Damien looked at him. For all the centuries he'd lived, all the kingdoms he'd watched fall, he had never envisioned this: battling for the heart of a woman who was, quite frankly, stronger than both of them combined. And worse…he respected the bastard he was battling.
It stung, being evenly matched. Love? That battlefield was treacherous and unfair, especially when you had to share the front lines with someone just as willing to bleed for her.
He nodded slowly. "Get her to want to live," he said. "It's up to you now."
*****
Meanwhile, Lucivar sat at a little café. It sat unassumingly between the rolling hills that marked the boundary between the werewolf kingdom and Blood City. The chairs were mismatched. The walls were covered in ivy and absurd amounts of lights. And the coffee? Terrible unless you added a little "flavoring."
Lucivar took a delicate sip of his steaming mug, the scent of blood laced with caramel teasing his senses. He sighed.
