Killian stared down at Raine's limp form, panic clawing at the edges of his control.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered, his jaw tight as he checked her pulse again. It was fainter now. Her breath came in shallow pants, and heat radiated off her body.
He knew this illness. Or rather, he recognized the signs—her body wasn't just breaking down, it was rejecting itself. Whatever she was… it was unstable. His only hypothesis was her wolf heat but Killian knew not much things about werewolves.
He is originally a vampire, His entire family and community were Vamps. It was until he turned sixteen that he realized the truth—he wasn't just a vampire.
The night his claws tore through his skin and the wolf roared awake inside him, his mother wept. Not from joy but from fear.
Killian's father is a vampire and so was his mother. Purebloods. He is feared and respected across the clans. There was no room for weakness in their bloodline, no tolerance for impurity. Which is why that night, when his claws tore through his skin beneath the full moon and the wolf roared awake inside him, his mother wept.
Killian had been sixteen. The pain was like all the bone in his body were breaking and fixing themselves in position.
His father had almost killed him. Not out of hatred but out of duty. No vampire, especially not one of his father's status, could afford to raise a son whose blood broke ancient law.
But his mother stopped him. She stood between them, her eyes burning with defiance. She pleaded, bargained, threatened even. And somehow, she won.
Barely.
Killian had no answers. No understanding of how it had happened. His mother refused to speak of the night he was conceived, only saying, "There are forces you cannot begin to understand. Some bloodlines are cursed for a reason."
The word werewolf was never spoken in their house again.
Instead, Killian was hidden. Trained. Conditioned to suppress his wolf. His bloodlust was manageable, his fangs expected. But the wolf? That was the monster they feared most. Like a generational enemy.
And when he turned twenty, they made a decision.
They sent him away. Not to another vampire college but to the Apex Academy for Werewolves
It was a gamble. No vampire had ever survived long inside wolf territory let alone a hybrid. But if Killian could blend in, study them, learn to master the half of himself they loathed, maybe he'd earn the right to exist.
Hybrids weren't just rare. They were abominations. He was supposed to die the moment he shifted.
But now, staring at Raine—burning up, fading he saw the same war raging in her blood. A body trying to survive two truths at once.
She wasn't just a werewolf. There was something else in her. Something odd and dangerous.
And if he didn't act now, she would die.
Killian let out a sharp breath and glanced at the door again, he hurriedly bolted it
Then he rolled up his sleeve and drew a blade from beneath his bed. Not the long one he used for training. A small, ceremonial dagger. Silver inlaid with obsidian. It was a vampire relic given to him by his mother.
"This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you," he muttered bitterly, slicing across his palm.
Dark, thick blood welled up instantly—glowing faintly with unnatural power.
Killian didn't hesitate. He pressed the bleeding wound to her lips.
"Drink," he whispered. "Come on, girl. You stubborn wolf. Drink."
He shifted closer, tilting her head gently, letting drops of his blood fall past her lips.
The first few seconds were terrifyingly still.
Then her body convulsed. A low, guttural growl tore from her throat. Her back arched violently as if something inside her had been shaken awake.
Killian grabbed her shoulders, holding her down. "Breathe, girl. Stay with me."
Her eyes snapped open, but they weren't just her eyes anymore.
They glowed gold. No, not gold. Molten instead. Like the sun had been caged inside them.
And then, just as quickly, they rolled back and she slumped again.
But her breathing evened out.
Her pulse steadied.
Killian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He sank down beside the bed, still watching her, he gently wrapped his hands around a white clothe to stop the bleeding.
"She's going to hate me for this," he murmured. "But at least she'll be alive to hate me."