“I am trying to earn your forgiveness, Rosalia. If it requires me to kill every Blood Hunter I encounter in avenging your mother’s death, then I shall do so without hesitation.”
“I never asked you to do this.” Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. “You are frightening me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I instinctively backed away, placing the dining table between us. “You need to leave, Draven, now.”
Draven stood before me, his form shrouded in shadows cast by the dim candlelight, his eyes reflecting an emptiness.
“Please, Rosalia. You must listen to understand. I need your forgiveness.”
“I cannot,” I replied, my voice wavering as tears continued to blur my vision. “Not like this. Not when you bring death and violence into our home.”
Draven’s shoulders slumped. “I apologize. I want to make it right.”
And with that, he turned and left, leaving me and the sacks of Blood Hunter heads.
Perhaps it was time to leave, to escape the confines of this mansion that had become a breeding ground for nightmares. But where could I go? With nowhere to turn, I felt trapped in the labyrinth of my own uncertainty.
October 24, 1891
I retrieved the crucifix Vail had given me from its hiding place under my mattress. I clasped it around my neck, its weight a comforting reminder of protection. I took out my father’s journal and struggled to decipher the smudged ink. Each word felt like a lifeline, a way to protect myself from my husband while I tried to figure out what to do next.
I tucked his dagger into the waist of my skirt; it gave me a sense of security even though I knew it would not harm Draven. As I gripped the doorknob, a wave of fear washed over me, but I pushed it aside as I opened the door.
I stepped into the hallway, and I was met with a breathtaking sight. Bunches of bouquets adorned the tables and floor, their vibrant colours and delicate petals casting a kaleidoscope of hues amidst the dim light. Some of the flowers were unfamiliar to me, their exotic beauty a stark contrast to the dreary surroundings of the mansion. It was clear that Draven had placed them there as a gesture of apology, and I could not help but wonder where he had obtained such rare blooms.
Though tempted to linger and admire their beauty, I knew I could not afford to be distracted. With a quick glance, I tore my gaze away from the bouquets and continued down the stairs, each step echoing in the silence of the mansion.
I approached the heavy, dusty curtains of the hallways and as I walked, I pulled each one open, letting the daylight flood in, illuminating for the first time in what I suspected was a very long time, the dim walls and paintings. No longer would this place be shrouded in darkness. Satisfied with mysmall task. If I was going to live in this house, I was determined to make it a place of comfort.
After my failed attempt at killing Draven, I decided to ward my room. I did not want him to enter whenever he pleased.
Standing on a chair, I meticulously arranged the stolen garlic from the kitchen around my bedroom door. A hushed chuckle from behind startled me. I whirled around to find Draven standing a few feet away from me, his presence seemingly materializing out of thin air.
“What are you doing, Rosalia?” Draven asked.
“I am protecting myself,” I told him.
“With what?”
“Garlic,” I retorted, my voice tinged with frustration as I secured the last strand.
He regarded me with an inscrutable expression, his gaze unwavering. “Yes, but why are you putting it around your bedroom door?”
“So, you will not feel entitled to enter whenever you wish.”
Draven’s expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and mild amusement danced in his eyes. He took a step closer to the garlic braids and crucifixes adorning my bedroom door, but made no attempt to enter.
“Is that what you believe, Rosalia?” he asked.
I nodded, trying to hide the unease that was gnawing at me. “Yes, I do not want you coming in without my permission.”
Draven’s lips curved into a faint smile, revealing his sharp fangs. “You are quite resourceful, I will give you that,” he remarked. “However, do you truly believe these superstitions can keep me out?”
I hesitated for a moment, torn between my fear and the desire to stand my ground. “I do not know,” I admitted, myvoice wavering. “However, I have to try, Draven. I need a sense of security.”
He studied me for a moment, his gaze unwavering. “I understand,” he finally said, his tone softer. “But need I remind you, Rosalia, I would never harm you. I may be what I am, but you are my wife, and I would do anything to protect you.” He was closer to me now, our bodies almost touching.
“I fear as though I may have gone too far yesterday. And I am sorry that I frightened you,” he said.
His words tugged at my conflicted emotions. I wanted to believe him, to trust that the man I had married was still in there somewhere, but the revelations about his true nature had shaken me to the core.
