CHAPTER NINETEEN
19
Morwenna
Draven’s words echoed through my head, a relentless drumbeat keeping sleep at bay.
The man was a walking threat, capable of ending anyone’s life with a snap of his fingers.
And Daniel... why, oh why, did he try to poison him if he wasn’t even competent enough to do it right?
It rankled. Daniel, the one who spent half his life at the gym, boasting about his size, had confessed his fear of the entire Vimic family on multiple occasions. Yet, here he was, attempting to poison one of them?
Now, don’t get me wrong. Before becoming Draven’s servant, I swore vengeance. A silent vow to poison at least one of them before my final breath. But serving Draven somehow changed things. Hatred, I realized, was a more potent poison than any concoction Daniel could have brewed.
Thinking back, Daniel’s plan reeked of stupidity. Muscles might have bulked him up, but they were no match for a vampire’s power. If Draven hadn’t located the would-be poisoner, it meant one thing: Daniel was still out there, his rescue attempt likely to blow up in his own face.
If I could warn him. If I could.
I used the word ‘if’ knowing that, as usual, I’m just wishfully thinking something that wouldn’t come true.
I don’t think I’m leaving here anytime soon. Not under Draven’s rules.
He’d granted me a moment to catch my breath, a much-needed respite. The horrifying images of the servants, slaughtered by the vampire guards at his command, still haunted my memory, sparking a chilling thought: would he do the same to Daniel? The fear was undeniable.
In the six months we’d dated, I’d never felt anything for Daniel, yet I was strangely relieved to be free of him. I’d always feared the consequences of a breakup, not from Daniel himself, but from the potential severing of ties with my mother. Not that she needed his protection – the Vimic family had her covered – but Daniel’s stepbrother, the mayor’s son, was a fool with surprising connections. It was through these connections that Daniel kept my mother, so dependent on him, afloat.
But I didn’t need him. I wasn’t truly dependent, even if I spent my days lazing around, playing video games, and writing a twenty-thousand-word script plotting the downfall of the Vimic family. That was before.
Being away from Daniel had been… liberating, to say the least. It wasn’t that I enjoyed being kept here under Draven’s watchful gaze (though I secretly did), but I needed the space.
Now, witnessing Draven’s possessiveness firsthand terrified me.
I didn’t want Daniel dead.
The thought of Daniel’s death hangs over me like a shroud, a constant reminder of the precariousness of his situation.
While he may be considered family by the mayor, their bond is tenuous at best.
Daniel’s status as a step-son, a product of an extramarital affair, casts a long shadow.
The mayor, Franklin, may have provided him with a job (though the specifics remain shrouded in mystery), but any true affection seems to be absent.
The media paints a rosy picture of Franklin as a supportive father figure, but the reality is far more complex. He’s easily swayed by the vampires, his loyalty shifting like desert sands. It’s this very fickleness that fuels my fear for Daniel’s safety. The man’s shallowness and susceptibility to manipulation make him an unreliable protector.
The weight of potential responsibility for Daniel’s fate is crushing. He doesn’t deserve the danger he faces, and the thought of his demise is a constant source of torment.
My mind races, searching for solutions, but the fog of uncertainty clouds my thoughts.
Squeezing my eyelids shut, I tried to conjure anything, anything at all, that could chase away the gnawing fear. But all I saw through the darkness was a haunting vision: a pair of emerald eyes and a violet eye staring back at me.
Heterochromia.
It had been a curse I thought I’d finally escaped, thanks to the powerful amulet crafted by a skilled witch.
Yet, here it was, haunting me once again.
The sight of those eyes jolts me back to reality.
I want to check a mirror, to see if my eyes have changed, but the mere thought of approaching it fills me with dread.
Even the room itself gives me the creeps.
Despite the comfort of the large bed, which is a luxury for a servant like me, I would rather stay in a small, uncomfortable space than this... room. Its comfort only fuels my nightmares.
I touch my neck to check if the amulet is still there, hoping it will reassure me that my eyes are their normal shade of violet. But it was gone. Vanished.
Oh no.
Panic clawed at me as I searched frantically for my amulet.
My fingers traced the bare skin of my neck, but it was gone.
I sat up, my heart pounding, and ran my hands over the bed, desperate to find it. Where could it have gone? I didn’t remember taking it off, which meant my eyes were… back to their unnatural green and violet hues.
Oh, fuck this shit.
I scoured the mattress, my eyes adjusting to the darkness.
Then, in the far corner of the room, I saw it: two pairs of crimson eyes staring back at me from the doorway.
Draven.
I felt his cold presence, smelled it, sensed it.
His presence was a suffocating weight in the air, his scent musky and ancient.
He was there, and I had no idea how long he’d been watching. Had he noticed the unnatural color of my eyes?
That thought was enough to freeze me in place.
I sat rigidly on the bed, my gaze downcast, refusing to meet his.
It was my eyes I was hiding, and surely he knew it. He noticed.
I expected him to leave, but that hope quickly dwindled.
He remained, a dangerous presence, as if he could drain me of blood with a single glance.
His hungry crimson eyes held me captive.
I shuddered, wondering what he was going to do next because... he was watching me.
Crimson embers. That’s what his eyes were - a chilling reflection of a vampire’s hunger that went beyond mere sustenance.
It craved lust, consumption, destruction, and a whole smorgasbord of other terrifying things I couldn’t even name.
Yet, in those terrifying crimson depths, something else flickered. Something unlisted, uncategorized, and undeniably unsettling.
Right now, those eyes were locked on mine. Would he drain me like those unfortunate human servants? The uncertainty gnawed at me.
After all, he was a vampire-witch, a creature whose motivations were as murky as a moonless night. What brought him to this… room?
He watched. Studied me. As if dissecting my very soul, unearthing every thought, every tremor of emotion. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. And like a fool, I met his gaze, desperately searching for a glimpse of his intentions.
Damn my curiosity.
A jolt of panic shot through me as I just remembered my amulet isn’t on my neck, and without it, it’s hard to hide my heterochromia. That means he’s seen my eyes. Panic clawed at my throat. I had to break eye contact. Not just for my sanity, but because staring at one of the most alluring and dangerous creatures on the planet was a fool’s game.
Apparently, I was developing a rather impressive resistance to his charms. An anomaly, indeed.
As I break the gaze, my hand darted around on the bed, searching for anything to shield my face.
Anything, anything, anything, Morwenna! I screamed in my mind.
My gaze landed on the discarded blanket. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
I yanked it up, the coarse fabric muffling the frantic thump of my heart, and pulled it over my head.
Did it help? Not a chance. But in that moment, it was the only defense I had. I wasn’t a witch like Elara, who could flick her wrist and vanish into thin air.
My biggest wish? For him to simply disappear. Every cell in my body screamed with a primal fear that echoed from the massacre he’d just enacted on those humans. The thought of him harming Daniel sent another wave of shivers down my spine. And now, his proximity, the intensity of his gaze… it was making my skin crawl.
I pulled the blanket tighter, a childhood fear battling with the present terror. As a child, darkness and blankets had always been a suffocating combination.
Yet, trapped in this horrifying present, the familiar discomfort was a small price to pay for a modicum of concealment.
A ragged breath escaped my lips, my eyelashes heavy from the frantic fluttering they hadn’t stopped doing.
My chest rose and fell with a weary rhythm, a strange mix of exhaustion and...a cold, calculating alertness.
“It’s alright, Morwenna,” I murmured, the words a desperate mantra for my own sanity. “He won’t stay long. He’ll leave, eventually.”
The cadence of my self-assurance faltered the moment the thunder of his footsteps echoed.
Shit.
He’s coming closer.
This is the opposite of the calming mantra I’m trying to play in my head.
His steps falter, and my chest sinks, hoping he’s going to retreat and leave the room. But I’m so... damn wrong. His steps resume, coming closer and closer, causing my heart to pound so loudly that anyone nearby could hear it. He could probably hear it too.
Fuck. My plans are failing.
It’s either he kills me now by draining my blood or he makes me suck his dick again. Even though I don’t want to feel him fucking the hell out of my throat again. I can’t deny that my body, a traitor in its own right, seems to possess a perverse yearning for the very sensations I so desperately loathe.
My eyelids squeezed shut, desperate to banish the heated, illicit desires flickering within me. But instead of darkness, a vision materialized - his gaze.
Not the chilling crimson that haunted me previously, but sun-baked eyes, seductive and dangerous in their calm intensity. Was this some twisted attempt at solace? How could a vampire reeking of such primal heat possess such contradictory features?
He was both alluring and thrilling, the kind of thrill that sent shivers down your spine and a warning thrumming through your veins.
Yet, in the midst of the chaos that had unfolded moments ago, those eyes held unsettling serenity.
Fear pricked at the edges of my mind. Perhaps he was manipulating me again, slipping images of himself into my subconscious.
With a gasp, I ripped my eyes open. The scent of him, an undeniable presence, flooded my senses. He was close. Too close. Close enough to snatch away the flimsy barrier shielding my face, to reveal the woman behind the heterochromia - Morwenna Petrova. The very name sent a tremor through me.
The creak of floorboards confirmed my dread.
One more step, and he’d be upon me, the power radiating from him promising an effortless reveal.
My voice, betraying my resolve, tore through the heat. “Don’t come any closer,” I pleaded, the urgency raw in my throat. “You don’t want to see me like this.” My words referred to the disarray of my emotions mirrored in my mismatched eyes, but a deeper fear gnawed at me. Why this sudden skittishness? I knew he wouldn’t respect my wishes.
Frustration laced with a hint of defiance twisted my plea. “And I don’t want to see you either,” I snapped. The words hung heavy in the air, a pathetic attempt at regaining control. What was I even saying? A sigh, heavy with exasperation, escaped my lips. The only thing clear was the primal need for distance. “Just leave,” I commanded, my voice regaining a sliver of its former strength.
The air hung heavy, thick with the suffocating silence that had settled after my words. It wasn’t as if there had been much noise before, but the sudden quietude was a palpable entity.
Then, a sound broke the stillness – a laugh. Not a light, carefree laugh, but a dark chuckle that rumbled from somewhere deep within him.
It felt like a melody he was struggling to remember, pieced together from fragmented notes.
Yet, that very darkness sent a jolt through me, a primal awakening that coursed through my veins like a forbidden elixir.
Was I...enjoying the sinister amusement in his laugh?
The heat that bloomed in my core was undeniable, confusing.
Damn it all, why did the human body have this infuriating ability to twist something as innocuous as a laugh into something so disturbingly erotic?
The creak of floorboards sent another jolt through me. His foot. It had found the end of the bed.
One more step, and he’d be climbing in, and then... I choked back the unspoken word. No need to state the obvious.
“Stop,” I managed, my voice a hoarse whisper. I scooted back on the bed, a desperate attempt to create distance. But the retreat was short-lived. The headboard pressed into my back, a physical manifestation of the corner I’d painted myself into.
Above, the shelf mocked me with its collection of novels.
There, nestled amongst them, lay my own diary and bag – a bittersweet reminder of the life I was leaving behind, at least for now.
This wall, this damned wall, had become my dead end.
Okay, I think to myself. If Draven ever attempts to climb on this bed, I’ll use the opportunity to escape through the door.
But flee to where? This manor remained an enigma, its labyrinthine halls and shadowed corners a mystery.
Even the night held no solace, the unearthly cawing of ravens echoing outside a grim symphony. Perfect. That would be my daring plan. Except...
A snag, sharp and unwelcome, snagged at my bravado. Draven’s a vampire, for goodness sake, and I’m about as threatening as a dandelion. By the time I fumbled to the door, or even out of this confounded bed, he’d be upon me faster than a viper strike. So much for escape plans. My frustration simmered, a tangible heat prickling my skin. Slamming my fist against the wall might alleviate the pressure, but it felt a touch melodramatic.
A dark chuckle, devoid of humor, slithered from his throat. Perfect. Just what I needed – another enigmatic response to fuel my unease. Ugh. There I went, my traitorous mind fixating on those damned, cold lips. I shoved the unwelcome thoughts aside with a mental shove.
“The blanket, Morwenna,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. Oh, dear. Why was I so easily swayed by his silken tones? My body flinched in defiance. “Take it off,” he says, the command laced with a seductive edge, a promise both thrilling and terrifying.
“Absolutely not,” I retorted, my voice firm despite the tremor in my limbs.
“Don’t tempt me, love. Because if I have to come over there, your legs might forget how to walk for a very long time.” His voice, a low rumble that sent shivers dancing down my spine, was a silken command, a seductive threat that could unravel any woman’s resolve.
Stubbornness, a quality I often considered a flaw, flared brightly.
Words wouldn’t be enough to make me yield.
But the thought of Draven exploring the very body I’d kept hidden from even Daniel, the man I...well, that was a tangled mess for another time. Suffice it to say, the idea of being ravished by my nemesis, a vampire I despised with every fiber of my being, particularly Lord Draven, was unthinkable.
An exasperated sigh escaped my lips as I dragged the blanket down, revealing the last creature I ever wanted to see.
Lord Draven, or as I liked to call him, Mr. Fangs, stood imposingly tall, his fangs thankfully retracted for the moment. It always amazed me how vampires managed to hide those things. Didn’t they get terribly inconvenient at times? Perhaps not. Perhaps they were more comfortable than I imagined.
Of course, it wasn’t just his lack of fangs that irritated me. It was the infuriating way he always seemed to manage to look even more outrageously attractive whenever I was forced to endure his presence.
Was it the way he wore his cascading dark red hair, usually reaching his waist, pulled back in a high ponytail with a regal crown perched atop his head?
Or maybe it was the way he carried himself with an air of royalty, even when adorned in those ridiculously tight black leather pants. (Let’s be honest, the man could rock anything, even those outdated regency-inspired getups. He had a way of making them look both modern and sinfully seductive.)
My gaze lingered on his chest, sculpted and defined in a way that made my traitorous fingers itch.
Draven was the living embodiment of that infuriating truth: no matter how much you despise someone, there’s always a part of you that can’t resist their undeniable allure.
And here I was, failing miserably at maintaining my facade of righteous anger.
Perhaps I’d been staring a bit too long.
Tearing my gaze away, which was no easy feat, I furrowed my brows in an attempt to recapture my annoyance.
I hoped my frown would hold before the cracks began to show, revealing the truth: a simmering attraction warring with my very real resentment.
With a frustrated huff, I lowered my head, letting my unruly mane of hair cascade down my back. It seemed that, like my temper, my hair had a mind of its own.
A scoff escaped my lips as he muttered, “Beautiful!” Others might have lapped up such empty flattery, but I met his words with a disdainful roll of my eyes.
“Look at me, Morwenna!” he commanded. Look at him and fall into his alluring eyes again? Ahhh... no.
I kept my head down, eyes lowered. The hand that had been idly tussling with my hair stilled, instinctively rising to shield my face – particularly my eyes.
A wave of self-loathing washed over me. Why, after all this time, did these mismatched orbs continue to plague me with such insecurity?
Emerald green on one side, a startling violet on the other. Objectively, there was nothing inherently wrong with their striking hues.
But Chimera City, that wretched hive of judgment, offered no such objectivity.
Here, prying eyes and unsolicited commentary were a daily torment.
Memories flickered – a girl of eleven, intrusive, her camera flashing in my face. A momentary lapse in focus, a stolen image, the cruel label: “freak.” (The memory still stung.)
Others saw me as an omen, a harbinger of misfortune. A misplaced prediction, a twist of fate, and I was a “curse.” But sometimes, a lucky guess earned me the dubious title of “blessing in disguise.”
Still, mockery remained the soundtrack of my existence.
“Morwenna, you’re nothing like your parents,” they’d sneer. “Why is your hair like that?” “You look like a walking corpse!” Their taunts echoed endlessly in the caverns of my mind, a relentless chorus I desperately longed to silence... forever.
Let it stop.
A silent plea, a yearning for a world where my difference wasn’t a source of scorn, where I could finally exist in peace.
“No!” I said in response to Draven’s words. Another act of disrespect to the ‘almighty Lord Draven.’ If it were any other servant, they cower at his approach, prostrate themselves on the floor, and perhaps even lick the very ground he trod upon.
And yet, here I was, nestled defiantly in the silken embrace of the bed, a stark contrast to the trembling supplicants he was accustomed to. Disobeying a direct order, refusing to answer his summons – it was a transgression that would normally be met with a swift execution. But for some inexplicable reason, I remained an anomaly.
Perhaps it was because he saw a reflection staring back at him from beneath this rebellious facade.
A reflection that bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman in my dreams, the one I had seen… in the mirror. His late wife.
“Are you… are you still angry with me?” he ventured, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. I hadn’t anticipated him bringing that up. Or maybe I had, on some subconscious level.
A tight silence stretched between us, my expression a carefully constructed mask of indifference. Surely, even the most oblivious lord could decipher the icy disdain radiating from my very core.
“Morwenna,” he murmured, using my name as a tentative bridge across the chasm that had formed between us. “I was merely… overcome by emotion.”
“…emotion that manifested in the senseless slaughter of your servants?” I countered, my voice a low, controlled growl. Though I’d vowed to remain silent, but the injustice of their deaths pricked at my conscience.
He winced at my sharp retort, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “They intended to betray me, Morwenna,” he explained, his voice laced with a desperate need for my understanding. “They were a threat to my very existence, Morwenna.”
The way he kept repeating my name, a soft melody amidst the storm raging within me, threatened to crack my carefully constructed facade.
With a determined effort, I pushed the unwelcome warmth down, refusing to be swayed by his pleas.
“Convenient,” I scoffed, the sound barely a whisper, but I knew it found its mark.
A low rasp escaped his lips, “Morwenna.” Then, with a tremor in his voice, he launched himself onto the bed I occupied. Panic seized me. Draven there, beside me – the absolute antithesis of what I craved in that moment. My mind swarmed with dreadful possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. No. Absolutely not.
As if propelled by an unseen force, my body lurched upright, slamming against the headboard. Trapped. The wall, my nemesis, offered no escape. Draven continued, his voice weaving a tapestry of whispered promises, “Don’t mistake me for a monster, Morwenna.” He knelt on the mattress, inching ever closer. Flight was the only sensible option, but my traitorous legs refused to cooperate.
He spoke again, his voice sharper this time, “Morwenna!” as if sensing my rising panic. I felt like a frightened insect, curling in on itself at the slightest touch. When his hand, cool and familiar, brushed against my jawline, my heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs. It wasn’t just fear; it was a primal urge to recoil, a desperate need to escape the heat radiating from my body.
“I would never, ever hurt you,” he continued, his voice a soothing balm that only heightened my confusion. “My only desire is to protect you, Morwenna. To shield you from any harm.” He paused, a beat of agonizing silence, then gently lifted my chin. My body, in defiance of my will, tilted towards his touch. His nearness was overwhelming; the sheer size of him a stark contrast to my own slender form.
A traitorous warmth bloomed beneath his touch, a delicious sensation that warred with the frantic clamour inside me. It felt…safe. Inviting. A forbidden temptation that threatened to drown out every remaining shred of reason.
“Let me in, Morwenna,” he whispered, his voice husky with urgency. “Surrender. Surrender everything to me.” His hand, once cool, now felt like a brand against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
Surrender? The word echoed in the vast emptiness of my mind.
My cheeks flushed under his touch, a traitorous heat that mirrored the storm brewing within.
“What does it mean if I ‘surrender’ to you?” I questioned, referencing his words. I’d always been the one wielding the questions, tossing them out like pebbles into a rushing stream. But his words, like the caress of his hand brushing beneath my jawline, sent a shiver down my spine.
His touch – a whisper light, a feather’s caress – lingered on my cheek, his thumb tracing languid circles there. A slow smile played on his lips. “Surrender,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me, “It means giving everything. All the pain, the scars etched deep within you. It means allowing them to be renewed, the burdens lifted from your weary shoulders.”
Lifted burdens? It sounded like a siren song, too sweet to be true. Yet, a sliver of hope bloomed in my chest. If such a thing were possible, perhaps... perhaps I could surrender.
“Can you truly do that?” I asked, a thread of skepticism woven into my voice.
“I can,” he replied, his voice a low rumble as his crimson eyes – a shade less fiery now, softer, more reassuring – locked on mine intensively.
“Are you certain?”
“It’s not that hard, Morwenna. I just need you to trust me, let it all out, let your thoughts flow, hang loose, express all your burdens and I’ll heal you,” he murmured, his finger trailing up from my cheek to my eyes. “Piece by broken piece, I’ll put you back together,” he paused, his gaze intensifying. “My love.”
He added the last part as if he saw something within my eyes. It was probably my heterochromia. It had to be, since I wasn’t wearing the amulet to conceal it.
Getting healed by Draven sparked a flicker of rebellion within me. Rejecting him felt like a birthright, a defiant echo of the years spent as an outcast. Every place I set foot was a hostile environment, a breeding ground for whispers of a curse clinging to me like a shroud. Not once, not twice, did Mom, Theresa, and I relocate, chasing the mirage of a neighborhood untouched by judgment.
This latest haven wasn’t idyllic, but it held a grudging neutrality. A fa?ade of “minding one’s own business,” though prying eyes still found their way through the cracks.
Still, It’s wasn’t as judgmental as the others we’ve lived in.
To keep our place in Chimera, Mom had to hide me away from the world. Some people didn’t even know she had two daughters—Theresa and me.
Growing up rebellious and not caring what the world thought, I started showing myself more in public.
But people always found something to gossip about, especially me.
That’s why I hated the world. That’s why I’ve wished I could just vanish from it. From Mom, from Theresa—if she even care—and from everyone.
Draven offers an escape, a chance to obliterate the painful past, to forget the judgmental stares. But a familiar cynicism gnawed at me. Experience had taught me the harsh truth: everything has a price. Nothing is freely given. So, I grappled with the question: if I allowed Draven to heal me, to erase my burdens, what would remain? Oblivion? A hollow echo of myself? The choice, it seemed, held its own brand of peril.
A knot of suspicion tightened in my gut. “At what cost, Draven?” I pressed, my voice laced with newfound skepticism. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch, especially from a wizard like yourself.” My experiences with magic-wielders had been far from altruistic. Witches, in my estimation, didn’t offer their services out of the goodness of their hearts. And Draven, with his sudden offer of help, felt no different.
His lips thinned into a hard line. “There’s no price, Morwenna,” he insisted, a touch too forcefully. “I simply want you to know that I’m willing to do anything for you. No strings attached.”
An impulsive question tumbled from my lips. “Does ‘anything’ include letting me go?” Freedom. It was a prospect that both terrified and tantalized me.
Draven’s brow furrowed. “You want to leave?”
My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs. “I...” The truth was, I didn’t know.
Returning home meant facing the wrath of a frantic mother, who’d likely lock me away and barricade the doors.
The mere thought of the ensuing gossip sent shivers down my spine.
The press would descend like vultures, their cameras flashing incessantly as they hounded my mother for answers about the prodigal daughter who’d dared enter the Vimic’ estate and emerge unscathed. It was a horrifying tableau I desperately wanted to avoid.
Yet, a part of me yearned for the life I’d left behind.
Sure, Draven’s manor felt stifling at times, a gilded cage.
But the outside world held my dreams, the stories I longed to write and share with the world.
Here, within these walls, those aspirations felt distant, almost out of reach.
Torn between longing and fear, I whispered, “I’m not sure.” The uncertainty gnawed at me, leaving me utterly adrift.
“You yearn to remain,” he murmured, his words echoing the very thoughts swirling within my own mind.
“Yet, a yearning to depart clings to me as well,” I admitted, the confession a delicate thread woven between us.
A whisper of breath danced across my cheek as he leaned closer. “But the stronger pull,” he countered, his voice a seductive rasp, “draws you to stay.”
Caught in the tempest of my emotions, I could only manage a choked silence. The castle, with its imposing grandeur, both repelled and enticed me. Draven, an enigma shrouded in an aura of power, fueled the turmoil within.
As if sensing my inner battle, he spoke, his voice imbued with a quiet respect. “Morwenna,” he began, pronouncing my name with a reverence that sent shivers down my spine, “know this: your boundaries shall ever be honored. At least, for now. Until you become mine.” The last two words were uttered with a possessive intensity that both frightened and exhilarated me.
Despite the burgeoning desire to remain within his intoxicating presence, a voice, ragged yet resolute, escaped my lips. “I harbor no desire to be embraced by the shadows, Draven. Nor do I wish to become yours in that way.” My voice, though trembling, held a newfound strength.
A shadow flickered across his features, a hint of the storm brewing beneath the surface. “You are mine, Morwenna, one way or another,” he countered, his voice a low rumble. “I offer solace, a haven from the storms that plague you. All I ask is your surrender. Release yourself from the shackles of your past, and become mine. Be my angel, my solace, my queen.” His voice, a dark symphony, resonated with a power that both terrified and enticed.
“You speak of burdens, Draven,” I said, my voice gaining in strength. “Have you exorcised your own demons? Are you truly free from the clutches of your past?” I hesitated, then plunged on, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Are you… free from her now? From your… wife?”
Regret washed over me as the last words left my lips.
I hadn’t meant to utter them, the memory of Draven’s icy demeanor the last time I mentioned her a stark reminder. Yet, the question burned within me.
My burdens were heavy, yes, but did Draven carry his own weight of sorrow? If he held the power to alleviate mine, shouldn’t he, by now, have cast aside the shackles of his past love?
“Are you truly over her?” I pressed, my voice laced with a vulnerability I couldn’t conceal. “I know little of your past, of your love for her, but… does she burden you still? Are you, perhaps, seeking solace in me by offering to lift my burdens because, in truth, I am… her?” The final words hung in the air, a question laced with desperation.
A pang of concern shot through me as I voiced the question.
I braced myself for a fiery retort, a lashing out at my intrusion into such a sensitive subject. But there was none.
His gaze drifted from my eyes, a slow, deliberate descent that sent shivers down my spine.
His finger lingered at my neck, a brush of warmth against my cool skin, then traced a path down to my shoulder. It wasn’t a caress, not entirely. It was a probe, a silent question seeking an answer in the tense muscles beneath his touch.
“I haven’t moved on, Morwenna,” he admitted, his jaw clenching with repressed emotion. “The truth is, I haven’t let go. My past burdens me, heavily.” He shifted his touch, his hand brushing against my shoulder, a touch that felt both intimate and invasive. His fingers tightened slightly.
“But you, Morwenna Petrova,” he continued, his voice low and intense, “you carry your own weight, a burden that seems immense for one so young. You shouldn’t have to bear this, shouldn’t shoulder such anxieties. You haven’t yet known true burden, my love. Humans, for all their troubles, have a finite lifespan. Their burdens don’t linger eternally, for they fade with memory, with the slow march of time. They die, Morwenna, escaping the relentless pursuit of their woes.” A snarl twisted his lips as he added, “But for one like me, who has traversed this damned existence for eons, the pain festers. It becomes a constant companion. My burden, it hunts me… endlessly.”
His grip tightened on my shoulder, the strength in his hold unexpected, almost violent. “My burdens, Morwenna,” he rasped, “They don’t leave. They wander. Even when I manage to forget them, they come back. My late wife’s ghost is always there, within me, outside me. When you’re here, it goes. When you hate me, it returns. When I think of you, it stings me. When you kiss me, it aims for my heart. I am haunted, Morwenna, by two souls: yours and the one I lost.”
Here, for the first time, I saw a flicker of vulnerability in this powerful being.
A darkness resided within him, a darkness that threatened to consume him whole.
And instead of the anger I expected to feel, a wave of empathy washed over me.
A vampire lord, burdened by the weight of centuries, haunted by the ghosts of love and loss. It was a revelation that both surprised and disarmed me.
The woman in the mirror, a specter haunting my dreams or nightmares – whichever it was – was undeniably his wife. Dead. It left me questioning whether it was a mere figment of my imagination or a stark reality. I couldn’t discern the truth. Not entirely.
To ascertain its authenticity, I needed tangible evidence in the form of real-life portraits of her. A comparison and contrast would help me determine if what I witnessed held any validity.
Draven, with a flicker of dawning realization, spoke too quickly. “I apologize, my words were misplaced. I shouldn’t have—”
“No!” I interjected, a touch more surprised than I cared to admit. “Draven, it—it surprised me, your honesty. I appreciate—”
“I wasn’t supposed to disclose that!” he interjected, his voice sharp. He removed his hands from my shoulders with a suddenness that startled me.
Rising from the plush bed, he straightened his formidable frame, the picture of stoic control. He towered over me, an undeniable force. I gazed up at him, admiring his presence. However, a question nagged at me. Did he not notice my eyes? Was he deliberately avoiding the topic? Or did he simply overlook them? He should have acknowledged their peculiarity, but for the first time, someone’s disregard made me feel... I can’t quite describe it. It was as if I had been covertly recognized, unlike those who judged me for my uniqueness.
“I must confess,” I began, pushing myself upright and approaching him. Standing on the plush mattress was a necessity – on the floor, I’d need a giraffe’s neck to meet his gaze. Even from this vantage point, I had to tilt my head back slightly to match up to his overwhelming stature. Just one of his hands could easily cover my entire face. “While your honesty was unexpected, it was… refreshing to see a glimpse of vulnerability, especially after witnessing the lives you’ve taken from your servants.”
A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Contrary to your assumptions, I feel no remorse. However, as you so persistently remind me—”
“You feel… bad?” I finished his sentence, a smirk playing on my lips.
The guttural growl that rumbled from his chest sent a tremor through me. “What I feel is the need to ravage you for this,” he rasped, the words laced with a raw possessiveness that sent a shiver down my spine. My expression to falter. Those were not the words I anticipated from him.
“You mean regret it?” I managed, forcing my gaze to meet his. He dipped his head, a predator lowering himself to meet his prey at eye level.
“Do you have any damned idea,” he hissed, his voice a low growl, “how much I yearn to punish you by claiming those lips?” He paused, his breath a chilling caress against my face. “By biting them...” The words, thick with promise and threat, were punctuated by the faint smear of his saliva against my skin. “And using my very essence to ignite a fire within you, until your throat throbs with the pleasure of my possession. Those lips,” he continued, his voice laced with a dark promise, “will taste of my blood, and tremble with the aftermath, yearning for more.”
“Touching me means you’re in for a fight, remember that,” I asserted stubbornly.
A feral grin stretched across his face. “Then by all means, Morwenna Petrova,” he purred, his voice a velvet caress laced with steel, “I’m ready to engage in that duel with you...” he added, his hand clamping around my throat with surprising force, “But this duel comes with pain... and surrender...”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Panic clawed at my throat, constricting my breath.
The air, once so freely available, became a precious commodity.
A strangled gasp escaped my lips as the strength seemed to drain from my body.
He could lift me with one hand, dominate me with a mere flex of his will. But Morwenna Petrova doesn’t surrender. Not without a fight.
He seemed to sense my struggle, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, Morwenna,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, “perhaps tonight’s transgression warrants a more...punitive approach.” His grip slackened, and I crumpled onto the bed, gasping for air. My chest heaved, each breath a treasure. This infuriating, arrogant vampire king nearly choked the life out of me, and now he thinks a mere coupling will appease him? Not a chance in hell.
“Are you out of your mind? You nearly...” I trailed off, my gaze shifting to the intimidating length of his arousal, aimed directly at me. My eyes widened in disbelief. He was indeed swift to unzip his pants, revealing a shaft almost as long as my head. He wasn’t bluffing about his intentions. Not at all.
Is it too late to escape this room, now feeling more like a prison? Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting that ‘thing’ enter me.
As he approached, I instinctively edged further onto the bed, his hand caressing his erection.
“What are you doing?” I choked out, the question a pathetic whisper against the thundering of my pulse. Though the answer was painfully obvious.
The room, shrouded in shadows, offered a perverse kind of intimacy. The moonlight, a cruel accomplice, highlighted the obscene sculpture reflected in the mirror. Every fiber of my being screamed defiance.
“Thou shalt not fall,” I chanted silently, a desperate mantra against the rising tide of his dominance. But it seemed futile.
His silence confirmed my mistake. He was going to... take advantage of me. Panic surged through me. Run.
Before I knew it, I surged off the bed, a frantic scramble for freedom.
Blindly, I lunged for the door.
A vice of steel clamped onto my hair, the curse of my long locks.
A yank, a searing pain, and I was yanked back.
My struggle was a gnat against a hurricane.
The world tilted, the wooden surface of the dresser meeting my head with a sickening thud. Another mirror, a silent, mocking witness. Two. There were two of them in this damned room, each reflecting my humiliation.
He pinned me down, his vampire reflexes blurring as with a swift, ruthless motion, he lifted the hem of my gown, his touch devoid of any semblance of tenderness.
And then, a stinging slap echoed in the confined space, the fiery imprint blooming across my skin.
Fuck.
Another followed, and another, each one a brutal punctuation mark in this unfolding reality.
A strangled moan escaped my lips, involuntary and shameful.
Another blow found my flesh, the sting sharper this time.
My skin burned, the blossoming welt a testament to his wrath.
He leaned in, his breath a cold whisper against my ear. “This,” he growled, the venom lacing his words a chilling portent, “is for your disobedience, little virgin.”
Then another searing slap on my backside followed again.
“And don’t expect any gentleness from me, little virgin,” he rasped, the words laced with a chilling promise.