After the death of his Mother and the kidnapping of his brother Robin Rivera becomes obsessed with revenge, and exposing the truth that vampires exist and must be destroyed.
Tristan laid on the bed, shirtless, on his back with his arm resting on his forehead. He thought back to a few days ago when Isadora led him up to the attic. She threw open the door and pointed. "You can stay up here but remember the rules."
He walked inside and looked around "You put a bed in here? You know I'm incapable of sleeping. I'm dead after all."
She nodded. "I know. Immortality of any kind can set us apart from the norms we once knew, but there is something comforting about still taking part in those fundamentally human rituals. For example, having a place to rest."
Tristan smiled and walked over to her. He kissed her right cheek then her left.
"Thank you, Izzie."
She smiled and caressed his cheek. "You're welcome."
He sighed as the memory faded. He had really screwed up this time. What if she didn't forgive him this time? He wouldn't be able to take it. He always messed things up but she had never been this heated. He hated it when she was angry at him.
What was he supposed to do now? His mind went back to the past. He was tied up to a pyre, surrounded by villagers shouting obscenities at him.
"Burn the demon." One of them shouted.
He squirmed and tried to break free.
"I'm no demon! I was born with these powers. Call it a curse if you will but I am no demon. Please do not kill me for something that is not within my control!" He shouted.
He gritted his teeth. His words did no good. One of the men began throwing oil onto the wood.
He shut his eyes tightly and turned away. Sweat trickled down his brow as he watched the flames go up.
Just then a horse's neigh sounded in the distance.
He opened his eyes and turned to see a hooded figure riding a white horse with a wolf following alongside.
The crowd gasped and screamed as they ran away. The horse stood up and let out a winnie.
The hooded figure swung its sword cutting the ropes. They grabbed Tristan's arm and pulled him onto the horse and began riding away from the village.
Tristan looked over his shoulder. "Who are you? Are you Death, here to claim my soul?"
A melodic laugh came from beneath the hood. "No, I am not the Grim Reaper. He looks vastly different from me, I can assure you."
They threw back the hood revealing the most beautiful and fair woman he had ever seen. Her eyes glinted with that flicker of mischief that he had come to know and love.
"My name is Isadora Alexiou, and you, my fine necromancer are mine now."
Tristan's eyes widened and he swallowed hard.
He didn't question her. How could he? This clearly was no ordinary woman.
He rolled over on his side as the memory fell to the back of his mind. He respected her more than anyone. Her thoughts about him were the only ones he cared about. How was he supposed to make things up? She wouldn't even let him try. What had he gotten himself into this time?
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