21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
T he next morning, Rowan woke up tired, and in more pain than usual. She’d been tormented by nightmares, leaving her with very little sleep. Her back muscles were tightly coiled ropes of burning, throbbing pain. So much so that the familiar scents of wood and herbs in Cora’s cottage were unable to calm her troubled mind.
She rose stiffly from her bed, the wooden floorboards cool against her bare feet; memories from the previous day playing out in her thoughts. Casimir had come to her rescue, his supernatural abilities on full display as he defeated the vampires with ruthless precision. She struggled to make sense of how he could possess such bravery, tenderness, and compassion, yet also derive pleasure from causing harm and suffering. While the Reaper’s forces needed to be stopped, she questioned if the ends justified the means.
From her window, Rowan caught a glimpse of the rising sun, its vibrant crimson hues lightening the sky. She thought of the fervent warnings from her mother and Cora not to trust vampires. They made her doubt her instincts that told her Casimir was trustworthy. His duality as protector and predator left her feeling lost and unsure.
It wasn’t just the brutality that made her uneasy; it was the spark that ignited whenever they were near each other. The memory of his ravenous kisses and the feel of his touch made her cheeks flush, and a rush of warmth spread through her body. It was a primal desire, fierce and unrelenting, begging to be satisfied. But giving in to the magnetic pull between them could lead to her downfall.
Taking a deep breath, she made up her mind. She would prioritize logic over emotion from now on. The only constant in her life was her ability to rely on herself, and that was precisely what she would do. Her intellect and determination had helped her overcome countless challenges in the past.
With a slight tremble in her hand, she reached for the doorknob and gathered her courage before entering the hallway. The stillness of the cottage did nothing to soothe her nerves.
Casimir stood in the kitchen, his dark hair tousled and his piercing eyes shining with the familiar glint that always left her breathless. A wide grin stretched across his face as he saw her, revealing the elusive dimple on his left cheek. Under any other circumstance it would have melted away her defenses, but today, her heart turned to a block of ice.
“Good morning,” she said, her tone as cool as the morning air.
His dazzling smile faltered, his gaze searching hers. A momentary look of sorrow pulled down the corners of his mouth before he quickly masked it.
“Good morning. Is everything okay? Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes, and yes,” she replied, with a sharpness that showed her true feelings. “Everything’s perfectly fine.”
Cora entered the cottage, her round face flushed with an odd mix of triumph and fatigue. She joined Rowan at the scarred wooden table. The surface had a dual purpose, serving as both their dining area and a space for strategizing.
Cora gave Rowan a wink. “Finally awake, are we?”
Casimir cleared his throat. “I have news about Beth. The woman we rescued from the cave.”
“Is she . . .” Rowan trailed off.
“Safe and happy,” he assured them. “Her memories of the violence are gone, completely erased. She’s back with her children now, living the peaceful life she deserves.” He gave them a hint of a smile.
“How much did you take from her?” Rowan couldn’t hide the underlying note of concern in her voice.
Casimir’s eyes held hers. “Only the memories from yesterday, and the terror. I couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering any further.”
“Your ability is rare among your kind.” Cora leaned back, deep in thought. “The talent required to erase the horrors without causing damage is even rarer.”
“It’s a double-edged sword.” He gazed toward the window, where the rising sun was visible, its vibrant crimson hues painting streaks across the sky. “By protecting them, I end up carrying their traumatic memories.”
“That must be a heavy weight to bear.” Rowan tapped her foot restlessly, causing her chair to creak.
He gave a slight nod. “It’s a burden I bear willingly. Seeing Beth smile, untroubled and free . . . it reminds me why I’ve devoted my undead life to fighting against tyranny and oppression.”
Silence hung in the air for a few heartbeats. Then Cora spoke, her focus on Casimir. “I’ve been wrong about you. I’ve never seen a vampire act in such a selfless manner before.”
Casimir’s brows lifted slightly.
“I respect what you did for Beth,” Cora said. “And the loyalty and kindness you show Rowan. You do care, don’t you?”
“I do.” His eyes darted toward Rowan before he shuttered his expression behind his familiar stoicism.
The kitchen air became thick with unspoken thoughts and the looming presence of the world outside their little haven.
“There’s something else I need to tell the both of you.” Cora’s fingers drifted toward a small piece of parchment on the table. “The symbol you drew—I just got back from sharing it with my coven to see if they knew anything more than I did about it.”
“And?” Casimir probed.
“One of them recognized it. Eris first saw it in a rare book many years ago. The sigil is old, very old, and deeply connected to the supernatural world. Not only is it tied to your family, Rowan, but it’s also connected to a figure both revered and feared in ancient folklore. The written account referred to her as the Queen of the Dead.”
Rowan blanched. “And this queen . . . you think she’s somehow connected to me?”
Cora nodded. “I believe so. The book of folklore Eris told me about was ancient, its pages filled with tales nearly forgotten. It’s preserved in a library outside of Stonehaven. Her memory isn’t as good as it used to be, but she recalled the reverence with which the Queen of the Dead was written about—a powerful entity capable of commanding armies of the undead.”
Casimir tilted his head slightly as he considered Cora’s words. “Folktales are passed down through the ages, from one generation to the next. The responsibility of preserving history used to fall to storytellers, who safeguarded the wisdom for future generations.” He glanced at Rowan as he spoke. “Despite their efforts, each retelling of the stories lost or altered some details, leaving behind only fragments of the original truth. As writing became more prevalent, storytellers faded away into the annals of history, but the most important tales were preserved in ancient scrolls and books.”
“Does this mean . . .” Rowan trailed off, unable to find the words to express the multitude of questions swirling in her thoughts.
“Your gift, your ability to bridge the space separating life and death—it may very well stem from her legacy,” Cora said. “It’s speculative, but that book could hold the answers to who you truly are. It’s a chance to understand the full scope of your abilities.”
Rowan stood abruptly. “Then we need to find it.”
“Aye.” Casimir rose to match her stance. “It may hold the key to unlocking your full potential and stopping the Reaper from destroying more lives.”
“You two should go right away. I’ll stay behind. My tavern, these streets—they’re my realm.” Cora gestured toward her tavern. “I can recruit allies for the coming battle. Several formidable witches regularly gather at my place to drown their sorrows. Some of them have connections to larger covens in the area, which could be beneficial.” She was already on her feet, rearranging her worn apron and rolling up her sleeves. “They could be waiting for a cause like this.”
“All right,” Casimir said. “We’ll split up to divide and conquer. Rowan and I will travel to Stonehaven. If we’re lucky, the Brotherhood hasn’t discovered the book we’re looking for. It’s the type of information they wouldn’t hesitate to burn if they got their hands on it.”
Rowan surveyed the two of them, her teeth clenched in determination. “Then let’s not waste any more time. If that book can help us understand more about my power and how to use it against the Reaper, we need to find it, no matter what.”
“I’ll do my part here,” Cora said. “If anyone can rally the witches, it’s me. They owe me enough favors.” She smirked devilishly before leaving to attend to the tavern.
Rowan felt the void of her departure, but the urgency of her own preparations consumed her. She packed her meager belongings, carefully arranging them in her satchel. She took much longer than needed, deliberately avoiding the inevitable conversation that hung over her like a dark cloud.
“Rowan.” Casimir’s deep voice broke through her concentration as he approached. His movements were fluid and unnervingly quiet. He paused, raking a hand through his black hair, the tension between them almost tangible.
“Before we leave . . .” Rowan fidgeted with her sleeve. “We need to talk about your offer. ”
His piercing gaze locked onto hers, and she had to suppress a shiver, fighting her body’s traitorous response to him.
“I’ve thought about it—about becoming like you,” she said. “But I’ve decided to decline. I can’t let go of who I am, not now and not ever. I don’t want to lose my humanity. I don’t want to become . . . what you are.”
Casimir’s expression cracked. A hurt that reached beyond the centuries etched itself into his ageless features.
“I won’t lie to you and say that I’m not disappointed.” His voice was strained, as if he were fighting against physical pain. “But I understand, and I respect your decision.”
“I still want us to remain friends and allies.” Rowan’s stomach twisted in on itself. She was afraid of pushing Casimir away with her refusal; she desperately wanted him to remain in her life. But could she expect him to stay after this?
He clasped her hand in reassurance. “You’ll always have my friendship and my alliance.”
Rowan exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging in relief. But there could be no more stolen glances or lingering touches. From now on, there could only be a united effort toward their common goal.