Chapter 1 The Huntress's Daughter (Mira POV)

"Remember the rules, Mira." Mom's voice is steel wrapped in silk as she adjusts the silver bracelet on my wrist. "Never remove this. Never let anyone see what's underneath."

I nod, trying to ignore the way the blessed metal burns against my skin. Seventeen years of wearing it, and it still feels like a constant low-grade fever.

"I know, Mom."

"Do you?" She grips my shoulders, her ice-blue eyes searching my face. "Because this isn't like our training compound. Silvercrest Academy is crawling with them. Vampires who'll smile at you in calculus and drain you dry behind the gymnasium."

"Then why send me here?" The question I've been asking for three months, ever since she announced I'd be attending school with the very creatures she's trained me to kill.

"Because you need to learn to blend in. To hunt, you must first learn to walk among the prey." She releases me, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her immaculate suit. "The Council has sanctioned this. Six months of deep cover training before your Ascension."

My Ascension. The ceremony where I'll officially join the Order of the Silver Dawn, becoming a full hunter like my mother, my grandmother, and every woman in our bloodline for the past three centuries.

"What if they figure out what I am?"

"They won't. The bracelet masks your scent, suppresses your bloodline markers. To them, you're just another human scholarship student." She pauses at the door of my new dorm room. "But Mira, if your cover is compromised—if they discover you're a Shadowborn—they will kill you. No hesitation, no mercy."

Shadowborn. The word for what I am—descended from an ancient bloodline that can sense vampires, resist their compulsion, and kill them with a touch. We're poison to their kind. Kryptonite in human form.

"I'll be careful."

"Careful isn't enough. You need to be invisible." She pulls me into a brief, tight hug. "I love you, my little shadow. Make me proud."

Then she's gone, leaving me alone in a dorm room that smells faintly of jasmine and old books.

"Well, this is cozy."

I spin around to find a girl with deep brown skin and hair dyed midnight blue leaning against the doorframe. She's got the kind of effortless beauty that makes me instantly self-conscious of my plain features and training-roughened hands.

"You must be my roommate. I'm Zara." She extends a hand, and I shake it automatically. Her skin is warm, pulse strong and steady. Human. "Mira, right?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"Most people don't." She grins, revealing perfect white teeth. "I'm naturally stealthy. Comes from years of sneaking out past strict parents."

I force a smile, already cataloging details the way Mom taught me. No pale skin, walks in full sunlight streaming through the window, heart beating normally. Definitely human.

"So, what's your story?" Zara asks, flopping onto her bed with casual grace. "Why'd you transfer to Silvercrest mid-year?"

"My mom's work. We move around a lot."

"What does she do?"

"Security consulting." The lie comes easily after years of practice.

"Mysterious." Zara's eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Well, welcome to Silvercrest Academy, where the coffee is terrible, the curfew is strict, and approximately forty percent of the student body are raging vampires."

My blood runs cold. "What?"

She laughs. "I'm joking. Kind of. There are definitely some weird kids here. Like, vampire-novel-weird. But hey, makes life interesting, right?"

If only she knew how interesting.

The dining hall is exactly what I expected from an elite boarding school—all vaulted ceilings and old money ambiance. Students cluster at tables that seem to follow invisible social boundaries.

"Okay, orientation time." Zara guides me through the food line. "That's the art crowd, those are the athletes, and way over there in the corner are the Nightbloods."

"The what?"

"Nickname for the scholarship kids who all live in the East Wing. They're kind of cliquish, keep to themselves mostly. Supposedly they have these crazy exclusive parties that no one else gets invited to." She lowers her voice. "Rumor is they're all related somehow. Like a weird extended family thing."

I follow her gaze to a table where seven students sit in a tight cluster. They're all striking in different ways—a girl with platinum hair that catches the light like moonlight, a boy with sharp cheekbones and eyes so dark they look black, another with the kind of languid grace that seems almost inhuman.

And then I see him.

He's sitting at the edge of their group, slightly apart but clearly belonging. Dark hair falls across his forehead, and when he turns his head, I catch a glimpse of eyes the color of storm clouds. Something about the sharp planes of his face, the predatory stillness in the way he holds himself, makes my pulse spike.

Then he looks directly at me.

The world narrows to that single point of connection. My bracelet flares hot against my wrist, and I feel something deep in my chest pull tight, like a string being drawn taut.

His eyes widen fractionally, and I watch his entire body go rigid. The girl next to him says something, but he doesn't seem to hear, his attention locked on me with an intensity that should terrify me.

It doesn't.

Instead, I feel awake in a way I've never experienced. Every nerve ending is firing, every sense heightened. I can hear his heartbeat from across the room, my mouth water and my bracelet burn hotter.

"Uh-huh. Let me guess—you just made eye contact with Cain Valemont and experienced what every girl in this school experiences. The 'oh god, he's looking at me and I've forgotten how to breathe' phenomenon."

Cain. The name fits him—biblical, dangerous, marked.

"He's still staring," Zara whispers, sounding delighted. "This is wild. Cain never stares at anyone. He barely acknowledges people exist."

I force myself to look away, my cheeks burning. "Can we just sit down?"

But I can feel his gaze following me as Zara leads us to an empty table. It's not creepy or uncomfortable—it's magnetic, like gravity pulling me back toward him.

"Okay, full disclosure time." Zara leans in conspiratorially once we're seated. "Cain Valemont is gorgeous, mysterious, and completely off-limits."

"Why?"

"Because he's a Nightblood, and they don't mix with regular students. Also, there are rumors."

"What kind of rumors?"

"The kind that involve students transferring out suddenly, strange noises from the East Wing at night, and at least three girls swearing they saw Cain's eyes glow red during last year's Halloween party." She pauses. "Obviously that last one is just drunk gossip, but still. Weird crowd."

Red eyes. My mother's voice echoes in my head: When they feed, their eyes reflect their true nature. Red for fresh vampires, gold for the ancient ones.

I risk another glance at his table. Cain is in deep conversation with the platinum-haired girl now, but his shoulders are tense, his movements controlled in a way that speaks of coiled violence.

"I'm not interested," I tell Zara, though even I can hear the lie in my voice.

"Sure you're not." She grins. "That's why you're still looking at him."

My first class is Advanced Literature with Professor Chen. I'm early, desperate to avoid another cafeteria-style entrance where I have to navigate social dynamics I don't understand.

The classroom is empty except for scattered desks and the smell of old paper. I choose a seat near the window, pulling out my notebook and trying to calm my still-racing heart.

The bracelet has cooled down, but there's a mark on my wrist where it burned hottest—a perfect circle of red, angry skin.

What the hell was that?

I've trained with Mom around hundreds of vampires. Sparred with them under controlled conditions, learned their weaknesses, their tells. Never once has my bracelet reacted like that. Never once have I felt that pull.

"You're bleeding."

I jerk my head up to find Cain Valemont standing three feet away, eyes fixed on my wrist.

How did he get so close without me hearing? I'm trained to detect movement, to track threats. But he's just there, like he materialized from shadow.

"It's nothing." I pull my sleeve down quickly, covering the mark.

"That's not nothing. That's a burn." He moves closer, and I catch his scent properly for the first time—winter rain and something darker, like aged wine and copper.

Blood. He smells like blood.

My training screams at me to move, to put distance between us. But my body refuses to cooperate, rooted to the spot as he reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away.

I don't.

His fingers are cool when they brush my wrist, gently pushing back my sleeve. The moment his skin touches mine, electricity shoots up my arm, and my bracelet flares so hot I gasp.

Cain jerks back like he's been burned too, shock written across his perfect features.

"What are you?" His voice is barely a whisper, but I hear the accusation in it, the fear.

"I could ask you the same thing."

We stare at each other, both breathing too fast, both clearly rattled. This close, I can see that his eyes aren't quite natural—too luminous, too deep, like looking into wells of liquid mercury.

"You shouldn't be here," he says finally.

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you."

"I'm serious. Whatever you are, whatever that thing on your wrist is, you need to leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "You don't understand what you're dealing with."

"Don't I?" I stand, bringing us almost chest-to-chest. I barely reach his shoulder, but I've been trained not to show fear. "Maybe you're the one who doesn't understand."

"Mira..." He says my name like a curse and a prayer. "How do you know my name?"

"How do you know mine?"

The air between us crackles with tension. I can see his pulse fluttering in his throat—too slow, confirming what I already suspected. And he can clearly see something in me that's setting off every alarm in his head.

"Stay away from me," he says, but he doesn't move.

"You're the one who came over here."

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?"

For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then the classroom door opens and students start filing in, breaking whatever spell held us frozen.

Cain steps back quickly, his face smoothing into a mask of indifference. But his eyes linger on me for one more second before he turns and walks to the opposite side of the room.

My hands are shaking as I sit back down.

What the hell just happened?