Copyright © 2022 by Carissa Broadbent
Cover Art by KD Ritchie at Storywrappers Design.
Under-jacket hardcover design by Nathan Medeiros.
Interior Design by Carissa Broadbent.
Editing by Noah Sky: [email protected].
Proofreading by Anthony Holabird: holabirdediting.com.
Proofreading by Rachel Theus-Cass.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Author’s note:
This book contains subject matter that might be difficult for some readers, including violence, torture (off page), flashback of rape (consent withdrawn), self-harm, emotional abuse, slavery, and references to sexual abuse.
CONTENTS
Prologue
I. Dusk
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
II. Full Moon
Interlude
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
III. Waning Moon
Interlude
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
IV. Half Moon
Interlude
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
V. Crescent Moon
Interlude
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
VI. New Moon
Interlude
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
VII. Night
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Author’s Note
Also by Carissa Broadbent
Glossary of Terms
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PROLOGUE
The king did not know then that his greatest love would also be his ruination—nor that either would come in the form of a tiny, helpless human child.
She was a lone flutter of life in an endless expanse of decay, the only living mortal for a hundred miles. The child was perhaps four, perhaps eight—it was hard to tell, because she was so, so small, even by human standards. Just a frail little creature with slick black hair that curtained wide gray eyes.
Somewhere, buried beneath charred beams and crumbled stone, the girl’s family likely lay crushed beyond recognition. Or perhaps their ravaged bodies had been left out in the night, taken by predators just like the ones that stalked the child now, looking down at her with the interest that a hawk afforded a rabbit.
The humans, of course, were nothing more than that in this world—prey, pests, or often both.
The three winged men landed before her, smiling at their luck. Immediately, the little girl struggled against the debris that pinned her. She recognized what they were—recognized their pointed teeth and black, featherless wings, and perhaps she even recognized the uniforms they wore, the deep purple of the Hiaj Nightborn King. Perhaps the men who had burned her home had worn uniforms just like these.
But she could not run. Her clothing was torn and hopelessly tangled in the ruins around her. She was too small to shift the stones.
“Look at this. A little lamb.” The men approached. As one of them reached out for her, she snarled at him, catching his fingertips between small, blunt teeth.
The soldier hissed and yanked his hand away, while his companions laughed.
“A lamb? More like a viper.”
“Or a garden snake,” another scoffed.
The bitten soldier rubbed his hand, wiping away a few droplets of crimson-black. He started for the child. “Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. “They taste the same. And I don’t know about you bastards, but I’m hungry after such a long night.”
But then a shadow fell over them all.
The men stilled. They lowered heads in reverent bows. The cool air shivered, the darkness twisting around their faces and wings like a blade caressing a throat.
The Hiaj king did not utter a single word. He did not need to. The moment he made his presence known, all of his warriors fell into silence.
He was not the physically strongest vampire. He was not the fiercest warrior nor the wisest sage. But they said he was blessed by the goddess Nyaxia herself, and anyone who had ever met him would swear it to be true. Power seeped from his every pore, and death stained his every breath.
His soldiers said nothing as he stepped over the wreckage of the little home.
“The Rishan have been eradicated from the area,” one of them chanced, after several long moments. “The rest of our men have traveled north and—”
The king lifted his hand, and the warrior went quiet.
He kneeled down before the little girl, who glowered at him. So young, he thought. Her life, a mere handful of years, was nothing compared to his centuries of existence. And yet, she drew upon such intense hatred as she glared at him, her eyes as bright and silver as the moon.
“She was found here?” the king asked.
“Yes, sire.”
“Is she the reason for the blood on your hand?”
A wave of poorly suppressed snickers from the other soldiers.
“Yes, sire.” The answer was slightly bashful.
They thought he was mocking them. No. This had nothing to do with them.
He reached for the girl, and she snapped at him. He let her bite—did not move his hand, even as her teeth, tiny as they were, sank deep into his bony index finger.
She looked him straight in the eye, unblinking, and he returned that stare with mounting interest.
This was not the stare of a panicked child who didn’t know what she was doing.
This was the stare of a creature who understood she was confronting death itself, and still chose to spit in its face.
“A little serpent,” he murmured.
The men behind him laughed. He ignored them. It was not a joke.
“Are you all alone?” he said softly.
The girl did not answer. She could not speak with her teeth clamped around his flesh.
“If you release me,” he said, “I will not hurt you.”
The girl did no such thing, still glaring at him as black blood dribbled down her chin.
The corner of the king’s lips curled. “Good. You should not trust me.”
He pried his finger free, then carefully extracted the girl from the wreckage as she thrashed. Even in the throes of her violent resistance, she was utterly silent. And it was only once he picked her up—Goddess, she was so light, he could have held her with a single hand—that he realized how injured she was, her torn clothing soaked with blood. The sweet scent of it permeated his nostrils as he tucked her against his chest. She teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness, but she resisted it, her entire body tense.
