Darkside

by Dallasspice

Summary:

A girl gets lost amidst a thunderstorm in the valley; a sexy tattooed stranger named Oli offers her solace from the storm in a stately manor high up in the mountains, where he claims to be the caretaker. But this stranger has secrets, and more than one unnatural appetite...

Chapter 1

A bout of thunder boomed overhead, as rain poured down upon the barren gray countryside. 

You were hurrying along on your trusty black horse, Harker, frantic to return home to your cottage before the storm grew worse; you weren’t supposed to be gone this long, or out this late, especially without an escort. You could already hear the scolding from your aunt in your ears– “Young lady, it is entirely unacceptable to wander about in the hills without someone keeping watch over you!” Yikes. The mud stains on your shoes certainly weren’t going to help your cause, either, once she laid eyes on you. 

A streak of lightning ravaged across the sky, causing Harker to whinny in protest underneath your saddle. You tightened your grip on the reins and urged him forward faster. “C’mon, boy, you can do it! We just have a little further to the edge of town!” 

As he quickened his pace, you tried to relax your shoulders, reassuring yourself that you were a mere couple of miles from the safety of home. You’d made quite a bounty of your excursion, too– a trip to the meadows by the cliffside had yielded a nearly-full basket of lavender. You knew your aunt’s tone would soften immediately when you gifted her a large bundle of it, since it was her favorite. Maybe you would even offer to–

CRASH!

 

The sudden crack of white light across the sky caused your fingers to slip from the reins, at the exact same time that Harker spooked and reared up into the air. Your foot fell loose from its stirrup–

Your head hit the muddied ground, and everything went black. 

 

You were only out for a few moments, it seemed. When you came to, your horse was gone, your clothes were caked in mud, and your head was pounding. To make matters worse, the rain was growing steadily harder. 

Taking a deep breath, you sat up, surveying the damage. Your hands were scraped up and beginning to bleed, but otherwise, you seemed relatively intact. You hoisted yourself up and snatched your basket up from where it had fallen. “Damn,” you muttered, realizing the flowers had fallen out, and been trampled by Harker as he fled. 

The thunder continued to bellow in the darkening sky. Oh man, you thought, I’m miles from town… This storm is only getting worse…

You glanced at your surroundings. Nothing but gray, damp, winding hills ahead– you must’ve been further out than you thought. You clenched the basket in your hand and took a deep breath, gathering resolve. If I have to walk, I have to walk. May as well start now.

Another clap of thunder shook overhead, and the rain began to pelt you with a vengeance as you walked. The sky was growing darker and darker by the second. 

 

Your clothes were entirely soaked through as you approached a bend in the road; the sky was nearly black now, and you couldn’t see much through the thick veil of rain pounding the landscape. You thought you spotted a light in the distance, up in the winding crevices of the mountains.

 

You needed to hurry if you were going to make it there. Suddenly, a deep, hoarse voice pierced through the freezing night.

“It’s pretty dark out, miss. Where’s your lantern?”

You spun around, coming face-to-face with a tall figure in an oversized black coat. 

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you have a light? You’re wandering the country alone, in the dark, during a thunderstorm.”

You took a cautious step back. Maybe your aunt had warned you about traveling alone for good reason. “I…Well, I didn’t intend to be out this late, but–”

“–your horse spooked from the lightning?” 

“Yes, actually.” You straightened up. Sure, he was a little creepy, but he didn’t need to know he was creeping you out. “It’s no matter. He’ll make his way home, and eventually so will I.”

He was quiet for a moment. His hood shrouded his face in the cover of night, but you were pretty sure he was suppressing a smile. “It happens. Do you need a ride?”

“I don’t accept rides from strangers.”

“Smart girl. Then, how about if I’m not a stranger?” He pulled his hood down, revealing a mop of black hair, dark eyes, and an expectant smirk on his pale face. You swallowed; he was admittedly easy on the eyes. 

“My name’s Oliver,” he extended a gloved hand. You shook it tentatively, forgetting about the cuts on your own hand. “There, see? I’m no stranger.” 

You met his gaze, and his deep focus unsettled you. “You’re offering me a ride, huh, Oliver?” You raised your eyebrows dramatically. “Where’s your horse?”

He didn’t avert his eyes. “Around the bend, actually. And by the way, you’re still a stranger to me.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “My name’s y/n.”

“That’s pretty. And what is Miss y/n doing out here in the Carpathian foothills, where it’s unsafe for a lady to wander by herself?”

“I went to the cliffs to harvest some lavender.”

“Right, right…” he trailed, tilting his head. “Unaccompanied. And clearly not caring for appearances.” He looked down at his gloved hand, at the dark patch of blood you’d stained it with. “Oh, you’re a messy thing. Is that blood?”

You frowned. “Yes. Because, as you so brilliantly noticed, my horse threw me off. I scraped my hand in the fall.”

He looked back up at you, his eyes suddenly gleaming. Was that a reaction to your remark, or was that a look of something else? 

“You should come with me. I have a dry home with a fireplace and plenty of bandages to fix your hand.”

You paused. Realistically, you didn’t know this man. He had appeared out of thin air, proceeded to ask you a bunch of weird questions, and seemed very much intent on getting you to a secondary location. He was a textbook creep, likely to only bring you more trouble than you bargained for.

Then again, as you studied him– his skin covered in tattoos, his full and pouty lower lip, his solid frame –you decided that if he was going to harm you, he wouldn’t have bothered to introduce himself. Besides, he wasn’t bad to look at. Surely someone so pretty (and annoying) couldn’t be a threat.

You straightened, and sighed. “Fine. But only because I’m soaking wet.”

His horse and carriage had been right around the bend of the hill, just as he’d said. Okay, so he’s not a liar. That’s a good sign. He motioned to the coachman, then held open the door for you as you climbed onto a dry seat inside. He followed suit and fastened the door shut once you were both seated.

“I didn’t realize you had a whole carriage,” you remarked.

“You didn’t ask,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

The carriage began to move, and the pair of you fell quiet, the pattering of rain on the windows the only sound breaking the silence. You noticed he kept glancing down at the bloodstained glove, leaning toward it and inspecting it, as though he were noticing it for the very first time.

“I’m sorry about staining your glove,” you finally said. “I think lemon juice or baking soda could take it out.”

“What?” He looked back up at you, his eyes darker than before. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll have the housekeepers take care of it.” 

“Housekeepers? What are you, some kind of prince?”

The hardness left his eyes then, and he laughed. “A prince? No, not at all. I tend to a manor up in the Carpathian Mountains. My master is exceedingly old, and equally generous, so he allows me to make use of all the benefits of his estate in exchange for my loyalty and care.”

This was a new development; it softened your position toward Oliver, that was for certain. There he was, acting caretaker to an elderly man, watching over an entire household’s staff, sequestered up in the mountains. That must be why he invited me to come to his place , you theorized. He must be so lonely up there . 

“Ah, so not royalty. That definitely explains your lack of manners.”

“You think you’re quite funny?”

“I’m making an observation.”

“Do you have to observe aloud?”

“Maybe I lack manners, too,” you smirked. He kept his gaze on you as he rubbed his thumb on the leather palm of his glove, an amused look on his face. “It would appear so,” he murmured, and you thought you felt the briefest flutter in your stomach.

Chapter 2

You’d been staring out the window of the carriage for what felt like an hour, lost in thought as the raindrops raced down the glass, when Oliver cleared his throat. “We’re just about here,” he announced. 

You sat back in your seat and turned to look out the opposite window, where he was gesturing, and nearly choked on your own breath. The carriage was turning onto a cobblestone road somewhere high up in the Carpathian mountains, leaving behind the gravel paths which were slowly turning to mud in the downpour. A wrought-iron gate sat nestled between two large granite pillars, and just beyond it, you could make out the looming, stately outline of the manor. 

“Oh, wow…” you managed, eliciting a grin from Oliver. 

“It’s called Godalming Estate.” As the gates creaked open, a row of ornate street lamps suddenly came to life, bathing the cobblestone path in golden light. 

The manor itself was likewise illuminated; the magnificent brick structure was of a Georgian design, and lovingly maintained, with window and door trimmings in freshly painted white. Vines of browning ivy snaked over the front door entrance, nearing overgrowth but still managing to look manicured. Carefully-curated topiaries encircled a stone fountain just before the walkway, and they resembled dancers in motion under the sheets of rain falling on the estate. 

“I…” your words escaped you. 

Oliver shrugged, but a smile spread across his lips. “It’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”

You nodded, trying and failing to conceal your amazement. “You really live here?”

“Indeed. Am I detecting that you’re impressed?”

You snapped your eyes to him and pretended to roll them. “Oh, me? Not in the least.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I see. I’ll have to try harder, then.”

You couldn’t help but stare back at the manor. It was hard to believe this grand property was hidden up in the mountains, tucked within the steep rocky terrain. It seemed altogether wrong to hide such splendor from would-be admirers. 

As the carriage came to a stop at the front of the walkway, Oliver opened the door and exited, before offering up his palm to help you to the ground. His eyes caught the glow of the lamps, and you felt that odd flutter in your stomach again when you grasped his hand. You stepped lightly down onto the walkway, grateful for the brick covering protecting you from the storm. 

He led you forward to the door, which creaked open seemingly on command. Inside, the soft glow of candlelight illuminated dark mahogany walls. Your mouth once again fell open in amazement – the candlelight came from a wrought-iron candelabra mounted on a mahogany table in the center of a vast foyer, flanked on either side by winding dual staircases. The walls were decorated with various portraits and landscape paintings – all clearly crafted by a masterful artist.

“Now, then,” Oliver broke your stunned silence, turning to you. “May I take your cloak?” He made a dramatic bowing motion, which brought a smile to your face. 

“Oh, of course, my lord,” you replied, effecting a ridiculous upper-crust accent. You untied your cloak and handed it to him. 

He disappeared into a nearby closet and returned to your side, having shed his own coat in the process. He wore a simple white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a thin silver cross necklace sitting elegantly on his collarbone; for a brief moment, you thought about what it might feel like to trace your finger along those collarbones. His pale skin was so pretty and inviting, and you let your gaze wander up from his neck to his equally pretty lips. You considered how it might feel to just lean in, letting your own mouth graze his–

Your thoughts were interrupted, as you realized he was talking to you. “Let me patch you up, then we’ll get you to your room,” Oliver spoke. He led you through an entryway on the left side of the foyer. You passed a short woman in a stiff-looking blue uniform dress. “That is Miss Sheffield. She’s the housekeeper- well, the main one.” He nodded at her in greeting. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening, Miss Sheffield,” you nodded your head to the woman. Her eyes were hard, but not unkind. She allowed a polite smile and extended her hand; when you shook it, you were startled by how cold and papery her skin felt. “I-I’m y/n,” you managed.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss y/n,” she responded with a wispy voice. She turned to address Oliver. “I’ll ready the guest bedroom. Will she be here long?”

“Oh, no, she’s just waiting out the storm until morning,” he told her. She flashed another glance at you. “I understand.” 

The conversation concluded, she continued on her way towards the foyer. 

Through one of the doors in this hallway was a cramped office, packed to the brim with medical supplies and surgical tools. Oliver held the door open for you to enter, then headed towards the back of the room. “What does your master need a doctor’s office for?” You asked, noticing a large glass cabinet filled with various medicines and bottles.

He had begun putting bandages, rubbing alcohol, and antibiotics on a tray beside the back exam table. “Ah, well, the master is a retired physician. He used to see the most severely ill patients in the region – he took on cases even the most skillful local doctors couldn’t heal.”

“That’s really impressive. What’s his name? Perhaps I’ve heard of him.”

There was a brief pause, and then Oliver straightened up. “It’s not a name you’d know, you’re far too young to have met him in the flesh.” He gestured to the exam table next to him. “Come, sit.” 

You did as you were told, and he set the tray down beside you. He pulled up a metal chair and sat in front of you. “Rest your hand palm-up for me,” he instructed. You did so, and he began dabbing at your cuts with an alcohol-soaked cotton pad, causing you to wince. 

“Does that hurt? I thought you were a tough girl,” he teased.

You set your teeth. “Please. I’m plenty tough.” He only smirked in response. You stiffened at the sharp pain in your hand as he cleaned it, but you maintained a stone face from that point on, out of sheer defiance. 

“There,” he murmured eventually, lost in thought. “You’re doing so well.” 

You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks. 

He proceeded with smoothing a thick layer of the ointment over your scrapes and cuts, before wrapping your hand in the bandages. You noticed how adept he was with each part of the process, moving with precision. “You’re doing pretty well yourself.”

He flashed his eyes up at you. “I learned a few things at the master’s side before he became too frail to come down here for client visits. Do you mind?”

He gestured for you to clench your palm, to test his handiwork. You did so, and he grasped that hand in his own to examine it one final time. His touch was gentle, almost too much so– he acted as if you were made of glass. It was a surprising contrast to his feisty demeanor. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, he swayed toward you, his hand still holding yours. You caught his scent, all sandalwood and amber and something copper-y: it was intoxicating. Then he broke eye contact and released your hand. 

Finally satisfied that you were patched up properly, he stood. “Okay, that should do it. Miss Sheffield should have your room ready, and I’m sure you’re eager for some dry clothes.” He paused, eyeing your still-damp skirt and blouse. “I’ll see if one of the maids can find you a dress to wear.”

Chapter 3

The room Miss Sheffield had brought you to was hardly what you’d consider a guest bedroom; it was immense, for one thing, with ceilings at least twenty feet above your head, the entire space illuminated by several wall-mounted candlesticks. The bed in the right corner (and which took up about a quarter of the space) was an ocean of brocade comforters and fluffy white pillows; it was beckoning you to lie down, to swath yourself in its cozy layers, but you resisted. An indigo blue oriental rug covered the majority of the mahogany floor, and as you stepped upon it, your feet nearly sank into the soft pile. To your right was a closet door and standing mirror, and to your left, a leather chair with a side table.  In the far left corner was a huge bookshelf and writing desk; clearly well-loved, but clean and dust-free. Along the left wall was a long and low chest of drawers, a vase of vibrant red poppies perched atop.

“Wow, his guests are lucky indeed,” you said to Miss Sheffield. She nodded, and pointed to a door along the right wall, further back than the closet. “The powder room is through there. Please help yourself to the bath and anything else you may need, including the closet. If you should not find something you’d like to wear, I’ll send the maid up shortly with something. It’ll be waiting for you on the bed.” You thanked her, and she departed, leaving you alone to check out your accommodations. 

You first approached the writing desk, where a leatherbound journal and inkwell were neatly placed. You turned on the desk lamp and flipped through the journal; the leather smelled fresh and the pages were blank. You opened the drawers, finding only more blank journals, unused inkwells, and a set of black quill pens. 

Turning to the bookshelf, you skimmed the titles for anything interesting; most of the books were on medicine, but there were a few fiction works. Shelley, Stoker, and Hawthorne all made appearances, as did a book about the afterlife. You pulled that one off the shelf and carried it with you over to the chair, where you sat it on the side table to read later. Might as well have something fun to read, since I’ll be here all night , you thought. 

Then you approached the closet. You tried to open the heavy wooden door, but it was reluctant to budge. You used all your strength to wrench the door open about a foot wide, then grabbed a lit candlestick off its wall mount and slid through the crack. Inside, the smell of dust was nearly suffocating. You set the candlestick down atop a wooden crate and glanced around at the offerings; various old sweaters, waistcoats, evening gowns, and even corsets were crammed in rows of hangers on one side. On the other side, a pile of hat boxes and scattered worn shoes were strewn about on the floor. You could scarcely move, for there was almost no visible floor space in the mess. Why is this closet so messy, when everything else is so tidy? You wondered, though you did notice one or two items near the door that seemed to have been added to the inventory recently; one was a men’s black velvet blazer, the other was a ladies’ corseted drop-waist evening gown in a truly hideous shade of chartreuse. You sighed and perused the other items, finally deciding on a mens’ plum-colored sweater and white cotton trousers. 

You gathered up your things and picked up the candlestick to leave, when a sudden draft from the bedroom blew the candle out. You thought you heard a rustle among the clothes, a subtle ssshhh whisking past your ear. You shivered, and inched yourself through the gap in the door, eager to leave the closet behind. You turned to glance in one more time, and thought you saw a hatbox fall over. The door slammed shut. 

You took an instinctive step back, the shiver returning. You relit the candle and hastened on to the bathroom, relieved that this door was easy to open– and equally easy to lock behind you. That was just a draft, you reassured yourself. That was likely nothing at all. Talk about overreacting . This thought calmed you down, and you looked around the bathroom. 

It was equally cavernous, with a white clawfoot tub tucked against a terra-cotta tile wall. A large tiled counter with double sinks and a long mirror made up the side to your left, and a towel and toiletries had been set out for you. You set about drawing a bath, and emptied nearly an entire bag of bath salts into the steaming water. You shrugged off your wet clothes and sank into the tub, and you felt the chill that had settled into your bones start to slowly ebb. 

 

A while later, when the water had gone tepid, you drained the tub and wrapped the towel around yourself to dry off. As you examined a bottle of lotion, there was a knock at the door. 

“Miss y/n? We’ve left you a dress on the bed. Let us know if it’s to your liking,” Miss Sheffield said.

“I will, thank you!” You answered. After you heard her footsteps retreat, you opened the door and approached the bed. A silky black floor-length slip with spaghetti straps had been laid carefully across the bedspread. Your eyes widened – it was gorgeous. And as you picked it up, you noticed that Miss Sheffield had discreetly placed a matching undergarment beneath. Whoa, Miss Sheffield has some seriously good taste , you couldn’t help thinking. You ran your hand along the slip’s fabric, when another shift behind you caused you to jump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize–” Oliver began, and you whirled to face him. He stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe and the other clutching a canvas bag. 

“Didn’t realize what?” You fumed. “How to knock?” You suddenly remembered you were covered only by a towel. You pulled the towel tighter around your body. 

He blinked in surprise and immediately looked away. “My apologies. I only meant to come and check if you needed anything, but-”

“I’m, uh, fine. Thank you.” You spluttered. 

His eye caught the dress on the bed. “That’s pretty.”

What was he still doing here? You tilted your head to the side. “Yeah, it is. Miss Sheffield seemed to know what I'd like. And speaking of what I’d like, may I have some privacy?”

He chuckled at that, and turned to leave. “Sure, tough girl. Join me for dinner?”

Your stomach grumbled, and you realized you were famished. “Fine, yes, I’d like that too.”

With another quiet laugh, he was gone.

Chapter 4

You slipped the dress on and checked yourself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad . Miss Sheffield had somehow ensured it was the perfect size. You brushed your wet hair and tied it up into a loose topknot. After another moment, you rifled through one of the counter’s drawers and found a tube of lipstick, undoubtedly left behind by a previous guest. It was a subtle mauve with a gold shimmer, and you slicked a bit on your lips before giving a pout in the mirror. That’s better.  

You left the bathroom and felt your skin prickle at the chill in the air. You turned to look at the plum sweater you’d found in the closet. Looks be damned, you didn’t want to freeze. You threw the sweater on atop the slip and made your way down to the foyer.

 

A silver-haired gentleman in a deep evergreen waistcoat met you there, and showed you to a drawing room in the right wing of the manor. Oliver was there, rummaging through the canvas bag beside a roaring fireplace. He straightened up when you entered, his eyes glowing in the fireside light. He’d changed as well, wearing the velvet blazer over his white button-down, black jeans, and black boots. He looked fantastic. 

You cleared your throat. “You look nice,” you managed. He raised an eyebrow. “Funny,” he said, taking a step forward. “I was going to say the same about you.” He offered you his arm, and you took it shyly. 

He led you to the other side of the drawing room, where two leather couches were facing each other. There was a coffee table between them that was set with wineglasses and two place settings. You looked over at him quizzically. “Is it just going to be the two of us? I think we might be a little overdressed.”

“I thought a more intimate setting might be preferable to a large formal dinner,” he said as you took a seat on one of the couches. It made sense, you thought– you were exhausted from the events of the day, and the idea of having to exchange pleasantries in a more stately setting sounded awful. 

“I appreciate that,” you said genuinely. He took the seat opposite and adjusted his blazer; you noticed the cross necklace still dangled from his neck. You also noticed that the third button on his white shirt had somehow come undone, leaving a patch of his tattooed chest visible. Oh my, you thought. Did he do that so I’d notice? 

He grinned at you. “The pleasure is mine. I appreciate having such… lively …company.”

Before you could think of something to say in reply, the gentleman from before reappeared, and Oli motioned for him to come closer. “y/n, this is Amos, the best footman in the Bukovina region. I don’t think you were properly introduced.” Amos bowed in your direction. “Good evening, Miss y/n,” he said. He turned to Oliver. “We were just finishing up the staff meal in the dining hall. We decanted the, uh, Chilean pinot noir, if you’re interested?”

Oliver jumped up, putting his arm on Amos’s shoulder. “I’m highly interested. Good work, man. Y/n, will you partake?” 

Wine? You were more than happy to partake. “If you’re offering, I’d love some.”

 

Oliver and Amos left the room, and a moment later, Oliver alone returned with the decanter of wine and a covered tray. He set down the tray and filled both of your glasses. 

“So,” you began, swirling the glass in your hand. “The staff take meals in the dining hall? Does the master ever join them?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “He’s not able to make it downstairs much these days.” He took a sip of wine and looked up at the ceiling. “He’s bedridden, barely awake for a full hour on any given day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” he said, taking another sip. “He’s very old, he has a hard time walking. I usually bring him his meals before we get up to our staff antics.” At this, his eyes caught a glint of mischief. “And I have no trouble instigating such antics.”

The change of subject was a welcome one. You took a sip of your wine and marveled at the taste, unlike anything you’d had before– smoky, metallic, but with a jammy finish. A single sip of it allowed a warmth to spread in your chest, and emboldened you to bat your lashes at Oliver. “So you’re a troublemaker?”

He winked as he leaned closer to you, and you caught that same intoxicating scent from before. “Only when I want to be.”

 

A little while later, you’d both nearly finished off the decanter, and you’d eaten a bit of cheese and charcuterie from the tray he’d set on the table. He was telling you a story of how he’d helped his master rescue an injured pigeon from the attic, and that was how he’d wound up with a lengthy scar along his left calf. “The crazy old man had me hanging upside-down from a banister, using a meter stick to nudge at the poor thing,” he laughed. You were starting to like that laugh.“You should’ve seen his face when I slipped and fell to the floor: he thought for sure I was a goner!” He set down his glass. “Thankfully, all the gore was only from the broken floorboards shredding part of my leg to bits, and he was able to stitch me up. See?”

He pushed up the hem of his jeans to show you the scar. You leaned forward and brushed your fingers along it. “Whoa, that’s really cool. I’m glad you’re alright,” you remarked, then quickly added, “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have found me wandering in the road.”

He rolled the hem back down and gently tilted your chin up with his hand. You looked up into his pretty face, and found you were suddenly quite hot– whether from the fire, the wine, or something else, you weren’t sure. 

His eyes bore into yours. “I think I was meant to find you.”

You swallowed and sat back, and he let his hand fall from your chin. You weren’t sure how to respond, but you knew your cheeks were red as tomatoes. All you could think to say was-

“I think it’s really, really hot in here.”

He furrowed his brow. “You’re wearing my thickest sweater, no wonder you’re hot.”

Duh. You took the sweater off and slung it on the arm of the couch. 

“Well, is that better?” He asked, clearly amused at your flushed appearance. 

You reached for your wine glass and swallowed the last remaining drops. It did feel much better without the heavy sweater. “Yes, much.”

“Good,” he said, eyeing you up and down. “So the tough girl can’t take the heat, it seems.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but he continued. “I knew that dress would look incredible on you.”

Wait, so he’d chosen it for you? “Do you pick all of your guests’ clothes?” You managed. 

He leaned forward again, brushing a strand of your hair from your face. “No, only the ones I find interesting.”

You felt your lips part, and something in his gaze made your stomach flutter again. He smirked and sat back on the couch, patting the seat beside him. “Come, sit. I promise I won’t bite.”

You did so, and nervously adjusted the strap of your dress. Sitting this close together, you could sense an invisible electricity between the two of you, and it made you want to get even closer. You tried to resist, breathing in his scent, feeling your head swim from the wine. 

“Tell me everything about you,” he said.

You felt your shoulders un-tense. Oh, he wanted to talk , you thought a bit disappointedly. You considered what to share; this relative stranger had invited you to his home, lent you a gorgeous dress, provided what seemed like really fancy wine, and now wanted your life story. It seemed a reasonable request for his generosity. 

“Okay, well, I’ve lived in the Bukovina region all my life. I was raised by my aunt and uncle in a pretty nice cottage, attended a women’s college and received a degree in Literature, and I teach during the school season at our local secondary school. I have two cousins; one died in the war, the other is a painter in Lyon.” 

Oliver was listening with rapt attention, though his eyes did appear to steal a quick glance at your bare shoulders every now and then. You went on to explain your college experience, how you took care of your aunt and uncle during the holidays, how your cousin discovered their talent. At least half an hour must’ve passed as he studied you in the fireside light, but you couldn’t help but ramble– there was something about him that just made you want to spill your guts. 

During a moment of quiet, he absentmindedly touched his necklace. “Your family sounds wonderful,” he began, sounding distant, as though revisiting a memory. “This necklace came from my family,” he murmured quietly. “They were a religious lot.” 

Another beat. You suddenly felt quite drowsy, and he noticed your eyelids beginning to droop. “I’m sure you’re tired. Let’s get you to bed; if you’re going to return home tomorrow, you’ll need to be well rested.” You nodded in agreement. 

He stood and extended his hand to you, which you accepted. 

 

As you made your way up the staircase in the foyer, he put his arm around you. The candles had been blown out, so the only light came from the full moon shining through a skylight somewhere above. The manor was silent, settled into sleep for the evening.

 

When you both neared a landing in the middle of the staircase, he suddenly grabbed your shoulder hard, and pushed you up against the wall. His other palm found its way into your hair, and he seized your lips with his own. 

Shocked, you froze for a moment, before allowing yourself to sink into the kiss. His tense grip on your shoulder softened, though the fingers in your hair began to gently pull. You could smell that same scent on him from before, though stronger now, as you kissed him back. He pulled away for a moment to look at you, and his eyes seemed to be asking you a question. You hoped your expression gave him the answer you intended. 

He pushed you back again, tugging your hair so that your chin lifted, exposing your throat. He peppered your skin there with kisses, trailing his tongue along your jugular. Fucking finally , you thought, and let a moan escape your lips. Reassured by this response, he found his way to your earlobe, nipping on it with surprisingly sharp teeth– though the feeling was not unwelcome. “Tell me you want it, tough girl,” he whispered. 

You giggled and allowed one of your hands to wrap around his neck, the other trailing down towards the waistband of his jeans. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  you replied. He tugged your hair harder, and he forced his lips on yours more aggressively this time, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. He hooked a finger around the strap of your dress, still holding your shoulder firmly, and allowed the strap to fall down across your arm, exposing your chest. 

“God damn,” he muttered, breaking from the kiss to drink in the sight of you. “I am going to ruin you.” 

 

In one quick motion, he’d swept you up into his arms and laid you across the next set of steps, his mouth on yours again; his hands quickly found the hem of your dress, and he hiked up the skirt of it around your waist. His fingers grazed your panties, and he smiled against your lips. 

“You wore these too, huh?” He murmured. 

You pulled back to give him a faux glare. “Oh, I see. You picked these out as well.”

He grinned mischievously and snaked his fingers into your panties, causing you to gasp. 

“Of course I did. I’ve been dying to get in them all night.” His thumb brushed against a particularly sensitive area, and your hips twitched in response, causing him to chuckle. 

“That’s a good girl. See, you can pretend to be all snarky and proud…but you want me.”

His free hand grabbed your chin and tilted it up again, this time forcing you to look into his eyes. His gaze was hungry, animalistic. You tried to meet his eyes with a look of defiance— but then he swiped his damn thumb over your center, and you couldn’t help but whimper, eager for him to touch you again. 

“That’s a sound I could get used to,” he whispered. His fingers moved downward still, circling around your increasingly wet pussy. 

Well, he couldn’t be the one having all the fun. You hooked one of your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer, so that he was on top of you. This caught him by surprise, and you could feel something in his jeans stiffen against your stomach. He kissed you again, biting your lip so hard you felt the skin break. 

You could feel a drop of warm, thick blood drip from your lip, and he ran his tongue along it, eliciting a growl from deep within his throat. 

“Fuck, that’s good…” he muttered, and he allowed one of his fingers to sink into you. His lip was on yours again, and he seemed to find pleasure in drawing out more of your blood, his finger sinking deeper into you. Your hips bucked against his touch, and he used his other hand to hold you steady. His nails dug into your skin, the jagged edges leaving red marks along your hip bone.

In response, you’d begun to palm his cock through his jeans, eager for him to give you more ; but he released your hip and grabbed both of your wrists, forcing them back so that they were pinned to the step above you. “Mm, I don’t think so, angel.” He tsk-tsked, obviously loving the eagerness evident on your face. His other hand continued to tease you, and you couldn’t help but squirm under his touch. “I decide when you get to please me.”

You cocked an eyebrow, trying to appear uncooperative. “Oh really?” He tightened his grip on your wrists, and you felt that warmth in your stomach again. “Well, what if I want more? Would you deny me that?”

“Yes, I would,” he muttered, and pulled his fingers out of your panties. He traced your still-bleeding lip with his wet finger, and you opened your mouth to suck on it. “Do a good job, angel, and maybe I’ll give you what you want.” 

You did as you were told, tasting the mixture of your own wetness and blood. He smiled as it continued to trickle from your lip. “You’re such a messy thing.” He wiped your chin and licked his fingers clean. 

“I think you like it.” You replied, sounding casual. Inside, you were desperate for him to touch you again, so much so that you were dripping wet. “Are you gonna make an even bigger mess of me, or is this all you can manage?”

He looked up at your pinned wrists and then back down at you. His expression turned from playful to serious, as though you were prey. You bit your lip, which reignited the soft pain from before, causing you to moan involuntarily.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. He released your hands and stood abruptly. “Did you hear that?”

You sat up sharply, and pulled the strap of your dress back onto your shoulder. “Hear what?”

He whipped his head around, then checked over the stair banister at the floor below. “Shit. What time is it?” 

You shook your head. “I-I have no idea.” You stood as well, feeling equal parts unsatisfied, confused, and flustered.

 

The two of you stood stone still. The manor felt quiet, then– too quiet. Somewhere below, you thought you heard a faint whispering. Then, there was the sound of footsteps.

Oliver looked back at you in distress. “Upstairs. Now.”

Chapter 5

You’d barely made it up to your room before the screeching started. It resounded throughout the manor, seeming to seep through the walls and directly into your brain. You’d just thrown the door shut when Oliver burst through, promptly locking it behind him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his tone frantic.

You stared at him. “I don’t know, am I gonna go deaf from whatever that is?” 

He froze. “You can hear that?”

“Who wouldn’t? It’s earsplitting.”

“It’ll stop in a moment, I swear.”

True to what he’d said, the screeching almost immediately ceased. You continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. What was going on? 

He sighed and ran a hand through that dark mop of hair. “I-I have to go check on something. Will you let me explain when I come back?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, and you realized you were freezing, like the manor’s temperature had dropped twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. “Do what you have to do, I guess.”

He cautiously unlocked the door, and turned back for a moment to look at you. “Don’t open this door for anything, unless you hear me knock four times.” Then, he was gone. 

You locked the door and faced the empty room. Now what? You snatched a blanket off the bed and wrapped yourself in it, resigning yourself to the room for the rest of the night. The strange sound was gone, but so too was Oliver: whatever he was dealing with, it was probably not good. 

You decided to peek around the room some more, to see if you could discern anything about the previous guests– or their de facto host. You’d checked the writing desk already, but it seemed like the top drawer had been pulled ajar by just a few inches. Did I leave it like that?

As you approached the desk, you thought you heard a muffled scraping noise somewhere high above you, as though coming from the attic. You shivered under the blanket and pulled the drawer open.

What fell out was a folded piece of parchment that had withered with age, with something taped to the back. You gently removed the taped thing, and turned it over in your hands– it was a Catholic rosary made of some hard white rock, not quite as perfect as marble but not as fragile as glass. You brought it over to the nearest lit candlestick to examine it closer. 

Upon further inspection, you realized it was made from human teeth. 

You dropped the thing in disgust, and the rattle it made on the floor echoed in the cavernous room. Hands shaking now, you unfolded the parchment paper, and realized it was a mockup of the manor’s architecture. Notes were drawn in the margins in a foreign language (Spanish, you guessed), and a small red dot appeared to have been smeared across the topmost space of the drawing– the attic. 

“What …?” You muttered to yourself, trying to recall what little Spanish you knew as you skimmed the notations. You could read cuidado written with an arrow pointing toward the hallway you’d met Miss Sheffield in earlier, and something about a holy fire in the basement. You supposed, though, that these notes were probably not the work of some anxious Spanish fire marshall. 

You heard a knock at the door, causing you to jump about a mile in the air. You hastily folded up the paper, and scooped up the rosary, reattaching it with the tape and tucking them both in the blanket folds around you. 

“Oliver?” You whispered. There was silence for a moment. Another knock. 

You started to approach the door. “Oliver, is that you?” You called again, a bit louder this time. 

Behind the door, something shuffled. Then, three knocks. You counted them in your head, ice running through your veins as you realized that he had specified four. 

Then, nothing. You held your breath, your heart pounding.

“Y/n? It’s me,” he whispered eventually– but still, there had only been three knocks. You swallowed hard, and you were suddenly glad you’d kept the rosary on your person.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you finally spoke. “How do I know for sure that it’s you?”

More tense silence. 

You backed away from the door to the side of the bed, feeling slightly dizzy. 

 

“Come on, I told you I’d be back.”

“Well, you also said something else,” you replied, trying to sound braver than you felt. 

“Ah, right,” he paused. Then, slowly, he gave four knocks. 

Despite your hesitation, you also felt a modicum of relief. You approached the door and reached for the handle, when you stopped. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Yes, I’m going to tell you what you need to know.” His voice sounded somewhat distant.

After another moment, you opened the door. He stood there in the doorway, his blazer gone, and his shirt completely unbuttoned. The canvas bag from before now dangled from his arm. He was also, notably, covered in blood.

 

You stumbled back, and he leaned forward to catch you in his arms. “Oh, relax, tough girl,” he chided. His eyes were different, darker somehow, and his pupils were huge. “The master had a bad bout of night terrors, and I had to give him a sedative. I missed and hit a vein.” 

“Night terrors? Are you joking?” You shot back in disbelief. “You are soaked in...in… there’s no way you got that much from–”

“Listen to me, y/n,” he ordered, his tone changing. “I hit a vein. It was a mistake, I was tired. He is fine. Nobody is hurt.” You felt some sort of intrusion in your consciousness then, as you looked into his eyes. You could feel the doubt ebbing, like somehow you were being convinced by what he was saying. “That’s better, angel. It’s okay.”

“How…how can I trust what you’re saying?” You managed, starting to feel your heart rate steady. He released you, and you moved to sit down on the bed. 

He straightened and pulled off his button-down, wiping the blood from his chest with it. “I’ll introduce you to him before you leave tomorrow, alright? He’ll tell you the same thing I said.” His eyes flickered up at you, still black. 

You swallowed and nodded. “Well, okay. But-”

“Yes?”

“There’s….I heard something in the attic.”

He approached you on the bed then, standing over you completely shirtless. He brushed your hair from your face, and his touch brought you a sense of comfort. “Of course you did. There’s probably a dozen mice up there I haven’t dealt with yet.” He knelt in front of you and kissed your jaw. “You’re safe, I promise.”

You weren’t completely reassured, but you were sleepy and he was sexy, and he’d cleaned the mess from his chest, so whatever. You pressed your body into his, winding your hands into his hair and pulling him down onto the bed with you. 

“Wait just a second, you impatient thing,” he teased, and sat up. 

“Ugh, now what?” You whined, feeling the heat between your thighs start to reignite. 

He reached into the canvas bag, clearly feeling for something. You took this opportunity to remove the blanket from your shoulders, discreetly tucking the map and the rosary beneath it as you did so. 

He removed the thing from the bag, producing a length of rope. “Do you trust me?” He asked, his lips parting in anticipation. 

You felt your heart skip a beat, this time out of desire. “I shouldn’t. But…”

He bit his lip and spoke frankly. “But you do. And you know you’re going to like it. It’s your nature, isn’t it?”

You nodded. You weren’t sure how he could read you so well, but it didn’t matter. He took your wrist and looped the rope around it, then around one of the posts of the bed. He was as adept with the rope as he’d been earlier with the bandages. Once both of your wrists had been tied to the post, he knelt above you on the mattress, his tattooed torso entirely visible to you now. He looked otherworldly in the candlelight, and you longed for him to touch you, to kiss you, to finish what he’d started with you on the stairs. 

“Not so tough now, are you?” He smirked. He leaned over you and let his lips graze yours, trailing his fingers along the top of your slip. You groaned against his mouth, and he let his fingers skim your breast through the thin black silk. “You never said it, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes. “Said what?” His banter was starting to get in the way of your good time. 

He gripped your chin, forcing more eye contact. “You never said you wanted it. I expect you to be clear, understood?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I understand. Oliver, I want it.” 

At that, he pressed his mouth into yours roughly, ignoring the dried blood that had settled into the grooves of your lip. He traced a circle around your hard nipple with one hand and gave it a slight pinch, all while grinding his pelvis into yours. His cock, you could tell from sensation alone, was sizable. The thought excited you. At one point, he reached into his back pocket, fumbling for some other object. 

“How do you feel about this?” He asked, showing you what he’d retrieved. In his hand was a small but incredibly sharp-looking dagger.

You felt your mouth go dry. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Only if you want me to.”

You felt the warmth between your legs increase, and you were practically salivating at the idea. “Yes please,” you managed, before adding, “sir.”

He seemed to like that. He brought the dagger to your cheek, pressing the metal into your skin just enough to sting a bit, but not enough to actually cut into your flesh. He trailed it along down the side of your neck, toward your chest. You shivered in anticipation. 

“You’re doing such a good job,” he praised. His tongue flicked his top lip as he took the center part of your slip in one hand. “You look stunning in this, but I’d love to see what you look like without it.” In a flourish, he dragged the dagger down through the center of the dress, ripping it apart as he went. 

Your body was completely exposed to him now, except for the rather skimpy panties he’d evidently picked out for you earlier. He must’ve enjoyed the sight, as the dagger nearly fell from his hand as he marveled at your body. 

“Oh, y/n, you are perfect.” He said, awestruck. Then, the glint returned to his lust-blown eyes. He pressed the point of the dagger against the flesh just beneath your breast, then down along your sternum, then your navel, towards your thigh. The pressure was just so, leaving a faint white line as the sharp tip went along your skin. You couldn’t help but tremble with need as he went to work. 

He smiled, bemused at your obvious pleasure. “My tough girl likes a little pain, huh?” You moaned in response, raising up your thigh so that the point dug into your skin a bit harder. “I can take more than this,” you protested, but he just laughed.

“All in good time.” He set the dagger down on the mattress by your leg, and undid the button of his jeans. He shoved the waistband down, along with that of his boxers, and took his hard cock in his hand. “Think you can handle this?”

Your breath hitched again; you were caught off guard by the size of him. But, never one to back down, you set your jaw. “I know I can. Give it to me.”

He knelt above you then, kissing you and sucking on your neck and leaving bite marks along your collarbone. He pressed the tip of his cock against your clit through your panties, and you thought you’d implode from desire. You needed him, like, yesterday .

“Quit teasing,” you mumbled, pushing your hips up into him. 

He broke his lips away from your chest and twisted his fingers into your hair. “Wait, angel. Look at me.” His black eyes were alight with manic energy. He curled his lip back, and you noticed his canine teeth were longer than the rest, and far sharper. 

You stiffened: out of surprise, not fear. “You’re…you’re a…”

“Yes,” he answered. 

You wrapped your legs around him and forced him down toward you, so that his face was only an inch from yours. His fangs could easily access your throat, and it occurred to you that you were pretty much powerless to defend yourself if he decided to go for it. You stared deeply into his black eyes, studying his intentions. “Are you going to kill me?”

He furrowed his brow. “No, of course not.”

He was telling you the truth, you could sense it. You tilted your chin up to his ear, and whispered, “Then shut up and fuck me.”

Chapter 6

The next few hours passed in a blur, but you remembered there being teeth and bruising and breathlessness.

 

You woke when the gray light of dawn drifted through the heavy curtains of the window on the opposite wall. You blinked your eyes open and sat up, realizing you were wearing the same slip as last night. You were also completely alone.

What? 

You looked around, but the room seemed as it had the evening previous. Your wrists were free, with no noticeable indents left behind by the rope. You flipped the blanket off your body, only to find there was neither the worn architectural schematics nor freaky rosary hidden underneath the sheets. 

You took a deep breath, trying to comprehend whether the events of last night had actually happened. Was it all a dream? 

You stood and approached the mirror nearby, examining your lip for dried blood, but there was nothing. You pulled down the top of your dress, but there were no bite marks, either.

Surely I’d have some kind of physical reminder, if… 

The door opened then, and Miss Sheffield poked her head in. “Oh, good, you’re awake.” She entered the room and made her way to the window, where she spread the curtains wide and lifted up the sill. The sound of crickets drifted in, along with the unmistakable smell of rain. 

You studied her movements, which seemed altogether too fluid and quick for a woman of her age. 

“There’s coffee downstairs, if you’d like,” she said, turning to you. “We’re having our monthly meeting, and you’re welcome to join us.”

“Thank you,” you replied cautiously. “Is, um…” you cleared your throat. “Is Oliver awake?”

She tipped her head to the side. “Naturally. He’s in charge, so missing the meeting would be strange.”

And with that, she left the room. You watched as she closed the door behind her, then hurried after to lock it. You mustered up the courage, then, to approach the closet.

You wedged the closet door open with surprising ease, and mumbled: “Okay, if there’s something spooky in here, maybe leave me alone?” 

The closet was just as it’d been yesterday, though the hat box was still knocked over. You tentatively picked it up off the floor, coughing on the dust cloud it kicked up. Your eyes, though watery from the sudden assault, could determine that the box had been recently opened. 

You set it atop a crate in the closet, and lifted the lid. Inside was some unidentifiable moth-eaten satin fabric. As you searched within its folds for anything of interest, you came across a familiar beaded object. You pulled the rosary from the box and stared at it, mystified. How did this get in here? 

You dug through the box some more, but the tattered manor schematics were nowhere to be found. Resigned that they were definitely gone, you shuddered and affixed the rosary around your neck. You didn’t consider yourself particularly religious, but it felt right to have some sort of protective talisman, if only for comfort. 

Selecting a black waistcoat and matching trousers from the clothes on the rack, you next dressed and tidied yourself in the bathroom mirror. You brushed your teeth, drank some water from the sink, and slicked on that same mauve lipstick. Suck it up , you thought as you looked in your reflection. It was just a weird dream, brought on by this weird place. It doesn’t matter – tonight you’ll be home and you can put all of this behind you . The thought was reassuring, and as you left the room you found a bit more confidence in your stride.

As you descended the stairwell, you paused for a moment on the landing, thinking about your abrupt hot and heavy moment with Oliver there the night before. Did that happen? In spite of all the strange and unsettling things you couldn’t confirm, you hoped that at least that part was real.

You swiftly made your way downstairs and followed the scent of coffee through the back hallway, into what appeared to be the dining room. The meeting had already started; various housekeepers, maids, footmen, and Miss Sheffield sat around the dining table, with Oliver standing at the head. He was leafing through a ledger and making some remarks about the tools needed for an upcoming planting season.

You busied yourself with making a cup of coffee along the sideboard, and your ears pricked up as someone approached your side. 

“Miss y/n, how are you this morning?” You recognized Amos’s voice, and you turned to greet him. He met you with a friendly smile. “I trust you slept well?”

You took a sip from your mug. The coffee was strong, with a hint of nutmeg. “I did, I suppose. Well, as good as one can in a strange estate far from home.”

He poured himself a mug as well. “Of course. We’ve had many guests say the same thing– in fact, even I have a hard time resting here.” He sipped on his coffee, and the pair of you faced the room, watching the meeting go on. 

You watched Oliver pull over a chalkboard and write some notes on it, and as reluctant as you were to admit it, he once again looked amazing. He wore a simple gray t-shirt, dark trousers, and boots– his neck was vacant of his cross necklace, though, and you wondered what had happened to it. His gaze briefly caught yours, and his friendly smile gave away no recollection of the previous night’s events. What was his deal?

 

Then, Amos said something that quickly recaptured your attention.

“Listen…you’re not safe here,” he muttered under his breath, while on the surface nonchalantly stirring his coffee. “The roads, they…”

You leaned closer to him, trying to appear casual. “They what?”

“They’re impassable from the rain. It’s going to be days, maybe weeks before anything can make it down this mountain.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“One of the groundskeepers came across a carriage accident during her morning walk down the mountainside. The poor delivery man never stood a chance..the ground was gone.”

 

His hand was shaking slightly as he lifted the mug to cover his mouth. “I don’t think it would be wise for you to stay here.”

“Why?”

He coughed loudly then, and every eye in the room peered in your direction. The unexpected attention lingered on you a moment longer than seemed necessary, causing the hairs on your neck to stand on end. 

“That’s why.” He uttered only to you, once the meeting had resumed. “They’re watching you. They have been for a long time, since before you set out for the cliffs.”

How did he know that? You took a nervous swig of your coffee. “I don’t understand.”

“Look around this room. Do you see anyone drinking coffee besides us?”

You surveyed the people at the table: not one of them had a cup. “No, but what does that have to do with-”

“They’re not like us. Or him, for that matter.”

You were about to demand he explain, but at that same moment, the meeting appeared to end. The room filled with the miscellaneous noise and chatter of the staff going about their duties. 

 

Amos disappeared then, but not before slipping a folded-up napkin into your hand: you tucked it into your pocket, figuring it best to open it later, so as not to arouse suspicion. 

You grabbed a croissant from the dining table and wandered to the far side of the room, where a floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the vast countryside. The view was breathtaking– the hills sprawled out for endless miles, a mosaic of red, yellow, and orange foliage. The scene was brilliant, even in spite of the threatening storm clouds lingering above. 

“I never get tired of this view,” a sudden deep voice spoke beside you, causing you to start. God, would people around here stop doing that? 

You straightened, and took a bite of your croissant while mulling over what to say. You hadn’t considered quite yet how to come at him, but you had to know whether last night had really happened.

 “Do you get tired of anything?” you asked, trying and failing to sound bold. 

He just frowned. “Huh?” 

Fuck. That was dumb. You could feel your face turning pink. “I mean, do you sleep? Because you’re all…” you gestured vaguely at your teeth. 

He blinked. “Yeah, I sleep. Most people tend to.”

You tore off a piece of croissant and held it out to him. “Do you eat?”

“What? Yes?” He responded, bewildered. He batted your hand away lightly. “You’re acting weird.” 

It didn’t make sense. Was he a vampire or not? You popped the rest of the croissant in your mouth. “Mm, forget it,” you acquiesced between bites. This conversation was obviously going nowhere. 

He gazed out at the autumnal scene below. “Amos tells me that the roads aren’t traversable.” 

You paused– this felt like a test. But he couldn’t have heard your conversation with Amos, not when he was conducting the meeting from across the room. “Is that so?” You replied, watching his eyes drift over the valley. “What happens now?” 

He was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. His face became tense, brows knit together in worry. “Well, until we can guarantee your safe passage, your best best is probably to remain here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then he turned his attention to you, clearly as perturbed by these developments as you were. “I’m sorry,” he added softly. “If I had any say in it, we’d be halfway down the mountain path by now.”

You were more baffled than frustrated by this point. “I have my doubts,” was all you could think to respond with. 

He looked down at the floor. “I understand. Ideally, we’ll be able to get you home by tomorrow night. That is, I mean, if the rain holds off.”

As he spoke, the low sound of thunder rumbled, shaking the window panes. Great. 

You turned to leave – to where, you weren’t sure – when he clasped your hand. 

“Wait, y/n.” He examined your bandages. “How is this feeling?” He pressed the pad of his thumb lightly into your palm, causing you to wince slightly. 

“Ah, n-not bad,” you answered. 

He released your wrist. “Do you want me to change the wrapping? It’ll prevent infection in the cuts.”

At this, you couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh, so you’re worried about a tiny little wound on my hand, but not on my lip? My chest?”

“What are you talking about?” His eyes widened. 

You were sick of going around in circles. You wrapped your fingers around his, tightening your grip slightly to show you meant business. “Last night, you bit my lip and drew blood. You held a knife to my throat. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He was at a loss, it seemed. “I…I didn’t…” he trailed off, his shoulders going slack. 

You realized, as you glared at him, that his irises were different. They were a deep hazel, but certainly not black. And they were as full of confusion as yours surely were.

He then shook himself from whatever stupor he’d fallen into. “I think you dreamt something,” he said, affixing a playful smirk to his face. “Were you dreaming of me?” He leaned in close, and you caught that warm, spicy scent on him again. “Was it inappropriate?” 

You rolled your eyes, but inside, you were growing more and more uncertain that last night had happened at all. “You wish.”

He smiled then, relief evident on his face. “Oh, I more than wish.” 

Your cheeks burned again. “Fine, whatever, let’s change the bandage.”

Chapter 7

The two of you were making your way toward the physician’s office, when you noticed a door that was cracked open along the wall. It seemed a good deal older than the rest of the manor, and shockingly cold air was seeping from the gap– enough so to make you shiver as you passed it. Oliver didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t show it. 

“What’s in there?”

He kept his face forward. “That’s the entrance to the cellar.”

You stopped then, your curiosity piqued. “The cellar?” Then, a stupid joke occurred to you. “I hope you don’t have a cask of amontillado down there.” 

He laughed at that, and you felt the tension in the air ease. “Not quite. Though I’m not opposed to getting you somewhere alone, somewhere quiet…” he grinned. 

You allowed a small smile and took a step closer to him. “Oh yeah?” You shivered involuntarily as another draft of cold air swept from the doorway. “Ugh, maybe not in there, though.” 

He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and you thought his pace quickened as you two reached the end of the hallway and entered the office. 

 

Inside, you were greeted with an enormous wreck. The bottles from the cabinet had been emptied and scattered, their contents strewn about the floor. The examining table’s parchment had been torn up and stained, and the desk in the back had had its drawers ripped out, its chair overturned, and the notebooks atop thrown aside. 

“Damn, what happened here?” You asked, nudging a bottle with your foot. 

Oliver crouched down and picked it up, turning it over to read the label. “Well…” he began hesitantly. “The master’s night terrors, as I’ve said, are significant. He makes it difficult to administer sedatives.”

You frowned, looking around the room. “Is this the same person that’s been bedridden for days on end?”

You sensed Oliver’s shoulders tense up, and he didn’t answer. 

“It’s different at night,” he said finally. “Fear…it makes him stronger, it sort of heightens his constitution.”

“So your solution to this is to sedate him? Does that help him…or hurt him?”

Oliver again didn’t reply. He seemed to be examining the label of the bottle with great interest. You took a step away from him.

“I’m gonna look for the bandages,” you stated in what you hoped was a casual voice. You began to parse through the clutter in the cabinet, hoping you would find them quickly, so you could vacate the office and return to the comparable safety of the dining room. You cast aside a pack of gauze and spotted something of interest: scissors. For safety , you thought to yourself, tucking them in the same pocket with the napkin. 

“Ah, here they are,” Oliver piped up from across the room. He held up the bandage roll and beckoned you over. “This will only take a second.”

You smoothed your trousers and walked over, allowing him to remove the wrapping on your hand and check for signs of infection. “Oh!” You exclaimed, turning your palm over. The scrapes were completely gone. “How did that..?”

“Impressed?” He smirked.

You stared at him. “It’s not medically possible.”

“Sure it is. We treated your hand, and now it’s better. These are facts.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “How did you do it?”

He sighed, meeting your eyes. “I happen to know a remedy for closing up wounds faster than should be typical. The master-”

“Enough with the fucking master!” You threw your hands up. “Clearly he isn’t real. Or if he is, he’s magic.” You gestured toward the trashed exam table. “People don’t get stuck in bed for days and days, and then become inhumanly strong after one bad nightmare. They don’t run around the entirety of Bukovina curing the sickest of the sick when they only have just one office with all of their supplies hidden high up in the mountains. He’s–” Oh. 

Ohhhhhhh.

It struck you then that Oliver was, in all likelihood, the one running the show. And what’s more, he had known your injury would be gone, and had brought you to this room with very different intentions. You swallowed your words, and jerked your hand away from him. “He’s you.”

Chapter 8

Oliver’s face was blank, as though he’d been expecting this. You took a shaky breath, your body trembling. 

Well, screw that. You weren’t going to let him control any more of the situation. You wrapped your hand around the scissors in your pocket. 

“You’re pretty smart,” he admitted. He dropped the bottle and took a step toward you. 

Your fight-or-flight kicked in then, and you lunged forward, brandishing the scissors and thrusting the point to his neck. He stumbled backward in surprise, his back hitting the wall behind him. 

“Thank god for that,” you snarled, your other hand pinning his arm.

He didn’t seem intimidated, though. He glanced down at the scissors, then up at you. “And because you’re so smart, you likely know that this display isn’t going to do much in your favor.”

You tightened your grip on the scissors. “Shut up. It’ll do plenty in my favor if it’ll get you to stop lying to me.”

“Relax, angel,” he responded, leaning into the point of the scissors. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

You didn’t move. This was going easier than you’d anticipated, and the ease of conversation caught you off guard.  “Why didn’t…I mean…” Get it together! 

“Your interrogating skills could use some work,” he observed. 

“Ugh!” You reinforced your hold on his arm. “Are you a vampire, yes or no?”

“Yes. And no.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m half and half. It’s a curse.”

You pulled the scissors back and released his arm. “How does that work? Wait— did you fix my hand with some kind of black magic?”

He rubbed the indent mark on his neck. “I fixed your hand, but you’re not hexed or anything. As for how it works…” he averted his gaze. “The vampire that did this to me was trying to complete a ritual. It screwed the whole thing up: I didn’t die, as intended, but I only partly survived.” He flashed his fangs. “And now I have these.”

You ran your free hand through your hair nervously. “So, do you do the classic vampire thing?” He glared at you, and in spite of your nerves, you gave a dramatic faux hiss. 

He sniffed then, trying not to smile. “I do have an…unnatural appetite, if that’s what you're asking. But I only truly need to feed once per full moon cycle.”

You nodded. “I see.” Then, you thought of something else. “You showed me your teeth last night. You…” your breath hitched. 

His eyes flickered, darkening some. “Yes,” he muttered, and then it was his turn to grab you. 

You dropped the scissors in shock as he snaked his arm around your waist. 

His lips found their way to your ear. “I drank your blood.” He whispered. “You let me take as much as I desired.”

You felt a flutter in your stomach. His mouth traversed down your neck. “I took it from here…and here…” his hand dropped from your waist to the top of your thigh. 

Your leg twitched in response. “And then?” You managed, your heart racing. 

He tilted your chin up, so that your gaze met his. “You really don’t remember?” His lips turned up at the corners when you shook your head softly. “That’s unfortunate, really. In that case-” he gripped your waist with both hands and hoisted you into the air, and you wrapped your legs around him. 

You couldn’t resist him: and you didn’t want to, despite how concerning that should have realistically been. Your mouth crashed into his, and you could feel his sharp teeth skimming the skin there.  “Oliver…p-please,” you managed between his fervent kisses. 

His grip tightened on your waist, and he maneuvered you both toward the exam table, setting you down atop the shredded paper. He broke his lips away from yours for a moment, his forehead touching yours. “Tell me what you want, angel.”

You inhaled sharply. “I…” your stomach fluttered. “I want you. I want your worst.”

A grin spread across his face, almost in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

You swallowed. He’d already had your blood; you were both already bound together by this defining shared vitality. It was because of this that you felt you could trust him— after all, you were still alive. Besides, nothing risked was nothing gained. “I’m sure.”

His eyes glinted, and he released your hips. He stood upright and, smirking, snapped his fingers. 

 

You felt a sudden weightlessness in your entire body, as though you were submerged under water. Your eyes had trouble focusing, your breathing becoming slower and more rhythmic. “Wha–” you glanced up at him in a daze.

“There, focus on me. Can you do that?” Oliver leaned over you, his eyes black and brimming with excitement. 

You blinked slowly, squinting, trying to concentrate on his face. Everything else in the room seemed to blur, fading out of existence. All you could see was him. 

“Good, that’s it.” He took your hand and kissed your wrist, trailing his lips along the path of your veins. “You’re going to let me taste you again, aren’t you?” 

You felt your head spin. “I am,” you managed, your own voice sounding far-off and foreign to you. 

He grinned again and moved up to your throat, pausing briefly as he noticed the rosary. “This will need to go— but don’t worry, not the whole thing.” He gazed into your eyes and commanded: “Get rid of the cross.”

Your fingers wrapped around the crucifix and tore it from the cord, leaving the rest of the thing intact. 

“That’s better. Now…” he grasped the cord and wound it around his hand, tugging it toward him and bringing your face closer to his. “I want to show you something.”

He wound the cord tighter around his hand, and you felt the strain of the rosary against the skin of your throat, compressing your airway. You gasped lightly, eliciting another eager smile from Oliver. 

“Does that feel good?” He asked coaxingly. 

“Y-yes sir,” you replied, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. 

He nodded and wound the cord tighter, his mouth once again descending to your wrist. You gasped again as his teeth grazed against the delicate skin there. He glanced up at you. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he ordered, and you gave an affirmative shake of your head. 

At once, he sank his teeth into you, causing you to involuntarily start. But when he began to drink, you felt a warm tugging sensation that wasn’t unpleasant, and your head fell back against the exam table. He maintained a steady hold on the rosary, and you could feel the blood rushing past your ears. Your vision was beginning to grow faint, as well, your head swimming with pleasure. 

“Don’t stop,” you murmured, your own voice sounding distant. His bite grew deeper in response. 

Your ears were ringing, but you didn’t care. The heat in your stomach had raced between your thighs, and you desperately wanted more .

“Oliver, please, I— Oh!” you choked as he released your wrist, the sharp exposure of the flesh wounds becoming evident as he withdrew his teeth. The blood dripped from the two punctures, and he dragged his tongue along the stream of it before he kissed you again. 

“You what?” He stood, and then brushed your hair from your face with his free hand. “Do you want me to touch you, angel?”

You nodded, your mind reeling from oxygen deprivation and pleasure and blood loss. A faint tinge of black encircled the edges of your sight.

 He tugged the rosary, forcing you to sit up. His eyes bore into yours. “Use your words,” he said, and he released the cord.

You gasped as air flowed back through your windpipes, though the blurry vision remained. Your fingers felt your wrist, the punctures tangible under your touch— you hoped they’d remain, a physical reminder of what you’d given and to whom.

“I…” You began as you caught your breath. “I need more.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That so?” He snapped his fingers again, and you felt your body go nearly completely slack. He caught the back of your head as you slumped backward, holding your gaze level with his. 

 “You’re mine,” he said, and you nodded. 

He kissed your neck, his free hand winding underneath your waistcoat and running his fingers over your breast. 

You inhaled sharply as his kisses went lower and lower down your neck, then your chest. You felt your skin tingle at the soft touch of his lips, and you tried to respond to it, but your body was apparently unwilling. “Mm…I can’t move…” you murmured.

He laughed under his breath. “Don’t act surprised, angel. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

You felt your heart skip a beat in spite of your hypnotized state. Alarm bells should’ve been going off in your head, but there was something so relieving about the idea of giving up control entirely. You didn’t have to decide anything— hell, you didn’t have to think. You could surrender to this. You could surrender to him . In this state, you could act purely as a being of desire, and you desired him more than anything. 

A gasp escaped your throat as he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I asked you a question,” he said, deadpan. The look in his eyes was feverish, and it was doing things to you that you couldn’t describe. 

“Y-yes,” you stammered out, feeling your cheeks burn. 

He seemed practically salivating as you spoke that word: clearly it was something he’d been dying to hear. He made short work of undoing every button of your waistcoat and pulling off your trousers, exploring your increasingly bare skin with his mouth as he went. 

When you were left in just your undergarments on the exam table, he grasped your hand and pulled you up into a more stable sitting position. He shifted so that he was standing between your legs, and he picked up the medical tape from the cabinet beside you. “Be a good girl and put your hands behind your back for me,” he said coaxingly. You automatically complied, and he expertly bound your wrists together with the tape. 

He stifled a grin as he noticed your blood creating two small red stains on the fabric. “Just as I suspected,” he teased, tilting your head back. His hand grazed the side of your face. “So…messy.” 

You leaned into his touch eagerly, anticipating what might come next— the first sting of impact wasn’t a surprise. His palm against your cheek felt direct and controlled, and you whimpered in response. “Ah…again…please…” you managed. You knew your pussy was already becoming slick with need: each slap would only make you wetter. “Hurt me.”

This time, he first circled your lips with his thumb using his other hand. “You want more?” He asked. You nodded. “Prove it.”

You parted your lips, and felt his thumb slip between your teeth. 

He grinned. “Very good. Suck on it, angel.”

You did as you were told, and the next slap left a more residual sensation on your face, causing you to flinch, though you never let his finger leave your mouth. God, I could do this forever. 

He leaned further into you, his hard cock pressing against your center even through his jeans. You could feel it getting harder with every slap, every flutter of your eyelashes, every moan that left your lips. You were desperate for him now, you would’ve done anything— and he knew it. 

“Fuck,” you whined as he withdrew his finger from your mouth. “Are you going to…” your words left you, the trance and the threat of fainting dissipated your thoughts like a heavy mist. “Are you gonna…”

“Gonna what?” He mimicked you, a cruel smile on his lips. “Am I gonna tear those panties off of you and rail you until you can’t remember your name?” 

You felt your hips twitch. “Mhm,” you replied shyly. 

He took hold of your legs and wrapped them around his waist, so that you fell onto your back on the table. He clenched the fabric of your panties in his hands and moved to tear them, but caught your gaze and released them. “Why would I need these off of you, when they look so good just where they are?”

He instead pulled your underwear to the side, exposing you completely to him. Something about your dripping wet cunt made him fervent, and suddenly he was kissing your chest, his fingers taunting your clit, making you shiver and moan. His teeth bit into your breast above your right nipple, the warmth of the blood and the cold hardness of his fangs a delicious combination. He chuckled against your skin as your body trembled against him. 

“You’ve been so patient. Hmm, should I fuck you now?” He asked, his fingers sinking into you. The point of his fang pressed against your chest, threatening to pierce with one false move. The feeling of risk was intoxicating. 

You could tell you were utterly soaking his fingers, but neither of you really cared. You swallowed hard, and spoke with a fevered passion in your voice that you’d never heard before. “Please…make me yours.” 

He withdrew his fingers from your pussy, which elicited another whine from your throat. You couldn’t see below the edge of the table, but you could hear him unzip his jeans. Suddenly, his mouth was on you again, his hand holding your neck down firmly against the table, and his cock was pressing against your entrance. 

He broke his teeth away from your chest momentarily to glance up at you with his black eyes, and you bit your lip in response, giving your wordless consent. He spread your legs a little further apart and slowly pushed himself into you, sucking on your neck as he did so. 

“Ah! Damn…you’re so…” you could barely form words. 

“You can take it,” he murmured against your neck. “You’re a tough girl, remember?” He eased into you and moved hesitantly, but given how wet you were, it wasn’t difficult to pick up the pace. 

“Yes….oh….” You felt your breath escape your lungs again, his hand on your throat tightening with each thrust of his hips. He felt so good inside you, so right , even though the size of him was initially a bit hard to take. 

He gave you a fanged grin, his dark hair a haphazard mess. “That’s it…feel the air leave your lungs…” he tightened his grip on your throat, and black spots danced across your vision. 

His movements came faster and faster, and you felt the numbing static feeling of choking start to race through your entire body. “M-more..” you managed between gasps. “I’m…I’m…” You felt that sensation build up in your stomach, your muscles contracting as you got closer and closer. 

Oliver released your throat then, and he pulled you up into a sitting position, holding you by the back of your head. “Look at me. I wanna see it in your eyes,” he commanded. 

Your eyelids were heavy, struggling to stay open between both the sheer pleasure and the dizziness, but you stared as best you could into his rabid black eyes.  

“Yes, just like that,” he said, shoving himself deeper into you. His other hand moved down to run circles over your clit, and you felt the tension between your legs reach a fever pitch. “Oh, please, Oliver!”  you cried out. “I’m gonna-“

“Without me? I don’t think so.” He moved faster and faster, his thrusts becoming more and more rigid, until finally his fingers on your clit were too much for you to take. Your eyes started to roll back in ecstasy as you finally began to climax, but he grabbed your hair roughly and forced your head back down. 

“Eyes on me, baby, come on,” he huffed between movements.

You forced your eyes open to meet his, and then your orgasm completely washed over you at the same time as his; he leaned in and kissed you aggressively, his fingers wound tightly in your hair. Your head was swimming, and you were both sweaty and exhausted. 

When he released your hair, you fell back onto the exam table, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Whoa…” was all you could manage. 

He smiled and re-fastened his jeans, then reached underneath you to untie your hands. “Whoa indeed. What did you think?”

You took a deep breath, feeling air at last fill your lungs uninterrupted. “Of what?” Your hands freed, you examined the bite marks, which were no longer bleeding but were still very much visible. 

Oliver placed his palms down on either side of you on the table, and loomed over you with a hesitant look. His mouth was turned upward at the corners, but his expression betrayed him, as he seemed to be holding something back. 

You shrugged on your waistcoat and buttoned it slowly, not taking your gaze off him. “Well?”

He bit his lip. “Would you stay here?”

Chapter 9

“What?” You furrowed your brow. “You want me to stay here, with you. For…” Your head was still heavy with pressure, blood rushing past your ears. You had to pause to take a deep breath. “For…how long?”

“For as long as you want.” He stood then, and turned his attention to picking up random objects off the floor. There was something going unsaid here– what was he getting at?

You blinked rapidly. This confirmed your growing suspicions about the road; maybe they had been made impassable on purpose. You swallowed and stood, your legs still somewhat shaky from the intensity of what had just happened. “You want me to stay so you can, what, feed on me?” Your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “Did you trap me here?”

He snapped his gaze up at you. “No, of course not. I just thought tha–”

 

Before he could finish, that horrible screeching sound from the night before pierced through the manor once again. 

“What the fuck is that?” You shouted, covering your ears. 

Oliver whirled around to face the door, moving his arm protectively in front of you. “That,” he yelled back, “is the sound of death.”

The thing was close, the scrape of its footsteps echoing down the hallway. You thought you saw thin tendrils of white smoke seeping through the crack in the bottom of the door. 

 

Suddenly, the light of the lamp flashed blindingly and died out, leaving you both shrouded in darkness as the screeching continued. 

A chill ran down your spine. Oliver seemed frozen, too– until he whipped his head around at you. His face was panic-stricken.“Hide.”

 

You ducked back behind the exam table, but Oliver didn’t follow you. He instead remained firmly in place between you, the table, and the door of the office. The screeching began to die down, and eventually an eerie silence settled in the air. 

 

It felt like a decade passed as you knelt as still as possible behind the table. 

 

You peeked up over the surface of the table as Oliver took a step toward the door, and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your head began to swim again. You felt a trickle of sweat drip down the side of your face. 

Something just outside of the office door hissed, and Oliver rushed forward to bolt the lock. Before he could reach the door, that something burst through the other side, knocking him backward to the floor. 

You ducked below the table again, hoping the creature hadn’t seen you. Your breaths came quick and short, and it took every ounce of effort you had to stifle them. You could hear the creature approach Oliver, and it sounded as though it was sniffing him. 

It let out a terrible, guttural noise – like a wrench creaking against a rusty pipe – and it began to shamble about the room. You listened as it moved to the right wall, kicking aside the clutter on the floor as it went. Every rolling bottle and crunch of broken glass caused you to flinch. 

The creature seemed to be examining every surface of the room. It sniffed and dragged what you assumed were claws along the desk, then the wall. It knocked over an IV drip stand, causing you to start, and you bumped your head against the edge of the table. Oh man.

The creature shrieked again, approaching the table with that slow, scraping gait, which was made worse by the sound of debris being crushed underfoot.

Time was short, and your instincts took over. Heart hammering, you slowly maneuvered from behind the table to the side of it that faced away from the right wall. As you went, you happened across the crucifix on the floor, the sickly pale yellow teeth standing out against the dark hardwood floor. You reached down and grabbed it, thinking it might be of some protection, given the circumstances. Might as well . You waited until the creature had approached the part of the table you’d been behind, before slipping to the opposite side. This was going well, but it couldn’t go on forever. 

You began to slink on all fours again, your movements small and calculated. You could see Oliver now, unconscious on the floor, and seeing him so still made your veins run cold. 

Distracted by the sight of his crumpled form, you didn’t notice the cluster of round pills under your knee as you crawled. You slipped and crashed to the floor, sending a handful of pills clattering across the room. 

The creature shrieked behind you, and you flipped onto your back to face it. 

 

Looming over you was a thin, tall column of a figure shrouded in shredded black rags. The only thing visible in the folds of black was a pair of shining yellow eyes, the pupils black snakelike slits. The terrible thing screeched again, and a sharp, thin claw shot out through the darkness toward you. 

You inched backward just out of its path, and the claw pierced the floor where your thigh had just been. You snatched a notebook off the floor and threw it at the creature, but it batted the object away. It leaned down and sniffed the spot you’d just occupied on the floor, and three rows of jagged white teeth appeared in the darkness, its wretched smile of sharpened knives dripping saliva onto the floor. 

A hungry, unearthly growl rumbled from the thing, and it was enough to make the floor under your back vibrate. 

Then, it lunged toward you with an eager cackle from its horrible mouth, claws outstretched. 

You screamed, and before you could think, you threw the crucifix at it— landing a hit squarely in the center of its rag-clad form. 

A tendril of white smoke poured from the spot where you’d just hit the creature, illuminated by its glowing yellow eyes, and the scream it unleashed was gut-wrenching; it was enough to make your eardrums rattle. The creature thrashed about in the air wildly, throwing smoke everywhere, and then it abruptly sank through the floor and disappeared. 

 

You were frozen in silence on the floor, your heart pounding so hard your chest could’ve burst. 

 

You remained still for what felt like a century, refusing to believe the thing was gone. The office was freezing cold and dark, but you didn’t dare move a muscle, in case the thing was somehow just hiding in the walls, waiting for you to make yourself easy prey. Eventually, you realized you were shaking, and you decided that the creature was probably gone. Then, you remembered Oliver— oh no .

You crawled across the floor to where he lay unconscious, and you turned his shoulder over so that he was laying on his back. He was scratched up all over from the fall, there was a minor gash on the side of his head, and his ankle was twisted at an odd angle. Feeling slightly panicked, you placed your ear to his chest: wait, did a vampire– er, half-vampire heart even beat? 

You listened intently for a few seconds, and you could hear his heart slowly but steadily beating. You sighed in relief and sat up, looking around the room for something - anything - that might have been useful to you.

You spied rubbing alcohol and some cotton pads through the open cabinet, and had just retrieved them when a familiar voice called down the hallway. “Y/n? Oliver?” 

You recognized it as Amos. “We’re in here!”

You could hear him enter the room as you splashed the alcohol onto a cotton pad, sweeping it over the gash in Oliver’s head. 

“Are you alright? I heard screamin— oh! What happened?” Amos knelt beside you.

You soaked another cotton pad in the alcohol. “That tall…thing…the thing with the yellow eyes, it knocked Oliver out when it came into the office.” You shuddered and pressed the pad to the scrapes on his skin. 

Amos didn’t respond. You paused and glanced at him. “What?”

His brow furrowed in worry. “It was…here during the day?” 

You nodded. 

He continued, “And it didn’t go after Oliver?”

“No, it just sniffed him, but then—“

“—it came after you?” His face was grim. 

You nodded hesitantly. 

He set his jaw and looked down at Oliver. “This is what I warned him about. The fool!”

“What did you warn him about?”

“Keeping people around.” Amos examined Oliver’s ankle, which seemed straighter than it had been a moment ago. “Ah, but we can talk about that later. Look.”

You watched as Oliver’s skin seemed to bind itself, the wounds healing up as though they were being sewn shut. The gash in his forehead took a bit longer; but eventually it, too, closed and disappeared. 

“Whoa. Vampire immunity is no joke,” was all you could think to say. You gently shook Oliver’s arm. “Hey, can you hear me?”

He began to stir, shaking his head and blinking slowly. When his eyes finally opened, they only barely did so. 

“Huh? Y/n, you were just…I thought I said…” he took a deep breath and reached up to touch his forehead. “God, I feel like my head’s been split open.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “It was.”

He frowned, clearly trying to remember what happened. “I was trying to keep you safe.”

“You did. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He eyed you up and down to the best of his ability, but the effort proved taxing, and his head fell back against the floor. “You are.” 

His eyes were closed, but you could tell he was smiling right back.

Chapter 10

After Oliver had healed himself, he sat up off the floor and looked around the room. “What happened to it?” 

“The thing? It knocked you out, sniffed you, searched around the room, and then it found me. I think I hurt it— it fell through the floor after I threw the cross at it.”

He nodded slowly. “That was smart. I shouldn’t have told you to get rid of that crucifix.”

“Yeah. Remind me why you wanted me to do that?”

Amos loudly cleared his throat beside you. “Oliver, if it was here during the day…”

Oliver glared up at Amos. “I know, I know. We’re running out of time.”

You looked back and forth between them. “Running out of time…” you trailed slowly. 

“Until the next moon phase,” they replied in unison. 

You folded your arms across your chest. “Okay, I don’t understand what bizarre vampire magic is happening here— and frankly, I don’t want to. What I wanna know is, is it going to come back?” 

Amos was glaring back at Oliver now. “I’d like to know the same thing. That all depends on what your host decides to do next.”

Amos pulled Oliver away to some far corner of the manor to further discuss, in his words, their “pressing matter.” You’d scoffed in disbelief but allowed it, as you wanted some time to explore the estate uninterrupted, even though you were pretty fed up with being kept in the dark. You watched as they left the room, Oliver turning to give you a somewhat reassuring grin as they went. 

“I’ll come find you when we’re done. Try to stay out of trouble, if you can manage that,” he teased. 

The door shut, and they were gone. You retrieved the crucifix off the floor and hooked it back onto the cord around your neck, that way you had it in case you happened across the creature again. 

Following that, you went back upstairs to retrieve the schematics from your room; you definitely didn’t want to wander around the grounds blindly, not after that terrifying altercation. As you reviewed the drawings of the estate, you noticed that something about the lines seemed off. The ink seemed fresher and darker, the paper unwrinkled. The bloodstain across the attic space had vanished.  

You sighed, assuming someone had either tampered with the map or replaced it outright; who was it that was leaving you clues, and who was coming behind them and stealing those clues away? You couldn’t be sure. You chewed your lip as you skimmed the paper. 

Something caught your eye in the upper right corner of the map, though– a small, closet-sized space that was marked within one of the galleries. It had been crossed out several times with that same fresh ink; so, obviously, it was the first place you wanted to go. 

 

You began to make your way down a corridor in the back of the manor, pausing as you went to examine the decorations. Everything was meticulously clean, in spite of the place’s age; not a speck of dust rested on the maroon walls, the gilded frames of the paintings hung on them shone with a fresh polish, and the carpet on the floor had been recently brushed through. 

Out of curiosity, you tried a few of the doors you passed on your way to the gallery, but every single one of them was locked. Not that it mattered– you knew how to pick a lock, but you were much more interested in that crossed-out space you’d seen on the map. You could always circle back to these less-than-enticing places at a later point. 

At the end of the hallway, you stopped, and frowned down at your map. The stairwell that was supposed to lead to the gallery was not in front of you; instead, you were standing before a blank wall. 

“Huh,” you muttered to yourself. So the map wasn’t just altered, it was flat-out wrong. You glanced down at it again, then back up at the wall, then at the long hallway behind you. Everything matched up, save for the stairwell. 

“I guess I could try the doors,” you mumbled, folding the map up and tucking it in the waistband of your trousers. You turned on your heel to head back the way you came, but a dip underneath the carpet caused you to lose your balance, and you fell sideways against the wall. An echoing thud rang out from within, and you straightened up immediately. You knocked on the wall a few times, pressing your ear against it as you did so. Several more thuds echoed behind it. 

The wall was hollow! Given how modern-looking it was, you assumed that it must have been built to seal off the stairwell and the gallery within the past few years.

But why? 

It probably had something to do with the creature. You shuddered when you thought of that thing, how it had cackled when it found you, the way its three rows of teeth gleamed like sharpened knives in the darkness…

Enough. It’s gone for now , you thought as you ran your hand along the surface of the wall, feeling for any abnormalities. Your nail caught a slight separation between the wallpaper and the wood panel beneath, and you peeled the paper back just enough to find a circular port carved into the wood about six feet above the ground. It seemed a plausible opening, but only barely big enough for you to squeeze through, and it was inaccessible without something to stand upon. You sighed and stuck the paper back over the miniature door, returning the wall to its unassuming state.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you murmured, and made your way back down the hallway. You approached the first door on the right, and unsurprisingly found it locked. You withdrew a hair pin from your pocket and inserted it into the lock, twisting it in the same manner as your aunt had once shown you; after a few moments, there was a soft click , and the door unlocked.

You pushed the door open and were almost immediately overwhelmed by the cloud of dust you inhaled. Reduced to a fit of coughs, it took you a moment to get your bearings and really take in the environment. You were standing in the doorway of a dimly lit bedchamber, though it was hard to tell definitively, since everything was coated in a layer of white. 

You rubbed your watering eyes and stepped further into the room. The few items in the vicinity were a twin-size bed, a wooden stool, and a bookshelf, all of which were in various states of disrepair. This was a notable contrast to the pristine nature of the hallway and the rest of the manor– the cobwebs in the corners were probably older than you were. The only thing that stood out was a row of finger marks in the dust atop the bookshelf, but otherwise it was evident the room had been unoccupied for a long, long time. 

You wheezed again and wiped the dust from the top of the stool, before cautiously stepping up on top of it to test its weight-bearing capacity. It creaked but held steady, and you dragged it out of the room, eager to be back in breathable air that didn’t smell like moth balls. The finger marks, as intriguing as they were, weren’t worth the lungfuls of grime. 

 

This time, you peeled the wallpaper back further, standing atop the stool to get a better position for going through the opening in the wall. You leaned your shoulder against the center of the circle, and felt it give slightly. You leaned further, pressing your weight against it, and then the bottom of it swung inwards. You stuck both arms in and moved the bottom of it back some more, enough for you to fit through. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you grabbed the bottom edge of the opening and slid through.

 

You landed foot-first on a wet stone floor, the slick surface causing you to immediately slip and fall backward on your side. A dull pain shot through your left shoulder, and you winced as you slowly got to your feet. You wiped your hands on your pants legs, which were now damp from the fall, and checked to ensure the map was still safely tucked inside your waistband.

Then you looked up; in front of you was a cavernous foyer made of stone, with a central staircase that wound upward to an open stone walkway near the top of the space. There must’ve been a leak or two high above in the roof, because rainwater was dripping down in several spots and plinking across the floor. The smell of mildew was overpowering, and it made your nose wrinkle. 

You rubbed your shoulder gingerly and approached the stairwell, withdrawing your map to confirm that this was indeed the one you’d been looking for. Yep, no turning back now.

You ascended the staircase quickly, your heart beginning to race with anticipation. What was so enticing to you about this forbidden room? Why was it crossed out on the map instead of altogether removed, like the bloodstain over the attic? You found yourself running up the stairs, and once you made it to the top, you proceeded down the stone walkway as fast as you could. 

You located the gallery easily, thanks to the map. The door was thankfully unlocked, and you burst into the room with excitement, hurrying past the sculptures and vases and various art pieces no doubt collected over the centuries. They were gorgeous and invaluable, some of them clearly thought to be lost to time, and you made a mental note to ask Oliver for a guided tour of the gallery some time. This will all have to wait .

In the corner, behind a large carving of a six-headed lion, you found the closet space that had so enthralled you on the map. Moment of truth , you thought to yourself as you approached the door. Your heart sank when you realized this one wouldn’t open of its own volition, and there was no apparent lock to pick– there was instead a small t-shaped spot etched into the space above the knob. 

Oh, right. The crucifix. You leaned forward, setting the still-corded-cross in the slot, and waited. After a moment, the door trembled slightly and then began to groan partly open. A draft of shockingly hot air suddenly swept over you, and you hesitated. No, you thought, I gotta know. You took a deep breath, pulled the cross out of the slot, and pushed through the door.

Chapter 11

You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. 

 

The small space was utterly sweltering: because it was on fire. The floor in the center of the room was alight in blue-orange flames, with something dark melting in the center. A large chalk circle drawn around it seemed to contain the flames within its bounds, and several runes you couldn’t decipher had been drawn at four points around it. 

You took a tentative step forward, feeling the heat warm your skin. You knelt down before the fire and examined the runes. One of them, a pair of narrow diamonds with an X through the center, seemed familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. The dark object in the middle of the circle appeared at first to be nothing more than a mound of black wax; but as you watched, it seemed to move as though it were being stirred, swirling slowly around in the fire in a clockwork fashion.

Was it…alive? You felt drops of sweat beginning to bead on your forehead as you stood. This was all beginning to feel a little overwhelming– vampires, yellow-eyed creatures, modified maps, magic fires –you didn’t ask to be thrown into whatever supernatural nightmare this was. You needed things to make sense. You needed logic.

You needed answers. 

 

Your eyes had adjusted to the dark room, now that you’d removed your gaze from the fire, and you could see that all four walls of the room held hastily scrawled copies of those same runes, some of them in chalk, others in blood. Pages obviously torn from books had been tacked up haphazardly in the same central spot of each wall, matching the locations of the runes around the fire exactly.  Across the floor, you could see that the area behind the fire was littered with bones.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you cursed in the darkness. You figured that meant the creature had been here; or worse, this was where it came from. You felt the hairs on your neck stand on end at this thought, and you suddenly remembered Amos’s note from your discussion earlier that morning.

You reached in your pocket and dug the napkin out, unfolding it and attempting to read it by the firelight. On it were scrawled the words “North End Hedges. 7:15. Come alone.”

Was Amos going to help you escape from Godalming Estate? That certainly seemed the implication. 

You resolved to meet him at the aforementioned time, and you threw the note in the fire so nobody would find it. You felt a pang of guilt when you thought of Oliver– he’d been so kind to you, and he’d asked you to stay with him, not to mention the things he did to you with those teeth. But even still, as long as you were here you were in danger, and you really did need to get home, back to your safe (if boring) reality. 

 

You sighed and turned to leave the creepy closet, when a shriek rang out from the gallery, causing you to freeze in your tracks. You listened intently, and you could hear the scraping gait of the creature as it approached. You looked frantically around the room, but there was no good place to hide. 

Then, you thought of the door. If you could get behind it when the creature came in, maybe you could slip out of the room before it had a chance to attack, and you could make your getaway. You hid behind the door and held your breath as you waited. 

 

The creature shambled into the room, heading straight for the fire. It seemed enrapt by the flames, and you peeked out to watch it step into the center of the circle. 

Its back turned to you, it seemed to shrink in size for a moment, white smoke dissipating from it as it grew smaller. As you watched, it made a grotesque sound, like a cat coughing up a hairball, and then it retched into the fire: you thought the scent of the burning waste smelled vaguely like coffee. 

You took this opportunity to move nimbly from behind the door and quickly out through it, doing so on your toes to keep your stride as soft and silent as possible.You’d made it halfway through the gallery when you heard the creature sniff loudly in the other room and screech; it had found your scent. The thing ripped the closet door from its hinges and stormed into the gallery behind you, panting loudly and shrieking as it went. 

You picked up your pace and were sprinting through the gallery, as it dragged its claws along the wall behind you. It was cackling madly, and paused only for a brief moment– this caused you to turn just as it hurled the door in your direction, and you jumped aside to just narrowly avoid being crushed by it. 

It snarled and continued racing toward you, so you quickened your sprint for the stone walkway. You managed to knock over a sculpture as you passed it, hoping to block the creature’s path, but it simply swept over the broken mass and continued to chase you. 

You’d almost made it to the edge of the gallery, when it reached out and caught you by the cord of your rosary, yanking you backward and causing you to fall. It loomed over you then, and it tore the cord from your neck, tossing the rosary behind it in evident disgust.

 You were hyperventilating at this point, and you winced as the creature drooled hungrily onto your face. Shit, nothing can protect me now, you thought. 

 

The creature leaned down above you, and from somewhere deep within it came a rumbling sound. The white smoke surrounded you both, so that you couldn’t see anything around you but the creature. You realized with horror that you were breathing the smoke in, and it was somehow slowly paralyzing you. In a flash, the thing brandished a claw and slit a long, shallow gash in your left arm, the edges of the broken skin turning black as blood began to seep through. You yelped and rolled onto your front, the paralysis broken. You leapt to your feet and, clutching your arm, ran out of the gallery. You turned back to look only once, and the creature had disappeared in the smoke, having once again vanished. 

 

You’d made it down the stairwell and back out through the port in the wall before you dared to glance down at your arm, which was growing darker and darker around the gash. The black flesh and the blood seemed to shine somewhat with a dark oily glitter, and the veins in your arm were beginning to turn the same color, creating dark rivers of violet underneath your skin. 

You were able to get to the physician’s room on the opposite side of the manor without being seen by anyone, and you hastily treated and wrapped up the wound as best you could. Your veins, though, were still purple, and you knew there would be questions if Oliver saw them. You retreated down the hallway towards the main foyer, where you encountered Amos by the coat closet.

“Y/n, I think Oliver was just coming to find you,” he stated. “He wanted to show you the rest of the grounds…” he eyed your bandaged arm. “Though I suspect you’ve seen a good bit of them yourself.”

You reached for your pocket, then remembered you’d discarded the napkin. “Amos, the note. I-I read it. 7:15?”

He looked left and right, as if to ensure nobody was within earshot. “Yes,” he leaned in and whispered. “I’ve got a horse and a saddle ready. I’ve drawn up a route down the mountain that should get you back into the valley, and the path opens to the north. Can you find your way home at that point?”

You nodded hastily, eager to get up to your room and put on something with sleeves. You didn’t want to arouse suspicion from Oliver, if it could be avoided. “I’ll be there. I can definitely find my way home then.”

He seemed relieved at this. “Excellent. I’ll be waiting for you.” He turned to leave, but then glanced back at you, observing the skin on your arm more closely. “Are you okay? You look pale– it makes your veins look so dark.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m still coping from the thing in the office earlier,” you lied. This seemed to satisfy Amos, and he continued on his way.

Chapter 12

When you got to your room, you tore off the waistcoat and trousers, eager to wear something that didn’t smell like death. You shivered and rubbed your arm, watching the purple streams under your flesh creeping up your arm toward your shoulder. That can’t be good , you thought. You threw on a gray sweater, a pair of dark riding pants, and a pair of tall black boots– warm enough for the chilly October evening, and utilitarian enough for a quick escape on horseback. Now that the gash was properly concealed, you breathed a sigh of relief: out of sight, out of mind. 

You ran a brush through your hair, grimacing as the knots came loose with flecks of Oliver’s dried blood. You paused as you looked over the red flecks in the bristles. He bleeds too , you realized. What would happen if I…

You set the brush down, shaking your head. No way were you considering this. You were literally going to leave tonight because there was an entity in the house that wanted to kill you– staying was unthinkable. But then again…

No, you couldn’t stay here; it was far too uncertain and dangerous and, oh yeah, Oliver himself drank your blood. Not exactly the actions of someone with your best interests at heart. You chided yourself for even considering his offer. 

 

Then, a knocking sound at the bedroom door. You approached it cautiously, the autumn breeze from the open windows fluttering your hair slightly. 

“Come in,” you said, but the door didn’t open. The breeze through the windows seemed to pick up, and then you heard a clattering behind you.

You spun around, and Oliver was there. He was leaning over against the windowsill, staring down at a wastebasket he’d knocked over. “There goes the element of surprise,” he muttered.

“Climbing in my window now?” you asked. “You’re gonna crack your head open all over again.” 

He picked up the wastebasket, seemingly lost in thought. “Nah, it would just heal up.” Then, he gazed up at you and stood. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Not at all. Amos said you were looking for me?” you asked. 

He held out his hand. “Come here.”

Something compelled you forward; you wouldn’t resist being in his proximity to begin with, yes, but you also felt as though you were being goaded by some invisible force behind you. You approached him, and he took your hand and pulled you into him, kissing you roughly. 

“You did something to me,” you murmured breathlessly when your lips broke apart. 

“Power of suggestion,” he replied.

“Is it permanent?”

He twirled a strand of your hair with his fingers. “Mm, it doesn’t have to be.” You locked eyes, and you could tell he was clearly thinking something over. “You know, you never gave me your answer.” 

You swallowed, unsure of whether or not you should be honest with him about your intentions for the coming night. “Well, we were so rudely interrupted…” you wavered. “But…I have people back home that would worry about me.”

He nodded. “Right, of course.” He caught a glint in his eye. “They’d be far more concerned if they knew what a mess you’d gotten into.” His fingers dug into your hair, pulling it and causing you to tilt your chin up. “What would people say? Hmm…They’d worry for your safety, given your interests…” 

You inhaled sharply as he pushed your legs apart with one of his own, his chest pressing against yours. You could feel his breath on your ear as he whispered, “...given how much you seem to enjoy being used as my willing victim.” 

You blushed at that last word, victim . It carried with it so much weight: what did it mean to you, anyway? To him? 

“I’m not afraid,” you replied softly. You brushed your hair aside, allowing him unfettered access to your jugular, should he want it. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“It could be fun forever,” he murmured, kissing your jaw. 

Maybe it was that heady amber scent on him, maybe it was the way his mouth felt on your throat, or maybe it was something altogether more sinister, but you found yourself warming somewhat to the idea. “You want a victim,” you murmured. “I only have so much blood, you know.” You reached for the hem of his shirt and began pulling it up, and he took it the rest of the way off. 

As expected, he had healed completely from the creature’s attack, his tattooed skin showing no sign of scarring or bruising. You were reaching out to trace the ink outlines on his chest when an abrupt thought hit you. Wait a minute . If he can heal quickly, why does he have that scar on his leg?

“I have my ways of persuading you to stay around,” he grinned. Then, he noticed that subtle shift in your attention. “What, not a fan?” He gestured to the images on his skin. 

You bit your lip as you eyed him up and down, and decided the scar question could wait. “Quite the opposite,” you responded. “Persuade me, then.”

He grinned and wrapped his bare arms around you, and picked you up over his shoulder. He started heading for the bedroom door, which briefly turned your excitement to trepidation.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see, angel,” he replied. His hand smacked your ass.

“Aren’t you worried about the staff?”

His grip tightened slightly on your back. “Oh, I never worry about them. They like to watch.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but your excitement returned tenfold. 

When he finally put you down, he’d left the manor and taken you to the gardens on the property. The area was a sea of green and gold and orange, though the slow tinge of autumn had begun to work its way through the trees. He laid you down on a bench near the edge of the gardens, and just across the way you could see what looked like a graveyard. 

“I thought you might want to see more of the estate during the day,” he said. He was on top of you then, his hand slipping under your sweater. 

You pulled him down closer and kissed him, trying to savor every second– this would probably be the last time you’d be able to fuck him before your departure. “How considerate,” you replied, biting his lip a little harder than he’d clearly expected. “Though it’s hard to view much of anything in this position.”

“Aggressive, aren’t we?” he teased. He rested his hand around your throat, his expression turning serious. “If that’s how it is…”

You set your jaw, hoping to provoke him. “You wouldn’t.”

His hand tightened, and you felt a heaviness in your head. “I’d advise you to watch that aggression, tough girl,” he warned. “It’ll only get you into trouble.”

You leaned into his grip. “Choke me harder.”

Your bratty act was working— he pinned you by the throat to the bench with one hand, and began unbuttoning your pants with the other.

“Impatient,” he muttered, his grip tightening. You felt the pressure building in your bones, and he smiled as your face flushed. “Is this what you wanted?”

Your voice wasn’t even a whisper when you tried to speak, rendered inaudible with his hand around your throat. The blood was rushing past your ears, muting the sound of crickets in the grass nearby.

 He was the only thing in the world you could focus on, and he knew it– relished in it, even, given the sadistic look in his gaze. “Eyes on me, baby,” he commanded, his free hand meandering into your pants. 

The shock of his cold fingers against your sensitive spot made you shiver in the most delicious way, and a shaky moan escaped your almost-assuredly-blue lips.

He leaned in until his face was an inch from yours, putting more weight behind his grip on your throat, and your desperate attempt to breathe through it was rendered pointless. He chuckled under his breath and kissed your cheek. “Oh, y/n…Is it too much for the tough girl to take?”

You managed to take a stertorous breath and shake your head in protest. In response, he pushed down on your windpipe harder. You felt an electricity racing throughout your body, every inch of your physical form trying and failing to fight the sensation of losing oxygen, but you didn’t care.

He smiled again, this time baring his fangs. “Good.” He moved towards your neck, his breath warming your skin, his grip on your throat holding you firmly in place–

 

The bench creaked ominously underneath your head, and then you heard a sharp crack . The leg of the bench gave way, causing you to fall backward, his hand releasing your throat. You both hit the grass, and you toppled over on top of him. He laughed as he brushed the grass from his hair.

You giggled too, after you’d caught your breath. “Well, the bench is out.”

He reached up and pulled you down to kiss him. His eyes glowed with anticipation. “I can think of a far sturdier surface,” he whispered, giving your lip a playful bite. 

 

You stood and looked at your surroundings; there were no sturdy surfaces in the gardens as far as you could tell, but as you pivoted your gaze over the gray cemetery, you realized what he meant. “Over there?” 

“Yes.” 

You felt his hand grip your side, and then he was holding you against his body. He wielded something sharp and thin to your clavicle; you could tell it was the dagger from before, and its familiar point was pressing an indent into your skin. 

His mouth closed on your neck, and he made a trail of languid kisses up to your ear. “Walk,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. 

There was that compelling feeling again. Your legs moved of their own volition, responding to Oliver’s command without hesitation. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you moved through the graveyard— clearly he had a specific spot in mind. 

 

When you came to a statue of the Virgin Mary, he took the dagger from its precarious position against your chest.

“This will suffice.” He pushed you up against the base of the statue, a four-foot-high cement block upon which rested the figure of Mary. 

You felt your cheeks blush fiercely. “Isn’t this a little…”

“What?” he replied, pushing your pants down around your calves. “Blasphemous?” 

You rested your hands on either side of you, the cool concrete helping you remain steady. You glanced up at the idol, and you felt a twinge of guilt. “Disrespectful, was the word I was thinking of,” you replied. 

He trailed his fingers up your legs and between your thighs. “Disrespectful….” He repeated, fingering the hem of your panties. “Oh, I’ll show you disrespectful.” 

Suddenly, he was coaxing your legs further apart, and you heard the tearing of a sharp object through the band of your underwear. Your panties fell from your hip, exposing you to him, and then the sharp object was being dragged along the flesh of your inner thigh. 

Oliver clenched your hip steadily, dragging the dagger further into your skin. “Such a pretty picture. Something so delicate…” he murmured, “deserves to be desecrated.” He drew the dagger back in one quick motion, and you felt the blade slice into your flesh, white-hot and tingly and visceral. 

“Take it,” you gasped, feeling the blood stream down your thigh. “It’s yours.” 

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he shot back. You sensed him sink down behind you, and your leg twitched as his tongue met with the cut in your skin. He drank from you for a brief moment, and your eyes rolled back in your head from the euphoric feeling. 

“Nnngh…please…” you rasped. His mouth wound its way up from your thigh towards your cunt, and you felt yourself growing shaky with need. 

“Mm, please what?” He replied, his breath tickling you.

You moaned when his lips, wet with your hot blood, brushed against your center. “Ah…”

His nails dug into your hip. “I shouldn’t have to remind you: use your words, angel. And while you’re at it, use your fingers, too.” 

Your hand dropped to your clit at his direction, and you started making slow circles over it with your fingertips. At the same time, he began swirling his tongue along your entrance. Your knees nearly buckled from the feeling. “That…that is…oh god…”

When he pulled back for a moment, a groan escaped your lips. “Why’d you stop?” 

You felt his tongue graze your entrance again, his breath on you causing you to twitch. The heat in your stomach was starting to build, and your fingers moved quicker against your sensitive spot. “Mmm, because—“ he breathed, licking the wetness dripping out of you. “—someone’s enjoying the show.”

You snapped your head up, looking sharply around the graveyard for any signs of life. Nothing. All you could hear was your own ragged breathing. 

At that exact moment, Oliver decided to fully sink his tongue into you, and you moaned involuntarily. His mouth was evidently as skillful with eating pussy as it was with drinking blood, because you found yourself leaning down onto the stone column, so that he might have the ideal angle for reaching your g-spot. 

“That’s it, angel,” he coaxed, as your breathing quickened. “Keep touching yourself. Get as close as you can for me.”

You were all too happy to do as you were told, and the combination of his tongue in you, along with your fingers working their magic, were bringing you pretty close to your climax already. “Fuck…I’m…I just…” you spluttered, just about to reach the edge—

He withdrew his mouth from you and pushed his fingers into your soaking wet cunt, stretching you out and moving almost in sync with your own hand. His teeth grazed your thigh. “Look up, baby. I want them to see you cum.”

Your eyes, which had closed in the midst of your impassioned need, now widened to see someone in the distance— a tall young man with long brown hair, tan skin, and a cowboy hat was watching you both from a distance in the woods. His eyes met yours just as Oliver pumped his fingers into you in just the right way, and the heat wrought by both his and your own efforts became too much for your body to handle; you felt your orgasm rip through you mercilessly then, as you stared directly into this stranger’s gaze and whimpered. 

“That’s it, get it all out,” Oliver growled, slowly withdrawing his fingers from you. You could feel your own cum dripping from your pussy, and he took his time licking it off of you. 

You kept your eyes on the stranger the entire time— how long had he been there? He wore a bemused look as he watched you recover from your climax. You were tingling all over, your cheeks stinging from some combination of the chilly autumn air and the expenditure of your energy. “He’s st-still watching,” you said between breaths. 

Oliver stood from behind you then, pulling up your pants as he did so. “Oh?” He peered over your shoulder, causing you to take your glance off the stranger momentarily to plant a grateful kiss on Oli’s jaw. He kissed you on the lips then, and when you both looked back at the tree line, the stranger was gone.

Chapter 13

Your eyes were scanning the edge of the woods, looking for any sign of the stranger. “Who was that?”

“Probably someone on a hunt,” Oliver replied. “The mountains are pretty good hunting grounds.”

“You’re not concerned that he was on the edge of your property?”

He shrugged. “It’s not my property.”

Oh. Right. You looked up at the sky, which was beginning to grow darker. “What time is it?” 

Oliver swept the hair from your neck and kissed it softly. “Who cares?”

Damn– you needed to get to the North End Hedges if you were going to meet Amos. Oliver, though, didn’t seem like he was in any mood to let you go. You needed to think of a good excuse, and quickly.

Then again– did you even want to escape?

You shook your head, brushing him off. “I…I’m really concerned about that stranger,” you said. “What if he has bad intentions?”

Oliver furrowed his brow. “I don’t think we need to worry. I could easily get rid of him, if that became necessary.”

You shivered involuntarily. “You’d..you’d kill him?”

“To protect you, yes.”

You took a step away from him. “That’s a little extreme.”

“Well, y/n, your safety is critical.” His eyes darkened then. “You seem well enough aware of that fact.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gestured to the side of the manor. “Your little meeting with Amos. You want to leave, I get it. You don’t think you’re safe here.”

You swallowed. How did he find out? “There’s a demon here that wants to kill me. Obviously it’s not the most rational idea to stay here.” You turned to head in the direction of the hedges. “I don’t know why you’re so bent on me staying here, anyway. This was only ever meant to be a one-night thing.”

He caught your arm then. “Y/n, I know that, but–” his grip tightened just a bit too much on your bandaged wound, and you winced.

“Ah! Just let me go, please,” you gasped, tears welling up in your eyes.

His eyes widened then, and he pushed up your sweater sleeve to see the bandage, and the darkened veins around it. “What…what happened here?”

You yanked your arm away from him and shoved your sleeve down. “Nothing, it’s just a cut from when I was exploring. I really have to go.”

“The veins…Y/n, it found you, didn’t it?”

You started walking toward the side of the manor. “Don’t worry about it. It didn’t kill me, it only scratched.” 

He was following right behind you. “That doesn’t look like a scratch.”

“God, would you please drop it? It’ll go away.” You rounded a corner out of the cemetery, and you could see that the hedges were just up ahead. You turned to face Oliver, who was still on your heels.

 “Listen, this has been…intense. You and me. But I can’t stay here forever, as much as I’d like to. You can only drink so much of my blood, and I can only ignore the real world for so long.”

Oliver stared at you. “I don’t want to drink from you forever. I want to make you mine.”

You blinked in response. “What?”

He tilted his head to the side, his hand grazing your cheek. “I want…to keep you. I want to turn you.”

 

Your mouth fell open in shock. “You want to turn me,” you repeated. “Into a vampire?”

He brandished his fangs, as if to illustrate the point. “The very same.”

And there it was, the offer he’d been hinting at all day. The thought lurking in the back of your mind, the subtle glimmer of interest you’d felt since he revealed the truth of his nature to you. 

You were speechless. Me? A vampire?

His fingers drifted down over your jugular. “It’d be so easy…I’d drink of your blood once more, then,” he gestured to his own neck. “I’d make you drink mine.”

You fiddled with your sleeve nervously. “I’d have to drink blood…”

“We do it tonight, with the full moon, in a summoning circle…” He grinned. “Would you really resist? I can tell you’ve been thinking about it.”

Would I? You considered his proposition. “Would it stop the creature?” You asked, almost immediately realizing he’d take this as a maybe. 

He wavered a bit, but kept his voice steady. “I’m quite sure of it,” he said, then he paused. “After all, demons can’t possess dead girls.”

The icy trickle of fear ran down your neck. “Okay, nope, I’m out.” You snapped, backing away from him. You turned and began to run, heading into the hedges. 

You made it past a couple of corners in what seemed to be a maze of greenery, before you noticed that Oliver wasn’t following you. You slowed as you navigated the place, trying to remember which way was north; you peered up at the sky and found the sun, deciding that it must've been west. Using that as a guide, you found north and made your way— very quickly —in that direction. 

 

After a few wrong turns, you came to the last section of the hedge maze, which opened out into a small clearing before a steep drop into the valley below. You wandered out of the maze into the clearing, looking around for Amos, but nobody was there. 

“Hello? Amos?” You called. “It’s y/n, I’m here.”

It was dead quiet, save for the sound of early evening crickets. You shivered, wondering if Oliver had done something to prevent Amos from getting to the meet point. 

Another few minutes passed as you stood there alone, and you felt your arm starting to ache. You glanced down to see that the purple in your veins had crept up your wrist and into your hand, streams of violet snaking into your fingertips. They, too, began to throb in a dull manner. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” Amos’s voice called from behind you. 

You turned to see the footman emerging from the maze— he looked disheveled, his forehead plastering his silver hair with sweat, his coat wrinkly and oversized on his frame. His breathing was heavy and he seemed almost to be limping. 

“Amos! Are you okay?” You ran over to him, scanning his form for any signs of injury or duress. 

He straightened up and adjusted his coat. “I-I’m fine. A small incident of which I’ll spare you the details, but I assure you, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You patted his shoulder. “If you’re sure. But if you need to sit down, or something, or if you’re injured…”

“Not a bit!” He replied, dusting himself off. “So, then, I assume since you’re here, you’re ready to go.”

You nodded. “Yeah, we discussed that earlier.”

He looked down at your hand. “And are you yourself in decent condition?”

“Oh, definitely,” you assured him. “Nothing is keeping me from getting home.”

Amos raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t feel it setting in yet?”

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The malediction. That pretty hue slowly turning your blood to poison.”

Your arm wasn’t just throbbing, it was practically burning now. You looked down to see your skin turning a deeper indigo, seeping out from under the bandage like an oil spill. “Poison?”

“Yes,” Amos responded, his voice deepening and echoing. “Doesn’t it make your skin crawl?” He laughed a wretched, mechanical laugh, and as you jerked your gaze back up at him he grabbed your arm.

“Embrace it,” he hissed, his eyes turning yellow. “You should see it in action.” He ripped the bandage from your arm, revealing the blackened gash underneath. It was slick with the dark liquid, glittering and swirling and awful. 

You tried to wrench your arm free from his grasp, but his fingers dug into your skin, his nails becoming longer and sharper, almost talons. 

“You’re not going anywhere, fledgling.” His form continued to distort, growing taller. His mouth split at the corners, and his once-friendly face became a dark husk, three rows of sharpened teeth emerging underneath those slit-pupil eyes. 

“The creature was YOU?” You spluttered, shaking your arm violently under his grasp. The black liquid dripped down your arm, which was now the color of midnight. Pain raged through your shoulder, and it dawned on you that the infection was likely spreading. “Let me go!”

The demon cackled, tearing the sleeve of your sweater to the armpit, exposing your skin so there could be no hiding it. Its mouth contorted again. “You should never have come here. You were doomed from the moment you took his hand.”

You pulled free of his claw and stumbled backward, grabbing at your burning skin in a futile attempt to conceal the change. “Why not kill me, huh? Isn’t that what demons do?”

His mouth became a cruel, three-rowed smile as he towered over you. “You’re going to make him suffer. For me.” 

You grit your teeth and spat on the ground in front of him. “Bullshit. I would never—“

“You don’t have a choice, you stupid brat!” It snarled at you, lunging forward. 

You leaned to the side and shoved him over as he approached, knocking him to the grass. Maybe it was the unbelievable chaos or the malediction messing with your mind, but you had to stifle a laugh as you watched the demon hit the ground. 

A scraping, unearthly growl whined from the depths of the earth under your feet. “You are going to regret this,” the demon formerly known as Amos vowed, and then he disappeared into smoke. 

The sheer adrenaline caused your knees to buckle, and you had to kneel to keep from falling over. Your hands in the dry, dying grass helped you feel more grounded, and you took a deep breath, which sounded more raspy than usual. 

“Oh man…” you breathed, catching sight of your skin. “I’m so screwed.”

Chapter 14

Your breaths were turning to puffs of white in the deepening night, and you were pacing back and forth in the clearing, cringing every time you caught sight of your arm. 

Poison– there’s POISON in my veins, you kept thinking. It’s infected me and it’s going to spread, and I’m going to become another creepy crawly like Amos. You shuddered. Maybe it’ll feel like dying.

This couldn’t be happening. You had thought there was a way out, or maybe you’d been holding onto the faint hope that this had all been some bizarre (though erotic) nightmare, but this seemed altogether too real and visceral to be anything but reality. 

You pivoted on your heel and began to circle the clearing once more, when a faint movement in the hedges caused you to start. “Now what?” You called, not bothering to ask who was there. “Go ahead, then, show yourself.”

The rustling in the hedges grew louder as whatever was within them came closer. You could see the edge of a familiar wide-brim hat poke around the corner of the greenery, then just as quickly it was gone.

“Oh, come on, cowboy,” you yelled. “You can’t make things any worse.”

Quiet. Then, slowly, a figure emerged from the hedges. The long-haired man from before stepped into the clearing, and you could tell from his tan complexion and blue jeans that he was very clearly a Westerner. 

“Evening, miss,” the stranger spoke, tipping his hat and catching sight of your flesh. “That’s a nasty case of possession you got there.”

You sighed. “Yeah, it’s going around. Who are you?”

He approached you and stuck out his hand in a manner much too friendly for the situation. “I’m called Victor Fuentes, little lady,” he smiled boyishly. “But you can call me Vic.”

“I’m y/n,” you replied, shaking his hand. “What do you want with this estate, Vic?”

He didn’t let go of your hand, but he spat at the patch of grass where Amos had disappeared. “I’m after your demon. Been tracking him for a while, finally traced him to this place.”

“Well, you’ve found him,” you replied as he yanked your hand closer to his face, inspecting the gash with great interest. “Can I help you?”

“This ain’t good. How high up does the decay go?” He pulled a wad of tissue from his shirt pocket and dabbed at the black liquid. 

“Uh, to my shoulder, I think.” 

“Huh,” he muttered, examining the blackened tissue. “You got the demon crud, alright. I’d guess you probably have another twenty-four hours, maybe thirty.”

Your stomach dropped. Oh fuck. “Is there anything I can do?”

He was quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip, clearly thinking of something. “That boyfriend of yours…what’s his deal?”

“Excuse me?”

“He was drinking your blood before. What’s that about?”

You blushed, remembering that Vic had witnessed your less-than-respectful graveyard activities earlier. “Okay, yeah, Oliver is sort of a vampire,” you hesitated. “Why? You hunt those too?”

Vic shook his head. “Nah, they’re too much trouble. But since you ain’t a demon yet, maybe if he were to make you one of his kind…”

You were catching on. “...it would stop the infection from spreading. Is that possible?”

He released your arm and adjusted his hat. “Worth a try, anyhow.” He fiddled with an empty gun holster on his belt. “Worst case I gotta corral two demons instead of just the one. Now then, do you know where on these grounds that critter keeps its summoning circle?”

The fire , you remembered. But how would Vic get into the manor without arousing suspicion? Forget that, would he just break in by any means necessary? “Uh, yeah, but it’s in the house,” you answered cautiously. “I don’t know that you’d be able to get inside.”

He crossed his arms then, raising an eyebrow. “Sure I will. Just leave a window open for me: you’ll never even know I was here.”

 

The sun was down by the time you got back into the manor– you’d barely made it, the pain in your arm had crept into the left side of your chest, causing your heart to beat faster and faster, and your breathing became shorter. Still, you had to see Oliver, you had to know if he could fix your problem, and maybe…no, you couldn’t think about anything beyond that now. Not yet. 

A strange unease had settled over the manor; the flames of the candles mounted on the walls seemed dimmer somehow. Shadows in every corner seemed deeper, larger, almost alive. 

You found Oliver in the study, where he was looking over a document you recognized on the table. His dark hair hung over his face, and he seemed paler in the firelight than he had before, especially against the black fabric of his button-down shirt.

You knocked on the doorframe apprehensively. “Uh, hey.”

He flickered his gaze up at you, his expression unreadable. “Hey. You’re still–” he began, then he caught sight of your arm. He immediately straightened upright and strode around the desk toward you. “You’re still here.” He stared at your skin. “Y/n, who did this to you?” He whispered, gently touching your shoulder.

“He…he got me,” you uttered back. “The demon, it’s Amos. He betrayed me,” you managed, your voice growing shaky. “H-he betrayed you, too. He’s the demon,” you repeated, your eyes stinging with tears. “He’s going to make me a creature like him, he’s going to make me hurt you, and I-I just…”

Without another word, Oliver pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The both of you said nothing for a few moments, and you sunk into his embrace, the only stable and sure thing you knew at the moment.  

“The bastard,” he murmured finally. “He won’t survive the night.” His body was tense, practically vibrating with anger, but at this point you were so relieved to be in his arms that– to your surprise –you felt the tears spill over onto your cheeks. 

The cold feeling steadily settling into your bones was winding its way toward your throat and across to the right side of your chest, and the fear you felt as you grew colder made your shoulders tremble. “I-I don’t have a lot of time,” you managed, your voice muffled in his shirt. 

He pulled back, looking into your tear-stained eyes, and he wiped your cheek with his hand. “There’s something we can do,” he said. His voice was thick with some sort of emotion, but his face betrayed nothing. “Can you trust me?”

You nodded. “I, um, I guess there’s really no other option.” 

His gaze grew steely. “That’s not what I asked. Can you trust me?” He repeated.

You swallowed. “Yes, I trust you. I…” you took a deep breath and shivered again. “I want you to turn me.”

 

Oliver glanced at the entryway of the study. “Do you remember the map in your room?” He asked. “The one that was replaced?”

“Yeah, why?”

Oliver turned and walked over to the desk. “The thing he didn’t want you to see, the cellar, that’s where we’ll do it,” he said, pointing toward the bottom half of the map. “He must’ve traded it out with another copy when he realized you would be here longer than expected.”

You looked over the document, and it was indeed the original one you’d found with the rosary. “Okay…The cellar. And we’ll do that ritual you mentioned, I imagine?”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone softening somewhat. “You know I’ll have to spill nearly all of your blood, right?”

You paused. “Enough that there’s, like, no room for mistakes?”

He bit his lip. “Correct.”

Your heart skipped a beat. So one way or another, there was a very good chance you weren’t going to see tomorrow, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be human anymore. Was that better or worse? You weren’t sure. Oliver’s hand rested on top of yours then, and you felt a shred more resolve in your decision when you looked up at him. “Fuck it, if that’s how it has to be.” 

 

The two of you practically ran out of the study and through the main foyer, toward the hallway with the door to the cellar. As you hurried, you realized that all of the staff had seemed to vanish from the grounds, not a single person in sight.  

“Where’s the staff?” You asked as Oliver grabbed the cellar door’s handle. 

“They’ve gone,” he replied. He pulled on the handle, but the door didn’t budge. “And the door’s been locked.” 

“Amos.” You answered. “It must’ve been. Do you have a-“

“A master key? I gave it to him,” Oliver replied in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. “Let me see if I can find something else to open it.”

“No need,” you said, brandishing a hair pin. “I can get it.” As you approached the door, you felt something in your chest suddenly harden, and you fell forward against the dark wood. 

“Y/n?” 

You grabbed at the sweater over your chest, feeling like something had just knocked the wind out of you. As you pressed your body against the door, though, you heard the lock unlatch.

“That’s a new trick,” Oliver said, hooking an arm around your waist and helping you stand upright. 

You blinked the spots from your vision and leaned against the door, pushing it open. “The door, it must have been locked with magic,” you muttered, peering underneath the neckline of your sweater at your darkened collarbone. “Black magic. It’s in my heart now.”

Chapter 15

The stairwell down to the cellar was nearly impossible to see in the dark, but Oliver kept his shoulder firmly around you the entire way down, both in an effort to assist and also to keep you from collapsing. The smell of mildew and paint hung heavy in the damp air, making the space feel as though it was pressing in on you from all sides. 

The spots were near-constant in your eyes now, and your arm slumped at your side with a leaden weight. You kept moving as quickly as you could, but you could tell you were slowing down. “Oliver,” you managed between steps. “I’m not feeling so hot.”

He hoisted your arm further over his shoulder. “We’re almost there, y/n, you’ll be alright.” His voice was reassuring, but maybe there was a slight hesitation? You weren’t sure. 

The pair of you were nearing the bottom of the stairwell, and there was a faint light coming from below. There was a torch mounted on the stone wall at the base of the stairs, and next to it was a stone entryway to what seemed to be a long, narrow hallway. You strained to make out anything within the hall, but it was pitch black. 

Without thinking about it, you stepped forward and took the torch from its post with your good hand. “Okay, so what now?” You turned to look down the hallway once more, holding out the torch to illuminate the space. “Is there some kind of specific room you use for, uh, ritual purposes?” 

Oliver tried not to grin at that. “Not quite. You don’t need that, you know.” He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing off the stone surrounding you, and suddenly the hallway lit up with several more torches. 

You were too tired to roll your eyes at his little magic moment, so you just set the torch back in its place. “Nice. So then, where are we going?”

He took your arm again and guided you down the hallway. When you came to the third door on the right, he stopped. “In here,” he said.

You winced, thinking you’d probably have to do your new demon trick again, but when you leaned against the door, it was already unlocked. “Oh,” you stood back. “I…Why is this one unlocked?”

Oliver seemed worried by this. “It shouldn’t be…Even if you’d tried, it shouldn’t have opened.” 

“I don’t understand.” The spots began to grow larger in your eyes, but you tried to rub them away. 

“This one only permits people like me,” he explained, staring at the floor. “I was going to do the honors, but it would seem…he found a way around it.”

“Huh,” you replied, leaning slightly to the right to counterbalance your heavy, useless arm. “Well, whether this is a trap or not, we have to go in here, right?”

He took a deep breath. “Right.” He looked up at you, in your rough state, and his face turned resolute. “Right! In here.” He pushed open the door, and the pair of you entered. 

The inside of the cavernous space was bathed in the glow of a million small flames; candles of various sizes and colors had been stuck in different places among the stone walls and floor, as well as atop piles of dusty, broken furniture, even in hanging fixtures from the high ceilings. It somewhat resembled the space you’d found earlier during your exploration, though this space had a clear use. The whole room seemed alive, not a shadow in sight, almost expectant. 

The smell of mildew and the pervasive cold had mercifully not infiltrated this space; instead, it seemed warm. Maybe in a place like this, you thought, the ritual could work .

The center of the cellar had been cleared of furniture, the stone floor there colored in with a wide circle of black chalk. Thirteen points around the circumference had notches drawn through the circle in white, and a candle with a deep red wick was placed at the end of each notch. As the pair of you approached, you noticed that there was a different phrase etched into each candle, but you couldn’t make them out– whether from the spots in your vision or from the wax dripping down each wick, you weren’t sure. 

“Well,” you murmured. “If I’m gonna die tonight, at least it’s somewhere cool.”

Oliver grabbed your hand and clenched it tightly. “I won’t let that happen.” 

You squeezed his hand back as hard as you could, which wasn’t much considering, but you hoped it was reassuring to him. “Okay,” you moved toward the circle on the floor. “This is a summoning circle, right?” Oliver nodded. You tilted your head to get a better look at the words on each candle. “Oh, this is so cliché,” you said under your breath. “Latin? What’s next, wooden stakes and coffins?”

Oliver made his way over to the far side of the room, which was barely navigable given the heaps of furniture and the shelves of miscellaneous knick knacks, all blanketed in dust. Through the clutter, you watched as he approached a mid-size black wooden trunk that had been stuffed between a raggedy armchair and a cluster of broken bed poles. 

Turning your attention back to the circle, you walked around it slowly, trying to figure out what the phrase on each candle meant, but half of them were obscured by dripping wax. Festina lente was the only visible phrase on the tallest one; you had no clue what that meant. 

“Hey, what does this mean?” You asked loudly.

From behind the clutter, Oliver’s muffled voice replied: “what are you looking at?”

“The candles. ‘Festina lente’, what does that mean?”

You listened as something clattered behind a shelf. Then, Oliver reappeared, dragging the trunk with him. “That means,” he huffed as he pulled. “To ‘make haste slowly.’ They’re instructions.” 

When he set it down near the circle, he beckoned you over. “There’s a few things you need to know before we do this.” He pushed the lid of the trunk open and stepped to the right, so you could peer inside.

The objects within were organized neatly into sections; the left side contained a jar of what looked like dirt, along with a folded rectangle of white satin fabric. 

In the center was a dagger similar to the one you’d seen before, last night in the manor– though this one seemed a good deal older, with the silvery hilt somewhat tarnished. The blade itself, though, was clean, you realized upon closer inspection. You picked it up and turned it over in your good hand, rubbing your thumb against the engraved pattern. It had a significant weight to it, and you shivered involuntarily as you thought of the things Oliver might do to you with it in just a short while. 

There was also a length of rope in the trunk, wound around itself in a very methodical manner.  “You’re going to have to tie me up?” You asked, wondering if it was long enough for whatever it was he’d have to do. Oliver perked up a little. “Easy, girl. Just your hands. Ad nodum ,” he said, gesturing to one of the inscribed candles. “It means ‘to the knot.’”

“Oh, I see. My hands have to be tied?”

“Only for a few minutes,” he replied. “Well, unless you’d rather keep them that way.”

You blushed and held out the dagger to him. “It’s not up to me, is it?”

He smiled and took it from you. “No, I suppose not.” He then reached into the trunk and withdrew the white fabric. “This is for you.” 

You unfurled it, and the satin folds became a sheer sort of robe. You looked up at him. “This is, uh, see-through.” He nodded. You blushed again. “I have to wear this, I’m guessing.” You took a few steps back and started trying to take off your sweater, but your left arm had gone completely numb, and you couldn’t get it over your head whatsoever. You sighed and looked up at Oliver, who set down a white candle from the trunk and approached.  

Oliver took your arms and lifted the sweater up off of you, exposing the severity of your affliction rather starkly. Your left arm, shoulder, and half of your chest had turned that awful deep indigo, and the veins leading across your chest were deepening in their color as well. The sight of it made your head hurt. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You asked softly. 

Oliver wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing your blue-black shoulder. “It’s strange, but…” He reached around and began unbuttoning your pants. “It’s also beautiful.” He pushed down the waistband of your pants, which fell to the ground around your ankles.

You took a shaky breath, completely exposed to him now. It felt as fresh and new as though you were a virgin, which was a ridiculous notion, but you were just so thoroughly vulnerable in this moment that you felt like he was truly seeing your body for the first time. You felt your cheeks redden and you quickly slipped on the robe. “So, then, what do we do now?”

He tilted your chin back so that he could meet your gaze. “Enter the circle after me. I’ll show you, angel.” He kissed your hand and took a step into the summoning circle, dagger and rope in hand. “Come with me. I’m going to give you eternity.”

Chapter 16

Notes:

Hey girlies
Trigger warning for self-harm in this chapter. Then again, you knew this was a knifeplay/bloodplay fic so….

You stepped into the summoning circle after Oliver, feeling the heat of the candles on your skin— it helped to thaw the cold sensation in your chest, which was immediately reassuring. This just had to work. Although , you couldn’t help but briefly wonder, then what? Would you tell your family what you’d become? Would you even be able to return home? 

You shook those thoughts aside: survive now, worry later. You could consider the rest of your life once you knew you’d have one to live. 

Once you were both in the center, the candles in the room all seemed to dim, except for those in the circle surrounding you. Oliver turned to you; his expression startlingly serious, his hand still gripping yours. “You enter the circle of your own free will,” he began, releasing your hand. He set the dagger on the floor behind him, before straightening up and snapping his fingers. “ Excitare .”

You’d completely forgotten about the hypnosis in the midst of the chaos, but now you felt a sort of invisible fog lift from part of your mind. It had become such an intrinsic piece of your being that you hadn’t even realized it was still within your thoughts, dormant, waiting to be triggered. Without it, you felt strangely light, but also strangely empty. You nodded and repeated his words. “My own free will.”

He motioned for you to come forward, and you did so without question. He held out the bundle of rope and gazed down at your lip for a moment. Then, his dark eyes met yours, and he commanded you: “Kneel.”

You took a deep breath and did so, sinking to your knees on the concrete floor. Never did you break eye contact with him, and he stood over you now with the rope in hand. He took your numb hand and looped the rope around it, then gestured for you to give him your other one. You held it out for him, and he repeated the process until your wrists were bound together, a single large knot completing the ties. 

“You,” he whispered, “will obey the law of nature throughout your unending life as a being that preys upon vitality itself.” His eyes glinted as he looked down at you, clearly enjoying the sight of you on your knees. “In exchange for this servitude, your physical form will be bound to the earth in spite of all its courses for the rest of time.”

“I understand.” You answered, biting your lip.

He walked around behind you, taking slow steps so that every move felt deliberately imposing, and then it sounded as though he’d joined you on the floor. Then the room became quiet, and you weren’t sure what he was doing.

A sudden touch on the back of your neck caused you to start, and Oliver’s breath was just as quickly on your ear. “Don’t make a single move,” he whispered. 

You swallowed and felt something sharp pressing against your throat.Without looking down, you knew it was the dagger. Isn’t he supposed to bite me? you wondered, though you certainly weren’t complaining. “Oliver…” you whispered back. 

He seemed to read your mind, because he turned the blade to the side, pressing the flat part against your flesh. His other hand brushed your hair aside from your neck. “To drink life,” he murmured, his mouth moving down toward your collarbone. You leaned your head to the side in response. He kissed your skin languidly before sinking his teeth into your throat, and you couldn’t help but cry out a bit as his fangs punctured you. 

His once-methodical motions seemed to become more fervent upon hearing the sound you made, and you felt the pulling sensation in your neck grow stronger. He dropped the dagger and gripped your neck with his hand, pushing you into him and sinking his teeth further into your jugular. 

The pain was secondary to the instinctive adrenaline and the heat between your legs, and you struggled to stay still, as you’d been told to do. Your body was in fight-or-flight mode, given that you were being attacked by a would-be predator, but you resisted the panic; you wanted to give in and let him take as much as he deemed necessary. It felt natural, it felt right. You were trembling and breathing hard when he pulled back briefly, and you looked at him through hooded eyes, the spots in your vision multiplying. 

His hungry gaze told you that at this moment you weren’t quite human to him, nor was he to you; the blood on his mouth dripped to the floor below, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyes wild with carnal greed. You couldn’t handle being still any longer, you needed him. You pushed your neck further into his palm. “Kiss me. Please.” 

But he didn’t. Instead, he tightened his hold on your throat, and leaned in so close that your foreheads were nearly touching. His eyes burned into yours as he spoke, scarlet staining his teeth: “You aren’t in charge, tough girl. I am.” His voice was a low growl, barely discernible. He pushed your knees further apart with his thigh, clenching your throat harder and harder, until you thought he might crush your windpipe. 

Your eyes widened as you struggled to breathe. Oh shit . You gasped as his mouth found your flesh again, causing the puncture wounds in your throat to sting. You felt your head sink back as he fed on you, the tension in your muscles giving way to emptiness. He murmured something against your throat, but the rushing sound in your ears muffled it beyond comprehension. 

“Wha-what?” You managed, your own voice sounding distant. You felt a sharp sensation in your chest then, and it made a lengthy arc of white-hot pain toward your arm, followed by a rush of warmth spilling down your front. Instinctively your hands moved to your chest, but between the tight bindings and the numbness setting in, you couldn’t do much but shake. When you were able to look down at yourself, you saw a stream of red flowing down the white fabric from a laceration carved into the skin above your breast. “My…my blood…” was all you could choke out, your words a strange rasp evaporating into the air. The room was starting to spin now, and you felt your eyes drifting shut. 

So this is death , you found yourself thinking. Another burning sensation cut into you, this time above one of your hips. Then, more warmth down your side, though your body itself was starting to feel colder. A whimper escaped your lips, and Oliver’s teeth seemed to affix themselves into your neck now with an unrestrained avarice. He was losing his handle on you. He pulled you back onto the floor, and then he was kneeling above your body, his arm trembling as it held you down. You felt incredibly dizzy, your entire body both freezing and alight with nerves, but still you couldn’t find the fight in you to resist. The pulling sensation in your veins was unending; his desire for your blood was overtaking his need to change you, you were certain of it. 

“Oliver, p-please…” in your barely-conscious state you slumped to your side, trying to wring your neck free from his mouth. 

Whether he heard you or simply felt you shift, he did slowly, reluctantly release his grip on your throat. The pulling in your veins ebbed as well when he removed his teeth from your flesh and wiped your blood from his mouth. You watched him loom over you through narrowed, unfocused eyes, and you realized you were breathing heavily. 

His mind was elsewhere too, focused entirely on the red seeping out from your open wounds and streaming to the floor. After a moment, he muttered, “you’re fucking beautiful.” He took a deep breath and seemed to steady out, gaining back some of his decorum. His eyes met yours then. “You’re such a perfect sieve for me, you know that?” He took the dagger in his hand once more and, holding it against his arm, dragged it straight down through his wrist. 

As his own blood began to drip from the cut, he grinned down at your near-lifeless form. “Repeat after me, baby. Can you do that?” His tone was somewhat teasing. You nodded slightly in agreement. “Very good. Ad vitam ,” he said, and pulled you up by the bindings on your hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to sit upright, so he leaned your body against his own as he held his wrist up to your lips. “ Ad mortem .” 

“Ad v-vitam…” You pressed your mouth against his bleeding wound and swallowed to the best of your ability, the taste of copper settling on your tongue. As strange as it was, you didn’t hate it; there was a faint sweetness to it, something underlying that you…liked. You used your own teeth to push harder into his cut, drawing more of that sweetness into your mouth.

“Ah,” Oliver tutted, pulling his arm back from your lips. “Say the rest.”

You felt the warmth of his blood dripping down your chin as you finished the phrase. “Ad mortem.”

“Good girl. Now take it.” He grabbed you by the back of your head and pushed your mouth onto his wrist once more.

As you swallowed more, you felt some of your strength return, and you pressed your bleeding body into his, which elicited an animalistic noise from his throat. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re mine.” He released you and pushed the robe up around your waist. He kissed your chest, and his tongue found the slash in your skin, leaving smeared streaks of red down your sternum. His fingers grazed over your center at the same time, causing you to moan, and he laughed. “And you know it, don’t you?” 

His fingers found their way down to your entrance, and he felt how dripping wet you were. You grinded into his touch in response and drew your lips back from his wrist to murmur: “I’m yours.”

That was all he needed to hear. He pushed his fingers into you, bringing his mouth back up to yours and kissing you roughly. His bleeding hand cupped your chin, allowing more warmth to spill down over your jaw.  

The combined taste of your blood and his, along with the way he was touching you, was enough to make your knees weak. 

He broke his lips from yours, pulled his fingers from their assault on your pussy, leaving you to whine exasperatedly at the sudden empty feeling. He stood and held out his hand, covered in red, and you offered up your own bound hands. He untied the knot and let the rope fall to the ground, before he leaned down and pushed the robe from around your shoulders to the floor; leaving your body completely exposed, bleeding out, and entirely at his mercy. 

You weren’t sure why, but you bowed your head and closed your eyes. Was it shame? No. Reverence? No. Respect? Forget it. No, you felt like somehow it was just…appropriate. 

“One more thing,” he said softly. “You have to surrender.”

Feeling lightheaded, you blinked several times and looked up at him. “Surrender?” you managed, your words barely audible. He nodded. 

What did that mean? You had no idea, but at the same time, you were finding that you didn’t really care much. Your head tipped back as your vision faded, and he was able to catch you before you fell to the floor. Maybe surrender isn’t so awful , you thought as you fell limp in his arms. After all, it feels so good.

Chapter 17: Oliver

Notes:

Oliver's perspective.

I’d never been so hungry. 

 

The scent of her blood in the rain that fateful night had bewitched me in a way I hadn’t previously known, and every moment in which I’d had the fortune to taste it since then had only made me crave it more. It was near impossible to stop feeding on her once I’d started; the poor thing was nearly transparent by the time I was through. She tasted like honey, steel, and ashes, and drinking it was mind-numbing with pleasure: how was I supposed to simply let that go?

The perverse girl. Her pathetic moans and her writhing body hadn’t helped her cause whatsoever. It had only made me desire her more, and the need to overpower her with sheer brutality had only grown stronger, until I’d gotten so drunk on her taste that I’d left her without terribly much to pump through her weakened veins. 

She looked so pretty with the life dripping out of her now, her hair a tangled mess between my fingers, dried flecks of blood on her lips. A victim in every sense of the word, made to be consumed. As I pulled one of my shirts over her arms– for her modesty, I suppose, or maybe to claim her in yet another way –I wondered if she knew how her fading heartbeat excited me. When she awakens, she’ll be immortal. Her big, critical eyes will turn deepest black, the color will sap from her marred skin, those vicious scars from the ritual will permanently decorate her body. She’ll desire blood just as I do, she’ll want power and carnage and control, and she’ll have it– almost.

She belongs to me. And this will be so for the remainder of time. Nothing, human or otherwise, can touch her now; nothing except me. Forget the need for sustenance, I can feed on her purely out of lust for that intoxicating taste she has. And what’s better, I can make her drink mine. That which was previously so crucial to sustaining her human life is just something to play with now.

Oh, there was an intriguing thought. I would train her. I tightened my hold on her near-lifeless body and stood. She was so light without her blood, and I handily carried her to a couch back behind the cellar’s rows of shelves. 

She was so cold as I laid her down, and I was glad that I’d had the foresight to stash a blanket nearby. It nearly swallowed her, it was so big– but she’d be glad for the comfort when she woke. I pulled it atop her body to cover her up to her chest, and then sat down on the edge of the couch. I’d watch her turn, just to make certain that it would prevent her from becoming something else. Perhaps I was imagining things, but it appeared to me that her canine teeth were already starting to elongate. The pallor of her skin was, of course, going to happen no matter what; but that, too, seemed to be coming along quicker than expected.

This is promising. Already she’s showing signs of turning. Yes, she’ll be an excellent vampire, and I’ll teach her everything I know in order to ensure it. She’s a smart thing, after all, and I expect that she’ll catch on quickly. I’ll show her how to stalk prey, how to properly feed, teach her the rules for navigating the mortal world when necessary…

It feels like divine providence that I should’ve caught such a willing and obedient thing. She’s fiery, sure, but that mouth of hers is so easily shut. And what a strange mouth she has– skeptical, soft, transfixing. The corners of it are coated in dried blood at present, her lips slightly parted. Kissing her feels like burning, even in spite of her cold flesh as she lay dying. I wanted to experience that burning again and again, to subjugate her, to force that mouth to do unspeakable things. 

She’ll do it, too. I know how it excites her to please me. It’s evident in the way she gasps when I touch her, how her eyes widen when I wrap my hand around that sweet little throat, how slick with need her cunt becomes at the slightest hint of violence. My strange little pet was made for this. 

I stroked her hair and watched her body slowly stiffen, and I noticed that those purple veins were still set underneath her skin. I didn’t think those would remain once she turned, but it was odd how rigid they appeared to be. I traced one along the base of her collarbone, following it into the deep indigo of her arm underneath the shirtsleeve. 

That gash. It was deep and black, a chasm of corruption ripped into the pure and almost-innocent flesh. This was true cruelty; how fucking dare Amos try to destroy her, to change her, to lay claim to my angel. He hurt her, which was an offense already deserving of execution at the very least. Anything further warranted a slow and torturous end, and I was going to ensure that he suffered tenfold for everything he’d done to her, to us. 

And then, naturally, there was that question of “us.” She’d tried to leave: was that really because of Amos, or was it because of me? She’d known what I was from relatively early on, and she hadn’t been afraid. I had bound her and fucked her and made her bleed, made her choke, effectively killed her, and she’d wanted all of it. She’d smiled when I’d slapped that beautiful face. I’d made her come as she gave away her life on the stone floor. What a perfect degenerate she was– and that was having witnessed only the barest bones of what I would do to her if she chose to stay when she awoke. 

Her teeth have sharpened now, and as I checked her pulse I could detect the smallest hum beginning to arise. It won’t be much longer until she is alive again, healed and bloodthirsty and unconstrained by something as menial as a life force.

 Me, on the other hand? I was starting to feel strange. I took a deep breath and focused steadily on the one candle that I could see from here which was in the summoning circle: deditionem , the last step. Surrender. 

She sacrificed herself to you , I thought to myself. She is counting on you . 

 A sacrifice indeed. Her blood was everywhere, making the room smell as sweet and metallic as she did. She was everywhere, a martyr for her own life and pleasure; having given herself up in the human sense to earn an eternity of passion and unapologetic sin, whether that had been the intention or not. 

I thought further on the concept of sacrifice as I realized I was also covered in red. In a way, I’d surrendered something of myself to her, too. I hesitated a bit at the notion, but I had to admit that this woman had changed something in me. Her smart mouth, her desire to submit, her need to help others before herself, it had all made me feel as though I’d never tire of her. How could I ever let go of such a creature? I wanted to kiss her and burn for it, and feel her new fangs nick my skin, and keep her safe in the manor from everything except me. Fuck, do I love her?  

That is quite enough , I mentally chastised myself.  I saw her eyelashes fluttering now, so it would have to be a thought for another time. I eyed her up and down, surveying her still-purple veins, waiting for her to arise…

 

And that was when I heard the door open behind me.

Chapter 18

You’d never been so hungry. 

 

You shot upright from a lying position on a couch in the cellar. The previously understated glow from the candles had erupted into a blinding display of brightness within the summoning circle; you blinked several times, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the intensity. You flexed the muscles in your limbs, then jolted your head to the side, causing your neck to pop in several places. You were alive again, at least to some extent. 

A body . That was the first thought that came to mind. I need a fucking body. You pushed a blanket off of you and examined yourself— scars from the ritual, purple veins, wearing nothing but one of Oliver’s oversized white button-up shirts and a pair of satin panties. You pressed your tongue to your top row of teeth and felt your canines, which were knife-sharp points. You breathed a sigh of relief at this; the ritual must’ve worked. Amos hadn’t won. 

Good. Because I’m going to rip his heart from his chest. 

You got to your feet and took a shaky step forward, feeling strangely propelled by an eager hollowness within your stomach. An incendiary feeling of thirst raced up your throat like wildfire, making your teeth feel sticky and your lips chapped. This was new. 

You inhaled sharply: something in the cellar smelled good. REALLY good. It was like whiskey and cherries, and you followed it toward the summoning circle. It grew stronger and stronger until you were standing right in front of the nearest candle, the one that read terra sacra : ‘sacred land.’

Pause- you could understand Latin now. That was so stereotypical it hurt. To test your ability, you read another candle, parere . ‘To obey.’ That made you think of Oliver. Where was he, anyway? After all, he must’ve been the person that moved you to the couch from the floor. 

You drew another breath and caught the scent again, and this time it felt heady, like it was right under your nose. 

“Well, I’ll be.”

You spun around, and Vic was standing right there behind you, his hat missing and his face streaked with smudges of black. His sleeves had been shoved up to the elbows, bite marks obvious on his tan skin. He offered a polite smile in spite of his haphazard appearance. “So…you ain’t dead yet!”

Feed . That was the only notion that popped into your head, as you’d at last found him to be the source of the scent. In an instant, you’d jumped on top of him, knocking him to the floor and straddling his waist. You pinned his wrists above his head, fingernails digging into him, and you felt saliva actually leaking from the corner of your mouth.

His mouth opened in shock, and you could see something like terror in his brown eyes. His heart was thumping loudly and rapidly in his chest, the rhythm of it beckoning you in, urging you to take a taste. 

Do it. Just fucking do it. Rend his muscles and his sinew and find what you need , your stomach seemed to say. You were just about to lunge for his neck when his legs suddenly hooked around yours, and he flipped you over onto your stomach on the floor. In the quickness of this motion you lost your grip on his wrists, and he was able to pin you against the ground with a knee on your lower back, leaning his weight into it so that even the slightest move felt painful. He grabbed both of your arms and held them together behind your back with one of his hands, his other pressing your face into the cold stone floor. 

“Ha! You almost had me,” he taunted. “That was cute.”

You growled, and the sound was foreign to you as it escaped your lips. “I’ll show you cute. I’m going to devour you.”

He reinforced his hold on your head and leaned into your ear. “Y/n, you aren’t gonna do anything of the sort,”  he said, his voice a deadly calm. “I was mistaken before. You aren’t dead, but you aren’t a vampire neither.” 

You squirmed again, trying to break free of his hold on you. “Uh, yes I am. I have fangs.”

He released your head and extracted something from his pocket. “Then how come you also have these?”

He held a pocket-sized mirror in front of your face, and as you searched your reflection for any anomalies, you noticed two small indigo points poking up from underneath your hair. 

And there was something else. “What the fuck?” you asked your reflection in disbelief. The face looking back at you had entirely black eyes, without whites or pupils or irises. Just black, cavernous black. Your mouth went dry, and all the resistance in your body vanished at that moment. “I-I don’t understand.” You shifted your arms, but Vic held them firmly, his strong grip indicating to you that he was accustomed to situations like this.

He tucked the mirror back into one of his pockets.“I’m not real sure of you myself,” he remarked casually. “You sound and you move like something I ought to wrangle and dispose of, but you still look pretty…normal.” 

“Gee, thanks.” You huffed. “Just say what you’re thinking.” You realized that his grip on your arms juxtaposed with his easy candor was making your nipples hard– or maybe it was the freezing cold stone floor. Seriously right now?

He clicked his tongue and pulled something else out, you could tell from the rustling sound of his pants. You listened intently. “Wh-what are you doing?” Then, a searing anguish in your left shoulder caused you to shriek, like your skin had been lit on fire. “Ah! Stop! What are you–” you thrashed against him, and the pain suddenly abated as quickly as it had started. 

Vic held in front of your face that unmistakable “t” made of white enamel, and you couldn’t help it. You actually hissed at the crucifix. You tried to recoil from the rosary, feeling an intense heat on your face, though this was largely unsuccessful because of his firm hold on you. 

He pulled it away after a moment, your obvious discomfort seeming to answer whatever question he had. “Well, whether or not you’re walking on two legs, there’s no beating it. You’re a demon, darlin’.”

You caught your breath at that word, demon . That was impossible. You’d gone through all the steps, even drank Oliver’s blood. Oh, and died. And you weren’t a towering column with claws and yellow snake pupils, so what was the deal? You had fangs, like a vampire. You thought you wanted – your stomach grumbled – oh, you desperately wanted blood. Was it really blood you wanted, though? You thought of Vic’s intense scent and his very, very alluring heart, and your stomach grumbled again. You didn’t want blood. You wanted guts. His, specifically. And as soon and violently as possible. 

“Demon…” you mumbled. “I can’t be.” You slumped underneath Vic’s knee. How could you be a demon? You could still breathe, blink, feel; although what you felt most of all in this moment was hunger. 

Vic fumbled with something above you, something clanking and awkward. Then you felt the cool hardness of metal on your arms, which made you flinch. “Hold still,” he spoke, sliding something into place. Then you felt the metal tighten and click, and he released his grasp on you. “Be cool. Any sudden moves and I’ll use the cross, got it?”

“Ugh. Got it.” The weight off your back was such a relief as he removed his knee. You rolled to your side and managed to get into a sitting position, so that you were now looking straight over at him. He sat cross-legged on the stone floor, staring straight into your eyes and chin in his hand. He was clearly mulling something over.

God, his scent was crazy. You wanted to mutilate him for making you so starved, so wild with need. You swallowed, feeling saliva pool underneath your tongue. He was just as delicious to look at– his toned arms, long hair, thoughtful eyes. How had you not noticed that before? 

“Um, Vic?” 

“Yeah?” He sat back, flicking his tongue across his teeth, an innocuous gesture that made you consider just how good that tongue would feel on your inner thigh. 

Whoa, easy, girl , you thought to yourself. You looked around the room. “Where is Oliver?”

His eyebrows shot up in hesitant panic. “Right, yeah, Oliver. He…I-I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? He was here, he turned me.”

“Well, tried to turn you, anyway,” he cleared his throat. “He probably figured you’d take more time to change.” His eyes were so clearly betraying something more significant than what he’d said. He was a bad liar.

You got to your feet slowly, feeling slightly less intimidating as you realized for the first time that your panties were visible, the hem of Oliver’s shirt just barely skimming your hips. Vic seemed to notice this too, and the blush on his dirt-streaked face was almost adorable. You took a step forward, but he didn’t shrink back from his seated position on the floor.

“Where is he?” You asked again. 

He sighed then, and when he looked up at you his brown eyes had become unguarded. He answered earnestly: “Alright, so I maybe might’ve found him in here with you while I was searching for the critter.”

You stopped about a foot away from him. “Okay. And?” You felt your fingernails dig into your palms.

“And he was startled, course, because here I was a stranger in his house, and you were all dead and stuff behind him. He was real protective of you.”

Your not-quite-a-pulse quickened. “Then what?”

Vic sighed. “Well, I started to explain that I was a demon hunter chasing after the fella that was infestin’ this place, but he was convinced I was bad news,” he grimaced. “Or maybe he thought I’d be a decent snack. Either way, he started coming at me, saying something or other like ‘you need to get out of here,’ et cetera.”

You stood over Vic now, so tormentingly close to that fragrant scent of his. He looked up at you skeptically, which was making it very hard for you to maintain your stoic demeanor. “What did you do to him?” You inhaled the smell of his hair, smokey and fresh, and your lips parted in anticipation. Focus. Your wrists strained against the cuffs.

He noticed this, of course, and put his hands up in defense. “Whoa, I didn’t do nothing to him. When you started stirring behind him, he got all dizzy like, and I thought he was gonna hurl or something. Then you muttered something in your sleep, and he fell out right in front of me.”

You felt goosebumps prickle your skin. “At the same time?” Oh no. 

He scratched his head. “Yeah, just about.”

You shuddered. “I’m supposed to make him suffer. That’s what the demon, Amos, had said to me.” You felt your hunger ebb somewhat as you adjusted to the proximity of Vic’s smell. Exposure therapy seemed to be the way to go, and you made a mental note to remember that. 

He stood then, being careful to take a step back in case you moved on him again. “We both know you ain’t gonna do that on purpose. Amos must’ve made sure the infection had time to really mix around in your blood, infusin’ it enough so that drinking it would’ve killed a legitimate vampire.” 

Your heart sank. Did Oliver die right here, in this room? You stared at the floor in front of you. Had his body fallen there?

“Oli…” you started, your shoulders starting to shake. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t have just left you like that, abandoned your side when you were just on the crux of embracing eternity together. You had adjusted to the idea of staying, you had let him carve his way into your skin and your life and your soul. Losing him now would mean it was all for nothing. 

Vic gingerly patted your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. “Hey, relax, he’s okay. He just passed out. The guy’s apparently only half a bloodsucker, so it’ll cycle out of him and he’ll be good as new.” 

“Oh,” your shoulders immediately untensed. He was okay. You were okay. Well, except for the horns. And the eyes. And the carnivorous desire for flesh and bone. One thing at a time. You exhaled slowly and felt your fangs with your tongue again, before turning back to your initial question. “So…where is he?”

Vic’s gaze wandered to the door behind you. “The critter doesn’t seem to like the rooms down here. Thought I’d chased it into this cozy little spot, but I reckon it pulled a disappearing act. They don’t like mixing magic, and this part of the basement seems to carry a good deal of that already.”

You turned to look at the door as well. “That door was unlocked when we came down here. Do you think he did this as some sort of trap?”

Vic offered a boyish smile. “Nah. I think you got more friends in this place than you realize. Thanks for leaving a window open, by the way.” He gestured for you to follow him toward the door. “Your boyfriend is in the next room over, I had to drag his body there myself. I figured it was a good idea to separate y’all for when you woke up, in case you were less…” he turned and glanced back at you. “Restrained.” 

You bit your lip with your sharpened teeth. “Yeah, I’ll, uh, work on that.”

“Yes you will,” he replied nonchalantly, opening the door and leading you out into that dank, dimly lit hallway from before. 

Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness; maybe that was why when Vic stopped in his tracks, you bumped into his back, catching a lungful of his scent in spite of the damp and frigid air. You felt a tingling sensation race through your chest, your brain became scrambled, and you barely had time to react before your fangs brandished themselves and surged for his shoulder. He just as quickly knocked you back, and when you flashed your gaze up at him again, you could see what he was looking at on the other end of the hallway.

Your heart dropped into your knees. Amos was laughing, his three sets of white knives champing in the dark, his yellow slitted pupils staring directly through you. In his claw he clutched a sheep’s head, entrails snaking behind him. 

“Ah, contemptible apprentice,” the demon hissed. “You must be starving.”

Chapter 19

It took Vic’s sturdy hand on your chest to hold you back from rushing forward toward the sheep’s head. He was surprisingly forceful for someone with such a sweet demeanor. He stared at Amos, his other hand on his hip, clearly ready to draw something from his belt at the slightest sign of attack.

“Easy, y/n,” he warned, his voice cool and collected.

You pushed back against him, compelled forward by some invisible force, every fiber of your being screaming for you to wrench that head from Amos’s grasp and rip into it with wild abandon. “Stop!” you cried. “I need it!” You jerked your wrists against the cuffs, feeling the metal dig into your arms.

Still, Vic held steady, bracing against you without so much as shifting his weight. “You don’t. It’s what he wants.” He turned his attention to Amos. “Keep your distance, pal. You got no business with the girl.”

Amos’s teeth curled into a nightmare of a smile. “The girl IS my business.” He jostled the head tauntingly. “Isn’t that right, y/n?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were blindsided with hunger, and you jerked your wrists against the cuffs once more, this time hearing the metal chain actually groan from your effort. You barreled past Vic, who tried and failed to hold you back this time, and you slammed straight into Amos. 

He cackled and dropped the head to the floor, a sickening splat sound echoing through the corridor. Before you could dive after it, Amos reached out a talon and dug it into your shoulder, causing black, swirling liquid to spill forth. You cried out from the incision, but still remained undeterred and twisted your arm free, thinking only of getting your teeth around something bloody and alive. 

Vic was on the offensive then, brandishing the rosary and holding it out in front of him as he approached you both. He withdrew what looked to be a small bottle from his belt and uncorked it with his teeth. “In the name of the Father,” he began, and both you and Amos shrank back. You’d knelt to get closer to the sheep’s head, but now you pushed yourself away from it, as Vic dashed the floor in front of you with water from the bottle. You recoiled instantly, seeing steam rise from the water. “Vic, what the hell?” 

Amos grunted behind you and grabbed your shoulder again, dragging you backward with him. “It’ll take more than that.” The demon’s mouth was suddenly in your ear, and all around you came curses in an echoing voice, like he was surrounding you. “A contract broken is a contract made. The spring’s end is a winter unchanged.” 

The edges of your sight dimmed as the words curled in fog around you, and they seemed to be flowing directly through your ears and into your brain, filing themselves away like a computer code. 

Vic flung the water at Amos then, landing droplets on the demon’s form and searing holes of steam into the blackness. “The Son,” he continued, his voice shaking but steadfast. “And the Holy Gho–”

Amos screeched and shrunk back, letting go of your shoulder. You fell to the side and wrenched your wrists again, feeling the metal twist but still refuse to break. The stupor that Amos had put you under in that moment quickly abated, bringing you back to reality. You watched as the demon shrieked and twitched while the holy water slowly leaked holes into his form. From your heap on the floor, you saw clouded tendrils of black begin to wind from the base of his form and snake away from Vic’s assault. He seemed to melt downward into the floor, amassing into those tendrils, which began slowly creeping toward you.

Vic looked back at you frantically. “Stand up.” He doused more of the water onto the melting mass of black. “Stand up and get behind me!” 

You managed to scramble to your feet just before the smoke reached you; but as you inhaled again, the smell of the sheep’s head just beneath you filled your nose, and it overpowered any sense of discipline you had been hanging onto. You felt something break within you, and you fixed your eyes on Vic: his sweat, his hair, and his skin– and you had to have him. At the same time, as if all around you, Amos’s guttural laugh echoed off of the stone walls. 

Vic saw the shift in your behavior immediately. He slung the rosary around his neck and aimed the bottle of water at you. “Y/n,” he began, taking a hesitant step back. “You don’t know what you’re doing…” 

You could feel the faintest sense of self control tugging in the back of your mind, but it wasn’t enough to stop you from running at Vic. Forget the head– it was impure, tainted, rendered unclean by the stupid holy water. That was unacceptable. You needed to eat. 

Vic grabbed you by the shoulders and held you off, dropping the bottle in the process. You thrashed wildly under his grip, desperate to devour him in any capacity you could.

“This isn’t you!” He shouted, as if that would make any difference. You tried to bite his hand, but he pushed you back, taking hold of the cross around his neck and wielding it in front of his body. “Get a hold of yourself!”

You spat at the crucifix, and your body trembled. “Don’t tell me what to do,” you snarled. “You were wrong about it. All of it.” You licked your teeth in anticipation.

Vic didn’t move a muscle, the cross clenched between his fingers. “I was,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen this…” his eyes drifted upward to the points above your forehead. “I didn’t know it could only go halfway…” he whispered. 

Your jaw tightened. “Doesn’t matter.” You could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, and it thrilled you to know that he was afraid of you. Good. You needed to scare him more, feel that fear radiate from him, needed him to know that his blood was yours for the taking. You bent your arms backward and up over your head, causing your shoulders to pop out and back into place, so that your cuffed wrists were now in front of you, instead of behind. It didn’t hurt a bit. “Take a good look, cowboy. You said it yourself: I’m a demon.”

Vic was visibly shaken by your display, but he didn’t so much as shift. “But you aren’t. You’re still partly human,” he insisted. “You can choose not to do this.”

“Enough!” You snapped. You took a step forward with intent to pounce on him again– but at that moment, Amos materialized between you both and snatched you by the cuffs, picking you up off the ground and letting you dangle in his grasp. 

You writhed and kicked your feet, but he didn’t seem to even notice. His yellow eyes simply bore into yours with a haunting mix of interest and pride. “Curious.”

Vic approached Amos from behind, withdrawing yet another strange object and wielding it above his head, poised as though to stab—

Amos noticed the movement and flicked a claw in Vic’s direction, which sent him flying back into the floor some distance down the hallway. He turned back to you, his pupils narrowing. “You’re not done.”

You grit your teeth and tried, pointlessly, to kick him. “So what?”

“So you’ve…retained…” the wide mouth turned down at the corners. “Humanity.” He formed the word with disgust. 

You stopped kicking the air and stared back at the demon. Humanity? You looked over Amos’s shoulder at Vic lying on the ground. There was no humanity in what was happening, how you were behaving. You were playing right into the hand (claw?) of a being that had weaponized you into hurting innocent people. In succumbing to the poison he’d created in you, you were losing your compassion, your personhood. You felt a spark of rage bloom as you glared into soulless eyes. I can’t let him win , you thought. I can’t give up my humanity . 

Amos continued analyzing you, trying to figure out how you had only been turned halfway. Behind him, you watched Vic roll to his side and slowly get to his feet, clothes now wet and covered in dirt. He picked up a sharp white object from the floor and began to approach. 

Vic would need a clear shot for whatever he was about to do. You focused back on Amos, set on creating a distraction, and you decided to give him the answer he wanted to hear. You bared your fangs and let him see the saliva drip from them to the floor. “Only in appearance.” 

Amos’s stare was unmoving. You scrunched up your nose and took a deep breath, taking in the metallic smell of the sheep’s blood thick in the basement air. Your eyes burned at the corners, your lungs filled with a piercing pain. “Give me flesh. Give me something, anything, that I can tear apart.” 

Vic was steps away from Amos, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that he held what seemed to be a sharpened fragment of bone in his hand. 

You let a guttural noise resonate from within your chest, leaning your head backwards in the direction of the sheep’s head. “ A contract broken , you said?” You laughed. “I like that. And speaking of broken–” you snapped both legs up and around Amos’s outstretched arm, the added weight causing his limb to bend, and you used the momentum to wrench your cuffs from his grasp, so that you swung upside down and landed your cuffed fists squarely into his center. 

He stumbled backward, and at the same time, Vic stabbed the bone into the demon’s back, which pierced through his form and jutted out of his front, black swirling liquid spewing forth from the wound.

Amos screamed and collapsed to the ground in a plume of smoke, his form shrinking from a towering column to a barely-five-foot skeletal husk.You fell to the ground too, as his arm you’d been hanging from had crumbled into black sand. You felt the wind get knocked from your lungs, but discovered that since you didn’t have to breathe, you were just fine. 

You coughed and stood slowly, realizing you were now coated in the black stuff. You wiped the spit from your jaw and looked down at the weakened shell beneath your feet. His once-bright yellow eyes had become pale and bulging, his rows of shiny white teeth now fragile wood shards set in gray, decaying gums. You gestured to the dark skin of your left arm. “Whatever you did to me, demon, it didn’t work.”

“Mostly,” Vic added, as he nudged Amos with his boot. When the creature didn’t retaliate, he bent over it and grasped the exposed sharp tip of the bone. “Your business will stay unfinished.” There was an exhausted shudder in his voice: still, his tone was resolute and stern. “Anything to confess before I send you back to hell?”

Amos glared up at you, pale eyes narrowing slightly. His voice was a rasp as he heaved out: “No. My job is done.” His lips curled into a cruel, grotesque smile.

Vic nodded solemnly and, with one concerted yank, pulled the bone through the demon’s chest. Amos’s corpse crumbled into more black sand, leaving nothing but an outline of his form on the stone floor. His eyes were the last things to go, and the slitted pupils remained locked upon you until they, too, disintegrated. The bone left in Vic’s hand was stained black and dripping in that glittering liquid, and as it dripped to the floor, you could see that surface was etched with more Latin. 

You and Vic were both silent for a few moments,with the only sounds in the hallway being his short breaths.

“Um,” you muttered eventually. “Is he…dead?”

Vic rubbed the liquid from the bone and shoved it, still slick with black, into a slot on his belt. He stood and wiped the sweat from his forehead, inadvertently smearing more of the black stuff on his face. “No,” he replied. “But he’s been banished back to where he came from.” There was a slight reluctance in his expression as he turned to face you. “Don’t make me send you there, too.”

You rolled your eyes– or tried to, anyway, though you wondered how effective it was, since they were completely black. “Don’t worry about it.”

Chapter 20

It took a couple minutes of convincing before Vic eventually believed that you weren’t going to eat him. But now that he wasn’t afraid, he was annoyingly curious. He poked your horns. “Does this hurt?”

“Nope.” You sighed. 

He surveyed the puncture wound in your shoulder. “What about that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes it hurts?”

“Yeah, obviously. He dug his claw into me, it didn’t feel pleasant.”

“But I’ve heard you like pain.”

“Not this kind of pain.” You huffed. “Can I please be uncuffed now?”

“Uh-uh,” Vic shook his head, “I need to make sure you don’t pose an imminent threat.”

You sighed. “Look, I’m not hungry anymore. That holy water of yours completely ruined the sheep. It smells awful now.”

Vic raised an eyebrow. “The sheep, yes. But…” he leaned in close, so that his face was inches from yours. “How do you think I smell?”

You closed your eyes and inhaled. Fuck, it was overwhelming. That whiskey cherry scent was radiating from him, enveloping you and making your throat burn. “N-not bad,” you croaked out. There was that incendiary feeling again, but this time it seemed mostly to come from deep in your core. You opened your eyes and met Vic’s, as he was watching you intently. There was some strange electricity in how he looked at you; fascinated, mischievous, maybe still slightly afraid after all. 

You licked your lips, playing up your reaction. “You smell incredible.” You raised your eyebrows. “Maybe just a bite?”

His face broke into a smile then, though you could still see that tiny hint of fear in his pretty brown eyes. It was cute to see a man be scared of you. “We’ll see,” he said. Then he looked down at your cuffed hands. “Maybe I ought to leave those on, in case you get any ideas.”

You shrugged. “I think maybe you just like bondage, but okay.” Not that it made a difference- you’d strained the cuffs enough that one final, determined jerking motion would likely break the chain apart, allowing you free range to use your hands if necessary. Vic didn’t need to know that, though, so you kept the cuffs intact for now. Besides, you felt strong enough to resist him at this point, having been repeatedly exposed to his scent. There was no reason to worry about jumping him again. 

He smirked, but said nothing. He turned his attention to something on the ground. “Well, that’s toast.” He was looking at the bottle of holy water, which had been emptied in the fight.

“You didn’t bring any extra?”

“I only needed it for the one demon. I hadn’t packed in anticipation of…whatever you are.”

“Ouch.” 

Vic picked up the bottle and stuck it in the holster of his belt. “I can always get more from a local parish. I’m tight with most god-fearing types.”

You nodded. “There’s a chapel down in the valley.” You were about to suggest accompanying him, but then you remembered that you would probably not be welcome in most religious spaces from now on. “I, um, probably can’t go with you though.”

Vic shrugged and walked over to a door along the side opposite the ritual space. “Who knows? You might be only half unwelcome.” He moved to reach for the door handle, but just as his fingers grazed the knob, it suddenly swung open.

“Vic-?” Panic rose in your chest. 

Oliver’s arm shot out through the doorway, grabbing the collar of Vic’s shirt. He pulled the shorter man in, glowering, his fangs evident when he opened his mouth to speak. “What did you do?”

 

You barely had time to react before Vic had turned the tables on Oliver, gripping his tattooed wrists and shoving him against the doorframe, pinning his arms behind his back. “I didn’t do nothing,” he retorted. “Other than banish your demon. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Oliver’s fists clenched behind his back. “I had it under control.”

Vic made a dramatic show of looking first at you, then the sand on the floor, then the sheep’s head down the hall. “You reckon?” 

“Fine.” Oliver admitted through locked teeth. “Thank you. Is your business concluded here?” The tension in his body was evident, and you noticed that he was holding back. The Oliver you’d come to know was more than capable of overpowering other people in terms of strength, but you also knew Vic was a hell of a lot stronger than he appeared. 

“It was. Past tense.” Vic released Oliver and dusted off his shirt. “I don’t know if he’s gone forever, or if he’s affixed to this place some way or another, but he ain’t gonna bother you at least for a long time.”

Oliver rubbed his wrists as he turned, raising an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

“Dead sure. But–”

“Very well.” Oliver interrupted. He looked up and caught sight of you then, and his expression shifted from anger to relief. “You. You’re back.” He rushed to you, ignoring Vic’s alarmed “Wait!” as he took your chin in his hand and kissed you deeply. 

 You stifled your breathing, careful not to inhale as his mouth found yours, as you couldn’t trust yourself not to lose control and attack him as viciously as you had with Vic at first. But your lips felt so right on his, and as his other arm wrapped around you, a sigh escaped your throat, and fuck , it happened. One big, deep breath. 

Oliver had smelled amazing before, but now? The wave of amber and sandalwood that hit you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced— the copper note in his vampire blood and his body were enticing you in a way that felt otherworldly, so much that you thought you’d die without it. Your chest thrummed and your mind went blank. Without warning, you sank your teeth into his lower lip, easily drawing his blood and allowing it to spill back into your throat. 

Oliver didn’t seem surprised; he actually moaned slightly, as if somehow reassured by this. He must’ve assumed that you were a vampire now, that the plan had succeeded, and that you were taking your first taste of blood as a creature of his kind. He was probably glad for you to drink from him, to even the playing field and use him in the same capacity that he’d used you, satiating yourself on his vitality. Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case. He tasted like divinity itself, and you weren’t interested in keeping things even. Your fangs clenched tighter around his flesh, motivated by the copper heat coating your throat. Your longing for more of his blood was making you feel almost feral. Your vicious teeth caused him to wince a bit and eventually draw back. “Damn, y/n,” he said, touching his lip and looking at the red smeared on his finger. “I figured you’d be hungry, but–”

The sight of it was the last damn straw. You felt a low, rumbling noise escape your mouth before you lost control entirely and grabbed that scarlet-smeared hand, pulling him back to you and sinking your teeth into his shoulder. Yes. More blood. More. You couldn’t stop; you could feel the liquid streaming like lava down your chin and onto the white shirt covering your chest. You felt alive, really alive now, with your skin on fire and your mind shattered in a million pieces. The flesh breaking under your fangs was a sensation you found yourself deeply enjoying, and the scent of him filled your lungs wholly, the hum of his pulse melodic to your ears, almost inviting. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roll back in your head from the multifaceted, sheer pleasure of tasting something’s insides.

The notion of someone wrenching you back barely registered, your bite too stubbornly fastened upon him for you to consider giving up now. An arm around your waist, a muffled “Stop!” in the distance: none of it was worth acknowledging. You swallowed greedily, finally beginning to feel somewhat satisfied, when Vic succeeded in lifting you off Oliver before clapping his hand over your mouth. He must’ve been holding the rosary, too, because something hard between his palm and your lips was causing your skin to burn. He took several steps back, and then you both were in the room that Oliver had been placed in before, a long-neglected bedroom that must’ve once belonged to a staff member. 

You struggled against Vic’s muscular build, whipping your head side to side to try and free your mouth from the crucifix. As you opened your eyes and they refocused, you caught sight of Oliver in the hall through the doorway. He was gripping his left shoulder and staring at you with mouth agape. The look in his eyes wasn’t hurt, wasn’t betrayed, wasn’t even angry– he just looked mystified. 

Vic’s voice was low in your ear. “I will not hesitate to subdue you, if I need to.” His grip on your waist tightened. Oh my .

“Is that a promise?” You mumbled against his hand. It came out more as “hmm mhphh hmmss?”

Oliver took his hand from his shoulder, and you could see that the place where you’d pierced his skin had already healed. He entered the room but stayed somewhat close to the door, his eyes focused on you.  “Let her go.” He said to Vic. 

You felt a small smile bloom on your face, even in spite of the hand covering it. Possessive Oliver. Interesting. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” Vic replied. “She’s a danger to you, me, and hell, maybe even herself.”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t care. Get your hands off her.” He took a step forward. “For all I know, you did something to her that made her dangerous in the first place.”

Vic sighed and removed his hand from your mouth, though he kept his arm around your waist. 

You wiped your bloody mouth with a cuffed hand. “Fuck, Oli, I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me.” Reality had started to set in. Oh my god, Oliver. Did I just try to eat my boyfr— my…him? 

The steel in his gaze was spine-chilling: lucky for you, his eyes were now directed at the man still holding your waist, and not at you. “Was I not clear? Let. My. Girl. Go.” He made sure his fangs were visible as he enunciated every word. 

Vic hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Oliver held his hand out to you. “She doesn’t scare me.”

Vic released your waist and you stumbled forward into Oliver’s arms. He stroked your hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. 

Like hell you were okay. You’d just hurt him, broken his skin, drank his blood, and hadn’t given any of it a second thought. Your shoulders trembled. “I’m so sorry,” you rasped against his shoulder. His scent was still incredibly strong, and you had to bite your lower lip to hold yourself back from hurting him all over again. What was wrong with you?

Oliver tensed, and you could tell he was looking at Vic still. “You had no part in this?”

You could hear Vic shift uncomfortably behind you. “Not a chance. I did suggest to y/n that the poison’s effect might be cancelled out if you turned her, but I sure as hell didn’t expect this to happen.”

Oliver nodded, pressing you closer to him. “We tried that.” 

You swallowed and reluctantly pulled away from him— you didn’t want to push your ability to resist, between the intensity of your hunger and his intoxicating scent. “The, uh, ritual.  We must’ve missed something.” You turned so that you could look from one man to the other. “Or maybe the poison was too far set in for the ritual to have worked anyway.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Vic was clearly deep in thought, considering what you’d said. When he looked up at Oliver, his expression seemed resolute. “I ain’t a vampire expert, but you did the whole thing, right? All thirteen steps?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“And had you done this before?”

At that, Oliver hesitated. “Well, no, but—”

“Mm.” Vic’s eyebrows shot up. “So this was new.”

Your head swiveled to Oliver. “Wait, I was your first?”

It was his turn to appear uneasy. He pressed his lips into a flat line. “You were.” 

He was telling you this NOW? While the idea that he’d never turned someone before you was exceptionally concerning, you also felt a twinge of excitement that he’d never considered anyone else worthy. Still , your rational brain argued, maybe that’s because it’s a curse. He may not have wanted to burden anyone else with this unless it was an absolute last resort. You just happened to be the first to fit the bill.

You ran an exasperated hand through your hair, wincing when your palm brushed against your sharp horn. “So it’s possible there was some kind of user error?”

Vic approached you then, after looking to Oliver for some sort of unspoken permission. “Hmm. It’s possible, of course. But I saw the body before you came back: you definitely died.” He examined the healed skin where the gashes had just been in your arm and shoulder— when had that happened? The skin was still blue-black, but it was no longer actively leaking poison. Vic frowned. “What did the demon say to you when he grabbed your shoulder?”

Now it was your turn to frown. “Uh, ‘a contract broken is a contract made?’ Why?” 

Vic took a deep breath and glanced at Oliver. “Who have you killed?”

You felt tension immediately thicken the air as Oliver’s eyes darkened. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized you’d never thought to ask him that yourself. It makes sense. Vampires drink blood, which people need to survive. People die without it. But… Another idea occurred to you then. Had he originally brought you here with intent to kill? What had changed? And how many people had he seduced before finding you?

Oliver was gauging your expression, clearly trying to figure out how to answer that question. “What counts as killing?”

“Folks you drank from that never made it outta here, I suppose.”

He sighed. “I’ve drank from many. Too many to recall.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms. Obviously you weren’t the first victim, but damn, too many to recall? How long had he been a vampire?

“Did any of them stand out as particularly odd? Did they have any weird tattoos or markings on their skin? Seem to, uh, talk to themselves or anything?”

Oliver shook his head. “Not that I can remember…” He trailed off, lost in thought. You felt a knot forming in your stomach. So, evidently, he barely remembered the people he had consumed. That’s a life you’re destined for, too, your brain helpfully supplied. You shook the thought from your head and tried to think of anything you’d noticed during your stay here, any small details that would have hinted at the former guests. The book. “Oliver, where did you get that book on the afterlife?”

A look of confusion, then recognition slowly spread over Oliver’s face then. “It was there when I got here.”

Vic pulled a chair over from a nearby desk and sat down, chin in his hand, deep in thought. “A book on the dead…targeting the caretaker…Who was the original master of the estate?”

If the atmosphere was tense before, now it turned downright frigid. Oliver’s gaze was stony, and he stalked toward Vic with a conviction in his gait. “I know what you’re implying. You’re wrong. The master was certainly not involved.”

Vic was unflinching. “How can you know for sure?”

Oliver had his back to you now, but you could see the anger in how he held his shoulders. He leaned down very close to Vic’s face and spoke sternly. “The master was a good man. He saved countless lives and changed the world of medicine.”

Vic clicked his tongue. “See, I thought you might say that.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “I did some research on this place before staking it out. Doctor Constantine was considered a, uh, ‘miracle worker’ of sorts.” His tone was blasé, which you knew would likely be detrimental to his cause. Oliver didn’t seem to like the idea of people talking negatively about this Constantine person. 

You looked down at your cuffed hands. If things get ugly between these two, I might have to intervene. You continued listening, but also began yanking your wrists in opposite directions, watching the chain of the cuffs crack and then eventually break with a loud snap! You wiggled your fingers and stretched your arms, relieved to finally be able to move them freely. 

“—and years of training in the East.” Oliver was saying to Vic, his tone insistent. “There is credence to his accolades.”

“He allegedly revived a man who’d been certifiably dead for four days,” Vic shot back. “You really think that’s the result of sheer talent?”

You decided to interject then. “So the master was supernaturally gifted with healing people, that’s the theory?”

Vic nodded, and Oliver swiveled to stare at you. “Y/n…” his voice held a warning. 

Vic looked at Oliver warily before addressing you. “Yes. I’m of the belief that Doctor Constantine made some kind of deal with our pal Amos. I’m willing to bet that it was so he could heal the sick in ways that normal medical advancements just couldn’t.”

You approached the two men and took Oliver’s hand. “That makes sense. But why would Amos now be after Oliver? And by extension, after me?”

Vic frowned and ran a hand through his long hair. “You ain’t gonna like this.”

Oliver was clenching his jaw now. “Go on, then. Say what you’re thinking.”

Vic struggled to meet your gaze, and when he did, his sweet brown eyes were full of apology. “Amos was after your boyfriend for the same reason any demon seeks vengeance on someone; they neutralized the originator of the contract.” His voice was grim. “In other words, Oliver killed the master.”

Chapter 21

An icy trickle of fear crept down your back. No way. He killed him? But he’d spoken so highly of the master. Any time he was brought up, Oliver seemed happy to share details about him, recounting their friendship with affection and clear admiration for the older man. 

But Oliver didn’t say a word now. He only stared at Vic, who was himself staring at the floor. 

You had no idea how to react. Obviously, you’d guessed that the master wasn’t real, or else that Oliver was the master himself; why would he have killed someone that he seemed to regard so highly? It didn’t make any sense. After a long pause, you cleared your throat and spoke. “Is it true?”

Oliver glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “It is.” His tone was undeterminable.

So he wasn’t going to even lie about it. “Don’t you think that’s something you maybe should’ve disclosed earlier?” You asked brazenly. “Something like ‘Hi, y/n, I’m Oliver. I killed the person who owns this place. Wanna be my vampire girlfriend?’ Did it never cross your mind to tell me something like that?”

He straightened. “I don’t see how the vampire part is relevant here.”

Is this a joke? “The man had to die somehow. I’m assuming you drank his blood.”

“You don’t need to assume anything. He was a dead man walking as it was, and I was doing him a favor.” Oliver muttered angrily. “Doctor Constantine saw it as an act of mercy.”

Vic jerked his head up. “Some act of mercy! All that did was pass his little deal along from a mortal to an immortal, which ain’t part of the rulebook.”

Oliver glared at Vic. “Helpful as ever.” He looked up at you, his gaze softening. “Y/n, the master of this place was my mentor. He taught me practically everything I know about medicine. He saved so many sick people.” His expression seemed genuinely distraught. “Ending his life was the hardest decision I have ever had to make, until now.”

You folded your arms across your chest, ignoring the clinking sound of the handcuffs and hoping to appear as serious as you intended. “Why? What was so wrong with him that death seemed like a kindness?”

Vic seemed expectant for whatever answer Oliver was about to give. “Go on, then.”

Oliver’s eyes met the floor as he spoke, his anger melting into something like sadness. “At the time, he’d told me it was a sort of muscular dystrophy. It was caught at such a late stage that it was an irreversibly fatal sentence, and a long and painful one at that, and he’d asked me to end his life so that he might be spared the agony of a slow, debilitating death.”

You looked at Vic. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but his expression seemed to have lightened somewhat. 

Oliver went on. “The night that I’d finally found the courage to do it, it had been an unexpectedly difficult undertaking. See, a half-vampire can’t drink the blood of a diseased human as a means of turning them: it will cause the human side to rot away with the illness, dooming the individual to an eternity of perpetual suffering. He didn’t want me to turn him, and he didn’t want to cause me harm either. He wanted me to kill him using a single syringe mixture of lithium and sodium pentothal.”

Vic seemed to realize something as Oliver explained what had transpired. “Wait, he asked you to use those two substances specifically?” He frowned. “Oliver, you’re a smart guy. Those don’t kill people in such small doses.”

Oliver stiffened. “I know. I still don’t understand why he asked me to use it specifically, but I couldn’t argue with the man. You see, people didn’t question Doctor Constantine.” He shuddered. “It was a torturous night, and it ended up destroying his mind, while leaving his body intact and still horribly deteriorated. He was confined to his bedchamber for years on end, and I his sole caretaker. I was horrified by what I’d done, unable to bring myself to finish what he’d asked of me.”

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t this. “So when he was rendered basically braindead…”

Vic picked up from there. “The demon he’d had the contract with was left with unfinished business. That bein’ the case, he decided to seek vengeance on you for interfering. That’s a classic case of karma, pal. Critters of the underworld are always itching for a reason to deliver their version of justice.” 

Oliver’s temper flared again. “You think I don’t know that? I never intended for this to happen, any of this. I wasn’t aware of his dealings with the Occult.”

 

You frowned and looked up at the ceiling. “The summoning circle for the demon, the one I saw while I was…” you trailed off and felt Oliver’s eyes on you. “Er, exploring …it was in the attic, just off this old art gallery in a hidden wing of the manor.”

“That was his preferred study, at one point in time,” Oliver muttered. “That’s where he’d been the night his heart finally gave out.”

You and Vic met eyes. Vic stood and awkwardly patted Oliver on the shoulder, a bold move for someone who wasn’t necessarily on his good side. “You did what you could, it sounds like. You didn’t know what was gonna happen when he died.”

Oliver didn’t respond. He only clenched his hands, knuckles white. After a moment, he responded softly. “It’s my fault Amos is here. He attacked y/n. It’s because of me that she had to go through with this.”

Shit , you thought. “That’s not true.” You felt what remained of your heart begin to ache for him. “You saved my life. I let you turn me.” You took his hand and squeezed it. Standing this close to him, you switched to mouth breathing to avoid being enticed by his scent, but you still weren’t entirely confident you could resist him. You swallowed hard. “Even if something went wrong, it could’ve been much worse without your involvement.”

His pale face was skeptical, but he said nothing. 

You gathered your resolve. “Oli. Look. Amos has been sent back to Hell, where he belongs. I’m here, alive enough,” you glanced up at your forehead to indicate your horns. “Regardless of the circumstances. And we have an expert on the Occult that has literally landed on our doorstep.” You gestured to Vic. 

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. “ Our doorstep?” 

Oops , you thought to yourself, but you waved him off. “What I’m saying is, we have the means to ensure he doesn’t come back. Don’t guilt yourself over what’s in the past. We can only move forward.” You turned on your heel. “So, I think – let’s go destroy his summoning circle.” You pulled him along, your cuff clinking against his wrist. 

“Well, then.” You heard Vic mutter behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

 

Your ambitious plan to destroy the summoning circle was not so much a plan, but an idea; an idea that had been promptly shot down when Vic had asked you if you had any sacred objects with which to damage the circle.

You’d stopped in your tracks about midway up the stairs in the foyer. “Uh, like what?”

He stared at you deadpan when you turned to face him. “Like holy water, a Bible, a crucifix, things like that?”

In your haste to try and make Oliver feel better, you’d neglected to consider the basic reality of your situation. “Oh…well…” you felt your cheeks turn red. “I don’t. And I guess I couldn’t handle them properly anyway.”

Oliver, notably still holding your hand, pulled his cross necklace from his pocket. “Would this be helpful?” 

Vic shook his head. “Too small for what we need to do.” He held out his hands a certain width apart. “We’d need one of at least this size. Are any of the staff members religious?”

Oliver shook his head, and you remembered in that moment that the staff had mysteriously disappeared in the hours leading up to your death. You opened your mouth to ask about them, but thought better of it. I wonder if Amos had been telling the truth about them, you thought to yourself. Were they vampires too?

Vic sighed and looked around the foyer. Annoyance was evident in his tone when he spoke again. “Neither of you have ever properly hunted and banished a demon, have you?”

“No,” you admitted. “Until two days ago, I was a normal human.” 

Oliver shrugged. “I’m not familiar with the proper process, apparently.”

“Alright,” Vic said. He started tapping his foot: a nervous tick, no doubt. “Okay, in that case, I’m going to have to give y’all the rundown. And we are gonna need supplies.” He folded his arms then. “And y/n, I don’t know what your deal is, so I think it might be better if you sit this one out.”

“What?!” You let go of Oliver’s hand. “Just because I’m half demon doesn’t mean I can’t–”

“We don’t know anything about your situation!” Vic interrupted. “I have never heard of an instance of a cambion existing in the physical world. You aren’t supposed to be possible.”

“Excuse me?” You took a step down toward him. “What are you saying?”

Vic set his jaw, his eyes resigned. “I’m sorry, y/n, but you’re a risk factor. I don’t think you should be in the room when we demolish his portal.” His eyes flickered to Oliver. “And there’s…well, there’s something else.”

“Which is?” You said through gritted teeth. 

He hesitated. “I…I don’t know what will happen to you when we destroy it.” His words became hurried, like he was eager to just spit them out of his mouth. “If you’re imbued with the demon’s poison, that makes you part of his spellwork, and I can’t say for certain whether or not you’ll be affected when we destroy that demon’s summoning circle.”

Oliver tensed, his eyes widening. You could almost hear his pulse jump in his body. “That can’t be a possibility.”

Vic closed his eyes, almost flinching. “I’m not saying it’s gonna happen, but it could . I just don’t know nothing about cambions in the human world. No one does.”

You felt your temper rising. “Well, it’s not like I know! I didn’t ask for this!”

Oliver stiffened and gripped your hand harder. “Victor, surely we can find a way to keep her safe when we do this.”

Vic didn’t appear confident, foot still tapping on the stair. “I just don’t know. We need to make a clear plan for destroying the circle and preventing the demon from coming back. He’s still got a hook in this place as long as his spellwork is present. And she–” he glanced at you– “is a hell of an anomaly. A cambion has never been recorded in human history.”

You racked your brain for any suggestion that could help, looking down at your blue-black hand. It had the appearance of a severe contiguous bruise, one that would have once frightened you in a past life. You wondered if anything would ever scare you again, given the circumstances. 

“Study me.” You said suddenly, rolling up your sleeve to expose the blackened scar on your arm. You snapped your head up and stared at Vic.

He was caught off guard by this. “W-what?” 

“Study me.” You repeated, finding your conviction. “You’re a demon expert, right? You have the chance to learn about a half-demon–”

“Cambion!” he corrected. 

“Right, cambion,” you rolled your eyes. “In real life, right in front of you. Not from some fable. Maybe we can figure something out about the demon and his spellwork through me, and you can take your research and become some sort of, uh, trailblazer for demonology or something.”

Vic chewed his lip. “Well, huh.”

Oliver piped up then. “We could find a way to protect her, while still ridding this place of the demon for good.” 

You felt a flicker of joy at the fact that Oliver was so dead set on protecting you. Emboldened, you continued. “Amos is gone, for now. The immediate threat has been taken care of.” 

You hoped Vic would be convinced by this, though his expression was still unsure. “He’s gone for now, yeah, but…” He made a gesture at you. “But you’ve tried to eat both of us within the past hour. How do we know we’re safe around you ?” 

Your face grew warm. “I…um…”

“I’ll take her hunting.” Oliver interjected. “I could do with some sustenance myself. I’ll teach her to control her impulses, like I did.” He smiled at you. “Besides, I get the feeling my girl is a fast learner.”

Vic still seemed a bit worried, but he did stop tapping his foot. “Alright, I reckon if she can keep her hunger in check, I’d be willin’ to study her.” He paused. “You’d let me take up residence here for a spell?”

Oliver shrugged. “We’ll get you a guest room on the ground floor, and you can use the study. Anything for her.”

Relief rushed through you then. We have a plan . You still had your questions and doubts, and fuck , the hunger for flesh still hadn’t abated, despite your assault on Oliver earlier– but things felt less uncertain now, and Amos was no longer stalking the halls of the manor. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out.

Chapter 22

“Keep still, angel, or I’m going to have to get violent,” Oliver growled in your ear.

You stiffened against the damp tile wall of the guest bathroom upstairs, your mind submerged in the haze of hypnosis and your skin aching to be touched.  

It was nearly five in the morning, and after Vic had gotten settled in the study, you had practically dragged Oliver up the stairs to your room. As it turned out, dying did not weaken the most innate human desires– in fact, it had made them much, much stronger. As Oliver had noted, however, the both of you were a mess from the ritual and the ensuing demon fight. Black dust, dried blood, and the smell of entrails did not make for the ideal aphrodisiac. 

He’d suggested the two of you wash off the grime, and though you were worried about being so close to him, he’d insisted and offered to use his “power of suggestion” to help. And you had to admit, your need to see him naked outweighed any concerns for his safety at the moment. He was a vampire, he could defend himself if need be– ideally without a shirt. Or pants. 

“Perish the thought,” you shot back, leaning your head backward and feeling your shoulder pop slightly. “What are you gonna do, soap me to death?”

“If I must.” His dark eyes flashed at you in frustration, as he began to run his slick fingertips along your bare shoulders, leaving a trail of soap suds as he went. “How else am I supposed to get you cleaned up?” You thought you detected a hint of amusement in his voice.

Another puff of steam billowed into the air. You clenched your teeth, the smell of his wet skin surrounding you and filling your nose. Does the shower have to be so damn hot? You were still a bit worried that the veil of mind control wouldn’t be enough to prevent you from hurting him, especially not with every inch of the room being dampened with steam carrying his scent. Trying to resist your impulses was almost torture…though not in the worst way. 

He knew what you were thinking, and he pushed a wet strand of hair from your throat and kissed it. “You won’t hurt me. You may not trust yourself, but I do.” 

You sighed and caressed his neck, running your finger along his jawline. You leaned in closer to him, a slight smile on your lips, letting him see the tip of your fangs ever so slightly. “That’s a dangerous assumption.” You dragged your fingernail down the side of his neck, leaving a small red line in its wake. 

His hooded eyes and the sound he made was all the answer you needed to determine that the man was just as into receiving pain as he was giving it. Before you could do anything else, though, he batted your hand aside and shoved you up against the wall, his hands sliding to your hips and holding you there, his mouth eagerly devouring yours. 

You pressed your body into his, his cock already hardening against your pelvis. Your hands found their way into his wet hair, and you twisted your fingers into it and pulled him closer to you; god, he couldn’t be close enough. Your tongue slid into his mouth and you reveled in the taste of him, which was so much more intense now because of your newly-strengthened senses. 

His hands gripped your waist harder, until he was almost lifting you up, your feet barely touching the tile floor. He broke his lips from yours and moved his mouth downwards to your neck. You inhaled sharply as he kissed the skin there, moving over places he’d previously bitten you, leaving hickies with his tongue and fangs as he moved lower and lower. 

“Ah…careful, I’m still a bit sore…” you managed, which only made him suck on your flesh harder. Your hands fell to the back of his neck, and you dug your nails into him as he continued to leave marks down toward your chest. 

“Let go, baby.” He muttered when you had evidently left a particularly deep indent on him. “I’ll tell you when you can hurt me.”

You huffed and complied with his order, releasing your fingernails from the base of his neck, deciding instead to slip one hand down around his dick, the other onto his bare chest. With your occupied hand, you started to stroke him gently, wrapping your fingers around his shaft and flicking your thumb over the head. 

He groaned against you. “Good girl,” he praised, running his tongue over your nipple. “Was that so hard?”

“Well, it seems pretty hard already, if you ask me,” you replied, skimming the underside of his head with your fingertip and eliciting another moan from him. 

He took your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it slightly and nicking you with his fangs. “Don’t stop.” 

“Yeah?” You tightened your grip on him, moving your hand faster. “Does that feel good?”

“Mmm,” was his only response, his mouth otherwise busy at the moment licking the water droplets off of your tits. 

“That’s it, Oli…” you murmured, working him in your hand harder and faster. “God, I love that mouth of yours…”

He smiled against your chest and left a small hickey above your breast, a low moan escaping his mouth when you ran your fingernail along the edge of his head again. 

“Are you gonna be a good boy and let me fuck you now?” You asked. 

It felt good to finally have some control in the matter– you could feel a fire building in your stomach, and excitement raced through you at the notion of making him submit to you for a change. So, when he didn’t answer, you withdrew your hand abruptly from his cock. “I asked you a question.”

“Excuse me?” He replied, pausing with his mouth just barely grazing your other nipple.

You grinned and trailed your fingertips up over his stomach, over his tattooed chest, then you grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at you. “Do I have to repeat myself?” You snapped, flashing your demon eyes for emphasis. 

He was unfazed, the corners of his lips betraying a subtle something like amazed disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

Suddenly, he’d slammed you against the wall, pinning you there with his body. Oh boy. You felt the air leave your lungs for the briefest moment, shock overtaking you. 

Oliver laughed at the sudden twinge of fear in your expression. “Aw, someone thinks she’s scary now, does she?” His words were playful, but his voice was dead serious. “Just because you have a bit more resistance to my suggestions now doesn’t mean you’re in charge.” As if to demonstrate this notion, he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed it lightly. You winced as the familiar sensation of pressure in your skull began to build.

Oliver leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that it tickled. “Turn around, pet,” He whispered. He released your neck and gestured for you to do so. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You swallowed nervously, your stomach fluttering. You turned to face the wall, and he started tracing his fingers around the part of your back that had been discolored by the poison. “Did you feel it change you?” He asked. “Did it cause you pain?”

“Hmm? No,” You replied, surprised. “Why are you asking me that now?”

His voice was low when he answered, his hand sliding down to your ass. “Because if this doesn’t hurt, I’m going to make it hurt.”

The water’s temperature shot up immediately, to the point that you were sure it was just shy of boiling; because if the room was steamy before, now it was zero-visibility. You were just outside of the stream, but the heat radiating from it was palpable, and you weren’t sure if your hair was wet, or if you were sweating from the sheer humidity.

“Hands on the wall.”

You did as you were told. 

“Now, then.” Oliver said behind you. “You’re going to count for me. Understand?”

You nodded, waiting to see what he would do. The anticipation alone was enough to make your legs tremble. 

“Ow!” The first smack of his hand caused you to jump, the flesh of your ass stinging both from the impact and the burn of the hot water. As much as it initially felt unpleasant, your body responded to it eagerly; your nipples grew hard, and your heart was racing.

“What was that?” 

You blushed and cleared your throat. “Um…one?”

“That’s what I thought.” He smacked your ass again, harder this time, his palm equally as hot as the shower– he must’ve been wetting it with each hit. 

God, that’s fucked up. You suppressed a yelp at the hot water dripping down the curve of your backside and along your thighs. “T-two.”

“We’ll do seven, got it?” His mouth grazed your earlobe, and you tried your best not to moan at his touch. 

“Got it,” you said quietly, your voice unsteady.

“Speak up,” he ordered, spanking you again. 

You bit your lip, trying not to grin. “Got it…three...” 

It went on like that, each strike reminding you that no, in fact, you were not in charge. 

“You’re mine to fuck,” Oliver stated, timing each smack after each sentence. “Mine to hurt. Mine to torture. Don’t forget that.”

The combined effect of each slap with the burning water was definitely going to leave marks, but the thought of that only excited you more. You whimpered as he delivered the seventh hit, feeling an ache in your stomach that could only be described as desperate need. “Seven,” you mumbled, the word muted by the thick steam around you.

“Good job, angel.” His hand moved up from your ass to your side, then around to your front. “Maybe you’ll think twice before getting smart with me.” He trailed his fingers down along your inner thigh, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh there. 

You parted your legs, eager for him to touch your sensitive area, but instead he pulled back. “Oh, come on,” you whined. “I did what was asked.” You turned to face him, hoping your desperation was evident in your expression. “Please? Everything feels so much stronger, so much harder to resist…” 

He pressed a finger to your lips. “I know. But not here.” He turned off the water before pulling you to him, wrapping his hands around your waist and kissing you deeply. “The counter. I’ll give you what you want, but you’re going to do something for me.”

 

Somehow, you made it from the shower to the counter without falling on the slippery bathroom floor. Maybe it was the dexterity that came with being a half-demon, or maybe it was the hardcore desire that drove you, either way you navigated the opaque layers of steam blindly but deftly. 

You leaned against the bathroom counter expectantly, but Oliver didn’t immediately appear right behind you. After a pause, he approached, and you could see the glint of steel in his hand.

“And what is it I’m going to do for you?” You asked, nodding down at the object. 

He held it out to you— it was a chain. “Simple. You’re going to obey.”

A shiver shot through you, in spite of the heat of the room. “Yeah?” You jutted your chin, feigning bravado. “Not my best skill. Why would I do that?”

He didn’t even blink. Next thing you knew, he was bending you over the counter, wrapping the chain around your neck, tight enough to constrict but loose enough that it wouldn’t strangle you (probably). He gave it a tentative tug. 

You gasped and shifted your legs apart at the sudden breathless feeling, and though your pussy was already wet from the spanking, the tingly feeling between your thighs reminded you just how much you loved being choked.

Oliver pulled on the chain harder, forcing you to look up into the mirror, which was covered in a layer of condensation. He wiped a circle into the steam, and you could make out your reflection. He, on the other hand, did not have one. You paused, your eyes widening in the mirror. “You’re going to do this to me, but you c-can’t even see yourself do it,” you choked. “What’s the point?”

 “I want you to watch yourself come apart for me.” Another tug on the chain, and you saw your cheeks flush red. “I want you to witness your own undoing.”

You felt his tip press against your slick entrance, and he slid it up and down a few times, soaking his head in the wetness dripping from you. You rocked back on your heels, hoping he’d stop teasing and just push it in, but he instead rubbed his cock with agonizing slowness against your pussy, the friction of his soft skin against your clit making you whimper. “Please,” you cried. “Please just take it—”

He pulled hard on the chain, and sank himself into you just as you were forced to make eye contact with your reflection. Immediately he buried his cock to the hilt, giving you no time to stretch around him: the slight sting of such abrupt fullness only made you need him more. You could barely think as he drew himself nearly completely out, before ramming into you again. It was a merciless rhythm, and you knew it wouldn’t take much of this to push you over the edge. He wound his hand tighter around the chain, the constriction of your throat causing you to gasp once more, and you could see your black eyes narrow and your mouth part in the mirror as you did so.

“That look you give me, right there,” he huffed between thrusts. “It makes me want to do terrible things to you.”

You braced your hands on the countertop, gazing up in the direction of where his reflection normally should have been. You knew your pink cheeks and hooded black eyes made you look every bit like the pathetic slut that you were.  “This look?” 

“Mmm,” he growled, shoving himself so deep into you that it hurt. “That would be it. It makes me want to break you.”

You grinned and arched your back, daring him to choke you harder. “You can’t.”

“Fucking brat.” He muttered, yanking the chain back further, the metal twisting against your throat.

You could feel yourself tighten around his dick, that fire building in the pit of your stomach. God, he was hitting the right places, bringing you ever closer to the edge…

“No, no. Keep watching.” He pushed the back of your head lightly, returning your gaze to your reflection. Your eyes had fluttered shut in pleasure as he continued to rail you, but when you focused on the mirror again you could see just how much of an effect he was having on you. Your tits bouncing, your skin pink from the heat and pain and pleasure, your wet hair a mess spilling down your shoulders, the metal digging indents against your neck— 

“Tell me again I can’t break you,” Oliver said, his cock twitching inside you. “Because, y/n, I will spend eternity trying.”

You could see something dripping from your mouth, and when you parted your lips to speak, a sheen of saliva was evident on your fangs. “You—” 

You were interrupted as he slammed into you again, causing you to groan, your legs shaking. “You can’t break me.”

“Oh yeah?” He stifled a laugh, picking up the pace as he thrust into you once more. “Touch yourself.”

Evidently, the hypnosis still had a hold on you, because you followed his order immediately. The moment your fingertips grazed your swollen clit, you knew he had you beat. You felt actual drool leak from your fangs down your jaw and your throat, as you rubbed your bundle of nerves as fervently as you could manage. “Ah…I’m close…”

“That’s it. Don’t stop…” he coaxed, his movements becoming disjointed as he, too, got closer and closer. “I want you to see yourself when it happens.” He gave the chain the hardest sustained pull yet, and he buried himself into you as he came. 

You could feel it pulsing in you, his release filling you up, and that was the final fucking straw. You gripped the countertop with white knuckles and looked yourself in the eyes as you came, and you spluttered his name as you felt a mix of both his and your cum dripping from your cunt. You stayed there for a moment, high from the asphyxiation and the intensity of your orgasm, his cock still inside you. Your reflection was sweaty and your face was tinted somewhat blue— were you even breathing? It was unclear. 

Oliver withdrew from you slowly, and the tension of the chain around your neck eased at the same time. He leaned down and kissed your back affectionately, before running his fingers along the folds of your pussy and watching his orgasm leak from you. “I may have lied. You really ought to have seen this instead.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but his soaked fingers found their way between your lips before words could come out. You smiled and sucked on them until his fingers were clean, the salty taste of your combined release intoxicating. When he pulled them out, you stood and carefully removed the chain from around your neck. Turning to face him, you ran a shaking hand through your hair, forgetting your horns and jabbing your palm in the process. “Oof,” you muttered, looking at the red indent in your hand. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

He chuckled and took your hand, placing his lips delicately on the center of your palm. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you.”

“Ew, don’t get all soft on me.” You shrank back playfully, and he wrapped you in a bear hug then, peppering you with kisses.

“Too late.” He murmured. 

You giggled as you met his gaze, biting your lip with your sharpened teeth. “If I’m sticking around, you’re gonna have to show me how to live like this.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” He asked, his dark eyes divulging a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You tilted your head to the side, furrowing your brow as though you were in deep thought. “Hmm….I guess so.” 

His face broke into a grin. “Well, then, it’s settled. I’ll show you how to hunt at nightfall.”

Chapter 23

Notes:

Lore drop this week. Happy Holidays.

Apparently, sleeping wasn’t really something you could do anymore. 

You’d paced your room for what must’ve been half an hour, much too keyed up to rest. Your thoughts were packed with so many unanswered questions: you’d been here, what, two days? How had it felt like so much longer? Where had the staff gone? Was Amos lurking in some unseen corner, waiting for his opportunity to strike? 

You wandered to the window and parted the curtains, gazing out at the dim line of orange on the horizon poised to spill its warmth over the valley. Why am I here? How am I here?

You pushed up the sash of the window to allow the crisp air of dawn to enter the stuffy room. In the distance, you could faintly hear the hoot of an owl carried along the breeze. 

You loved autumn mornings like this– sitting on the porch of your aunt and uncle’s cottage with a cup of coffee and a book: one you’d inevitably end up assigning to your students the next semester. Your uncle would be out in the barn, feeding Harker and tending to the chicken coop. Your aunt would be reading the day’s headlines aloud at peak volume through the open door so all of you could hear. 

You choked up somewhat at the memory. I miss them. They deserve to know what’s happened to me . 

 

A drop of something landed on the top of your bare foot then, shaking you from your thoughts. When you looked down at your feet, you saw a small black dot just below one of your toes. 

“Huh?”

Another drop, this time landing on the floor in front of you, bigger and thicker and darker. Then another, then another. You took a step back and looked up just in time to see that the entire windowsill was now spilling over with the black liquid– the poison –that you had grown so accustomed to seeing. It was streaming in rapidly, spreading down from the window and across the floor. It grew from a stream to something more like a wave crashing through the glass, and it seemed to be growing thicker and thicker, reaching up to your ankles in a matter of seconds.

 Beyond the window, you could see that the previously pastoral scene had become a thick gray wall of fog, with no discernible trees or grass or clouds visible. You threw the window shut, but it was pointless; the poison was flooding the room through some unseen crevice, some crack in the sill. It was rising still, several inches up your shin at this point, making every movement feel like slogging through corn syrup. 

You turned and sloshed through the poison toward the door, which had somehow been locked from the outside, meaning you were invariably trapped. You slammed your body against the door once or twice, just to be sure, and it was as solid as concrete. Fuck. Your heart was pounding in your chest. As you whirled to scout for anything in the room that might help you smash a hole in the wall, you watched as runes and sigils began to bleed into view along the walls, emerging from nothingness and dripping red lines down the white paint. 

The curse. You grit your teeth and ran to the wall, trying to smear the sigils out of existence, but they were unmoving; though when you removed your hands they were now covered in the same red. “How is that…” you trailed, freezing when you heard your own words, which echoed with what sounded like the voices of thousands of people.  

Your stomach dropped and you grabbed your throat, horrified by the sounds it had just made. Something compelled you to open your mouth again, and when you did, the voices came pouring out, and you were suddenly speaking against your will. 

“ A contract broken is a contract made. ” You collapsed to your knees, sinking into the liquid up to your waist. You braced yourself up by your hands, the words spilling from you like vomit. “ A spring’s end is a winter unchanged. ” Your chest convulsed, and you found yourself hyperventilating as you tried to suppress the curse from coming out.

You could see your reflection in the surface of the poison, which had become eerily still even as the room continued to fill with it. Your eyes were still black but had grown larger, extending to the tops of your cheekbones, a cruel smile breaking on your own face, fangs elongated and sharpened like knives. Your own mouth, as you felt it with a poison-soaked hand, was doing the same. In horror, you swiped at the surface, scattering your reflection– but in doing so, you forgot to repress your word-vomit, which came out of your mouth in another wracking heave.
“Let penitence for deeds fester into suffe–” you clamped your hand over your mouth once more, refusing to let yourself finish the sentence. This only caused a high-pitched noise to pierce through your head, the volume and intensity causing your teeth to rattle in your mouth, and your jaw to feel as though it had been broken in two. It was unrelenting, causing you to lose your sense of stability, and the room started to spin. Your skin was turning from deep blue to jet black, the color creeping from your sternum down your stomach to your hips, bringing with it numbness and cold; you squeezed your eyes shut, you couldn’t watch it any more. You didn’t want to feel it any more. You didn’t want to feel anything any more. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear screaming; it went on for what seemed like centuries, until you realized it was coming from within you.

 

When you opened your eyes again, you were sitting up in bed and covering your ears, with your knees bent up to your chest. The sun was beaming down through the windows, having risen high in the clear morning sky. Rays of its light were catching part of the bed, warming the fabric and illuminating the tiny dust mites dancing in the air. You could hear birds chirping in the valley below, enjoying the last few weeks of autumn before winter came and chased them all south. The walls were bare of any blood or sigils, the mahogany floor spotless, the rug unstained and blue as ever. A draft from the window had blown out the candles along the walls at some point in the morning. 

Your heart thudded as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings. What the hell was that, brain? Realizing you were still covering your ears, you dropped your hands and felt your chest, catching sight of your bruise-blue arm and sternum as you did. Was it just a nightmare? Can demons even have those?

You touched your mouth, which seemed to be its normal width. Your fangs, too, didn’t feel longer than they had last night. It’s in my head , you thought to yourself. I just had a nightmare. I’m okay.

There was a faint itchy feeling in your throat, but you chose to ignore it for now; hunger was the last thing to worry about at this moment. You noticed a carafe of water had been placed on the bedside table next to you, and you picked it up and drank vigorously from it. That seemed to scratch the itch for now– maybe you could still consume normal human sustenance, to some extent. The thought was reassuring, and as you got out of bed, your heart’s rhythm steadied out. 

Looking in the mirror, you tried to remember at what point you’d put on the silky grey camisole and pants you’d evidently worn to bed: it was a set of pajamas that you’d already owned, from your human life before. You chewed your lip, mystified; the clothes had somehow appeared not only in the manor, not only in your closet, but on your person, all without you remembering. This place was starting to mess with your memory.

A knock at the door caused you to jump. “Miss y/n, are you alright?” Miss Sheffield’s voice spoke as she entered the room. This caught you off guard– Oliver had said the staff had gone away. Why was she still here? 

Her forehead wrinkled as she gazed at you with earnest concern. “I thought I heard a scream.” She held in her hands a stack of linens, a feather duster tucked under her arm.

You blinked back surprise. “I-I’m fine. A bout of night terrors, I think.”

She nodded in understanding. “That’s quite common around here. If you ask me, it’s got to do with the way this place has been treated.” She set the linens down on the corner of the bed and folded her arms across her chest. “You know this place was used as a hospital during the Carpathian war?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Miss Sheffield hadn’t even noticed your horns, your poisoned skin, your bite marks– she talked to you as straightforward and as candidly as ever. You swallowed. “No, I had no idea.”

She brandished the duster and went to work dusting the desk. “Yes, wounded soldiers of both sides were brought here on the brink of death. Faces half gone, limbs hanging by a thread, diseases from the trenches, miserably infected stab wounds. Truly the most gruesome sights.” 

“I imagine that was horrifying,” you replied, unable to think of anything else to say.

“It was,” she paused. “That’s how the stories go, anyway. The people that didn’t survive were laid to rest in the cemetery just beyond the gardens.” After another moment, she asked, “Have you had a chance to see the gardens?” 

You blushed at that, which she thankfully didn’t notice, either. “Not as much as I’d have liked, but…” Should I tell her? Has Oliver told her? Forget it, I’m telling her. “I’m staying here. So…I hope to become more familiar with them.” You exhaled, wondering how she would respond.

She just smiled as she dusted. “I thought as much. Mr. Sykes seems incredibly fond of you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so enamored.” As she concluded with the desk, she gestured to you with her duster. “I think you fit in nicely here, especially now.”

You grimaced. “Is it because of the fangs?”

She just laughed. “Well, dear, not significantly. It’s mostly because of your heart.” As she approached the bed to retrieve the linens, you noticed her footsteps were making no sound whatsoever. “You’re good people, and you’re meant to be here.”

“Good people?” You thought of the night previous, when you’d bitten the hell out of Oliver’s shoulder in your blinding need for flesh. “Even considering what I’ve done? What I am?”

“Y/n,” Miss Sheffield placed a papery, cold hand firmly on your discolored shoulder. “I can see it. You are a good person, and you are going to do good things.” She waved dismissively at your horns. “It doesn’t matter what you have poking out of your head.”

Her touch, as wispy as it felt, was incredibly comforting. She reminded you so much of your aunt in this moment; the way her eyes crinkled at the corners and the assured weight with which she carried herself, even in spite of how silently she moved. 

“Thank you.” You smiled back at her, fangs and all. You helped her strip the bed and replace the linens, and then followed her out the bedroom door and down the hallway to the laundry chute, carrying the used sheets so that she could have her arms free. 

“Just over here,” she gestured, and you tossed the sheets in the chute accordingly. As the pair of you walked back down the hallway, her footsteps still nonexistent, you decided to ask her about the war. “Were you a nurse?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that.” She touched a spot on the right side of her collar. “I was a soldier on the Bukovan side.” 

This confirmed what you’d long been suspecting about Miss Sheffield, but you didn’t want to press the matter, so you just nodded. “How long?”

She sighed wistfully as you both came to a stop at the top of the stairs. “About thirteen years. I had just been made Commander the year prior, along with my husband, though he had been deployed with a unit in the southwest– almost the Balkans, really.”

“That must’ve been hard, being so far apart.”

“Indeed. But I could feel him in my heart,” she added, her eyes growing misty. “You know, I still can, even a century later.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat. “That’s amazing.”

She dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her shawl. “I thought of him the entire time I was here. I think he knew I was gone, long before the message got to his unit.” she sniffed. “When they gave me the morphine, my dreams here…Oh!” She exclaimed suddenly, grabbing your arm. “My apologies, we were talking about your night terrors. That’s how all this got started, isn’t it?”

You wiped your own eyes and smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Sheffield. Nightmares seem par for the course in this place, and besides, it’s nothing at all like what you’ve seen here, I’m sure.”

She released your arm and reached for the banister. “I will not press. But, please, call me Anca. We are certainly friends enough now, no?”

You felt a warmth in your chest. “Yes, we certainly are, Anca.”

Anca had advised you to change into something warmer for the day ahead; this week would be the last bit of harvesting before the chill of winter set in, and Oliver would likely need assistance out in the gardens; “Not to mention the vineyard,” she’d added, baffling you beyond comprehension.

“Nobody said anything about a vineyard!” You’d protested, but she just laughed that hearty laugh at you. 

“Now that you’re in it for the long haul, you’re going to get much more familiar with this area,” she’d replied. “And that includes the grapevines.”

The thought of that was exciting; there was so much to learn about the terrain and the mountain climate and winemaking, and you’d always been interested in familiarizing yourself with the process.

You parsed through the closet and found all of your clothes from home had somehow appeared among the hangers; everything from your favorite sienna-colored skirt to your faded black turtleneck from college had been washed, ironed, and hung in neat rows amid the older items you’d seen before. 

You’d learned there was no point in questioning the logic of Godalming manor. Things were obviously just going to happen, and rolling with it was going to make your adjustment that much easier. You chose the turtleneck and a wide black-and-gold embroidered skirt, along with a pair of sturdy black boots. After another thought, you tied a bright red handkerchief over your hair, to cover your horns and protect your scalp from the sun. 

You checked your reflection in the mirror; apart from your black eyes, you looked more like your old self— your human self. This very outfit was just like the one you’d wear to help your aunt plant corn in the spring. You ran your fingers along the embroidery of the skirt, borrowed from some long-gone guest of the manor; this one was much nicer than the one you used to wear, but this one had reminded you too much of your aunt’s unfinished sewing projects that hung haphazardly on the cottage walls. You were simply compelled to wear it, as a tribute.

“I’m going to invite them here,” you said quietly to yourself, looking up at your reflection in the mirror. “I’m going to bring them to see this place, once it’s safe.”

Chapter 24

Vic caught you on your way down to the dining room. “Y/n, good morning!” He greeted, looking much brighter than he had last night. He was clean shaven, wearing a blue button-down tucked into black jeans, and he had Oliver’s book of the Occult in his hand. 

“Hey Vic,” you responded, taking a cautionary step away from him. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.” You wanted to create some space between the two of you, in case you caught wind of his scent and grew ravenous. 

“The wonders of a decent night’s sleep,” he replied, before taking in your hesitation. “Jeez, don’t look so scared. It’s unbecomin’ for a cambion.” 

“I don’t want to get too close to you. What if I snap?”

“It ain’t gonna come to that again.” He flipped open the book to a dog-eared page. “We both know I can handle you. Anyway, take a look at this.” He pointed to something on the page, but you couldn’t make it out without leaning toward him. The risk just seemed too great. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you muttered, but leaned in beside him regardless. You held your breath as an added measure, just in case. 

“This—” Vic began, as he pointed at a diagram of a creature that looked similar to Amos’s demonic form, “—is a crossroader. They’ll give you whatever you want, sure, but you have to sell ‘em your soul, theirs to claim. They can take possession of the deal maker whenever they want, and of course they get to keep the soul when the human dies. They’re pretty common, and usually easy to wrangle, unless…” he trailed, and you felt his eyes on you. “They’ve been cheated.”

You frowned. “I feel like I knew some of this already.”

Vic nodded. “Right, so…A cheated crossroader sorta gets to break the rules. They get to do whatever they deem necessary to retrieve that soul they were promised: problem is, Oliver destroyed that soul.”

“What? But the Master ultimately died from both the injection and his disease. His soul should’ve been fine.” You looked around the foyer to ensure that nobody was within earshot. Just to be careful, you lowered your voice to a whisper. “What’s your theory?”

“Doc Constantine knew that Amos could take possession of him whenever he wanted. He had done his job; he had taken care of the sickest people in the region and saved many lives. That business concluded, I’m thinkin’ he told Oliver his disease was a bit further along than it actually was. The injection he had Oliver administer was just the right amount to kill the majority of his brain cells, but not his entire self, thereby renderin’ his soul unusable and his body immobile.”

Your eyes widened. “So his soul died…and he basically became a living corpse…to prevent the demon from being able to possess him and validate his end of the bargain? No soul, no body, no fair.”

“Exactly!” Vic snapped the book shut. “Amos can’t get that soul back, so nothing will ever be enough to right this perceived wrong. He’s after Oliver because he was the one who administered the injection: a byproduct that Doctor Constantine likely didn’t anticipate.”

You thought of your nightmare. “But…since Amos can’t claim the soul of an undead person, I’m guessing he decided to torture Oli for eternity instead.” You winced as you recalled the sigils on the walls, the voices in your throat. Oliver’s blood on your chin. “And now that torture is being manifested through me.”

“I’m afraid so. And then, naturally, there’s the question of why Oliver is a vampire to begin with,” Vic added, and this made your spine tingle. Oh god, what is this about to be?

He shook his head, as if banishing a thought from it. “Eh, maybe we should leave that for him to explain. I could be wrong anyhow, I hardly know the guy.”

“You’re not gonna at least tell me your thoughts?” You asked.

“Nah, after all, I’m purely speculatin’. What’s it to me whether Oliver really knows why he was made a bloodsucker?”

“What do you mean?” You were starting to feel uneasy. 

“I just think it’s awful convenient he wasn’t aware of the deal. After all, didn’t the Doc teach him everything he knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if Oliver’s turning was to serve either the Doc’s or the demon’s purpose.”

“Okay, enough.” You turned away from him and headed for the dining room. You weren’t going to let Vic try to fill your head with the idea that Oliver was actively involved in anything pertaining to the demon. “Let’s just ask him ourselves. I know him: Oliver wouldn’t lie about something like that.” Would he?

 

Vic followed you into the dining room, where two young girls were whispering to each other excitedly. They were about the age that your oldest students would’ve been, and they had matching loops of braids. Their skin was pale and almost see-through, their voices mere murmurs as soft as the wind. You hadn’t encountered them before, but now that you had experienced death, it was becoming clear that the manor was much more occupied than you previously thought; just not necessarily by the living. 

 

“ I heard…”

“Well, the lady was just a teacher but–”

“and do you think… he’s really going to?” 

 

You cleared your throat. “Excuse me, ladies.” 

They looked up, startled. “Oh, miss y/n, good morning!” One flushed as best as a phantom could, the other nervously wiped her hands on her skirt. “It’s nice to meet you,” they said in unison. 

You felt a pang in your heart for the girls as you looked them over. They were probably trapped here forever in one way or another, like the rest of the manor’s inhabitants. They probably weren’t aware of how much time had passed since they had died, based on the nearly-historical peasant blouses they wore. You smiled and gestured to Vic. “My friend Victor and I are looking for Oliver, have you seen him today?”

The shorter blonde one, with the translucent blush, nodded. “He’s out in the shed, he told us to send you there if we happened across you.”

“Thank you,” you said genuinely. “Do you girls have any duties to attend to?”

The taller one, with the darker hair, shook her head. “We really only help with event planning, and we just finished the details for the annual masquerade two days ago.”

“I see.” Then, a thought occurred to you, as you took in their skinny frames and nervous expressions. “Come see me later in the study,” you offered. “I was a teacher in my human life. If you like, I’d love to try and maintain some sense of normalcy. You’re about seventeen, right? You both at least attended primary school, didn’t you?”

“We did,” said the taller one, her voice apprehensive.

The shorter one, however, seemed enthusiastic about the notion. “I would like that!”

“I know some hot gossip, too,” you raised your eyebrows suggestively. “Demon gossip.”

They both seemed riveted by this. “You mean about the creature that’s been hanging a big dark cloud over the manor?” asked the blonde. 

“That’s the one. We’re going to banish him back to hell for good. So, will I see you girls later?”

“You will! There’s nothing else for us to do here but plan things and talk and help Anca with the chores.” 

“It’s settled. What are your names?”

“I’m Magda,” the blonde one replied. “And this is Irina.” 

You took their hands, their skin as cold and papery as Anca’s. “I’ll do my best to teach you everything that two intelligent young women ought to know, and I’ll try to catch you up on what’s been happening in the human world. It seems time passes differently here, I’m sure you’re eager to find out what’s been going on outside.”

Magda smiled, and you could see that her tongue had evidently been cut out when she spoke. “I can’t wait.” She turned to her friend. “Irina! We are going to learn so much of what we have missed. I haven’t been so excited in ages.”

 

Vic kicked a rock down the path as you both made your way toward the shed. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?”

You shrugged. “They seem like good kids.”

“You were talking to the air, y/n.”

“Oh, so you believe in demons and vampires, but not ghosts?” You retorted. 

“Demons and vampires, I can see.” He shot back. 

“You’re a strange one.” You bit your cheek, focusing on the shed up ahead. Some shed! It was a large steel structure about a quarter mile down the dirt road from the manor, nestled just off the path and through the trees, not visible from either the manor’s windows or the valley below. 

As you both neared the shed, you heard a crash inside, followed by a string of expletives. You and Vic shared a glance and hurried inside the shed, toward the sound’s origin. As you came around a wall of construction equipment, you happened across Oliver, who was picking up a section of wooden trellis from the ground. 

“Hey! Need a hand?” You reached for the other end of the trellis and helped him lean it up against the wall. The thing was heavy, more so than you’d expected, and it leaned with a thud against the steel, causing the sound to echo through the shed.

“Thanks,” he replied, offering you a fanged smile and noticing your outfit. “You look quite the doll today.” 

You blushed at that, even as Vic made a gagging noise behind you. “Do you like it?”

He approached you then, and took the hem of the embroidered fabric between his fingers. “I do.” His eyes met yours from under the hood of his eyelids, and your not-quite-beating heart skipped. This close to you, the heat in his gaze and the scent of his skin made your throat go dry. He cocked his head slightly. “I take it you met the girls?”

You swallowed, annoyed at how his mere existence could make you all at once hungry and dazed and irrationally turned on. “We did! Well, I did. Vic is sure I was talking to absolutely no one.” 

“That so? The demon expert doesn’t believe in ghosts?” 

You shook your head. “It doesn’t make sense to me, either.”

“Ah, well, I give him three days before he’s talking to the walls, like the rest of us.” He grinned, peering over your shoulder at Vic. “Did sleep find you last night?”

That was a funny notion: it seemed nobody ever slept ‘well’ here. Then again, Vic had appeared fairly upbeat this morning, and since he was neither a demon nor a spirit, maybe he’d lucked out on nightmare-less sleep. “Oh, yeah,” he answered from behind you. “Although the thought of roomin’ with a cambion and a vampire certainly puts a man on edge.”

“Not used to such strange bedfellows, huh?” Oliver quipped, and then his expression shifted at something Vic had apparently done. “Did you start with all that already? You don’t waste a second.”

“Can’t help myself.” Vic held out the opened book to Oliver and began to explain the same thing he’d told you earlier. As Vic talked, you could see a wrinkle appear between Oliver’s eyebrows, something clearly on his mind. His gaze would flicker at you intermittently, as if to gauge whether you were aware of these things already. You hoped your nonchalant-yet-attentive expression was putting his mind at ease. I’ve put my trust in him, I hope he can put his trust in me. 

But when Vic broached the topic of Oliver’s own vampirism, the latter became unusually nervous. It was subtle enough that Vic likely wouldn’t notice, but your ears pricked up at the slight falter in Oliver’s voice. Please, no more secrets. 

“Just when and how did you become a vampire, anyway?” Vic asked, snapping the book shut and looking around the shed. “I’d wager you took over running this place when Doc Constantine died, and that woulda been, say, ninety-ish years ago?”

Oliver shifted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I’ve blocked a good bit of it out, I’m afraid.” His eyes lowered to the floor, and suddenly you could no longer tell if he was just putting up a wall or earnestly finding a way to remember. “It’s hard to recall memories from my human life before. My life, as far as I’m concerned, began on the forest floor…” he trailed, and you could see he was losing himself in the memory he’d stirred up. “I could hear wolves. All around me. And I was laying in the snow…” 

This is the truth , you thought with relief. You couldn’t explain it, but you could intuit that he was being completely honest. You brushed his arm affectionately. “It happened in these forests?”

He took your hand, his gaze remaining unfocused and dreamlike. “It must’ve been. I could see the moon, and the Carpathian mountains, and as I walked in the direction of the nearest peak, I noticed the snow all around me had no footprints.” 

“Right, but,” Vic piped up impatiently. “When was that?”

Oliver shot him a look, shaking from his revelry. “One hundred and four years ago.”

Damn, that was a lot longer than you’d anticipated. “Wait, that means you were alive during the war?” 

“I was. I mean, I guess I was.” Oliver let go of your hand and moved over toward a construction table with small hooked knives and stacks of wooden crates on top. “I wasn’t really involved. I spent most of my time here, on the property.”

 

The conversation about Oli’s vampirism seemed to end there for now. Vic had obtained an answer to add to whatever theories he had going, and so Oliver handed you a vine knife and changed the subject. “Anyway, the day’s getting away from us, and I’d rather perish than face the staff without completing my duties. Know how these work?” He asked.

You looked it over, feeling Vic’s worried eyes on the back of your neck. “It seems simple enough. Use the knife to cut the vines, yeah?”

Vic interrupted. “You feel safe letting ‘miss hungry-for-flesh’ hold a sharp object?”

You wheeled to face him. “I thought you said you could ‘handle me,’ if you had to.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “Doesn’t mean I think you should be allowed to play with weapons.”

Oliver rolled his eyes and handed Vic a knife as well. “She’s a good girl, Victor. Relax. And since you’re here, you’re going to help too, got it?”

Vic hooked the knife on his belt loop. “Sure, but if she starts looking at me like I’m dinner, I’m gonna have to do somethin’ about it.”

Oliver’s eyes flashed. “Oh, she’ll behave– right, y/n?” His mouth twitched mischievously, and you felt your face flush. What happens if I don’t, I wonder?  

“Yes sir,” you replied. “I’d hate to cause trouble.” Your teeth grazed your bottom lip.

“Ugh, Christ.” Vic reached between the two of you and grabbed a crate in an effort to break the tension. “Get a room already.”

Chapter 25

The sun had fallen to the west side of the sky by the time the three of you finished the day’s work. 

You shaded your gaze and peered out over the hillside while Oliver and Vic loaded the last of the harvest baskets onto a wagon. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the trees in the valley, bathing everything in yellow. The heat of its rays, though fading slowly to the chill of dusk, graced the back of your neck and made you feel somewhat warm, actually warm, for the first time in days. 

You sighed contentedly. The three of you had cleared the vineyard completely, in a burst of productivity you thought could rival a commercial venture; though you’d definitely spent a few lazy minutes of the workday stealing appreciative glances at your hot vampire boyfriend as he got down and dirty with some grapevines.

You turned back to the men in your company. Even now, at the end of the day, Oliver was something to behold as he worked to finish packing up the harvest. Sweat on his brow, messy dark hair, the sleeves of his indigo sweater rolled up to his elbows…

Oh. You were staring again. He smiled at you, the waning sunlight glinting off his canine teeth. “Everything alright?”

You blushed and nodded. Vic passed you, folding his arms across his chest. “Well sure, ‘cept I’m starving after all that.” He slapped the wood paneling of the wagon for emphasis.

Oliver gave you a look that made your cheeks burn even further. “I could say the same. I’m utterly famished.” His eyes told you exactly what he was hungry for.

“Well, we should’ve taken a break at some point,” you muttered in agreement, feeling your heart skip an almost-beat. 

“Indeed.” Oliver gestured for you to follow him, a sly expression on his face. “I’m sure we can satisfy that appetite of yours somehow, though.” He turned to head for the manor. 

How is he always so horny? You maneuvered carefully in his direction, over the fallen leaves and dead branches you’d clipped, looking down each row of bare vines as you went. You paused for a moment when you noticed something lying on the ground a handful of meters down the next-to-last row. “Hey, what’s that?”

Both men glanced over in the direction you were looking, but neither seemed to see the object on the ground. “What do you mean?” asked Vic. Oliver raised an eyebrow at you but said nothing. 

You frowned. “Neither of you see that?” They both denied it once more. “Huh. I’ll be right back.” You took an apprehensive breath and began down the row, the object seeming to grow further and further away as you moved. You hastened your pace. What the hell is happening now? You kept going. Every step seemed to move the thing back a bit, a fixed point in an impossible-to-reach distance, preventing you from reaching it for reasons unknown. Eventually, you got close to the object: much too close, too rapidly, as if it had materialized underfoot. Close enough that you nearly tripped over the thing. Immediately you could determine what it was– a stark black owl, lying dead atop a pile of red leaves. You gasped in horror, taking a step back, not even noticing when your foot sank into a soft spot of mud. “Oh!” 

You steadied yourself. You’d seen death quite a bit lately, why was this surprising you so much? Get a grip. You have seen this before. You took another deep breath, the air in your lungs feeling damper than it had a moment ago. As you leaned down again, you noticed that the leaves around the owl weren’t red at all–they were covered in blood from the poor creature. The color oozed to the dead grass beneath, where it saturated the dirt and made the whole scene smell of iron and earth. The wound from which the blood came appeared to be that of a ragged, dripping bite mark, where the flesh and feathers had been torn from its throat by some kind of wild animal. The owl’s amber eyes were glassy and wide, as though it had died in tremendous fear. You swallowed and, with shaking hands, leaned down to cradle the owl in your palms. He was a fairly large bird, the gentle weight of him in your hands causing tears to spring to your eyes.

In this moment, you surprisingly didn’t feel an ounce of hesitation or hunger tugging at the back of your mind. In fact, the smell was making you nauseous, if anything: you swallowed hard, forcing down the uneasy feeling in your stomach. Instead, you felt only sorrow and empathy for the bird. It was probably mauled by some huge, fierce, domineering creature of prey. You brushed your thumb along its soft wing. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” you murmured. Its wide amber eyes were unfixed and unresponsive.

A gust of cold wind blew your skirt against your legs, and you looked up at the sky, which had grown much darker all of the sudden. The wispy early-evening clouds had become looming gray spectres, the sky a deep, thick gray. You looked over at the end of the vines, and you could no longer see either Vic or Oliver anywhere in sight. 

“Oliver?” You called out. Nothing. 

“Vic?” Still nothing. 

Another fierce gust of wind hit you, strong enough that it threatened to blow your handkerchief loose. Once it settled, an eerie stillness spread over the vineyard, almost as though the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. 

Then, the feathery thing in your hands twitched, causing you to start. When you looked back down, your hands were empty and stained with what looked like soot. Your palms reflexively closed around nothing, and you rubbed your fingers against your ashy palms. Did it fly away? Your eyes met with the nearest tree, where between a thick cross-section of dead branches, you thought you glimpsed a pair of glassy amber eyes for a split second. You blinked, and they were gone.

 

“Y/n?” Oliver asked, touching your arm in concern. 

You jumped about a mile in the air and yelped. “Ah! What?” You turned to face him. “How long have you been standing there?” 

He frowned. “What did you see?”

You could feel your heart pounding, which was seriously starting to get old. Your gaze fell to the barren ground, where a small creature’s innocent blood had just a moment ago caked the dirt with its angry red hue. “I…I saw an owl.”

“An owl?”

“Yeah, a dead one.” You shuddered. “It looked like it’d had its throat ripped out.”

Oliver pulled you to him, not seeming to notice the soot on your hands, or otherwise not minding it. “Come here.” He put a protective arm around your back, kissing the top of your head carefully to avoid grazing your horns. “Maybe it wasn’t dead, it just looked that way.”

You knew he was just trying to comfort you– this was clearly another bullshit omen brought about by the curse –but you let him anyway. “Maybe,” you whispered back. “It wouldn’t be the first thing to die and walk away from it.” You wiped your tear-stained eyes, accidentally marking your face with soot as you did so. 

Oliver smiled at you, with something like adoration heavy in his gaze. “No, it wouldn’t.” 

It was quiet for a moment, but this was a comfortable silence, a stark contrast to the one before.

Vic shouted from somewhere a ways up the path, interrupting your sweet moment. “Y’all coming or what?”

The owl had left an indelible mark on your brain, as it remained in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening. The three of you were in the kitchen now, Vic busying himself with cutting potatoes while Oliver was reviewing something on a piece of paper with the cook. You’d been given the task of figuring out what you could eat, given your condition, and were dragging your fingers along the side of a pantry shelf absentmindedly. You didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment– the image of stained feathers and the smell of dirt were still vividly plaguing your senses, causing your stomach to contort in a perpetual knot. 

You sighed at a jar of olives staring back at you. Even if I could eat, would I be able to keep it down? Can half-demons eat people food? You grabbed the jar and stared at it. “Will I explode if I eat you?”

The olives, of course, did not answer. You stuck the jar back in its place and continued circling the pantry aimlessly, hoping your thoughts would wander to something less gruesome. You weren’t entirely sure how curses worked, but you figured an animal dropping dead in your hands after a vicious –and yet unheard or unseen– attack was probably meant to be some kind of warning. You knotted your fingers together. But a warning for what? It wasn’t as if you were unaware of the curse, or of Amos’s intentions with it. You had already been permanently changed into this, and you’d attacked Oliver, which was exactly what Amos had wanted you to do. You’d likely have ended up accidentally killing Oli, if not for Vic’s intervention. The worst thing that could happen had surely already happened…right?

 

You clenched your jaw. And then there’s the other vision. 

 

The curse had come out of you forcibly, and there had been more words to it than you remembered. Something about penitence? “Pff. As if I could be more penitent,” you muttered to yourself.

“What?” Vic asked, walking into the pantry. “Uh, why is it so dark in here?”

You turned. “Oh, hey Vic.” You looked up at the wall-mounted candlestick, which was blown out. When did I do that? “I guess I wanted to just think for a second.”

He knit his brows together. “And you couldn’t do that with a light going?” He struck a match and lit the candle once again. 

You felt your anxiety melt away for a moment, watching as the flame danced to life. Something about the fire felt enticing to you– like it was some beacon of safety, of life itself. The glow reflected warmly on Vic’s face, making his brown eyes even more soft and sweet than you’d first noticed. You found yourself sort of staring at him; his shining eyes and his smiling mouth looking very interesting to you all of the sudden. 

He seemed to be examining you closer, too. “You sure you’re alright? Somethin’ happened to you in that vineyard earlier, I could see it in your face.”

You blinked, coming back to reality for a brief moment. “The vineyard, right. Yeah, I saw a dead owl. Didn’t Oli tell you?”

Vic’s mouth became a flat line. “Pssh, he hadn’t mentioned it.” He peered around the pantry, looking for something. “Awful lot of food for people who don’t tend to eat much of it.”

You followed his gaze, realizing that there was indeed a good stock of supplies. “Huh. I guess for if they have guests over?”

Vic gave you a deadpan look. “Or to convince their unwitting victims that nothing is amiss here.”

You winced. “That would make a lot more sense. But there’s no ill intent here, I’m sure it’s just for hospitality purposes.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “And since we’re both currently receiving that hospitality, more or less, don’t you think it’s a little impolite to question it?”

He sighed. “The man drinks your blood on the regular, cuts your skin, and then kills you violently, and you think…your manners matter.” He shook his head and grabbed a glass bottle of oil. “Maybe I should add ‘examining your brain’ to my research.”

Chapter 26

It was around eleven o’clock at night when Oliver knocked on your bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

You finished tying your hair into two long braids using some white ribbons you’d found in the closet. “Yeah, door’s unlocked,” you called back. As the door opened behind you, you gave your reflection a quick review– you could only look at yourself in short spurts, since your dream (waking nightmare?) had made you more than a little untrusting of your own mirrored image. Another hasty glance: your braids were even, your eyes were still black, and you noticed the scar on your chest was visible above your black top, making a pink arc upward toward your collarbone. You took a deep breath and looked away toward the wall.

“Does it bother you?” Oliver whispered in your ear, reaching around you and lightly tracing the scar with his finger. 

You exhaled forcefully, forgetting for a moment that his reflection didn’t exist, and therefore you couldn’t have seen him approach. “No, not really.” You swallowed, turning to him. “Actually, I think it looks kinda cool. I feel like it makes me unique, somehow.”

“You’re having a laugh, right? There’s plenty that makes you unique,” Oliver protested. “Not every girl east of the Danube has horns, you know. And a sharp wit like yours? Forget it.” He reached down and began fastening the buttons of your coat, which was a creamy white wool situation with black embroidered patterns. It was the warmest coat you’d had in your human life, and you’d figured it was ideal for venturing into the cold valley so late at night. 

“There.” Oliver brushed the front of your coat once he’d buttoned it completely, and he smiled at you. “Not bad.”

You blushed and twirled around, your braids swishing as you did so. “Oh, come on. I look adorable.”

“You do.” He admitted. “Are you gonna be able to tackle a wolf in that pretty coat of yours, doll?”

You stopped twirling. “Tackle?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “We are going hunting, after all.”

You faltered. “I...I figured that ‘hunting’ meant something with gear. Weapons, you know? Like, bows and arrows?”

He shook his head. “Nothing so…decent. I can’t say for certain whether you’ll need to go about it in a different way than me…but I prefer to use my hands.” He saw the obvious hesitation in your expression. “Whoa, don’t look so concerned.” His hand grazed your cheek. “I was exaggerating about the wolf bit. We aren’t going to actually tackle anything. If you’re stealthy and clever enough, you won’t even need to run, necessarily.”

You bit your lip. “Okay, but…what if I can’t control myself? What if something causes me to snap, like the sheep did? What if I end up hurting y–”

Oliver put a finger to your lips. “Listen, y/n. You won’t lose control, as long as you trust yourself. Hunger is powerful, yes, but it isn’t untameable. I’ll show you.” He leaned in close, so close that you could hear his pulse circulating through his veins. He extended his arm and rolled up the sleeve of his black shirt, exposing his tattooed skin. “I have blood in my veins. I have skin and bone and tissue, just like any human would. I might not be fully alive, but I am clearly not exempt from your desires.” He offered you his wrist. “Test it. Are you hungry right now?”

You hesitantly took his wrist and kissed it, catching the scent of him as you did so. The back of your neck pricked up in fear as your stomach growled, and you felt that dry burn creep into your throat once more. Oliver’s gaze was fixed on you, waiting to see if you could stop yourself from burying your teeth in him. 

“Mmm,” you sighed and took a deep breath, kissing his wrist once more. “You smell intoxicating.” And he really, really did. Something about the way he specifically smelled didn’t just make you ravenous for flesh: you wanted far more from him than that. You wanted to dig your nails into his back, pull his soft dark hair, watch his blood drip from his ink-covered throat as he moaned under your touch…

But you didn’t push your teeth down into his veins. You didn’t claw your hands into his skin. You simply allowed your lips to graze his wrist, and then you drew back. You felt your muscles relax, the anxiety that had gripped your every nerve slowly dissipating. You looked up at Oliver and grinned, feeling the fire in your throat settle down to manageable embers. “As much as I want you…I think I can resist it.” 

“Good girl,” he said, rolling his sleeve back down. “It’s as I told you– trust yourself.”

You sighed with relief, but then you frowned, as something occurred to you. “Wait, what about your ‘power of suggestion?’ How do I know you weren’t using it on me just now?”

He just rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that to you without your permission. After our little moment in the shower this morning, I stopped using it.”

That was news to you. “That long ago? You mean, I’ve been around you all day, getting all sweaty and stuff, and…”

“Indeed.” He answered. “See? You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

You twisted one of your braids around your finger. “Huh. I guess so.”

 

The Valley

 

The lone hiker had wandered off course about a half hour ago. She was moving through the underbrush of the valley’s woods, trying to find her path by triangulating the moonlight above, but it was no use. The area was clearly unfamiliar to her, if the anxious sweat racing down her back was any indication. You were watching her every movement from a distance atop one of the foothills, your heart racing, your mouth watering, and Oliver suppressing a chuckle at your side.  

“So determined, aren’t you?” He teased. “I don’t think you’ve blinked even once.” 

Your throat burned as the hiker stumbled over a root and lost her footing. “How can you be so calm?” You asked. As she stood and brushed herself off, you caught a glimpse of her wounded flesh through a rip in the knee of her pants, which caused your fangs to eagerly drip fresh saliva. “I feel like I’m going to explode.”

The hiker’s movements were frantic, another sign that she was hopelessly lost. She kept occasionally glancing up at the moon, as if hoping there would be some guidance found on its pale, gray face. It’s not gonna help you now , you thought rather callously. 

Oliver’s voice was low and stern. “Wait, y/n. Not until I tell you.”

An antsy, desperate feeling was creeping into your stomach. We’ll see about that , you thought to yourself. You felt like you were going to jump out of your skin, you were so restless. “How do you usually do it?” You asked. “How do you contain yourself?”

“Around you? I can’t. My convictions leave me.” Oliver replied. “But when it comes to the general public…” he paused as the hiker touched her bleeding knee,looking shocked at the amount seeping from it. “It takes a lot of….patience. And timing. She’s almost perfect.”

“Perfect?” You caught your breath. “The hell does that mean?”

“Perfect for approaching. She’s compromised, lost, frustrated. Her judgement may not be as sound, and that will throw off her suspicions when we talk to her.”

You turned and stared at him. “When we what? ”

“I told you we didn’t even have to run.” He glanced at you. “This is how you hunt properly.” 

“Oh.” You weren’t sure you liked that method. Why give the prey a chance to see you before you went in for the kill? What if they survived and could spread word to others? It seemed really risky. 

And now that you had a hold on your hunger, how could you possibly cope with the fact that you’d taken a person’s life, if you even succeeded? You suddenly weren’t sure of yourself. Living in the manor may have numbed you to death and gore and carnage, but it was quite a different thing to contend with back in the real world. It was final, it was tragic. Frankly, it was unthinkable. You thought again of the owl, and your shoulders slumped. The hunger ebbed.

Oliver rested a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, are you alright?”

You shook your head, trying to scatter the doubts which were accumulating faster than the snow drifting from the night sky. “I-I don’t know if I can do this.”

He nodded. “I understand. Listen, you don’t have to participate, but it will give you a good idea of how to hunt in the future. You can just observe, but you have to be incredibly quiet. Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said, turning back to focus on the target. “Because I do believe I see an opportunity.”

 

You’d never seen him move so swiftly. His form melted into the shadows as though he belonged there, only emerging in glimpses under patches of moonlight as he swept down the foothill and into the woods. You tried to keep pace, but he was moving without seeming to make any footsteps at all. He was a sheer spectre of the night, and as you followed suit, you were grateful that he’d chosen not to show you this darker, less sentimental side during your own first encounter with him. 

He came to a stop just a short distance up the trail from the hiker, and you shrunk back under the cover of the woods to watch him work. He mussed up his hair and gave you a slight nod of recognition before he approached her. 

He snapped a twig underfoot, hard enough to be intentional. From this distance, you could see the hiker stiffen, her face growing fearful. “Hello?” She called, her voice deep and definitely local, you could tell from her thick Romanian accent. She broke a stick in half, wielding the sharper end as a makeshift weapon. “I am not in mood for games. If someone goes there, show yourself.” As brave as her words were, you could hear the slightest shake in her voice– and if you could, Oliver certainly could too. 

And then Oliver appeared behind her, as though he’d materialized from the dark. He put his hands up defensively and cleared his throat, causing the woman to whip around and confront this strange man. 

“Back away,” she commanded, holding the stick firmly in front of his stomach. “I will use this, if I must.”

Oliver slowly raised one of his hands to wipe nonexistent sweat off his brow. “I’m glad you have it.” He panted, as though out of breath. “I-I lost my knife, running from the…” he hesitated, whipping around to check for something behind him. “Well, whatever it was.”

The woman’s grip on the stick tightened. “What are you talking about? You are grown man. You can not fight?”

Oliver took the question in stride, waving her off. “Miss, please, you don’t understand. There are lupii in these woods. Surely you know the stories. There’s no fighting them off, not when they’re hungry.”

The woman lowered the stick an inch. “You run from the wolf?”

As if to answer her question, in the distance, the howls of what sounded like a pack of wolves echoed through the trees. You wondered for a brief moment if they were real, but then Oliver gave a dramatic and nervous glance to the surrounding wood, enough to tell you that he had made it happen somehow. He continued. “You forget, the moon is full. Any minute now, the Vȃrcolac could come out to devour it, and then we’d be lost in the dark.”

Wait, what? You looked up at the perfect circle of white above the trees, bright as could be. The moon has been full for the past three days. That’s not possible . The moon was full the night you got here. It was full last night. It should be waning, shouldn’t it?

You were roused from your thoughts as the woman chuckled. “I know these woods since I was a girl. Vȃrcolac , the evil, have spared me.” She shook her head. “You are young. You believe God is not with you.” She lowered the stick, looking at the snow falling around them both. “He send snow to slow down the lupii . I am lost, and you are lost, but we will find our way.” 

“Are you sure?” Oliver asked. He shivered for added effect, though it seemed a touch overdone to you: you thought to tell him as much later. 

“You stay and freeze, if you like.” She said matter-of-factly, turning away from him and looking up to the sky. “Or we try to find shelter. I saw a light in the mountains near here. We go that way.”

Turning her back on him proved to be the fatal mistake. Before you could even blink, she was lying on the ground, the stick dropped to the side of her immobilized body. Oliver rolled his shoulders back before bending down over the woman, muttering something in her ear. From this distance, you could see that her eyes were still open, though barely so. Her jaw was slack, puffs of her breath visible as she breathed heavily. Her lips tried to form some kind of word, but you couldn’t determine what she was trying to say. 

He pressed his fingers to the skin of her neck, checking to ensure her pulse was steady. Seemingly satisfied with what he felt, he whispered to her inaudibly, and she turned her head to the side in a daze, exposing her throat. 

“He’s put her in a trance,” you murmured to yourself. “Why didn’t he just do that to begin with?”

Oliver’s fangs glinted in the moonlight as they appeared from under his lips, and he looked up at you briefly through the brush. “Rules, angel. I follow the rules.”

You weren’t sure whether to respond. He made the sign of a cross over the woman’s body, as if he was praying for her, before he sank his teeth into her neck and drank freely of her blood. You froze, watching as the color slowly drained from her skin, until eventually she was as white as the snow surrounding her. The red dripping from her neck was made all the more stark as it ran to the ground—

Oh right. Blood. Oh shit. Your stomach growled, and you suddenly propelled yourself toward the two of them, the hunger leaping into your throat and taking over your thoughts from one simple glimpse of her vitality. Feed. It’s right there. Take what is yours. 

Oliver heard your approach and relented, and thought his ability to pull back from the victim was impressive, you didn’t care much at present. You didn’t go for the woman first, despite every fiber of your being telling you to: instead, you went for Oliver, but not because you were out of control. You felt more in control of your hunger than ever, and you had a taste for him that feeding wouldn’t satiate. 

You toppled over him, the both of you falling into the snow. You sat up on top of him and ground your hips into his, watching as the bewildered expression on his face gave way to excitement. “Something I can help you with?” He asked, pretending to be nonchalant. 

This version of him was different somehow, more like the one you’d met last night when he turned you; far more animal, especially given the trickle of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, and the pupils of his eyes huge and black, as though he had been ingesting pure opium instead of human sustenance. 

He was, to put it mildly, hot as fuck. And you needed this disheveled, un-composed Oliver as much as you needed to drink of that woman until her veins were empty. You grabbed his chin with your hands and brought your face close to his. “Yeah, you can help me. Let me taste it from you first.” You pressed your mouth fervently against his.  

The woman’s blood was very dry, and tasted sort of like rosemary and lemons. It reminded you of gin, but much thicker and immensely more enjoyable. You wanted more. You broke your lips from Oliver and turned his face to the side, dragging your tongue along the trickle of blood that ran from his mouth.

 You could feel something in his pants stiffening underneath you as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He growled against your mouth, grabbing the tops of your thighs and squeezing them roughly through your skirt and tights. “You’re losing focus,” he teased.

“She’ll still be lying there in a few minutes, won’t she?” You replied, kissing his jaw and then his neck. “I’m in no rush for this to be over.”

“Mm, you’re so pathetic,” he mumbled, letting his hands slide up underneath your skirt. 

“Oh, Mr. ‘I-Lose-My-Conviction’ is calling me pathetic?”  You nipped his ear not-so-gently. You wanted so badly to bite him harder, all over– enough to leave marks and raise Vic’s and Anca’s eyebrows when they saw him next. You smirked at the thought. A vampire covered in hickies, wouldn’t that be something?

He must’ve detected your drifting focus, because the grip on your thighs turned from sexy to forceful. He pushed you back onto the snow, and then he caught you by the small of your back, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “If you think for a moment that I won’t strip you naked, bind you by your hands, and edge you to your climax against your will for hours… hours on end when we’re done here, you are mistaken.” His blown-out eyes were equal parts hungry and threatening. “But you’ve got to learn. And you’ve got to feed.”

Your words faltered. Hours on end?? “I-I do.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes flickering, as if deciding whether to scrap the idea and just take you now, or double down and make you drink. 

He chose the latter, gesturing to the slumped form behind you both.

“Now, be a good girl and do as I say. Finish her.”

You were more than happy to oblige. You moved toward the woman and found the puncture wounds on her neck left by Oliver, the two small circles of red in her pale flesh beckoning you like guiding stars. You paused— this was it. Your throat burned and you felt dizzy, overcome with hunger. Finish her.

Chapter 27

And so you gave in. She didn’t fight you whatsoever, she didn’t even seem to notice you were there. Then again, she probably didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. 

Your fangs found the wounds as naturally as though they were magnetized to them. Her blood was even more intense when it came straight from the source, feeling warm and velvety in your mouth. Heat bloomed throughout your entire body as you drank, her blood reinvigorating you and dissolving those doubts that had settled in your mind. You wanted more, you wanted to taste sinew and muscle, to feel things snap under your palms. Your fangs dug deeper, broadening the wounds in the woman’s skin.

“Easy, y/n…” Oliver warned, his hand on your shoulder. 

You broke your fangs from her neck to reply, feeling the heat of her blood drip down your chin. “Don’t tell me what to do.” You glared up at him, not sounding like yourself. Her blood was coating your throat, making your voice sound guttural. He took a step back and took his hand off your shoulder in acquiescence.

You turned back to the woman, who was muttering weakly. How is she still conscious? You leaned down close to her, your ear as near to her mouth as you could get, and tried to decipher what she was saying. 

“ Vârcolac …” she whispered between ragged breaths. “Not…wolf…” You drew back and watched her eyes widen slightly as she looked at you, horns and all. Despite being too weak and paralyzed to do anything, she twitched in a futile attempt to get away from you, abhorring your demonic nature as any pious– or relatively sane –person would.

Before you could stop yourself, you planted your hands in the snow, nails digging into the earth underneath, and met her at eye level. Suddenly there was a single uncontrollable convulsion within you, and then a screeching sound echoed from the surrounding woods. 

No. Oh fuck no. Not now. You fought against the urge to speak, knowing that if you did, the curse would come out. You gritted your teeth as hard as you could, enough to make your jaw pop, but it didn’t matter. 

Oliver’s panicked voice rose above the screeching sound. “Y/n, leave her, we have to go!” He shook your shoulders, but you couldn’t move. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing your hands so hard into the frozen ground that they became numb.

 Your efforts proved pointless. The urge overwhelmed you, and the words escaped your lips anyway, as intensely as if you were holding your breath. 

Out came the familiar voices. “ Fester into suffering. Endless nightfall black as basalt by— ”

“Y/n!” Oliver clamped a hand over your mouth in an effort to stop you from talking. Something came over you and caused you to bite his fingers, before shoving him off of you and grabbing the center of the woman’s sternum. 

You turned her to face the sky, before carving bleeding indents into her skin with your fingernails. Your mouth opened against your will once more, and you continued. “— degeneration brings. Unbound by soul but bound by covenant— ”

The punctures in the woman’s neck and the half-moons your nails had made around her heart began to turn black, with a familiar glittering liquid beginning to take the place of her blood. Her eyes widened, and her body was beginning to tremble. “No!” She screamed, as her veins turned to indigo rivers underneath her skin. 

You couldn’t stop, it was too late. Your face raised to the sky, you felt the curse spill from your bloodstained lips once more. “— never to have light of life or release of death, no betrayal spoken in repent. ”

The screeching and the voices and the woman’s screams stopped all at once, and you took a deep, gasping breath, the curse having come out of your throat in its entirety at last. The snow had stopped falling, and the moonlight seemed to have grown dimmer somehow. You looked down at the woman, realizing in horror that her throat had been jaggedly slit. You carefully released your fingernails from her body, and when you looked up, you saw that Oliver was standing over the woman with a pocket knife dripping by his side. 

He was staring at you, trying not to appear shaken but failing to do so. “Well,” he began, clearing his throat. “I understand now.”

You turned back to the woman, and you could see that the black poison which spread in her veins had stalled the moment Oliver killed her, likely preventing her from being turned into a demon. You stared at your blood-smeared hands in a daze, unable to comprehend what you had just very nearly done. 

“I don’t understand.” Your voice was hollow and cracked as you spoke. “Was I turning her…?”

“Yes. Amos intended for you to turn other people, it seems.” Oliver stowed his knife and took your hands gently. “Listen, y/n. You didn’t know. Hey, look at me.” You looked up at him, and though his eyes were still wild and uncertain, they were also sympathetic. “You didn’t know.”

You glanced back down at her. “She won’t turn now, will she?”

“I don’t think so. I took care of her before it could take hold.”

“But that might not be enough! That didn’t work when it was me you were trying to save!”

Oliver gave you a blank look. “Darling, it would’ve, if you hadn’t drank my blood.” 

“Oh.” You withdrew your hands and laid them in your lap, staining your coat in the process. The high you’d felt when you drank the woman’s blood had vanished, and had been replaced with a dull ache in your chest. “Is that it, then?” You said quietly. “Am I going to damn everything I touch?”

Oliver sank down beside you and pulled you into him. “I don’t know, honestly.” 

You laid your head against his chest. “She was a religious woman. What if her soul is screwed because of me?”

He kissed your forehead. “It isn’t— that much I can say for sure. Do you know why I made the sign of the cross over her?”

You shook your head. 

“It was a last rite. It was to forgive her of her sins and bring her soul peace.”

“Last rites?” Now you were just confused. “What kind of vampire are you, anyway?”

“Ha. Well, if you can believe it, I was a religious guy myself in a past life.”

You gazed up at him. “You? But I thought it was only your family that was like that.”

The snow began to fall again, tiny flakes descending noiselessly all around you both. A tranquil silence settled within the forest, like it was lying down to go to sleep for the winter. 

He stroked your hair. “I was just as pious, once upon a time. But my last days of human life at the manor, and then my death…Well, it changed a lot more than just my teeth.” 

You watched the snow land softly on his dark hair and eyelashes. Even in the gray moonlit night, with the blood of an innocent woman on his hands, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. God, he was beautiful.

And at the same time, he was a killer. How could both of those things be true? 

He gave you a half-hearted smile. “You’ve got blood on your mouth, angel.” He leaned in and kissed you. 

Your lips settled onto his, a bit chapped from the cold but otherwise as enticing as ever. He wrapped his arms around you tightly. “I’m never letting you go, by the way,” he murmured. “Not even if we turn every person in the valley into some hellish beast.”

Your conflicting feelings about the man holding you in his arms began to diminish. After all , you thought bitterly, I helped to kill her, too . You weren’t exempt from this, even if you didn’t initiate the attack. And it was the natural cycle of life, wasn’t it? For it to end, even if it was for the purpose of some grotesque adherence to the food chain? Packs of animals left injured members behind as fodder for predators, didn’t they?

That idea made you sit up straight. “She was going to die anyway, wasn’t she?” You asked. It was more of a statement than it was a question, and Oliver’s tightened grasp around you told you that it was correct.

“I can’t explain how I know, but I just do.” He said. “It’s like a certain intuition. I can tell when someone is not long for this world.”

“What would’ve happened to her, if we hadn’t done what we just did?”

He considered for a moment, his eyes scanning the periphery of the wintry woods. “Hypothermia, maybe. Or the wolves.”

You frowned. “You weren’t making that up?” 

“There are a lot of them in these forests– you of all people ought to know that.”

You could still hear the howls from before resounding through your head. “But the sound… it was like you made it happen on-command.”

His answer was nonchalant. “Doesn’t make them any less real.”

Your skin prickled in apprehension. “Are we in danger out here?”

He gave you a funny look. “Let’s see. Are the two undead people with a penchant for flesh in mortal danger of a few wild animals? Hmm, I can’t say for sure. It’s a proper toss-up.”

You elbowed him, your fear gone as quickly as it had come upon you. “You said I wouldn’t be tackling any wolves tonight. I want to believe you.”

He rolled his eyes and stood, trying to hide his smile, before helping you to your feet. “Oh, we best get going then. We don’t want to get cornered by the big bad wolves. What if they should be hungry?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sure you could handle the whole pack of them single-handedly.” You wiped your hands in the snow, causing your still-defrosting fingers to sting from the cold sensation. 

It was at that moment that you happened to look down at the woman: her mangled neck and her black coat suddenly reminded you of something. “You know, she was just lost and trying to find her way home, like I was.”

“A lot of people get lost out here. In fact, the Master and I used to have a little inside joke about it.”

“But feeding on lost people, who are at their most vulnerable…you don’t kill all of them. Why only certain ones?” You asked, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the subtext.

“I told you, I only feed upon people I know are about to die anyway.”

“But then…you wouldn’t show yourself to those who’ll go on living.”

“That’s about right.” He shook the snowflakes from his hair. 

You swallowed. “So, then…why did you show yourself to me?”

Oliver bent down and closed the woman’s eyes out of respect, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you as he did so. “You don’t really want to know the answer to that.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “You knew I was going to die, didn’t you?”

He was quiet for a minute, but it felt like a century. The snow fell. The moon brightened. The woman lay unmoving on the ground. 

 

Finally, Oliver spoke. “I did.”

Chapter 28: Vic - Journal Entry

Summary:

Vic's perspective.

So here’s the deal: the Fuentes family has demon-slayin’ in our blood, so to speak. I’ve been a demon hunter for as long as I can remember; my dad did it, his dad did it, so on and so forth. It was understood that I’d carry on the tradition and make my name riddin’ the world of creepy-crawlies. And hell, I ain’t saying I’m the best at it, but they don’t send just any kid from San Diego halfway ‘cross the damn world to work on the Carpathian case. 

Reports have been coming in for years talking about “columns of black” terrorizing the valley area; big spooky things with yellow eyes and elongated talons and whatnot. Story is, they come down from the mountains– which is why nobody in their right mind ventures out there on purpose –and then they infiltrate the towns and villages that make up the whole region of Bukovina. And ain’t nowhere safe for folks but the churches, which’ll then inevitably catch fire in the middle of the night, chasing everyone outside and right into the claws of…whatever the hell these things are. 

I arrived in the village of Magura in early autumn; which, given the state of the snow falling outside, means that was about two months ago. I can’t find a single calendar on the grounds of this estate; reckon I’d forget what day it was if I lived here all the time. I’m writing this down in my journal, in an effort to maintain a log of local legends and civilian encounters with the occult. That was the intention, anyway, but shit has gone off the rails since I came to this estate. 

When you’re working a particularly intensive demon infestation, there are a couple of things you gotta know:

1. Where they’ve established a summoning circle.
2. The reason they’re taking root: crossroaders taking revenge for broken contracts, souls of tortured individuals in places that mattered to them, poltergeists protecting their former property, etc.
3. Their habits, specialization of spellwork, and intentions. 

 

What I definitely did not know, nor expect, was that this crossroader could turn living people into more demons; and moreover, that the process could be stopped halfway, creating a whole new kind of fucked up creature.

And speaking of which, I have to mention the lady. Folk tales and demonologists have speculated about the existence of cambions for centuries, but I never did give ‘em much credence until now. Lord, and she’s involved with a vampire, too. I reckon there is a lot more going on here at Godalming Estate than I’m presently aware of: all manner of sin and scientific abnormality runs rampant through these halls.

So far, we’ve figured out only scant details about how cambions move about the real world. She has a taste for human blood, like a vampire would, only she wants flesh too. She’s strong, weirdly strong. Like wrench-apart-a-pair-of-metal-handcuffs strong. She sees and hears things that aren’t there. I’ve never seen anything like it– she’s part person, part monster. One minute she’s talking to you all normal like, the next she’s trying to take a bite outta your skin. 

I’m keeping an extremely close eye on her; my plan is to observe her in isolation and introduce different variables to her in an adapting range of environments and circumstances. Like, does she respond more strongly to women than men? What happens if she doesn’t feed as often as a normal demon should? Does she age, and if so, at what rate? 

I’m itchin’ to get to work, but her little boyfriend, the vampire, is insistent that he show her how to satisfy her freaky flesh craving by hunting innocent people in the valley at present. I know what you’re thinking, and don’t give me shit for this! Obviously I don’t condone what they’re out there doing, but it’s a collateral situation. If I wanna figure out how this girl– and any other potential cambion in the future –operates in the physical world, she’s got to be alive enough for me to examine. 

So, man, if I have to look the other way when she kills a stray hunter or two, that’s just how it’s gonna have to be.

Chapter 29

The snowflakes didn’t melt on your skin like they did when you were human.

 

Instead, they clung to your exposed cheeks and hands like dust accumulating– as if there were no longer heat radiating from your flesh, no core vitality exuding from your body to melt the snow and prove to the winter night that you were still, somehow, in some way, a little bit human. 

You grunted as you dragged the body of the woman through the snow, and you tried to ignore the sound of her coat sliding through the dirt underneath. 

“Y/n,” Oliver called from behind you, as he had been for the past twenty minutes. “Y/n, would you please just listen to me?”

More dragging. The coat snagged on a twig and broke it in half as the woman’s body passed over it. You huffed. 

“Ignoring me isn’t going to get you answers, you know.” He muttered. “I wanted to give you a chance at life.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” you snipped, shaking the snowflakes off your shoulders. “Let’s just get this woman to a decent resting place.”

He sighed, and you suddenly felt the strain of pulling the woman’s body become significantly easier. 

You dropped her arm and turned to face Oli: he had picked up the woman’s body. “God, just let me do this, Oli,” you said in exasperation. “Please.”

He looked down at the corpse hoisted between his arms. “She would’ve died of some awful, natural cause– animal or otherwise.” 

“What’s your point?” 

His voice faltered somewhat. “I…I don’t know what I thought in that first moment, when I saw you.” He looked up at you. “But I could see the shadows on your soul, I could smell it on your clothes.” His gaze flickered to the scar on your chest. “I could taste it in your blood. Your death was certain– I thought if I brought you to the manor, and turned you myself, you would at least be able to choose it. You’d have had a chance at…well, something resembling life.”

This isn’t anything like life , you thought. “I would’ve appreciated being told. You didn’t give me the option of turning, I was forced into it.” You said, as you watched the woman’s arm dangle lifelessly at Oliver’s side. “Maybe she figured something would happen if she came out here– she knew the stories. She was at peace with her choices. I was lost. I was oblivious. I thought I had much more time…” You clenched your hands, digging your nails into your icy palms. “Keeping me in the dark isn’t protecting me. It’s you thinking you own me.”

Then, movement. Maybe your eyes betrayed you, but you thought that the fingers of the woman twitched. What the fuck? You blinked and refocused on Oliver. “I should have a say in my fate, don’t you think? And what kind of life is this, anyway, if you think you get to make these kinds of decisions for me?”

He didn’t reply. You felt heat bloom in your cheeks, and the snowflakes on your lashes started to slip off. “I am not asking for answers anymore.” You turned and stalked off in the snow, toward what looked like a clearing with a church steeple in the distance. “There’s a church up ahead. Let’s bury her there and get on with our ‘lives.’”

The snow around your feet melted as you went, leaving small footprints in the drifts that quickly vanished as fresh snow fell on top of them. Good , nobody will be able to track our movements with this much snowfall.

As the church came into full view, your anxiety ticked up a notch; the crucifix atop the steeple loomed down from above like a guillotine’s blade, ready to drop on you at any moment. “Think they’ll let me in?” You joked half-heartedly. 

“Hardly. You set foot in that door, you might catch fire.” Oliver replied. The corners of your mouth twitched, fighting the urge to smile. He pretended not to notice, and pointed out a circle of granite slabs around the back of the building. He began to head in that direction with the woman’s body in his hands. “Behind the church. We can lay her to rest there.”

You nodded, but stood transfixed underneath the steeple, unable to take your eyes off the cross. You felt as though it were the ugliest thing you’d ever seen. You hadn’t been very religious in life, but you also hadn’t felt a distinct, inherent disdain in your heart for the symbol until now. 

You cringed. Ugh, I feel like it’s looking at me. “What do you think of all this?” You asked it. “I’m guessing you don’t like me too much.”

Silence. A candle must’ve been lit somewhere within the church then, because the panes began to refract warm light through the color-stained glass. You raised your eyebrows. Huh, I guess maybe that could be considered an answer?

“Or maybe I’m wrong.” You sighed. “They say you’re all-forgiving. Is that real?”

 

One of the wooden doors opened at that moment, and you took an apprehensive step back. Where is Oli? Oh man. I should’ve gone with him. 

A tall man in the traditional black vestments and clerical collar stood in the doorway, a lit candlestick in his hand. His hair was curly, black on the top but red on the undersides, and he wore a nose piercing, along with large gauges in his ears. What the hell kind of priest wears piercings?

He cleared his throat. “I thought I heard someone out here. Are you lost?” 

You swallowed. “Uh, no, just passing through.” Nice, not suspicious at all. 

“It’s midnight. You don’t need to lie, you know. It’s okay to be afraid.” He gave you a warm smile, and you felt your apprehension soften a bit. “You can trust me. We welcome all at this parish, especially the lost.”

You remembered your horns then, and wondered if he’d noticed them. Your eyes, too. Just how well could he see you in the darkness, at that distance? Hopefully not much. “Really, I’m fine. I..I just–”

“I mean it.” He interrupted. He blinked, and for the slightest moment, his irises turned bright yellow around two narrow-slitted pupils. “You really should come in.”

He turned abruptly on his heel and walked back into the church, the doors remaining wide open as he disappeared into the shadows within. The light from the stained glass windows grew brighter still, to a point that it was nearly blinding, causing the snow around you to glow with the same intensity. 

Yellow eyes…That can only mean…

You glanced up at the steeple once more, your eyes watering from the shock of bright light. “Forget I said anything,” you told it. “You must not be the real deal.” 

 

You entered the church withholding your breath, still unsure whether you’d immediately start smoldering from daring to enter a sacred space, being what you were. But as you passed under the threshold and the heavy wooden doors swung shut begin you, you found yourself completely intact, and if anything, a little more relaxed. 

The interior of the church was a lot bigger than it had seemed on the outside, even just in the foyer. A font of holy water set in black marble had been placed at the entrance, which was a small room with black-and-white checkered tile floors. The walls of the room were painted dark green, and there was a statue in the left corner of Archangel Michael stabbing through the head of a serpent with a sword. Pictures of various clergy were hung on the wall to your right, and as you passed them, you could’ve sworn their eyes were following you. Ugh, I feel like they’re judging me. 

You stopped at the last picture before you entered the sanctuary; two men in their clerical collars smiled unassumingly in front of the church, giving thumbs-up to whoever was behind the camera. One of the men was the priest you recognized from just a moment ago, with his nose ring glinting off the sunlight and his curly hair lighter then. The other was unfamiliar to you, but there was a palpable sadness behind his expression. His hair was shorter, and he had black paint above his collar that stopped at his jawline. Along his arms were tattoos of black bands, and his hands were also covered in black paint. You stepped closer to the image, wondering if maybe the black on his skin was possibly connected with that color which tinted your arm and chest. 

“You were lost.” The priest’s voice echoed from within the sanctuary, stirring you from your thoughts. 

You stood upright and slowly entered the area of worship, glancing up at the rafters as you did so. “I am,” you replied uneasily. There was no response as you passed the rows of polished wooden pews. The light you’d seen from outside was, you could see now, the reflection of many small prayer candles lit around an altar at the front of the room, their red wax dripping from several hours– if not days –of unrelenting use. Red stains from them had settled onto the white tablecloth of the main altar table. A cross made up the centerpiece amidst the candles, and you felt a twinge of fear as you looked upon its tarnished surface. “I’m so terribly lost.” You repeated, and then you paused with your hand resting on the backside of the first row of pews. Why did I say that? 

“Because it’s the truth.” The priest’s voice echoed through the chapel as he came into view, entering through some unseen back room and approaching the altar from behind. He raised his hand in your direction. “You chose to set foot in my parish. You know well enough where you are.”

You jerked a thumb in the doors’ direction. “It’s freezing outside. I just needed a break from the cold for a second.”

“A body is being buried out there,” the priest replied matter-of-factly. “And you needed a break from confronting that situation.”

“Uh…” 

The priest went on. “The book says that ‘the perversity of the unfaithful is destructive.’ Just how destructive have you been?”

You looked down at your bloodstained coat, turning his words over in your head. “A good damn bit,” you responded. His questions felt like they were loaded with truth serum, compelling you to speak earnestly, and you didn’t know if you liked it. “I never asked to be this way.”

“No, you didn’t. But you can come to terms with it. Come forward, if you feel so inclined.” The priest said, flipping open a book on the altar. “I will show you your way, as it has been written.”

You grasped the corner of the pew harder, scanning the man for anything out of the ordinary. No horns, as far as you could tell. No stained skin. “You know about me?”

He flashed his eyes yellow at you again, a sudden flicker of neon in the low-lit space. “As I said, it has been written.”

 

The candles in the room dimmed all at once, and the fire jumped from their wicks and danced around the room in a brilliant blaze, shadows leaping from the flames across the walls, scattering rainbow-colored flashes off of the stained glass windows. You watched the chapel come alive with the myriad colors, turning everything from the white tablecloth to the fabric of your coat into a mosaic of pink, green, yellow, blue, red, purple, and orange. The fire died down upon the wicks, but the room remained a colorful spectacle as the priest opened his book. 

A feeling of calm beckoned you forward, and you approached the altar, your horns coming into full view as you passed under a patch of yellow light. “Okay,” you began, leveling your gaze at him. “What is your name?”

“I’m Father Dun,” he replied, his index finger resting on a page. The paper was black, with words typed in white font. “You’re Y/n of Bukovina.”

“Yes. I set foot into your church without catching fire or turning into salt, or whatever.” It was a question, but you framed it as a statement.

His response was just as frank. “This isn’t a church. This is a parish.”

“Is there a difference?”

“A church is a place. A parish is a community,” he explained. “A congregation. A group of those who believe.”

“And what do you believe, Father Dun, if not in G-” you struggled to say the name. “G- ugh. You know, God?”

He sighed and motioned you forward. As you complied, he took your hand and turned it palm-up. “I believe in Fate. And I believe in Truth.” He took one of the candles in his other hand and tilted it, allowing the red wax to drip onto your bare palm. 

You winced as the melted stuff stung your skin. “And this relates to fate…how?”

He watched the wax solidify and darken in your cold hand. “The holy value of this place has been desecrated intentionally for my purposes. It does what it needs to for the locals who don’t know Truth; but for me, and you, and Oliver, this is where it all begins.” He removed the now-black pad of wax from your hand,  and rubbed it between his fingers. “Tell me, dead girl, do you know how much more destructive you’ll need to become?”

Chapter 30: The Graveyard - Oliver

Summary:

Oliver's perspective.

I feel like a right fucking idiot. 

I should’ve told her the minute I knew her name. “Miss Y/n, I can’t explain it, but I know you’re going to die and it’s going to happen soon. Also, I’m a vampire and I want to be the reason you die. I want to wield the dagger that ends your life. It’s okay, though, because I’ll make you a monster like me, and we can kill people together forever.” Somehow, I feel as though that wouldn’t have gone over well with her, either. The fact is, she was going to die either way, but she was also right– she deserved to have known about it, and I should’ve just given her the option right then and there in the foothills to choose her fate. 

But therein lies the problem, I think. I didn’t want to give her the choice. 

Because if she could have chosen anything, she’d have gone home to her family and waited for the day to come. She’d have died of some awful cause– either at the hands of man or accident or ill health –and her loved ones would have had to watch helplessly. Her existence, full of promise and only just starting…would’ve just as quickly ended. She’d leave the people she loves irreversibly bereft. She talks about a loss of agency, but I don’t think she would have preferred the alternative. 

Still, I’ve damned her, even if she isn’t a creature like me. Maybe it’s worse, given that she’s been made victim to the curse; as a cambion, she’s forced to feed in a manner that is completely savage, and the compulsion seems nearly impossible to control. The hallucinations she’s experiencing are visceral and torturous, at least in the way she describes them. The disgust and pain and confusion she must feel is surely immense. A fate worse than death, perhaps– ultimately, that is my fault.  

 

At least this other woman’s end had been far less complicated. Dol Rosu, age 55, lies in a six-foot-deep pit of earth that had conveniently already been dug up several months ago, but had never been used for its intended purpose. I had smelled the sickly-sweet marking of death upon her from miles away: it had been practically screaming to save her from the horrors of the living world and end it all. This has made her the ideal candidate for our hunt tonight. She’d had nothing tethering her to the mortal world except for her faith. Certainly commendable, her piety, but it didn’t matter in the end. 

Death is so simple– life is given, and then it is taken away. You consume it to sustain yourself. You don’t ask questions. You don’t reason with it. You give and you take. I only take from the people I know are going to give it up anyway: preserving some modicum of dignity and humanity for them, and maybe myself in the process. That’s how I justified my desire to turn y/n…I simply couldn’t let her die. It would have been inhumane.

…

Fine, so that isn’t entirely true. I didn’t want her to die because I wanted to corrupt her innocence myself; I won’t apologize for being selfish in that regard. I wanted to take her in and make her my pet, my plaything, my counterpart. Giving her immortality and fulfilling her desires seemed a fair trade for drinking her blood and stealing her away from her human life. I could not have predicted Amos’s betrayal or his curse upon her, of course, but either way she has remained here. She’s still with me. 

I pray that continues to be the case, because at this point, I’d let her drag me through hell. I’d let her tear me to pieces. I’d let her do whatever she wanted, as long as she would stay.

 

Dol Rosu has been buried in the dirt. We won’t be recognized for our role in the matter, as our tracks are covered now by yet more snow; the assumption will be that she died from a rabid wolf attack while stumbling blind through the woods, which isn’t entirely false– she was prey to the violent whims of the food chain, after all. 

As I said, simple. She won’t be sought after. Her corpse won’t be exhumed. She is survived by nobody, except maybe the God she prayed to. May she rest in peace.

Chapter 31

“Too theatrical, Josh.” Another voice echoed from behind both you and Father Dun. “Ever heard of brevity?”

The priest rolled his eyes and dropped the wax onto the table. “She doesn’t know yet, remember? I wanted the moment to have some gravitas.”

“Trust me, it has gravitas.”

You turned to face the owner of the unfamiliar voice – it was the shorter man from the picture, clad in a red robe and with that black paint covering his neck and jawline. His posture was stiff, with shoulders almost hunched over like a gargoyle. His eyes were the same neon yellow as Father Dun’s had been, in spite of the kaleidoscope colors of the chapel. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re a demon.”

He gave you a dubious look. “Woooow, no clue how you figured that one out.” As he stalked down the aisle toward you both, you squared your shoulders, unsure if he’d be as welcoming as Father Dun. This guy looks like he means business. 

But when he came to a stop right in front of you, to your surprise, he knelt. “Glad you could make it,” he said, bowing his head. “We’ve been waiting for this.”

Something clicked in the back of your mind at that moment, as you realized you felt like you already knew this guy. “And by ‘this’...you mean me.”

“Who else would it be?” The man answered. 

“You knew I was coming,” you went on, looking over your shoulder at Father Dun. “So that means you can see the future somehow.” You shot a glance at the book, then back to him. “It must be written in that book of yours.” 

Father Dun nodded. “I interpret what’s to come and write it in this tome.” He gestured to the foyer. “I receive messages from the Otherworld in our water font– you passed it when you came in. Then I write down the messages and ensure that these things come to pass.”

You nodded, taking all of this in. Sure, clairvoyant demons infesting a church. Why not? You looked back down at the other man. “So what do you do, then, uhh…”

“Father Joseph,” he responded, rising to his feet. His yellow eyes were stone serious now. “That’s how our followers address me.”

“And is that how I should address you?” 

“That depends.” He stepped in close and pulled up the sleeve of his robe with a painted hand, revealing a sigil of dots and dashes on his arm that was utterly incomprehensible. “Unless you can pronounce this – It’s my name in the Otherworld. It has no Earthly translation.”

“I…can’t read that.”

He huffed and pulled the sleeve back down. “You must not have your Sight yet. Just refer to me as Tyler for now.”

At that, you had to stifle a giggle. This big bad demon with the very-serious-attitude and very-cool-and-ominous-supernatural-tattoo went by…Tyler? “R-Right. Tyler, then.”

He ignored your obvious amusement and nodded at Father Dun. “Josh is the fortune teller. What he is supposed to tell you is that Fate delivered to him a prophecy, and he interpreted it to mean he’d need a certain expertise to carry it out. I’m a…” he paused, searching for the right word. “...security envoy, let’s say, in the Otherworld. I was tapped to accompany him to the land of the living to ensure this prophecy comes to pass.”

Now the stone-cold vibe made more sense.“Ah, you’re the muscle, I get it.”

“Not quite,” he said, his expression unchanging. “I’m gonna be your right hand.”

At that moment, the colors dancing around the room came to a standstill, making the chapel itself look as though it were made of stained glass. You turned back around to face Father Dun. “He’s my right hand?”

Father Dun nodded. “And I’m your messenger. Well…”

“Well what?”

“We will be. But he’s not totally convinced that you’re the right fit.” He gestured to Tyler. “And I can’t blame him, since you don’t have your Sight yet.” 

You looked down at the black pages of the book, heat rising from the soles of your feet up into your chest and then through your head. Rage, swift and numbing, boiled up in you abruptly. “I can see enough.” You snapped, stepping forward and grabbing the book of black pages from the altar. “I think I get it now, I’m supposed to do something apparently significant, according to what’s in here. It must be a big deal, if it requires me to have a ‘messenger’ and ‘right hand,’ whatever that means.”

You could sense Tyler prickle behind you. “You shouldn’t take that.”

“Why not?” you whirled, facing the stoic man and holding up the book. “It seems like what’s written in here concerns me. Even if I can’t read it, I have a right to the information.”

“You’re a fledgling,” Tyler replied, his face unreadable. “You don’t have your Sight, we can’t see your Other form underneath your skin. Have you taken even a single life yet?”

Did almost-killing someone count if your boyfriend was the one that dealt the final blow? You weren’t sure, but the answer was probably ‘not a bit.’ Still, they didn’t need to know that. “What does that matter? Look at me,” you gestured to the blood on your coat. “I’m dead! I’ve tasted blood. I obviously know what it means to take life.”

Tyler didn’t so much as blink. “No, you don’t. Not in a way that matters.” His militant nonchalance with which he spoke was almost more aggravating than the actual words he was saying, and that unsettled you deeply.

“Well, whatever. I’m not obligated to prove myself to you, anyway. I don’t know you.” You stalked past him down the aisle, still clutching the book tightly in your hands, and ignoring Josh’s quiet protests. Your voice was shaking with anger when you spoke. “And if you don’t believe me, fine–” you waved the book back at them before continuing down the aisle. “You want me to see things the way you do, read your Otherworld stuff, become something more according to some magical prophecy book. As if there can be more beyond being a monster.”

Josh finally managed a coherent, audible response. “There is more!” He contested.

You spun around and kept on going. “Nope. You don’t believe me, so I’m not going to believe you. I’ll prove myself, Father Dun.”

“That’s not what I–”

“No! I’ll get your damn ‘Sight,’ and I’ll do it on my own. My way.”

As apprehensive as they’d both acted when you picked up the book, neither of them made an effort to follow you. The colors had resumed their dance around the room, and it almost seemed like they were the ones putting up more of a fight to prevent you from leaving – they grew brighter, distorting the chapel and making it hard to see, but you stubbornly continued on your way, shutting your eyes and putting one foot in front of the other. You could sense the presence of another being in the room aside from Josh and Tyler, watching your every move; in fact, it was practically breathing down your neck, the heat of an exhale palpable on the skin of your shoulders. Whatever it was, it was alive, and it was giving you the sense very much that you should not take that book. You swallowed and fought the urge to check behind you. 

No way in hell were you leaving this thing behind, not until you’d had the chance to take a good, long look at it. It contained (potentially) all of the answers you’d been literally dying to read; about yourself, the manor, Oliver, the curse…everything. That conviction ultimately prevailed over your fear of whatever was behind you in the present moment, and you squeezed your eyes shut, focused only on the sound of your boots thumping against the aisle’s carpet. 

Upon entering the foyer, you opened your eyes, and the brightness immediately died out behind you. The feeling on the back of your neck eased, and you released your breath, your shoulders dropping. You turned to see if Josh and Tyler were still at the altar, but the chapel had gone completely dark, the pair of them gone. 

“Huh.” You turned back to the foyer, which was dimmer than before as well, except for the font of holy water in the center. It looked like the pool within it was practically glowing, its surface as still and unmarred as glass, and almost humming. As you stared at the font, you felt beckoned toward it, as though it was enticing you. 

 

Expecting you. 

You grasped the book with both hands and approached the font, the book serving almost as a shield. You wanted a physical barrier, no matter how small, in front of you should something happen.

You stood directly over the water within the font now, only hesitating a nanosecond as you remembered you’d have to face your own reflection. Please, no more weird demon shit. I just want to look in a reflection once without wanting to scream.

But you looked down anyway. The water was crystal-clear and the prettiest shade of light aquamarine you’d ever seen, like something out of a painting. The font had appeared only a few inches deep from the outside: but looking in it now, it seemed to drop down into an endless expanse of water, with no bottom in sight. It was unexpectedly soothing, and your rage from just a moment ago died down in your body as quickly as it had risen. You felt that if you jumped into that water, you would suddenly find yourself swimming in an ocean of blue-green tranquility; all of your problems and fears and questions would dissolve into the water, your soul finding some sort of unshakeable peace.

The other thing you noticed, though, was that you had no reflection. You waved a hand over the surface, which was entirely flat and reflected the tiles of the ceiling above you just fine, but there was no evidence of you. Not a hint of movement, not even a ripple from the displaced air from your hand.

Then another thought occurred to you: was this even Holy water? Father Dun hadn’t referred to it as holy when he mentioned it…had he? You couldn’t remember, there had been too much going on. It sure looks holy, though , you thought. Something so beautiful…like it was born out of a dream.

Before you could stop yourself, you dashed your free hand across the water’s surface, scattering drops into the air and breaking the stillness in one motion. You waited for the assured sting of the sanctified water to burn your skin, but to your surprise, your fingers felt no different; well, they were wetter now. You stared at your hand in wonder. “It’s not holy water.”

“The opposite, actually,” Tyler muttered behind you. And then startlingly strong hands gripped your shoulders and the back of your neck, and shoved your head underwater.

Chapter 32

Tyler’s grip was unshakable. You tried everything you could think of – you kicked back, hard , against his legs; you knocked your elbows back into his ribs; you whipped your head as much as you could to try to loosen his hold – but none of it was working. His form was so much heavier and durable than you’d expected, as if he was made of brick. Where did his enormous strength come from? It didn’t make any sense. 

Your heart beat faster and faster as you tried not to inhale lungfuls of water. Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t breathe… You thrashed again, feeling his fingers dig harder into the flesh of your neck as he held you down. The warmth of the water felt sinister, its beckoning nature now almost begging you to succumb to it, to take it into your throat and let it swallow up all the air in your lungs. I can’t…I’ve come so far…

You remembered what was in your hands then. The book! You clenched it as hard as you could, vowing to yourself that even if you had to drown, you weren’t going to give them what they wanted. He can be as violent as he wants. I’m not letting go of this thing. You threw your head back once more, in an attempt to get your face above the water for just a fraction of a second – and this time you felt his hand loosen a bit. Your throat was starting to close up, and stars danced across your eyes, like they were floating through the water itself. You threw your head back again, your mind starting to go blank. All you could do was fight to try and get your face above water. 

Another thrashing motion, and your ears momentarily broke the surface: you could hear shouting. Familiar shouting. Oli. 

The sound of his voice galvanized you, and with your last bit of strength, you kicked your foot back into Tyler’s pelvis as hard as you could manage.

That seemed to do the trick. He released you suddenly as you were rearing up your head again, and you would’ve tumbled backward if not for catching on to the edge of the font at the last second, dropping the book as you did so. You gasped and tried to catch your breath as you held on to the cool marble rim, waiting for the stars behind your eyes to fade. 

Then you heard a struggle some distance away in the chapel; you’d thought Tyler had fallen directly behind you, but you realized now that he was a lot further back in the church, and therefore your kick was clearly not what had succeeded in getting him off of you. When you turned around to face the room, Oliver was seemingly holding someone to the ground, pinning them down with one of his arms and one of his knees – or at least, that’s what you figured, since he and the other form were shrouded in the pitch-black of the chapel twenty feet away. 

“Father Joseph,” Oliver growled. “I should rip your larynx out.” 

“You should, but you won’t,” Tyler replied, his voice turning gravelly and deep, echoing off of the high ceilings. 

Oliver spoke through gritted teeth. “Oh? Give me one good reason.” You could hear Tyler’s breathing start to rattle, and you knew Oliver was likely strangling him. “Because from what I can tell, you just tried to drown someone very, very important to me.” His voice shook as he spoke. “Bleeding you dry would be a kindness.”

“I wasn’t…trying…to…drown her,” Tyler wheezed. 

“Try again,” Oliver retorted, his voice dropping another octave.

“She needed…the si…”

“What?” 

“The…Sight…”

You reached down to grab the book, which had fallen open haphazardly on the floor. As you moved to flip it closed, you froze in your tracks. 

 

At Godalming Estate…she is cursed with the hemorrhage affliction…there will be a desperate attempt to save her life…

 

The writing was not only legible to you now, but you could see that it was about real events. Events that had happened specifically to you. 

You snapped the book shut and ran toward the two men in the chapel. “W-wait!” You spluttered. “Oli, he’s telling the truth!”

Oliver wasn’t listening, so focused on choking Tyler that he didn’t seem to hear you at all.

You smacked his arm with the book. “Oli, let him go, he’s right!”

Oliver turned to look at you then, his dark eyes immediately softening when it registered in his brain that it was you, and that you were okay. His hand, though, remained firmly planted on the body beneath him. “Fuck’s sake, y/n. You’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, gesturing to Oli’s hand enclosed around Tyler’s throat, which was somewhat…redder than it had been a moment ago. “Here, let him breathe. He wasn’t lying.”

Oliver was hesitant. “Y/n, he was holding your head underwater. You could’ve been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t,” you responded. “I’m okay. He was trying to show me something, and now I understand.”

He still didn’t seem convinced, but he released Tyler’s throat anyway. Tyler rolled to his side after Oliver eased off him, gulping in air as he did so. 

“You should count your blessings that she’s so benevolent,” Oliver spat as he got to his feet. 

The other man didn’t seem fazed. “It’s a trait she’ll come to regret having, eventually.” Tyler said coolly. He sat up facing away from the two of you, hunched over at an odd angle. It struck you that his head didn’t look quite right, though maybe the cover of dark was playing tricks on you. 

“The priests here, they told me they can see the future,” you told Oliver. “They get messages from the Otherworld.”

Oliver’s eyes flashed ever-so-slightly with surprise. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, and they write it all down in this book, and then they like, make sure that everything that’s written happens.”

“But what’s that got to do with him trying to drown you?”

You flipped open the book and pointed at a random page about The First Sebastian Dynasty. “Can you read that?”
“No.”

You nodded. “Right. I couldn’t either, but when Father Joseph shoved my head into the water just then, it did something to me. I can read it now.”

Tyler stood. “That’s because you have your Sight.” He turned to face you both. “Well, partially.”

Your blood ran cold at the sight of him. His neck was indeed redder than before, and covered now in thin black feathers. His eyes were still yellow, but the pupils had shrunk, becoming far more beady. And where his head should’ve been, there was the head of a vulture. 

The shock on your face must’ve been evident, because if a vulture could blush, he did. “Told you. With this new vision, you can see people in their true form, their true nature.”

“What the fuck are you?”

“Y/n, what are you seeing?” Oliver asked, clearly not seeing the same thing.

“He’s…he’s a vulture!” 

Tyler held out a hand to you, and where his flesh had been, there was now an inverted impression of an arm: all muscle and sinew and bones were visible, as if he’d been turned inside out. “In the Otherworld, security envoys take the form of birds of prey, because we feed on chaos.”

You shrunk back, steadying yourself by grabbing Oliver’s arm. “Okay…and you’re inside out because…?”

“I just am.” 

Oliver frowned at Tyler. “He’s inside out?”

“Yes. Um, sorry, this is insane,” you responded, rubbing your eyes. “How do I turn this vision off?”

“You can’t. I was surprised you didn’t have it already,” Tyler said. “And now you get why I did what I did to you in the font. See, we had to make sure you were really the right one for the job.”

Oliver tensed beside you. “And what job is that?”

You looked from him to Tyler. “I’d like to know that, too.”

Tyler’s pupils shrank even more, until they were barely dots within their yellow confines. “You fought so hard to take the Tome. It would be rude of me to spoil it for you.” He began taking steps back into the darkness, shadows sinking over his feathered head until all you could see of him were those yellow eyes. “Take it, then: read every single page, since you want answers so badly. I hope what you find is worth it.”

You took a step toward him, but Oliver put a protective arm out in front of you. You tried your best to look cavalier when you spoke. “I’m sure it will be.”

Tyler’s yellow eyes disappeared into the dark, but his last words echoed through the chapel as clearly as if he were right beside you. “So self-assured, aren’t you, y/n? I hope that stays with you for what’s coming next.”

Chapter 33

“Father Dun needs to put a tighter leash on that one,” Oliver muttered while sitting at the desk in the manor’s study. He was wiping off the black paint staining his hand from where he’d gripped Tyler’s throat. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and he sends his guard dog out…”

You rubbed absentmindedly at the back of your neck as you lay on the rug in front of the desk. A dull pang radiated from where Father Joseph’s unrelenting hand had bruised your skin, and you winced as you pressed down on it tentatively. “It was for a good reason, at least.”

He scoffed quietly. “He still had no right to touch you like that. There were a million other ways he could have given you the Sight.”

You had to admit, he had a point. A sigh of agreement escaped your lips.“Well, yeah, maybe. But that’s irrelevant now.”

Beside you, the study’s fireplace crackled with heat, and you stretched out your bare legs in front of it so the warmth could better spread over your skin. You’d both returned to the manor without talking much, but when Oli noticed that the freezing air was slowly turning your still-wet hair to icicles, he’d told you to sit yourself in front of the fireplace so you could get warm immediately. You hadn’t argued – between watching a woman die and then also nearly drowning yourself, you were shaken up good, regardless of how cold your body had been. A fire sounded ideal. You’d changed into a short white slip and splayed out on the rug just in front of the hearth, bringing the book with you so that you could begin learning about…whatever you were supposed to learn about. 

Since then, nearly an hour had passed. Oliver had come in at some point to clean the paint from his hands, and the two of you had sat mostly in silence until now, absorbed in your respective tasks. 

“Have you found anything new in there?” He asked. 

“I…I’m not sure,” you admitted, flipping a page. “A lot of this stuff implies a level of understanding about the Otherworld that I just don’t have.”

“Is there anything about you in there that you didn’t already know?”

“Let me see.” You flipped a few pages past your stopping point, looking for your name. The pages seemed endless, though the book itself appeared a normal size at first glance. The first few sheets were so worn and thin that you thought they must be as old as time itself – the newer pages were in the middle, and the freshest pages in the back were blank. You found a page that was clearly recently written, and began: 

“The incident at Brașov will lead to a breakdown in negotiations, with the heir apparent taking advantage of the uncertainty to consolidate power.” 

Oliver’s ears seemed to perk up with interest. “Negotiations. Like the peace accords the Council has been working toward with the Bukovinian Clan of Three?”

“It must be,” You frowned, continuing. “When the Regency Council…” wait, that can’t be right . The Council hasn’t done shit in ages. They just sit in their stupid castles and…whoa. 

You couldn’t believe the words you were reading, but you read them aloud anyway. “...is overthrown in a coup by the monarchy’s loyalists, the demilitarized zone will be re-armed, and the region will return to a state of turmoil.” 

You looked up at Oli, whose pale face had grown still paler, if that was even possible. His mouth formed a tight line. “War. Again.”

The sharp chill of fear still made your skin stand on end, in spite of how warm you’d grown from the fire. “How do we know for sure it’s gonna happen, though? Father Dun said he ensured things came to pass, what does that mean? Can he do that even if he doesn’t have the book?”

Another thought struck you. “Do you think we can trust him?”

Oliver considered it for a moment. “I do. I’ve known of Father Dun for a long time, though we’ve only encircled each other’s periphery until now. I don’t think he’s the one we should concern ourselves with.” He seemed to get lost in thought then, clenching the nail of his thumb between his teeth – a nervous habit you didn’t think you’d seen before. “Read it again. What was that part about the heir apparent?” 

The pages fluttered between your fingertips as you found that page from earlier, the one about the Sebastian Dynasty. “I think it has to do with these guys, since this section is only a few pages away from the one about Brașov.” You noticed a sigil underlined in red by the Sebastian name – but as for why it was there and what it could mean, you weren’t sure. “Do you know anything about the Sebastian family?”

 

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but just then, Vic’s knuckles rapped at the study’s door. 

“Great, the cowboy’s back.” Oli muttered. “Just what we need right now.” 

Vic sauntered into the room covered in dust and cobwebs, with a self-satisfied grin on his face in spite of the obvious exhaustion in his eyes. Tucked into his gun holster were some bones that you recognized as being from Amos’s summoning circle. 

He began talking excitedly. “This is where we’re gonna start,” he said, brandishing some of the rune scribbles he’d evidently taken from the walls of that strange closet. “My plan is that I can figure out what strain of magic he infused these with, and then I can review the fragments of bone to see if there’s any residual saliva on ‘em.”

You must’ve looked confused, because he cleared his throat and smacked the pages of runes for emphasis. “These ain’t normal crossroader markings, or at least, they aren’t anymore. I’m wondering if I can find a connection between these and some other ones I’ve seen before a little ways back West.”

Oli was on his feet then, appearing behind Vic and looking at the runes over his shoulder. “Y/n can probably read those, you know. Save you a world of trouble.”

Vic frowned, confused. “She can’t determine their originating magic, though. And wait a second, can she read runes?”

“She can,” you piped up, getting to your feet. “Let me take a crack at it.” 

He handed you the papers, and as you looked them over, he withdrew a notepad from his pocket and started writing something down. “Interesting. When did you get that new trick?”

“Uh, about two hours ago,” you answered, rotating one of the drawings. “This one says ‘devour,’ by the way.”

More notes. “How did you get it?”

“A demon priest from the Otherworld dunked my head in Holy Water, except as it turns out, it wasn’t holy.” You tapped the next drawing. “This one’s ‘rot.’” 

Oli must’ve been watching Vic a little too intently, because when next the cowboy spoke, he did so with some degree of exasperation. “Look, man, I’m just doing my research!” He addressed you again. “Jeez. Okay, did you gain knowledge of the Otherworld as a result of this event, or just the ability to read its languages?”

“I wish,” you admitted. “It would make everything a lot easier. But no, I still don’t know much about the Otherworld.”

It went on like that for a little while longer, before Vic seemed content with the answers he’d obtained from you. Once satisfied, he went over to a corner of the room containing a dark blue traveler’s trunk, and placed all of his materials inside. “I figured you already had some kinda altered vision, honestly.” He said as he unbuttoned his dusty shirt. “I wonder why you didn’t get that when you first woke up?”

You shrugged. “Who the fuck knows?”

“Huh,” he pulled off his shirt and threw it into the trunk as well.

Heat crept into your face as you took in the sight of Vic’s bare chest – he was toned, but not too much so, and his skin was flecked with scars: from countless demon fights, no doubt. A birthmark on his sternum stood out to you in particular, and you felt the sudden urge to trace it with your finger. 

You could almost feel Oliver roll his eyes behind you. “We can leave the room, if you’d like some privacy, Victor.”

Vic didn’t seem to hear him, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care, because then he began taking off his belt. Once the belt was in the trunk, he winked at you. “Nah, don’t trouble yourselves on my account. I don’t mind being watched.”

His pants hit the floor next, and you averted your eyes, your cheeks threatening to burst into flames. Your mouth went bone dry. “Uh, yeah, I guess you don’t.”

Oliver’s hand brushed your shoulder. “Well, he’s not the only one who enjoys a little…”

“Voyeurism?” Vic finished, grinning at the man behind you. “Clearly.” He finished pulling on a pair of linen pajama pants but remained shirtless, and he snapped the trunk shut with a flourish. “Tell you what, sweetheart, we’ll call it even now.”

Oli noticed your flushed cheeks, and his bemusement broke through in that moment. “You know, that seems fair.” He squeezed your shoulder as you continued to look everywhere but at Vic. “Oh, relax, tough girl. You didn’t seem to mind when the roles were reversed.”

Your heart would’ve raced, if it had the capacity, as Oliver’s hand slowly traveled from your shoulder down along your spine, his touch grazing the small of your back with a softness that made you twitch. 

Vic approached then, his eyes on Oli, and you watched them have a silent conversation in a span of three seconds, with Oli offering a wry nod of his head. When Vic’s gaze locked back onto you, there was a glint in his warm brown eyes that you hadn’t seen before, and Oliver’s hold on your back tightened. Where is this going?

The cowboy took your hand, kissing it gently with a roguish smile. When his lips touched your skin, an electrical pulse shot up your wrist and through your body, ending where Oliver’s hand rested. Push and pull. Start and stop. 

You were suddenly having a very hard time thinking, between the taller man palming your ass through your slip and the other trailing sweetly seductive kisses up your arm. “You know, Vic,” Oli murmured as he leaned in to graze his fangs on your shoulder. “I can think of another thing you might want to research.”

Chapter 34

“Keep her busy another moment, Vic.” Oli muttered behind you, tightening the bindings keeping your wrists in place.

The other man seemed happy to oblige, as he pressed his mouth feverishly against yours, the taste of wine soaking your tongue as he did so. His teeth were only somewhat different from Oli’s as they nibbled on your lip, not nearly as sharp but were similar in how they teased you, provoked you – not to mention the intervals when he relented, giving you the chance to inhale his scent. It arose in you that feral, violent need to bleed him dry, though you were able to mostly hold it back at this point. Mostly. 

“You two are so fucked up for this.” You said breathlessly, as Vic pulled his mouth from yours to take another drink of wine. You struggled briefly against the restraints Oli was weaving around your arms, even though you knew it was pointless. “Oli, you can’t seriously expect me to resist him.”

Vic laughed. “Oh, I can more than handle you, little lady.” His eyes darkened then, in a way that made you want to press your thighs together. “But you’re right. You aren’t in any position to resist me.” 

You flustered. “That’s not what I me–”

“Shut up.” Vic tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open with his thumb before kissing you harder. It was true– you couldn’t resist the deliciously degrading feeling as he spat the wine into your mouth, not bothering to ask if you wanted it or whether you liked it. You had no other option but to take it.

As you drank, a moan escaped your lips. Oliver chuckled quietly behind you. “Good girl…swallow it all.”

As the liquid traveled down your throat, the heat that followed seemed to spread through your entire body. You gasped against Vic’s mouth, fighting the urge to sink your teeth into his lower lip. He clearly took great pleasure in this, because he squeezed your mouth with one hand, a taunting edge in his voice when he spoke: “Aww, is someone worried she can’t control herself?”

You couldn’t think of a response; he was toying with you. They both were. And besides, you seriously weren’t sure if you could control yourself. 

“There,” Oliver said behind you, letting go of whatever he’d been using to tie you up. “Give that a try for me, would you, y/n?”

You squirmed against the restraints, but whatever he’d done must have been both intricate and reinforced, because the harder you fought the bindings, the more they constricted, digging soft-but-firm indents into your flesh.

Vic grinned wickedly as you tried in vain to free yourself, his thumb still planted firmly against your lower lip. “Looks like it’ll hold.” 

“Good,” Oliver replied. “You can never be too careful with test subjects, can you, Victor?” 

“You sure can’t,” the other man replied, releasing your face and stepping back, his brow furrowed in mock assessment. “Now, what is the first step in any study?”

Oliver pressed the palm of his hand flat against your back, pushing you forward so that you were slightly bent over, the hem of your slip grazing the tops of your thighs. “Hypothesis, no?”

“It’s asking a question,” you muttered, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. 

Vic smacked his hands together as if you had just solved the hardest problem in the world. “Right!” He ran his fingers through your hair, pausing to take a closer look at your horns. “How should we reward her for making such an astute observation?”

Oli’s voice had dropped an octave when he spoke. “I can think of something…See, she has a thing for touch.” With that, he pushed up the hem of your slip, exposing your ass. You could sense his surprise in his voice. “Oh, y/n…missing something?” He stroked his fingers against your bare center, which was already slick with anticipation. “Or were you hoping to show off for us?”

I just had to skip underwear tonight , you thought to yourself. 

“It’s good manners to speak when spoken to,” Vic added when you didn’t reply. 

You swallowed, your face flushing with embarrassment, for some reason. It was no good — you were completely, fully, hopelessly at the mercy of these two men; men who were behaving like two bloodhounds on the hunt. “I— I decided not to wear any,” you managed. 

Oliver’s nails dug into the flesh of your thighs, surely leading red half-moon marks in your skin there. “Perverted girl,” he said. He let go of your skin, slapped your ass for good measure, and addressed Vic: “you know, there’s much to observe from where I’m standing. But I think we’d be far more productive if we had her over the sofa.”

Vic’s eyes glittered at the prospect as you looked up at him. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Chapter 35

The two of them were enjoying their little scientific method roleplay entirely too much. With your hands still bound behind your back, they’d shoved you down over the arm of the couch, your slip pushed up now around your waist,  and you were basically facedown against the upholstery. 

Oliver lightly traced the scar on your inner thigh from where he’d slashed it into you just two days ago. The scar tissue had already formed, closing the wound and leaving it as just another morbid souvenir – another reminder of what a freak of nature you’d become. “This is where I drew her blood, in the cemetery,” he said to Vic. “Her blood didn’t appear contaminated at the time, if I remember correctly.” He paused his movement, the pad of his thumb wandering closer to the apex of your thighs. “And she certainly didn’t taste venomous.”

You could sense the other man leaning in closer alongside Oli, observing the clean line carved into your leg (or so you assumed). His finger followed Oli’s, softer and somewhat hesitant. “I see.” He was careful not to make any other moves, clearly wanting to give deference to Oli, because his touch was gone after a few short seconds – and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss it.

Then Vic addressed you. “Does it feel any different?”

You angled your head to the side as best you could, trying to look at him behind you. “What?”

He sighed. “You heard me.”

 And then you felt Oliver’s touch at your entrance, before he was unexpectedly sinking his fingers into you, forcing you to step your legs a little wider apart. You stiffened, your voice straining. “Fuck, does what feel any different?”

“I’ll ask again. Does it feel any different now, when you’re being violated?”

“Ah!” You moaned, squirming a bit against the restraints. “Yes, okay, it feels different than before.”

“How so?” Vic asked. Oliver took this question as his cue, pumping his fingers into you again, winding in deeper than the last time.

You shifted against the sofa, trying to accommodate the abrupt feeling. “Uh…I don’t know…it’s like…it’s like being dizzy,” you answered, your voice already becoming unsteady. Is this really all it takes to undo me? 

Oli withdrew his fingers but just barely so, rubbing your own wetness over your clit. “Good job, angel. You’re doing great,” he said. He then addressed Vic: “what else would you like to find out?”

You felt Vic’s eyes on your dripping wet cunt then, and you had to bite your own lip out of a mix of excitement and shame. But what was there to be shameful about? He was hot. Oli was clearly okay with it. If he wanted to fuck you under the guise of research, you certainly had no qualms about it.

It seemed that Vic had whispered something to Oli, but you couldn’t make it out – apparently, being a demon didn’t grant you the power of more sensitive hearing. 

Can he speak up? Oh— Oh fuck. An eager tongue was suddenly on you, lapping up your arousal and swirling over your clit, soaking your pussy with a mix of both saliva and your own wetness until the two were indistinguishable. A moan escaped your throat, a pathetic, wounded noise that you couldn’t control or stop. You knew the minute Oli heard it, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself off of you. 

You were right. Oliver tangled his fingers into your hair and turned your head to the side, so that you were forced to look up at him while Vic’s mouth occupied your cunt. His mouth twisted into a devious smile. “There now, y/n, does that feel good?”

You nodded your head as best you could, a sharp exhale leaving your lungs as Vic’s tongue laved at your entrance. Your legs were starting to feel twitchy, but Vic gripped the back of one of your thighs and held it in place firmly. “You’re so jumpy,” he muttered when he came up for air. His voice sounded a little dazed as he spoke. “And so fucking wet. How do you do that?”

“It is a wonder, isn’t it?” Oliver said as he began undoing the button on his pants.  “That responsive way about her.” 

Your teeth worked at your lower lip as he freed his cock from his pants and underwear, and he stroked it a few times while he watched Vic’s mouth make you twitch and moan and shiver. You made an effort to run your tongue over your lower lip. “Is that for me?” You asked him. 

Oliver seemed to like your question. “Well, it occurs to me that we have a rare opportunity here.” He addressed the other man: “would you say our ‘subject’ here warrants further analysis, Professor Fuentes?” 

Vic withdrew his mouth from you to answer. “Oh, no doubt.” His tone was as equally conspiratorial as Oli’s, and you could hear the smug smile on his face without even seeing it. 

Suddenly,  he was pulling you upright by the bindings on your arms, your slip falling down to cover the backs of your thighs. 

Vic’s strength never failed to surprise you, and before you know what was happening, he’d picked you up from behind and maneuvered your slip back up, just enough for what came next—

Oliver was on you too, then, guiding your legs to wrap around his hips. His mouth found yours, and you relished in the feeling — his taste was definitely different from Vic’s: sharper, spicier, enduring. Although, you thought to yourself, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to do a side-by-side comparison. 

As if reading your thoughts, Oli removed his lips from yours and decided instead to latch on to your neck, a favorite spot of his. 

Just as he did that, you felt the head of his cock press against your dripping entrance, and you grit your teeth as he bit into your neck and, at the same time, forced his cock inside you. 

“Ah, yes, Oli—“ you breathed as he pushed himself further and further into you. The slight pain you felt from stretching around him was frankly part of what made him feel so good; so when he abruptly pulled out, you couldn’t help but whine slightly. “What, why’d you stop?” You shifted your hips to try and position yourself atop his cock again. 

But he wasn’t having it, he was busy sucking on the flesh of your neck; the pulling sensation of his teeth in your jugular making your head spin in the best way. You leaned your head back as the rush of adrenaline flooded your body. “Fuck, yes…bleed me dry….please…” 

“I’m afraid that’ll have to wait, little lady.” It was then that the other man’s grip turned your chin to your right, and Vic was kissing you, his warm and smoky taste coating your lips. You felt his bare skin pressing into your back, and his hard, thick member was twitching against your ass. “It’s my turn to torture you.”

He sank himself into you with a slow ease, smiling against your mouth when you gasped at the fullness of his dick in you. He was almost as long as Oli, but he was definitely wider, and you didn’t know just how much you could endure between the two of them.

Vic began a steady rhythm, pumping himself into you a few times, before he’d trade with Oliver and give the other man a turn pounding your tight, wet cunt. 

“That’s it, angel, be a good little slut and make our guest feel welcome,” Oli smirked as Vic pushed into you. “I know you can take it.”

“Goddamn,” Vic huffed. “Was she a virgin when you brought her here?” 

“Not in the least,” Oli replied, removing his teeth from your neck. “But I’ve found that she enjoys being desecrated all the same.” As if to illustrate this point, he switched from using his fingers to using the head of his cock to rub circles over your clit, dripping his arousal down onto you. 

“Ah, good to know,” Vic said, slowing his movements and making each thrust feel deliberately intense. You had to stifle a quiet gasp every time he bottomed out – it was nearly too much for you to handle. He addressed you: “What do you think? Should we subject you to something else?”

You couldn’t respond, too busy riding the high of having your blood drained so quickly and your body taken so forcefully. There was too much to focus on – you tasted your own blood on Oliver’s mouth when he took his turn kissing you, and damn if he wasn’t right. You tasted amazing. But there was also that seductive, sweaty humanity to Vic that was pulling you toward him too, and in that moment, you didn’t know which man you wanted or needed more.

When Oli pulled back from your lips, there was red streaking his mouth, and a warning behind his dark eyes. It seemed to say don’t forget who you belong to. You nodded as best you could, lightheaded though you were. “Yours,” you muttered, the word a dizzy slur as your vision drifted out of focus.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, his stained fangs glinting in the firelight. “You can please our guest all you like,” he paused, eyeing the puncture wounds in your neck. “But don’t forget to whom you are truly bound.”

This time, when Vic moved to pull out of you, Oliver set you down so that you were standing between the two of them. He stepped over to the couch and sat down on it. He gestured you over. “Come here.”

You did so, and he positioned you so that you were straddling him on the couch, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side. 

He nodded at Vic. “And I want you behind her.”

There was no argument from the other man as he did what Oliver said— and you couldn’t help but smile as you felt his presence behind you. Your stomach fluttered with anticipation. “You sick fucks think I can take both?”

Oli brushed your cheek with his hand, and you keened your face into his palm. “I not only want you to,” he said, before quickly pulling his hand back and striking your across that same cheek. “I expect you to. Understood?”

Your insides clenched at the impact. Oh. More of that, please. You could barely suppress your moan elicited by the sudden stinging feeling. “U-understood.” 

“Good girl,” he replied. You watched with parted lips as he worked his length in his hand, the sight of his erection nearly making you drool. 

At the same time, Vic eagerly pushed your dress up, that soft touch of his skimming the curve of your ass and making you shiver. “We ain’t gonna take it easy on you.”

As if you’d expected anything less. In seconds, Vic had pushed you forward into Oli’s neck, and he was pressing at your entrance, just as the other man was maneuvering himself to also penetrate you. You sank your teeth down into Oliver’s tattooed neck as one man first pushed himself into you, before the other did the same, gradually stretching your pussy further and further. 

A low, deep groan came from Oli’s throat, the sound humming against your teeth as he bottomed out in you. 

You could barely take it: the feeling of them both inside you at the same time, pushing you to your breaking point, filling up your pussy so much so that it almost ached with the combined width and length of them — it was exhilarating. “Oh my…oh fuck…” you whimpered against Oli’s neck. “I don’t know if I can move.” 

A hand stroked your hair. “Slowly, angel. We’ll start slowly. You just keep that perfect fucking cunt spread for us,” he replied. “Let us use you.”

True to his word, they began a back-and-forth sort of rhythm; as one went deeper, the other pulled back, forcing you to take them both over and over again, and all you could do was salivate and moan and twitch against Oliver’s neck, rendered utterly powerless while they fucked your brains out. 

Once you’d adjusted to the size of them both, things moved a lot quicker, and you strained against your restraints as you felt their combined efforts hitting just the right spot. You swallowed your spit and tried to form a thought as they continued their relentless assault. “F-Fuck, someone touch me, please.”

Vic reached around from behind you and began rubbing his fingers gently against your clit. He was still being too delicate, too hesitant, so you ground your hips forward and pushed against his hand. “Harder.”

He put more pressure on it, and damn, that was just what you needed. Every time one of them bottomed out inside you, it hit the same spot as his touch, and you knew you weren’t going to last long at all. “Vic, please,” you spluttered, feeling your climax fast approaching. “Don’t stop.”

The pair of them were all over you now; and you couldn’t tell any more which man was kissing you, which one was toying with your nipples, whose grunts of effort were whose…

All you knew was you couldn’t take it anymore. The shockwave of pleasure hit you hard, causing you to almost choke on your own spit as you came. Vic kept the same steady pace on your clit as you rode out your orgasm. 

With your cunt tightening around the both of them, each man’s efforts grew sloppier, more feverish, clearly wanting to find their own release. You panted as they fucked you harder and harder, and you felt the tremors of another orgasm starting to build in your core again. 

“Oh shit,” you said breathlessly, leaning back from Oli’s neck and staring at him.

Hungry, dark eyes stared back at you. “What, again?” Oli asked, a grin spreading across his face as he read the need in your expression. 

 You nodded, and a growl escaped his throat in response. “Grab her by her arms, Vic,” he said. 

The other man did so, and Oliver grasped your chin, his gaze boring a hole into you. They had you captive, completely at their disposal. “I want to watch it happen,” he said. “I want to see that pretty fucking face when we both cum inside you.”

You didn’t think anything could make you wetter or needier than the both of them just being in you, but that command of his was just too much to handle. You fought to keep your eyes from drifting shut in ecstasy as you came again, harder this time, somehow just managing to keep your gaze on the blood-smeared vampire burying his cock in you. 

Vic groaned as he also climaxed, Oliver following suit a split second later. You gasped and moaned as they both filled you, painting your wrecked cunt with their shared release. Oli pressed his forehead to yours as he came, his eyes never leaving you. 

For a moment, everything was silent but for the soft crackling of the fire and the heavy breathing of all three of you. Then, as one man pulled out of you, and then the other, you felt the cum streaming down your thighs — of which the thought alone excited you all over again, but you were far too tired to go for a third orgasm. 

No, instead, you rolled over off of Oli and sunk down on the couch beside him, staring up at Vic as he ran a hand through his dampened hair. His cheeks were flushed from the effort and the afterglow.  

“Good God, little lady.” He muttered in your direction, before looking over at Oli. “How’d you find such a perfect specimen?”

Oli glanced over at you, a quiet smile on his lips. His hair was mussed from all the movement, and you smiled back at this strange, sadistic, slightly-disheveled man that you were coming to love. 

“Luck, I guess. Or maybe it was prophecy.” He said. 

Chapter 36: Brașov, Romania

Notes:

Enter stage left: Noah Sebastian. Be nice to my OC Alix.

Thick tendrils of smoke curled up from a shallow pit smashed into the floor, the ashen remnants inside smoldering with residual heat.

A cardinal clad in a sweaty, soot-streaked red robe sat panting before the pit, her hands splayed out in front of her, the skin of her palms tinted rosy pink. 

“Fuck,” she muttered between short breaths. She grimaced as she surveyed the state of her hands, watching the flesh bubble from second-degree burns settling in. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She cried, her eyes searching the room frantically. There wasn’t a drop of water in sight – clearly, she hadn’t thought this through. Her skin tingled with pain, and she blew on them as hard as she could in a futile effort to try and cool the sensation.

 

The pain was secondary to the humiliation, though, as her cheeks turned the same color as her palms. Another failure. It was ridiculous to think she could’ve summoned anything, in hindsight. Alixandra had only been at the royal Sanctuary for just two years – her magic was nowhere near the caliber necessary to try and summon forth an angel. But she was running out of options.

 

And the Prince was running out of time. 

 

He must have been thinking the same thing, because when he spoke from his position along the wall behind her, his words were full of alarm. “Did it work? Is that normal? Does the summoning happen immediately?”

Alixandra shook her head, the hood of her robe falling as she did. I must’ve missed something — I could have timed it wrong, I could’ve used better salts, I should have paid more attention at the service this morning…

“I don’t understand,” the Prince said exasperatedly, his footsteps echoing off the church’s basement walls as he paced. “My father assured me this would work. It did for him, and his father, and his father befo—“

“Well, clearly, it didn’t this time.” Alixandra snapped, her frustration with herself and him winning out over any sense of decorum she had. Yes, she should have probably been a little more respectful in addressing his royal highness, but she was already going out on a limb — breaking several laws, even — trying to summon a saint to provide a blessing for his pretentious ass. Right now, he needed her more than she needed him.

“Excuse me?” He stopped pacing. 

Alix didn't bother even looking over her shoulder. “Something was off. It might have been the salts, maybe the prayer didn’t seem earnest, I don’t know.” She looked over her burns again, then at the pit in the floor, which had stopped smoldering and had reduced to a pile of pathetic ashes. “You didn’t exactly recruit the best mage in the world.”

There was a beat of silence. Alix got to her feet and huffed as she dusted off her robe, trying hard not to cry out as her palms met with the fabric. “I need to treat these burns; I won’t trouble the King’s healers, they have enough on their plate.”

She turned to go, and to her surprise, the Prince was directly in front of her face, causing her to jump back a few inches. 

“Alix,” he said, grasping her hands in his own with a firmness that made her wince again. His eyes were as pleading as they were anxious. “We have to try again.”

“Maybe in a few years, your Highness” she responded, trying to pull her hands free. “We’re lucky it was just my hands this time. It could’ve been a lot worse, and this way, I’ll have time to practice, and my magic will get stronger.”

Prince Sebastian was unwavering in his urgency. “No,” he said simply. “Please, we have to do it again, if not today then tomorrow — my father, he’s not going to last for much longer.”

Alix could see the genuine fear in his eyes at the mention of his dad. As much disdain as she held for the royal brat in this moment, she also felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. When his father passed, he’d become the heir to the throne, if ever the Regency council allowed the line of succession to actually continue. 

“They’ll throw me in the dungeon, or-or else they’ll have me killed.” Prince Sebastian continued, his voice growing unsteady. “They will find any excuse to get rid of me so they can retain their power. I know it, and you know it, too.” He looked down and seemed to realize at the moment that he was hurting Alix, and he quickly relinquished her hands. He was quieter when he spoke next. “Please. If I don’t seek counsel from a higher power, my reign will be incredibly short, if not nonexistent.”

Alix felt the prick of tears sting her eyes, not from concern, but from the pain in her palms. “I want to help you, your Highness, but I’m not ready— you need a better mage, someone with more training.”

The Prince closed his eyes, clearly fighting for patience. “You don’t understand. It has to be you.” 

“Oh really?” Alix huffed. “How come, Noah? What makes me so much different from the other magi? Why does my magic make or break your—“

 

Her words were cut short by an ear splitting THWOOM as a column of fire exploded upward from the pit in the floor, hitting the concrete ceiling and fanning out in a wave of heat directly above both of their heads. 

On instinct, Alix grabbed the Prince and knocked him to the ground as a protective measure, the both of them scrambling back and staring wide-eyed as the fire quickly lowered to a normal level, the coals at the center of it amassing together into one solid form. The pit, Alix registered, had somehow tripled in both depth and diameter.

“Whoa—what— but you said it didn’t work!” Prince Sebastian spluttered.

Alix’s mouth hung open, watching as the coals seemed to melt and twist in the flames, like they were coming to life. “I know what I said!” She yelled. “But clearly I was wrong! I’ve never summoned anything before!”

The fire began to twist about in time with the coals, slowly turning a darker orange, the center becoming a deep shade of blue. It seemed to hum rather than crackle, to expand and contract as though it was breathing. 

“Is that normal?” Prince Sebastian asked, shrugging himself from Alix’s grip and warily crawling toward the pit on his hands and knees. 

Alix followed suit, forgetting all about her burned skin, the both of them peering as close as they could manage over the edge of the pit. “I have no idea.”

 

They both watched as the fire seemed to convulse a few times and swallow itself, swirling inward and disappearing in an instant, leaving the basement in total darkness. 

Alix couldn’t think of anything to say. Noah, too, seemed stunned into silence. They sat there for a moment in the pitch black, and she became aware that her heart was beating rapidly. 

 

Finally, the Prince spoke. “Alix?”

“Your Highness?”

“Would you please stop pinching my arm? Your nails are really sharp.”

She wiggled her fingers, which were clenched around the ragged stone edges of the pit. “I’m not touching you.”

Chapter 37

You kept coming back to the moon. Night after night, it retained its full splendor, a shining round beacon that lit up the countryside as fall succumbed to winter. It didn’t matter if the day had been clear, snowy, or overcast; the full moon always emerged as night came, and it stood sentry in the sky until the next dawn emerged. 

 

Most nights, the little sleep you were able to get was interrupted by strange dreams or nightmares that felt just a bit too real, and you’d find yourself suddenly awake in a different part of the manor. You hadn’t had trouble with sleepwalking since you were a child – why had it now suddenly become a habit again?

 

Regardless of where you wound up when you awoke, you’d always go to the same place next – a parapet that ran above the back exterior of the manor, which overlooked the snowy valley below. You’d begun stashing a blanket by the parapet’s access door, and whenever you’d venture out there, you’d spread it on the stone walkway and lay on it face-up. Staring at the full moon, you’d try to piece together the puzzle of your existence, the reason you had wound up in your current demonic state.

 

The moon never answered your questions or proffered any advice, but it was one of the few constants you had in this new life, and staring at it had a way of calming you down after the particularly bad nightmares.

 

It was on one of these nights, sometime in what must’ve been December now, that you and the moon had unexpected company. Your thoughts were occupied tonight by a strange dream you’d had, and as you laid there, staring at the moon, you heard someone softly shut the parapet’s door.

As you sat up to see who it was, a smile spread across your face: it was Magda. She stood by the door, her expression equal parts nervous and hopeful. Her translucent hair was tied up in a braided halo around her head, and she was wearing a puffy-sleeved white shirt with a black skirt embroidered with red and gold floral patterns. 

Your heart totally melted. “Hi, Magda. You look very pretty.”

Her face lit up, and if ghosts could blush, she did. “Thank you, Miss y/n. Anca made it for me.”

“She did a beautiful job. Are you doing a little midnight dress-up?”

She nodded. 

You gestured vaguely behind her. “Is Irina with you?”

“No,” she said sullenly. “She wanted to go for a walk in the cemetery, but that place frightens me, so I told her to go without me.” Then she brightened a little. “I thought I’d come see you! I see you sneak up here all the time.”

You looked from her to the sky. “Yeah, I like it out here. It feels safe.”

She fiddled with her braid. “Safe? You don’t feel safe downstairs?”

Whoa, was that how you felt? You suddenly realized how your words had come across. “Oh. Um. Well, no, not all the time, but…” you trailed off. “I just have nightmares a lot, I guess. And those make me feel unsafe.”

“Miss y/n, I felt unsafe too, when I first came here.” Magda offered, coming to sit beside you on the blanket. She rested a freezing cold hand on your shoulder. “If I may, it took so many moons for me to finally feel like I belonged here, and could be comfortable allowing myself to be seen by people.”

She definitely understood how you felt. You still had trouble looking yourself in the eye in passing mirrors, from time to time. The horns were still such a foreign entity to you, and you often forgot that your eyes no longer had pupils or irises. 

“It’s so strange. Did you have trouble sleeping, too?” You asked, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. 

 She shook her head. “I don’t sleep, so I don’t have bad dreams, but believe me–” she opened her mouth and gestured to her missing tongue. “I had my own nightmare to adjust to.”

Fair enough. You wondered at that moment if it was appropriate to ask what had happened to her, but then her gaze shifted to the countryside below, and you sensed that the window of opportunity had closed. 

 

“I’m glad you can see me now,” she said after a few minutes of quiet. “I’m sorry for the circumstances that led you to it, though.”

You leaned your head on her frigid shoulder. “Death is death — this is what’s next for me. I’m just glad I can see you, too.”