Emmaline could smell death in the air—the tangy scent of blood mixed with sweat and saliva.

Blackthorn Castle was large and dank, its inhabitants hardly perturbed by the chill of the stone structure, but its size should allow for oblivion, and for the family who resided in the shadows here, oblivion was very important.

There were many secrets—old, dark and dangerous—and it was in everyone’s best interest to leave them in the shadows.

Which was why when she smelled it, given her meager human senses, she realized that death must’ve been at her door—literally.

She wasn’t afraid.

Growing up in this household, she knew of far more sinister things than death, but it made her oddly curious.

Slipping off the bed in only her paper-thin, white cotton nightgown, she kept her eyes trained on the door, wondering whether what was behind it was going to get her first before she could take a step further.

She could hear harsh, uneven breathing and a shuffle of steps from the other side but that slight indication of distress didn’t lower her guard. If what was waiting for her was anything like the residents of Blackthorn Castle, nothing could save her except the creature’s own sense of mercy.

Tugging on the door handle, she twisted it open, letting the heavy weight of the wood and metal panel swing it inwards on its own.

The hall was dim and empty.

She frowned, certain that she hadn’t been dreaming. In Blackthorn Castle, reality and fantasy blurred into an ambiguous secret world.

She poked her head out and caught the retreating figure silhouetted by the pale light coming from a solitary sconce lamp at the end of the hall. 

The figure was that of a tall, broad-shouldered man—his powerful physique highlighted by his silhouette.

He was Blackthorn Castle’s most elusive resident, as well as its most dangerous.

“Nikolas?” she said, he voice barely above a whisper.

The figure had already long stopped walking but he didn’t turn around until she called his name.

A shaft of light fell on half of his face, revealing a dark, golden brow, an amber-colored eye and a high cheekbone splattered with what looked like dark, drying blood.

Emmaline’s heart jumped to her throat—a normal reaction any human would have during an encounter with Nikolas Avanti—but hers did, not out of fear but a near-paralyzing longing instead.

For the past sixteen years of her short, human life, she had loved him from afar, whether he was out scouring the earth or here seeking solace in Blackthorn Castle.

Whether he noticed or not, she wasn’t certain. If he did, he certainly did nothing to acknowledge it.

Besides, Nikolas’s obsessive rage and quest for vengeance were all that kept him preoccupied—there wasn’t any room for him to notice anything else—much less the timid girl who served as his sister’s redemption project and companion.

It was this fact that made Emmaline wonder what he could be doing then outside of her bedroom at this time of the night, fresh from a kill.

“Are you alright?” she asked, stepping out into the hall, silently cursing the biting cold of the stone floor that was exposed on the edges of the dark red carpet. She made no sound of distress, aware that it only highlighted how weak she was in comparison to Nikolas and his kind.

“Of all questions, why ask me that, little Emmaline?” his voice came out in a rasp whisper that resonated down the hall, sending a shiver down her spine.

His amusement about her question wasn’t lost on her. It was silly considering how dangerous and destructive Nikolas was. If she had to direct that question to someone, it would be to the unknown recipient of Nikolas’s attentions tonight.

“I’m not inquiring about your physical health,” she said softly, bracing herself for his temper if he suddenly found her impertinent with that statement.

“Ah. Worried about my soul then?” he asked with a hollowed laugh. “You have lived here long enough to know that I don’t have one.”

She didn’t know where she got the courage from but she started walking towards him. She barely spoke in his presence nor looked him in the eye but something about being alone with him in the shadows and having him speak to her when he took no notice of her all these years, emboldened her to come closer.

“That’s up for debate, I think,” she said, smiling a little, especially when Nikolas’s brow shot up in surprise.

When she was finally only a foot away from him, his face tilted and the light shifted across his features. Emmaline curled her fists in an effort not to suck in a sharp breath at the beauty of him.

Predators lure their prey any way they can.

His thick, wavy hair was a tawny, golden color, his cheekbones high, and his jaw chiseled and adorned with a full mouth drawn up on one side on a permanent sardonic tilt.

“Go back to bed, Emmaline,” he said in a tone low with warning. “The last time you ventured in the dark, a human vermin nearly snared you.”

She stepped back, her mouth dropping open in shock.

No one knew about that.

No one knew about the night of the high school dance earlier this week, when she had been tricked to come out into the pool house by one of the popular jerks in her class with the fabrication that a girl had slipped and injured herself there.

Emmaline volunteered in the school’s first aid response unit and had hurried over in her over-ruffled gown and wobbly shoes after grabbing a kit from the hallway.

As soon as she had stepped into the lounge area, the lights went out. 

A strong pair of arms had grabbed her from behind, one hand capturing her wrists together until she dropped the kit on the floor, and another cupping her over mouth and muffling her shrieking protests.

Jon Duncan’s lascivious laughter had filled the room as he pushed her against the cold, tiled wall, restraining her arms over her head and pressing his large, hard body against hers so she wouldn’t miss his erection grinding against her stomach.

She knew he must’ve either been drunk or high because no one in Hargrove dared to touch Emmaline Church. 

Despite being a weak human, she had the skills that Aurora had trained her with since she was a little girl. 

Biting his palm, Emmaline had socked him in the balls and bashed the top of her head against his chin, sending him sprawling on the floor, howling in pain.

She had nearly stumbled over him in her mad dash to the door, trusting her mental map to aid her escape before Duncan could get back up on his feet.

She skipped the party in the auditorium and ran for her car, driving home as fast as she could. 

No one knew about that incident except her and Duncan.

She intentionally skipped class for two days to avoid him and when she did show up this morning, she counted herself fortunate that he was the one who skipped class this time.

Despite her anger and terror, she breathed not one word of what happened because the Avantis fiercely protected their own—she, counted among them.

But somehow, Nikolas knew.

He somehow knew when he hadn’t even been home for almost a week.

“Nikolas,” she started, swallowing hard against the sudden lump of fear in her throat, as she reached forward as if to touch him when she never had before. “What have you done?”

“A mere justice,” he answered without a trace of remorse in his voice.

Then, raising a palm up to the light, he presented Emmaline a sight that made her blood run cold.

“You are mine, Emmaline. Mine alone.”

Emmaline looked up from the bloodied heart that couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else but Jon Duncan, and gazed into the burning eyes of the man she loved. 

Nikolas Avanti was without a doubt a monster, albeit beautiful, but no less cruel.

To love him was futile and pure madness because evil was not a disease that could be cured.

Yet in that rare moment of gruesome and stark honesty between them, Emmaline realized that the most dangerous man in the world might just possibly be in love her, and she wondered whether that meant his redemption or her destruction.