Six books of blood, betrayal, and found family have all led to this. The Season One finale of the series is finally here, and in Blackmoor, the stakes have never been higher. Life might have hit the pause button for a moment, but the Moores and Thornes don't stay down for long—and neither does the story.

Step back into the mists of Oregon for the beginning of the end. Witness the first sparks of the fire that is set to consume everything you’ve come to know.

Dive into the official first episode reveal of Book 7 below.

Collin

Season 1 Finale | Episode 26: The Broken Pieces

I was seated on the ground outside the shop, my back against the weathered wood, Salis’s weight settled in my arms as if this had always been where we were meant to end up. Pale light slipped across the front windows, catching the glass at certain angles and ignoring the rest.

It reflected shapes more than details—suggestions of shelves, jars, order—while the space around us remained bare and cold. The air bit at my skin, sharp and unmoving, like it had no intention of letting anything pass.

Salis was heavy in a way that had nothing to do with size. His skin had gone gray, stripped of warmth, stripped of the life that always made him feel brighter than whatever place he occupied.

I ran my hand through his hair slowly, carefully, as if repetition might change something. It didn’t. The ache only deepened, sharp and unfamiliar, like something essential had been taken from me and replaced with a hollow space that refused to settle.

I remembered Olivia standing in the Summit’s living room, the way her voice lowered as it slid into my head, smoothing everything else out.

“Kill Salis,” she’d said. “The moment you’re sure you two are alone.”

The dread had been immediate, unmistakable, tightening in my chest and staying there with every step that followed. I’d felt it the entire way—felt that something was off—and I’d gone through with it anyway.

My vision blurred as the glass in front of us smeared into light and shadow again. I shook my head, lips trembling as I leaned closer.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “God, I’m so sorry.”

That was the part that broke me—not just that he was gone, but that I’d never hear his voice again. Never hear the jokes meant to soften things, never feel the world lighten just because he was there.

Somewhere nearby, something metal rattled once in the wind, then went quiet again.

Salis hated silence like this. He never let things sit long enough to rot. If something hurt, he poked at it until it either bled or laughed. Usually both.

I didn’t realize how much I’d depended on that until the quiet stayed.

The memory pushed in again, sharp and unwanted, my body carrying out the command even as I fought it from the inside. I remembered screaming in my own head, tearing at myself, trying to stop what my hands were already doing.

Even now, my hands didn’t feel like mine. They remembered something I didn’t want them to know.

I remembered the tear slipping from my eye when Salis asked me what was wrong, the way his voice softened like he was already trying to make space for whatever he thought I was carrying.

In my head, I was begging him to run. I kept hoping Melissa or Xylar would get there in time. I hadn’t even cared what happened to me. Anything would have been better than letting it happen.

I remembered the moment my hand plunged into his chest, the way my fingers closed around his heart before I tore it free. The look on Salis’s face still burned the worst—not fear, nor anger, only hurt. Confusion.

A need to understand that I couldn’t give him. He died in my arms, and that look stayed fixed on me, like he needed me to explain myself even as everything left him.

It was the last thing he ever gave me, and it branded itself into my mind deeper than anything else that night. The weight in my chest only grew heavier, like the world had decided I deserved more guilt than I could already hold.

Tears finally spilled free, warm against Salis’s cheek as I bowed my head. I sniffed, the sound too loud in the stillness around us, the only thing breaking the quiet of a town that hadn’t woken yet.

I’d stayed there all night, never once leaving his side, clinging to the idea that there was still time to fix this. Blackmoor was soaked in magic. I’d seen it bend things it had no right to touch.

I stayed clinging to that thought longer than I should have. There had to be hope—for him, for us—even if I didn’t deserve it. Hope sat there anyway, stubborn and cruel, refusing to leave even when it should have known better.

My hand trembled as I wiped the tears from Salis’s face, careful even though it didn’t matter anymore. The blood on my fingers had dried sometime during the night, stiff from hours in the open air.

And when I dragged my thumb across his cheek it caught slightly, like my skin had forgotten how to be human. I swallowed hard and kept going anyway, because stopping meant looking at what I was doing—at what I’d done.

The silence didn’t break gently. It cracked under the sound of two sets of footsteps, the right of me, close enough in stride that I could tell they were together.

My body tensed on instinct even though I didn’t lift my head. I stayed staring at Salis’s face like it was the only thing keeping me upright, like if I looked away I’d lose him a second time.

Then Emilee’s voice cut through, sharp with exhaustion and disbelief.

“Do you believe me now?” she asked. “Or do you still think I was overreacting?”

A beat later, Xylar spoke, and somehow his voice carried weight even without raising it.

“Collin,” he said.

The way he said my name could’ve almost been mistaken for something close to sincere, and I hated that my chest reacted to it at all. I didn’t respond.

I didn’t give him the mercy of an answer, not when he couldn’t come close to understanding what it felt like to be trapped inside your own body and forced to ruin the one person who never deserved you at your worst.

“Wait—Xylar,” Emilee said, urgency tightening her words. “You know him?”

I heard one of them shift closer, gravel scraping near my knee, and I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

Xylar didn’t deny it. He didn’t soften it. He said it like it was simply another choice he’d made.

“I was the one who orchestrated his transition,” Xylar said evenly. “The call was mine.”

Emilee let out a tired breath that sounded more like she was holding back a lecture than relief. “Of course you did.”

She drew in another breath, and when she spoke again, her voice changed—less sharp, more practical, like she was forcing herself to focus on the problem in front of her instead of whatever history she’d just stumbled into.

“Your history doesn’t change the situation,” she said, “Collin can’t be here.”

She hesitated, and when she added the next part, her exhaustion turned into a hard edge.

“You’re lucky it was me,” she said. “If a human found him—”

I didn’t need Emilee to finish the sentence for it to land. If a human had found me like this, it wouldn’t have just been my problem—it would’ve exposed everything in Blackmoor that had fangs or magic.

That kind of attention never stayed contained. It spread, and it destroyed whatever it touched. I kept my eyes on Salis, like looking up would make it harder to stomach.

“Besides, I already get enough trouble for being seen with you. I don’t need to add to it,” she added on.

“I couldn’t go inside your shop,” I said finally, my voice low and rough. “Your boundary spell won’t let me.”

The memory surfaced without warning—the night we’d tried to cross the threshold, the way Emilee had stopped us and told us she’d placed it specifically to keep vampires out.

I swallowed and went on, forcing myself to say the next part. “You helped us once. You didn’t shut the door.”

That was when I looked up. They were standing a few feet away from me, close enough now that I could see Emilee clearly, and I didn’t bother hiding where my hope was aimed.

“Can you fix this?” I asked. “Can you bring him back?”

I already knew better than to look anywhere else. The witches made that clear long before this—either too afraid of the Thornes to get involved, or unwilling to lift a finger for someone who didn’t offer them something in return.

I had nothing they wanted. I wasn’t leverage or power or a step forward on anyone’s gameboard. I was just a vampire asking for something that didn’t benefit them.

Emilee glanced at Xylar before looking back at me, her expression shifting into something that might’ve been sympathy.

“Collin, that was different,” she said carefully. “I shared information, not involvement.”

Emilee shook her head slightly, already bracing herself.

“I don’t have that kind of power,” she said. “And even if I did, resurrection is forbidden.”

She didn’t look away when she said it. There was no hesitation to push against. Just a closed edge. That was how I knew it was the end of the conversation.

Her words landed wrong, twisting something sharp in my chest until it felt tight and dark. My jaw clenched as I looked between the two of them, the space they left around me suddenly feeling intentional.

“So that’s it?” I said. “He’s just gone—and no one’s even willing to try?”

Neither of them answered right away. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, like they were searching for the right thing to say and coming up empty.

I watched as Xylar finally took a step closer, his expression shifting into something measured before he spoke.

“There is a way things are done in this town, Collin,” he said, his voice calm in a way that made my stomach tighten. “A balance that has to be kept. That doesn’t lessen what Salis meant—or what this cost you.”

His words landed between us like a lid snapping shut. Whatever Salis had been—to me, to this town—he was suddenly a problem to be contained. My grip tightened on Salis before I realized I’d done it.

Xylar crouched down in front of me then, close enough that I couldn’t avoid him, his steel-blue eyes locking onto mine.

“Let me take care of Salis—”

“No,” I cut in, already pulling back as far as I could without dropping Salis.

I leaned away from him, dread curling tight in my chest because I knew where this was going. “Take care of him how?”

I studied his face, searching for the indifference I’d seen before, the kind he wore when people became problems instead of people.

“By burning him?” I said, the words tasting bitter. “So you can pretend he never existed—just to protect your town?”

Xylar shook his head slowly, his gaze lingering on me like he was measuring the damage instead of pretending not to see it. He placed a hand on my shoulder anyway. I stiffened at the contact.

“That will never come to pass,” he said. “Not while I still draw breath.”

He kept his hand there as he continued, his voice steady.

“You have my word, Collin,” he said. “I will see to it that his name is etched into the very stones of this town. Blackmoor will not be allowed to forget him.”

His grip tightened slightly, grounding, deliberate. “This won’t go unanswered. Salis was family.”

“No—don’t you dare.”

I knocked his hand away before he could say anything else, the word coming out sharp enough to surprise even me.

I rose to my feet and lowered Salis carefully to the ground, easing him down instead of letting go like he was nothing. I made sure his body rested with intention, like intention could still mean something.

I looked back at Xylar, the anger settling into something colder.

“You don’t get to decide that now,” I said. “It’s too late to call him family.”

My eyes flicked to Emilee as she took a cautious step closer, positioning herself like she was ready to intervene if this tipped any further.

I shook my head and turned back to Xylar, refusing to soften what needed to be said.

“Let’s be honest,” I continued. “In this town, if you don’t have the right last name, you’re just collateral damage.”

I’d seen how easily names disappeared once they stopped being useful.

Xylar didn’t defend himself. He didn’t react to me pushing him away, didn’t correct me or challenge the accusation.

I didn’t know why that bothered me more than if he had—and I didn’t care. Even if these were the last words I ever said, I wasn’t going to let anyone pretend this was anything more than what it was.

Xylar straightened slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as they narrowed just a fraction. I hated myself for what I was about to say, hated that it needed to be said at all, but the words were already there, pressing at the back of my throat.

“All I’ve heard lately is protect Irene. Protect Melissa,” I said. “That’s your family.”

My hand lifted before I realized it was moving, pointing back at my own chest. “I was the one screaming for someone to listen when it came to Salis. And nobody did.”

My gaze dropped to the ground as the feeling twisting inside me grew darker, uglier by the second.

“He only had me,” I went on. “There was no army. No powerful witches. No immortal Sins.”

My voice thinned, but I didn’t stop. “Me.”

I looked back down at Salis then, and when I spoke again, it came quieter, like saying it any louder might fracture something I couldn’t afford to lose.

“And when he finally gave me something worth keeping,” I said, “This place took that too.”

Silence followed, heavy and unmoving. I stayed where I was, my eyes fixed on Salis’s body, knowing even as the last words left me that there was no point in saying any of it.

Nothing here was going to change. Somewhere along the way, the pain stopped crashing into me all at once, settling into something distant and controlled.

Not because Salis’s death was behind me, but because I no longer knew what to do with the pain when it had nowhere left to go. I looked up and saw Emilee swipe at her face, blinking hard like she could stop the tears if she didn’t acknowledge them.

It didn’t help. Nothing did.

My gaze moved between them before settling on Xylar.

“If this town is the only thing any of you care about,” I said, my voice steady in a way that felt foreign even to me, “then I’ll make sure everyone loses it.”

The shaking stopped. That scared me more than anything else.

I didn’t bother waiting for a response. I took one last look at Salis, then I was gone, the distance ripping open between us as I sped away without looking back, the promise settling in my chest with a clarity that left no room for doubt.

If this town was built on what people were willing to protect and who they were willing to sacrifice, then I already knew what came next. If this was all anyone cared about, I would burn it down and let the truth survive whatever was left.