Chapter Eight.

Ezra watched her in silence, his twilight-blue eyes tracing the delicate rise and fall of her breath. In sleep, Belladonna looked almost peaceful—almost. Even now, the faintest crease marred her brow, as if bracing for the worst, even in her dreams.

She had been through hell. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the guarded steel of her gaze, in the way she never fully let her guard down. Betrayed by the people she trusted… the ones she called family.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

And because of that, she had nightmares.

His expression darkened. The thought of her being haunted even in sleep filled him with a quiet, simmering rage.

It makes me mad.

Ezra exhaled slowly, reining in the storm inside him. There would be time for anger later. For now…

His gaze softened as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

Since I'm here, I might as well invade her dreams briefly.

He leaned in, voice a whisper against the quiet of the room.

"You deserve happy dreams, my queen."

With that, he closed his eyes and slipped into her dreams, determined to chase away whatever haunted her in the dark.

Belladonna dreamed.

Not of blood, not of shadows, not of the chains that had once bound her to a fate she refused to accept.

She dreamed of warmth. Of twilight skies and a steady heartbeat. Of fingers brushing against her hair, absentminded and gentle, as if she were something fragile instead of something fierce.

And for the first time in what felt like eternity, she didn't jolt awake at the sensation of another presence nearby.

She let herself sink.

Just this once.

When Belladonna finally stirred, the motel room was quiet. Not just the absence of noise, but a stillness that settled deep into the bones.

She blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, her mind was blissfully blank—no racing thoughts, no gnawing tension at the base of her skull. Just… peace.

Then she felt it.

The steady rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek.

A heartbeat.

Oh, hell no.

Her eyes snapped open.

She was on Ezra.

No. Not just on him—curled up against him, limbs tangled like they belonged there.

Belladonna's soul briefly left her body.

Then, with all the grace of a startled cat, she bolted upright.

Ezra groaned, one arm lazily reaching out to pull her back. "Mmm… five more minutes…"

She smacked his hand away. "Five more—Ezra, get the hell up!"

He cracked open one twilight-blue eye, looking at her with all the enthusiasm of someone rudely awakened from the best nap of their life. "You're so mean," he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

"You drugged me," she accused.

Ezra arched a brow. "Drugged? No. Helped you fall asleep? Maybe."

Belladonna clenched her fists. "You manipulated my mind."

Ezra stretched, utterly unrepentant. "I encouraged what was already happening. Big difference."

She glared daggers at him. "And I'm supposed to believe you didn't mess with my head while I was unconscious?"

He sighed, exaggerated and dramatic. "Belladonna, please. If I wanted to mess with your head, you wouldn't even realize it."

That did not make her feel better.

Ezra sat up, rolling his shoulders like he hadn't just been used as a human pillow. "Besides," he added, voice light but his gaze steady, "I don't need to manipulate you. You're already running from things you don't want to admit."

Belladonna's stomach twisted.

She shoved the feeling down. "And you stole my hoodie."

Ezra smirked, running a hand through his mess of twilight-blue hair. "And?"

"Give it back."

"Hmm." He tugged at the fabric, as if debating. "No."

Her eye twitched.

Ezra chuckled, standing with a lazy stretch. "You're cute when you're mad."

She inhaled sharply. Counted to three. Debated murder.

And then, as if sensing the impending violence, Ezra tilted his head, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

"Lucien and Xavian are closing in, you know."

She stilled.

Ezra hummed, stepping closer, his usual teasing edge softening just a fraction. "You're running out of places to hide, Belladonna."

Her jaw tightened. "I'm not hiding."

His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "No?"

A challenge.

A truth she didn't want to face.

Belladonna turned away. "You should go, Ezra."

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, to her surprise, he sighed. "Alright."

No argument. No smug retort.

That… unsettled her more than it should have.

Ezra moved past her, pausing by the door. "But Belladonna?"

She didn't turn around.

"You'll see me again soon."

Then he was gone.

And despite everything—despite him—the room suddenly felt colder without him in it.

Belladonna exhaled sharply, shaking her head. I need to get rid of these husbands while I get my revenge.

Dragging a hand down her face, she cast one last glare at the empty space where Ezra had been.

She shoved the thought aside. Bigger problems. At least four of them hadn't made their move yet. She needed to stay ahead.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she stood, rolling her shoulders to shake off the lingering warmth of sleep. She grabbed her jacket and stalked toward the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary.

The motel hallway was quiet, the dim yellow light flickering overhead. Good.

Her boots clicked against the worn-out floorboards as she strode downstairs, making her way to the reception desk.

The receptionist, a woman with graying curls and a cigarette dangling between her lips, barely glanced up from her magazine.

"Checking out?" she asked in a raspy voice, flipping a page.

"Yes."

The woman hummed, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Rough night?"

Belladonna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Something like that."

Finally, the receptionist looked up, gaze sharp despite her lazy demeanor. "Cash or card?"

"Cash." Belladonna slid a few bills across the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

The woman took her time counting before shoving it into the register with a click. "You got a ride?"

"I'll manage."

A smirk. A slow tap of her cigarette against the ashtray. "Mm-hm. I bet you will."

Belladonna grabbed her bag and turned on her heel, heading for the exit.

Four more to go, she thought grimly. And I don't plan on sticking around long enough for them to corner me.

As Belladonna stepped out of the motel, the morning air greeted her with a crisp chill, the sun barely cresting over the rooftops. The streets were already alive—vendors setting up their stalls, carriages rattling over uneven stone, and the ever-present murmur of people going about their business.

Her thoughts churned as she walked, boots striking a steady rhythm against the pavement. Revenge first. Husbands later. Or, ideally, both at the same time. The sooner she cut ties with them, the sooner she could focus on what really mattered.

Her gaze flickered toward the notice board just ahead, plastered with peeling posters and old announcements. Amidst the clutter, a fresh, hastily written advertisement caught her eye.

[IN NEED OF MORE HUNTERS. WILL BE PAID HANDSOMELY. JOIN THE NIGHTFANG GUILD TODAY!]

Nightfang Guild?

She slowed her steps, scanning the details. No elaborate designs, no guild crest, just plain ink on cheap paper. It reeked of desperation.

Judging by the low-budget advertisement… this is either a new guild or a lower-ranked one struggling to gain traction.

Belladonna crossed her arms, considering.

Joining a guild had never been on her list of priorities, but… it could provide temporary cover. A steady income. More importantly, access to resources and people who might unknowingly help her in her plans.

Her lips curled into a smirk.

Maybe fate had just handed her an opportunity.

She reached out, tearing the notice from the board.

Belladonna stared at the crumpled notice in her hand, lips pressing into a thin line.

The irony wasn't lost on her. The people she wanted to destroy—the ones who had betrayed her—were the heads of the top guilds in the world. Titans of power, wealth, and influence. And here she was, considering joining a no-name guild that could barely afford proper advertisements.

But maybe this wasn't exactly a perfect move.

But perfection wasn't necessary for revenge.

The major guilds had eyes everywhere. If she made a direct move, they'd see it coming. But no one would expect her to resurface in the ranks of a struggling guild. She could move in the shadows, gather information, build power, and strike when they least expected it.

Her fingers tightened around the paper.

One by one, they'll fall. And when they do… they'll know exactly who brought them down.

Belladonna with the notice still in her hand, she turned on her heel. First, she needed to find out more about this Nightfang Guild. If they were desperate for hunters, they wouldn't turn her away.

And if they were as weak as they seemed?

Well.

She'd just have to change that.