The young vampires had always ruled the games of blood and power. Even the older, more seasoned ones feared their raw hunger and sheer physical strength. They were hunter, never the prey. Victors, never the victims.
And that was precisely why the terror now gripping them was unlike anything they'd ever known.
Arabella was behind them one heartbeat, and the next, she was in front of them. The movement was impossible to follow. A blink, a gust of air, and she had already closed the distance.
Her hands were outstretched, her fingertips now stained a deep, unnatural black. Those hands had already proven what they could do— kill without breaking skin, without leaving a mark. Just a touch- and death followed.
They tried to fight back, but it was useless. Their strength, their speed, their pride, it meant nothing.
One by one, they fell. Screaming. Clawing. Begging.
