I am no longer the girl I once was. That girl was fragile, hidden behind walls of fear and uncertainty. But now, I’ve unraveled parts of myself I didn’t know existed. I am stronger. I am more. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes as I cling tighter to those memories, to the lives they represent. My heart clenches painfully. I can’t lose them. I can’t loseanyof them.
The chill creeps into my fingertips, a biting cold that crawls up my arms and settles deep into my bones. Callum’s hand tightens around mine as though he can feel the strain I’m under. I open my eyes to meet his, the silent promise of his loyalty etched into his expression. Beside me, Casper’s eyes pierce through me, filled with an ache so profound it mirrors my own. I think of the dagger he returned to me in the woods, the way his voice softened as I pressed it to his throat. I think of how, in that moment, I wanted to kiss him more than anything else in the world.
The memories pour into me, raw and overwhelming. The cold deepens, tightening around my ribs. A sob escapes before I can stop it, my emotions threatening to pull me under. My vision blurs, tears streaking down my face as the enormity of what I’m attempting—what I’m risking—sinks in.
The library.
I focus on it, on the place that once felt like my sanctuary. Iremember hiding with Jason, our whispered laughter echoing among the towering shelves. I remember the warmth of the firelight on my skin, the comfort of the stories I buried myself in, the way those walls held a safety I never found anywhere else. It wasn’t just a place—it washope. My last connection to something innocent, untouched by the darkness of my father’s ambitions.
The portal stabilizes, a shimmering doorway of light that pulses with unsteady energy. My body trembles, every muscle strained, every nerve stretched thin.
“You’re almost there,”I whisper to myself.
And then, with one last surge of power, the portal bursts open fully. The underground library stretches before me, the faint scent of parchment and dust wrapping around me like a balm. My magic is draining fast, the cold settling deeper into my bones, but I take one step forward. Then another. The portal closes behind me, the last tendrils of my magic dissipating with it.
For a moment, I stand frozen as I fight to catch my breath. The effort of supporting the portal is close to breaking me. My legs tremble beneath me, and before I can stop it, my knees buckle. I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of a nearby desk, the wood cool and solid beneath my palms.
The air is different here—heavy, cold, and silent. I exhale, and my breath clouds in front of me, pale and fleeting. A chill seeps into my bones, slow and relentless, until it wraps around my lungs like a vise. I press a hand to my heart, feeling the ice spread with every breath I take. My fingertips burn with the numbness of overused magic, and my shoulders shiver despite the still air around me. It feels like my very essence has been wrung out, leaving nothing but an aching emptiness behind.
But I made it.
A small, shaky smile pulls at my lips as I glance around the room, relief washing over me like a wave. The familiar scent of aged parchment and ink greets me, mingling with the faint mustiness of stone walls untouched by the sun. It’s just as I remember it—the toweringshelves, the dim light that once made this space feel infinite. I’m here.I actually made it.
I close my eyes, letting the reality of my success sink in. My chest tightens, not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming emotions. Callum’s steady grip, and Casper’s piercing gaze—I made itbecauseof them. The thought keeps me grounded, even as my body feels like it’s falling apart.
My fingers curl around the desk for support as I try to stand fully upright. My knees protest, weak and unsteady, but I force myself to take one step. Then another, my boots echoing softly against the cold stone floor. I wave my hand with what little magic I have left, and the candles flicker to life, their soft glow illuminating the towering shelves. Shadows dance across the ancient tomes, and the library feels alive, as though it’s waiting for me to find what I came for.
Another breath escapes me, visible in the icy air. My lungs feel like they’re coated in frost, each inhale a painful reminder of how much I’ve pushed myself. I wrap my arms around my torso, trying to shake off the cold that’s embedded itself deep within. My vision swims briefly, but I grit my teeth and press forward.
This place holds answers—I can feel it. Somewhere among these shelves is the book Malachi described. The bleeding tree, its roots stained crimson. It’s here.It has to be. Even as my legs threaten to give out again, I press on, dragging myself deeper into the library’s embrace. A place that once felt safe and warm now feels like a ghost of what it used to be. All that remains is purpose. I have to find the book. Iwillfind it.
The chill bites harder as I move, but I don’t stop. The thought of the world waiting on the other side of this task spurs me forward.
I move my arms up and down, trying to shake off the chill. The cold has sunk so deep into my bones that it feels permanent, and every breath comes out in pale puffs of frost. My boots scrape against the stone as I make my way toward the back of the library, where the older, more fragile tomes are stored. Each aisle looms like a canyon of secrets, the towering shelves casting long, dark shadows.
I scan the spines of the books, my scarred fingers brushing against the brittle leather bindings. Each step feels heavier than the last, the chill growing more agonizing, and my head lighter with every moment. My body protests, but I can’t stop. I can’t fail. Somewhere in these aisles, the answers are waiting. I just have to find them. My thoughts spiral as I search—endless, gnawing questions filling the void left by exhaustion.
No matter how meticulously I comb through these texts, there’s nothing. No spell, no ritual—nothing that offers a way to break a blood lineage curse. This magic isn’t ordinary; it’s ancient, vast, and merciless. Curses like this aren’t cast lightly. They’re binding, monstrous, and designed to endure. My mind races as I trail my hand along the dusty shelves.
Who?I wonder.What witch cursed this family, and why?
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m chasing shadows, that the answers I need are just out of reach. I glance toward the far-right side of the library, where the volumes on royal vampire bloodlines are housed. If previous vampire royalty employed witches, as my father once did, maybe there’s something here—a hint, a thread to pull.
But my father didn’t just employ witches. He used them. He sought power—always power. Every alliance he forged, every decision he made, was driven by his insatiable hunger to dominate. My role in his empire was no exception. He claimed me as his daughter—not truly, but in name—shaping me into a weapon he could wield. He gave me power, made me feel like I belonged to something greater. He never demanded my loyalty because he didn’t have to. I gave it willingly, because he made me believe in something more.
Even now, I can’t untangle the complicated truth of what he was. He wasn’t cruel to me, not like he was to others. With me, there was something softer, something almost human. And yet, that same man who could show me love without hesitation wouldn’t think twice about destroying anyone—or anything—that stood in his way.
I grip the edge of a shelf to steady myself. My vision swims again, and I stumble, my shoulder hitting the corner of a shelf. I wince but push forward. I have to keep going. The books blur together as I search, the spines and titles blending into a sea ofwords that offer no answers. My breaths come out in shallow bursts, each exhale visible in the icy air. My legs tremble as I move deeper into the library, the cold wrapping tighter around me. My body feels like it’s shutting down, but I can’t stop now. Not when I’m so close.
The memory of Malachi’s words echoes in my mind.The book with the bleeding tree. Its roots were crimson.I can picture it, clear as day, even though I’ve never seen it. I press forward, each step a battle against the cold and exhaustion threatening to pull me under.
And then, something catches my eye. A title that doesn’t belong here.
The Dire Royal Family.
My breath hitches, my chest tightening at the sight of the name. The Dires were human—mortals. They shouldn’t be in this section, amidst the histories of vampires. My fingers hover over the worn leather cover, trembling slightly as they brush against it. A bitter taste rises in my throat, and memories I’ve fought to bury claw their way to the surface.
I hesitate, my pulse quickening. My teeth clench as I take a steadying breath, finally pulling the book from the shelf. The leather feels rough beneath my fingertips, heavier than it has any right to be. It’s not just a record of history—it’s a piece of my past, staring back at me like a ghost I’ve tried to forget.
