Leaving the dining room, I ventured down the dimly lit hallways. Portraits of what I assumed were Draven’s ancestors adorned the walls in this part of the house. Their eyes followed my every step, and I couldn’t help but feel I was being watched. I had to remind myself it was the nature of such portraits to appear lifelike. Amidst the framed faces, I discerned an uncanny resemblance to Draven. The similarity seized my attention. My gaze locked onto the painted eyes of one particular portrait, and a subtle twist coiled in the pit of my stomach. Tearing my gaze away, I continued down the hall.
Having found my way back to my chambers, I eased myself into the hot, soothing water of the bath, scents of lavender enveloping me. As I settled into the warmth and aroma, my eyes closed. But before I could fully relax, my heart stirred with the pang of remembrance of Draven’s words. I had been asleep for two days. Only two days had passed since the haunting events.
Visions of my mother’s lifeless form flooded my mind, and my eyes snapped open. I looked down at my hands, noticing remnants of dirt beneath my nails. A cold urgency washed over me, and I grabbed a brush, scrubbing my nails furiously. I didn’t stop until part of my nail began to lift, and a bead of red blood formed underneath. Grief surged through me, and the dam holding back my emotions finally broke. Quiet sobs escaped as I wept in the water, mourning the loss of my mother. Along with the sorrow, there was an odd, heavy relief, a silent acknowledgment that the Blood Hunter who had taken her from me would never find me here.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself out of the water. My eyes felt puffy, and I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my body. I returned to the bedroom, my gaze landing upon my father’s weathered journal on the nightstand.
I opened the book—the pages were still wet from the river. The ink was smudged, and the once meticulous notes and drawings were now a swirling dance of black on parchment. Certain notes were still legible amongst the chaos, and key words stood out to me:blood, thirst, sunlight.I closed the book and lifted the mattress, gently tucking the journal beneath it.
I couldn’t shake the weight settling heavily on my chest. The grief over my mother’s death and the questions surrounding Draven overwhelmed me. I longed for the comforting familiarity of my home and the warm presence of my mother.
Feeling emotionally drained, I climbed into bed feeling the need to retreat beneath the covers, shutting out the world for a little while longer.
I pulled the blankets up and over my head, cocooning myself in the warmth and darkness. Slowly, my racing thoughts began to calm. The world beyond was a world without my mother. Cold and uninviting, and I did not wish to return to it. I closed my eyes, letting sleep overtake me.
NINE
January 1, 2010
Upon waking up, a wave of disorientation washed over me before I remembered I was in Vail’s house. A glimmer on the side table drew my gaze. My garnet and silver necklace lay on it, and beside it was a small note in Vail’s handwriting that read,“For you.”Vail must have slipped it there while I was asleep.
I clasped it around my neck, the weight settling against my clavicle with a quiet reassurance, as if it were a long-lost friend returned. It had been years since I’d given my mother’s necklace to Vail, a decision I had once believed to be right, but the regret of that choice had clung to me every day since.
I dressed quickly and then entered the living room to find Vail stirring a small cauldron, engaged in conversation with someone I assumed was George. Turning to face me, his onyx eyes sparkled as he smiled, revealing sharp fangs against blood-red lips. Like any Vampire, he possessed striking features. His skin, though untouched by the sun, bore a subtle tan, complementing his long, dark hair cascading gracefully over his shoulders. A small cream beanie crowned his head, paired with a denim coat.
“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” he greeted.
“Good evening, you must be George,” I replied, taking a seat beside him on the couch. “I’m Rose.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” George’s voice sang, and I saw the look he flashed to Vail. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The way he said it, it felt like he already had an idea of who I was—or some sort of version of me.
What exactly did Vail tell him about me?
George slid closer, offering me a sip of his drink. “Want some?”
I hesitated, and a sliver of unease crossed my face as I took the cup.
Was it just casual talk, or did Vail tell him things about me … things about us?
Vail’s voice cut in from the cauldron, “Don’t bother. She hates cold blood.”
I shot Vail a glance, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “It’s not that I hate it,” I said, forcing a smile and taking a sip. The cold liquid settled heavily in my stomach. “It’s just … not my favourite.”
George raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on my discomfort. “You sure? Looks like you’re about to gag.”
“I told you she hates it,” Vail teased, laughing. “Rosie, I know you too well for you to pretend.”
Thatwasthe problem. Vaildidknow me too well. Better than anyone.
“Sorry. I didn’t want to be rude,” I apologized, handing George back his cup.
He chuckled, his eyes softening with understanding. I glanced at Vail, who was still focused on whatever she was brewing in the cauldron.
“What are you making?” I asked her.
“My memory potion,” Vail said casually. I thought I recognized the warm, spicy aroma wafting from it. “Do you want some?” she offered.
