One second, Ren was asleep; the next, the world was orange light and shattering glass. The clinic walls groaned as an explosion from the floor below sent a violent tremor through the bed, shoving them awake.

​Cilian was up before the smoke even cleared. He didn’t ask questions. He lunged for Ren, scooping him into his arms despite Ren’s pained hiss.

​"I’ve got you," Cilian growled, his voice tight. "Don’t let go."

​He kicked the door open, moving with desperate speed to get Ren to the exit. But as he stepped into the smoke-filled hallway, he stopped dead.

​Standing in the haze were three figures.

​In the center was Julian. His pale skin was smeared with dirt, and his long black hair whipped around his face. On either side of him stood two men Cilian had assumed were dead—men he had personally cleared out during the purge. They stood there like ghosts, guns raised.

​Julian’s red eyes glowed through the dark. He looked at Cilian, then at Ren, a cruel smile spreading across his pale lips.

​"Drop Ren and die, Vane," Julian barked.

​The two men stepped forward, fingers tightening on their triggers. They weren’t looking to talk.

​Cilian’s grip on Ren tightened. He didn’t drop him. Instead, he stepped back slightly, shielding Ren’s head with his chest, even as three barrels pointed straight at his heart.

​"You should have stayed in the dirt, Julian," Cilian said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm tone.

​"And you should have realized I’m not so easy to get rid of," Julian hissed, his fangs glinting. "Now, you both go out in the fire."

​Ren felt Cilian’s heart thundering against his back. He could feel the cold metal of the silver gun pressed between them. Julian was waiting for Cilian to move, but Ren knew Cilian wouldn’t let him go—not even to save his own life.

​Suddenly, another explosion rocked the building, closer this time. The ceiling above them began to crack.

​"Now!" Cilian yelled, but he wasn’t talking to Julian. He was talking to Ren.

Ren knew the drill, and he didn’t hesitate. He raised the silver gun and fired twice. The two henchmen collapsed into the haze, silver bullets tearing through their heads before they could even blink.

​But Julian was faster. He moved like a shadow, which made it difficult to catch.

​Before Ren could turn the barrel, Julian was behind them. With a rough, guttural snarl, he lashed out. His long, blackened nails ripped through the back of Cilian’s shirt, carving deep, red furrows into his flesh.

​Cilian let out a choked groan, his body jolting from the impact, but his arms didn’t waver.

He still didn’t drop Ren, and he didn’t turn around to face his attacker either. He kept his back to Julian, using his own body as a human shield to make sure not a single claw or bullet could reach Ren.

​"Cilian!" Ren cried out, feeling the warmth of Cilian’s blood soaking into his own hospital gown. "He’s behind you! Turn around!"

​"No," Cilian hissed through gritted teeth, his voice straining with pure agony. "He wants you. I’m not... giving him an opening, darling."

​Cilian stumbled forward, his boots slipping on the blood-slicked floor, but he kept moving toward the stairwell.

He was taking the hits, absorbing the pain, his only focus being the weight in his arms.

​Julian laughed, a cold, shrill sound that rose above the roar of the fire. He lunged again, his red eyes fixed on Cilian’s spine.

"You’re going to bleed out before you reach the door, Vane! Why die for a boy who hated you yesterday?"

Julian’s hand shot out again, his fingers hooking into Cilian’s shoulder, trying to yank him back. Cilian slammed his shoulder into the doorframe to dislodge him, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps.

"Because he’s mine," Cilian whispered, more to Ren than to Julian, a warm, bloody smile on his lips. "And no one can take him from me."

Ren frowned and lifted the gun again. He couldn’t handle this. He was the one with the gun. One shot. Just one shot.

Cilian’s legs buckled, his knees hitting the floor hard, but he still refused to let Ren go. He kept Ren cradled against his chest, shielding him even as his own blood pooled on the tiles. Julian loomed over them, a terrifying shadow of white skin and black hair, his red eyes wide with a manic, hungry triumph.

"Finally," Julian hissed. "You can watch him take him from your corpse then."

He lunged, his hand shaped like a spear, aiming straight for the center of Cilian’s back—right where his heart beat against Ren’s. His sharpened nails tore through the muscle, piercing a centimeter deep into the flesh of the heart. Julian’s face twisted into a victorious grin, his fangs bared.

He thought he had won.

But Ren was done being protected. He shoved the barrel of the silver gun over Cilian’s shoulder, pressing it directly against the center of Julian’s chest.

BANG!

The first silver bullet exploded into Julian’s ribs. The vampire’s eyes snapped wide, the grin vanishing as the silver began to melt his insides. He tried to screech, but Ren didn’t give him the chance.

Ren’s face was a mask of cold, jagged fury. He shifted his aim upward, the barrel pointing right between those glowing red eyes.

BANG!

The second shot tore through Julian’s forehead. Ren didn’t stop. He pulled the trigger again and again, the muzzle flashes lighting up the smoke-filled hallway. BANG! BANG! BANG! He fired until the magazine was empty, until Julian’s head was a shattered mess of bone and black smoke.

The vampire’s body jerked back, his hand slipping out of Cilian’s wound, before he finally collapsed into a heap of pale limbs and smoldering fabric.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the roar of the fire downstairs and Cilian’s ragged, wet breathing.

The silver gun clicked—empty. Ren let it fall from his shaking fingers. He scrambled out of Cilian’s arms, his own bandages soaking with Cilian’s blood.

"Cilian!" Ren choked out, grabbing the Alpha’s face.

Cilian looked at him, his golden-brown eyes unfocused and swimming with pain.

Despite the holes in his back and the blood trailing from his lips, that fox-like smile was still there—warm, bloody, and devastatingly real.

"You... you got him," Cilian whispered, his voice a faint rasp. He leaned his forehead against Ren’s, his skin burning with fever. "My brave... darling."

"Shut up, don’t talk," Ren barked, trying to put pressure on Cilian’s shoulder. "We have to go. The building is coming down!"

"Ah, I think it’s already... too late."

"Don’t talk nonsense, Cilian. It’s not too late. I just found out the truth. I just..."

Cilian reached for his face and then said,