The Halfblood Princess

"Come on, Vander. Quit staring,"

I murmured, my voice a honeyed melody laced with something sharper, something darker. A warning. A threat.

He didn't move. Not at first. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, his battered body trembling like a leaf caught in a violent storm. Blood slicked his skin, dark and glistening under the moonlight, pooling in the crevices of his wounds. I could hear it—his rapid heartbeat, hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. I could feel the labored flow of his blood, sluggish yet desperate, fighting to keep him upright.

Every fiber of his being was an open book to me now. I could read his pain, his hesitation, the silent questions trapped behind his yellow-green eyes.

And I didn’t like what I was reading.

Something had changed in me. No—something had awakened.