinic, and the Mordecais are too busy burying their own to come back for a second round today."

He leaned down, pressing a final, firm kiss to Ren’s forehead.

"I have to handle a few things. Rest, Ren. When you wake up, your noodles will be here."

Ren watched him walk toward the door. As Cilian reached for the handle, Ren spoke up one more time.

"Don’t get yourself killed," Ren muttered, his voice barely audible. "I don’t want to have to figure out what to do with your body."

Cilian paused, his back to Ren. He let out a short, dark chuckle. "I’ll try my best, darling. I’d hate to ruin your floor."

When the door clicked shut, Ren was left in the silence of the clinic. He touched the spot on his forehead where Cilian had kissed him. He still felt hollow, but for the first time in two years, the hollowness didn’t feel like a grave. It felt like a clean slate.

He closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. It was as if the burden on his heart and mind had finally been lifted.