Chapter 20 Aurora #2
Despite the arched ceiling, the bedroom felt suffocating.
Furniture made of massive dark wood, polished to almost mirror shine, crowded every spare space.
A tall wardrobe ran along one wall, stopping an inch shy of the ornate door to the ensuite.
Opposite stood a dresser and desk separated by a black marble mantel.
A small fire crackled inside the hearth beneath, spreading a pleasant fragrance.
I crouched to smell the potpourri sachets hanging from the fire grate, my skin tight from the tension radiating from Radu’s silent form.
It dawned on me it wasn’t patchouli I’d smelled before but a mixture of spices and herbs left to heat near the flames.
Standing up, I craned my head back and stared at the familiar portrait nailed on the wall. Cold washed through my middle. Fear crawled up my spine and sent tingles of apprehension racing down my legs.
“Radu, where did you bring us?” I choked out, shaking my head and denying what my mind had already accepted.
This got his attention.
His steps were silent as he returned by my side, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. He studied the painting with cold, calculating eyes before turning to me. “Where I was supposed to. You know him?”
I gave him a stilted nod, my tongue suddenly thick in my mouth.
The man in the oil painting was probably close to four hundred at the time of commission, but it was hard to tell.
His hair, jet-black with a faint green undertone, was cut just long enough to style, although he hadn’t bothered.
No gray yet. His face was clean-shaven, not a hint of shadow to darken his angular jaw.
A tall forehead, big nose, thin mouth, and scarlet eyes under thick, bushy eyebrows.
Not conventionally handsome, but powerful.
The first face you see when the Master of Keys grants you free passage into the First Administrative Ward.
“Marcel Hansen, my cousin Victoria’s betrothed,” I hissed and turned to clutch his arm, giving it a little shake. “Damn it, Radu! You brought us to the Obayifo’s house!”
Fire kindled in his stare at the panic in my words. “I’ve no idea who that is, princess. But this,” he twirled his finger in the air, and I caught his other hand clench into a fist before he hid it behind his back, “used to be Ma’s house—see that?”
Grabbing my hand, he pulled me to the double glass doors by the bed, pointing from the large balcony stretching outside to the colossal building perched on the hill.
“Corvin Palace,” I gasped. “This is where you watched the fireworks from?” My palms pressed against the cool glass, my eyes glued on my childhood home.
Floodlights placed at strategic points on the ground bathed the building in warm light, making it look even more imposing. A sense of longing thickened my throat.
Radu’s voice went quiet in that way that promised blood. “Yeah. Me and Conin, Ma and Dad. The whole family celebrated along with their killers.”
I stared at his hard profile in silence, watching the muscle in his jaw feather with tension. The pain radiating from him was almost tangible, and without thinking, I reached out and touched his arm. He startled at the contact but didn’t pull away.
The massive expanse of the mansion was a testament to two things: the owners were rich, and they liked people to know it. But from my knowledge, it had always been the Obayifo’s, first cousin to Anastasia Hansen, and second in line to inherit the throne when Dracula’s rule ended.
“You’re a Hansen,” I whispered, and the shock sent my heart racing.
I searched his face for the truth I should have seen before.
“Radu, you’re royal! Your mother was either a sibling or a first cousin.
Sweet Derzelas!” I covered my mouth, gaping at him with wide eyes.
“Anastasia’s grandparents are on the Council…
They sentenced their own blood to death—”
That realization ripped right through me.
I felt like parchment that someone had split down the middle, folded the two halves together, and torn apart again.
They’d failed her. Dear God, they had failed as the heads of their coven.
Sacrificed a daughter, and for what? For trying to right their mistakes? For making the world a better place?
The balcony door rattled as Radu flattened me against the glass, his hand covering mine where it still rested against my mouth. His body was a wall of heat and tension against me, but his touch remained careful.
“Shh, princess. None of that matters now.” His breath was warm against my ear, and I suppressed a shiver. “I’m a Lowe, I’ll die a Lowe. All I’ve got from them is a pair of fangs and red annoying eyes.”
“And immortality,” I mumbled behind our joined hands.
He pulled away with a grunt, but his gaze lingered on my face as if he were memorizing it. “That’s debatable. But we don’t have time for that.” Raising his palm between us, he wiggled his fingers. “Your hand. I don’t want you getting even an inch away from me.”
My heart did a somersault at the casual possessiveness, and I had to bite my tongue to not let it show.
The way he said it—not demanding, just stating a fact—made my pulse skip.
I complied and rested my palm flat in his, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest at how perfectly our fingers fit together.
Just then, loud, merry chatter echoed somewhere in the house, and my poor heart, which barely had time to slow down, jumpstarted again.
Radu’s grip on my hand tightened. The mansion had four floors in total, three above ground and one buried six feet below, presumably for the cellar—or at least that was what the official papers said.
According to gossip?
It was a place of debauchery, intended for orgies, mass feedings, drugs, and various indulgences. While not illegal, if the rumors proved true, it would mean social suicide for the Master of Keys. Hence the secrecy.
But to each their own.
The commotion grew closer. Someone tripped, the sound of rushed heavy footsteps thudding down the hallway. More than one woman chuckled, but only one cooed between bouts of laughter, “Marcel, dear, I told you not to mix the wine with the stardust. Let’s put you to bed.”
He growled, snapped his teeth, and gave chase. The ladies squeaked in fright, faking like the talented actresses they were, and tapped high heels across the floorboards. Shadows flickered in the light flooding beneath the doors.
Something glinted in my periphery, and I snapped my head back to Radu.
Clutched firmly in his other hand was the sunsteel blade, his expression purely murderous.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes even as a deep-seated fear—not for my life, but for Marcel’s—pooled in my stomach.
I couldn’t care less what happened to him.
He was a despicable man who took advantage of young, defenseless women.
But his murder would be a complication we couldn’t afford.
“If I asked, real nice with a cherry on top, would you please not kill them?” I said, gently lowering his arm. The muscles beneath my palm coiled like springs, ready to strike.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and the hunger there made it difficult to breathe, to concentrate, to resist him.
Then footsteps approached the door.
I had to get my head straight. The door handle jiggled, followed by the thud of someone colliding with the wood.
“Blink once for yes,” I mouthed.
Another crash against the door. Radu didn’t hesitate, slid the blade into its sheath and yanked the balcony doors open.
Before I knew it, my cape billowed in the wind as we perched on the stone railing. His arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me as the voices grew louder.
“Don’t let go,” he mouthed, his grip on my hand growing firm and reassuring.
The bedroom lock clicked open.
We jumped.
Two acres of perfectly manicured garden rushed up to meet us, crisscrossed by immaculate pathways and trimmed evergreen bushes.
Adrenaline flooded my veins as I heard the giggles not far behind us, and we landed near a granite statue of a robust woman playing a harp.
Radu was already moving, pulling me after him through shadows cast by jasmine-heavy trellises.
Purple clusters of wisteria hung above our heads like festival decorations, their sweet fragrance following us to the line of cedars bordering the property.
We vaulted over the stone fence into the narrow alleyway beyond.
“That was close.” I laughed, breathless from the rush.
Radu’s gruff chuckle stunned me into silence, and I felt the stroke of his laughter deep inside where no one should have been able to reach.
The shadows were thick around us, hiding his face beneath the hood.
But hearing that sound from him was as rare as finding a natural pearl.
It reached a space I’d kept locked away, the part of me that remembered what it felt like to feel safe, to feel joy without the fear of sudden loss.
“Let’s not do that again,” he said, studying the cobbled path that led down to the street below. The iron-cast lamp at the corner flickered and hummed. “Down?”
“Down.”
Radu went first—the three-foot passage couldn’t fit us both. Tall sandstone walls loomed over us, covered in blankets of five-leafed ivy.
Nostalgia mellowed my euphoria. I’d walked these passages as a child, searching for every hidden route in the Republic. In autumn all that green would turn blood-red.
“I’d pay good money to hear your thoughts right now,” Radu said, halting at the junction.
“Take a left, then a first right.” I was relieved to see that we were alone. “We’re in the district next to Ravenwood Heights. The lane we just came from—I used to call them secret passages.”
“Secret passages?” Amusement colored his tone.
“When I was five, I’d sneak out my window to explore without anyone knowing.” We cornered onto the next street, where a few people walked on the far side, faces turned away from us. “It was all in my head, of course. Father ordered the royal guards to trail me, but they kept their distance.”
“And you were looking for?”
“Every hidden route to the palace. To protect my kingdom.” I raised my chin proudly. “No one entered my realm without me knowing.”
“Stubborn brat.” His laugh was low, warm. “Nothing’s changed.”
Before I could retort, hurried footsteps echoed from Nightshade Crescent. Radu tensed, pulling me closer to the wall.
“Eyes forward. Keep moving,” I whispered.
The stranger turned right at Midnight Mist, disappearing from view. We climbed steep stairs, passing a group of cloaked purebloods who threw curious glances our way before dismissing us.
Three blocks later, Radu’s mood darkened.
“Such comfortable lives,” he muttered, surveying the polished facades around us, “built on halfblood blood.”
Guilt flooded my body. It hit me like a winter fog, thick and murky. What must he think, returning to this wealth after decades of war? I glanced around, hyperaware of our privileges—the trimmed gardens, the pristine streets, the safety we took for granted.
“These families work for the government,” I said quietly. “Army officers, administrators. Selena’s parents live on the street over.”
He didn’t respond.
We walked in silence, fingers still linked, crossing streets when crowds grew thick. Ancient sycamores obscured the moon, their mottled trunks so wide that three purebloods holding palms couldn’t span them.
“These trees are four centuries old,” I babbled, nerves making my mouth run. “In another century, they’ll cut them down and replant. Urban forestry management cycles every—”
The sigh of annoyance he released was long and meaningful.
“Am I talking too much?” I felt the night air grow colder. A storm was moving in, and I stifled the shiver that threatened to roll through me.
“Just a bit.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Sorry. Adrenaline makes me chatty.”
“I noticed.” Despite his dry delivery, his thumb kept tracing reassuring circles on the back of my hand.
The gesture was becoming comforting.
Finally, the street sign I’d been waiting for appeared. Sable Street cut left—a one-way alley, wide enough for a motorized vehicle, though few bothered with wheeled transport when Darklings could travel faster.
“We’re here!” I squeezed his fingers too tight, and he hissed through his teeth. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—Moonlight Terrace is right at the end. We should see the fountain in—”
Something rustled behind us. Charcoal and sage filled the night air, and my insides clenched like a fist.
“Stop right there!”