- Ronan Hale
I've fought vampires in the dead of night, wounded and exhausted, knowing one wrong move meant my throat torn open.
I've tracked those monsters through ruins where the air was thick with death, bodies rotting in the sun, the scent clinging to my skin long after I left.
I've faced these creatures that should have been impossible, creatures born from nightmares—things that whisper in the dark, waiting for a moment of weakness.
And yet…
None of them. None of them prepared me for this.
For her.
For the talking.
The horse's slow, steady gait crunches over the dirt road, a rhythm that should be soothing, should lull my mind into focus. But no. There is no focus. No peace. No silence.
Not with her on the saddle behind me, talking like she's been waiting her whole life for someone to listen.
"So, I should probably introduce myself, shouldn't I?"
No, you shouldn't.
