CHAPTER 20
DREAMS COME SWIFTLY, vivid and disjointed.
Pursued by Whiteshades with distorted faces and sharp teeth, I turn corner after corner, the walls constantly shifting, trapping me in a labyrinth that breathes.
Next, I’m standing in a circle of fire while Cain approaches, his cruel smile revealing fangs dripping with dark ichor. I feel helpless as Max’s eyes turn vacant, his hand rising to strike me down. I can’t move. I can’t even scream.
The scene shifts abruptly, and I’m a child again, sitting curled up on my father’s knee as he tells me stories of my mother. His voice is warm, filled with love and loss in equal measure.
“She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen,” he says, his eyes distant with memory. “Hair like snow, eyes that held stars. When she looked at me, I felt seen for the first time in my life.”
“Why did she leave us?” my younger self asks, the eternal question that haunted my childhood.
His arms tighten around me. “To protect us, little bird. Sometimes love means making impossible choices.” But I see the pain in his eyes. He isn’t telling the truth. He doesn’t know why she left either.
The dream fades, replaced by complete darkness.
A new scene forms: I’m standing in a grand hall lit by candlelight, the walls lined with mirrors that don’t reflect me. I see the Ravens in them, all watching me from across the room, their faces unreadable.
Saul steps forward first. He holds out my pendant, but when I reach for it, he pulls away. “You were never meant to survive this,” he says quietly. “Not once you stopped being useful.”
Behind him, Revenant doesn’t move. He just watches as Saul turns his back on me, as if this had all been decided long ago. His silence cuts deeper than my brother’s words.
“Don’t go,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Don’t leave me.”
Revenant steps forward next, but he doesn’t say anything.
The mirrors crack, one by one. I see my reflection at last—bloodied, alone, and holding two daggers. One is buried in Revenant’s chest. The other drips with something darker than blood.
The hall collapses in silence, and I fall with it.
I wake choking on my own breath, the sting of betrayal still burning behind my ribs. Wan afternoon light filters through the heavy drapes, casting the room in a soft, blue glow. For a moment, I lie still, trying to separate memory from dream, truth from wishful thinking.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. “May I come in?”
It’s the same woman who brought me to this room last night.
I sit up, pulling the covers around me defensively. “Yes,” I call out, my voice still thick with sleep.
The door unlocks and the redhead enters, her arms laden with silken folds in deep pearl and midnight blue.
She’s transformed since I last saw her, utilitarian clothing gone and replaced by an elegant burgundy charmeuse evening gown.
But most striking is the mask adorning the upper half of her face: a sculpted raven crafted from ebony black leather, its beak dipping only just beyond her nose—subtle enough to avoid a true point—feathers sweeping up toward her temples.
“Good afternoon,” she chirps, laying the fabric out across the foot of my bed. It unfurls into a formal dress, the bodice embellished with intricate beadwork that glitters even in the dim light. “I’ve brought you something to wear.”
I eye the midnight blue dress suspiciously. “What’s the occasion?”
“Dinner,” she says, as if it should be obvious. She shows me another mask, seemingly smaller than hers but similarly crafted in the shape of a raven. “You’ll need this as well.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie, even as my stomach clenches painfully at the mere mention of feeding, growling traitorously at that exact moment. If there were ever a time I wished the mortal part of me didn’t exist, it’d be now.
“Your body says otherwise,” she laughs, holding the mask out to me. “We all wear these when the bloodmaids visit. It’s for their protection as much as our privacy.”
“Bloodmaids?” The term is familiar, but I pretend it’s not.
“Humans who provide blood service,” she explains, perching on the edge of the bed. “They stay for a few weeks, then return with generous payment. We rotate them regularly to ensure they remain healthy and well-rested.”
I take the mask, running my fingers along its smooth surface. “And they do this willingly?”
“Of course.” She sounds almost offended. “We are not barbarians like the Veltri. Our bloodmaids are compensated handsomely, enough to support entire families.” She stands and gestures toward the dress. “The ceremony begins at sunset. I’ll return in an hour or two to help you prepare.”
The thought of participating in their feeding etiquette makes my skin crawl, but hunger gnaws at me insistently. It’s been days since I’ve had proper sustenance. Sometimes survival means wearing a mask and playing their game.
After she’s left, I examine the dress more closely. It looks exquisite, clearly designed for someone of importance. I turn the mask over in my hands. It seems too carefully made for something simply meant to hide me.
Ceremony.
As if feeding is some sacred ritual rather than gritted teeth, warm mouths, and the weight of hunger pressing against control. Like it can be dressed up in silk and manners, and made into something beautiful, dignified even.
But beauty doesn’t belong to hunger. Hunger is instinct, raw and desperate. There’s nothing ceremonial about it.
And dignity doesn’t belong to the animal part of myself I try so hard to ignore.
I clutch the mask tighter.
I’m about to walk into a theater without knowing the script, unsure if I’m the guest, the audience, the predator… or the offering. And worst of all, I don’t know which one I’d want to be.
As I wait, my mind won’t settle. I place the mask gently on the bed beside me and stand, pacing the room in steady, measured steps. The floor is smooth stone, cool under my bare feet, grounding me in a way nothing else does.
I stop by the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain. The world outside is quiet, tinted in the gold of late afternoon. Far below, I see gardens too carefully manicured to feel real, like something meant to impress, not to comfort.
Nothing here feels like it was made for someone like me. It’s all too polished. Too controlled.
I sit back on the edge of the bed, running my fingers over the fine threads of the dress, as if touching it might help me understand what’s expected. I can’t decide if it’s meant to make me feel beautiful or just presentable. Contained.
Unable to keep my thoughts from looping, I pick up the mask again and hold it to my face, staring at my reflection in the tall mirror across the room. A stranger looks back at me.
Not a monster, but not quite human either.
It reminds me of the days when I was tracking down Revenant.
I’d scour Mythcrest villages, those too far-flung for our maps, and ask anyone what they knew about him. It wasn’t until I stumbled upon the hidden expanse of Ravenwood that his name finally echoed with weight in every settlement.
But the villagers didn’t speak with fear, only dignified admiration.
To them, the Ravens were legends, something larger than life.
“The Ravens protect us,” an elderly woman told me, her weathered face creasing with a kind smile from behind the wooden makeshift stall, tying off a sachet of dried herbs.
“They keep unwanted vampires from our doors. Without them, we’d all be turned or worse.
” She inclined toward me, as if letting me in on the inside scoop.
“My granddaughter serves as a bloodmaid in their manor. Says it’s better than any work in the village.
She gets paid enough to keep our family’s hearth warm for the season, and is granted a fortnight’s visit every cycle. ”
A rugged blacksmith from the next stall joined our conversation.
“My son too,” he said proudly, polishing a half-finished hinge.
“Comes back with more coin than I make in three months. Said the feedings were… well, pleasant. They make it feel good somehow. Special, even. Like you’re the most important person in the world. ”
Apparently, applications were never scarce. Young villagers from all over Ravenwood’s bounds competed for positions. They saw it not as servitude, but as opportunity. A chance to safely experience something beyond their ordinary lives, while earning more than farming or crafting could ever provide.
I clenched my fists hearing it, frustration rising. “Real safety comes from Redmoore. From the hunters and slayers risking their lives every day to fight vampires. Not from feeding the monsters, no matter how pretty they make it sound.”
The elderly woman shook her head sharply, a tinge of sadness in her expression. “That may be true within the strict borders of Northcross, but not out here in the sprawl of forgotten towns. It is a system that works only if you live close enough to benefit from it.”
The blacksmith nodded in agreement, setting his hammer down. “People don’t wait for salvation from soldiers who never come.”
They turn to the ones who do.
They turn to the Ravens, who offer safety wrapped in luxury and hunger disguised as affection. And the villagers, starved for both, call it salvation. It’s an exchange that bleeds, but also feeds.
The borders of Northcross unfortunately aren’t open to everyone. Citizenship there is earned on a lottery basis, inevitably rationed against overpopulation. Only those lucky enough get in. Some have waited so long—made peace with it—they don’t even want it anymore.
I pull the mask away from my face, even more unsettled by what awaits me tonight. Restlessly, I lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and counting the carved patterns in the stone to calm my nerves, anything to not think about what sunset will bring.
But my body won’t let me forget. Not with the steady, aching pulse of hunger stirring beneath my skin.
“Where can I apply?” I asked, feeling triumph within reach.