Chapter Ten
Lucas
When I woke the following morning, something felt… off. The air was too still, too heavy. My gaze swept across the room, and then, I saw her.
She was huddled in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, rocking ever so slightly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and unseeing, fixed on a point somewhere beyond the walls of this room, beyond this world. She looked… lost.
I moved quickly, crossing the room to kneel in front of her. “Annika.” I reached out, hesitating just before touching her shoulder. “Annika, can you hear me?”
Nothing. No reaction. She just kept rocking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as though she were trying to hold herself together. She looked so small, so fragile—and for the first time, fear clawed at me, sharp and raw.
“Annika,” I said again, louder this time, letting my hand fall gently on her arm. The warmth of her skin was a slight relief, but the distant look in her eyes was terrifying. “Please… come back to me.”
Slowly, she blinked, her gaze flickering to life as if she were waking from a nightmare. Her eyes focused on me, wide and glassy, and for a moment, there was nothing but raw confusion and fear in them.
“Lucas?” she whispered, her voice shaky, barely audible.
I nodded, tightening my hold on her arm. “I’m here. You’re safe. Whatever it was… it’s over now.”
She blinked again, a tear slipping down her cheek as her breathing steadied, but her hands were still trembling. I held her gaze, grounding her, hoping she’d feel some reassurance in my presence.
“What happened?” I asked softly, wanting to pull her close but resisting the urge to do so.
Her eyes dropped, her expression distant again. “I… I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice sounding faint and haunted. “I felt… like I was somewhere else. Somewhere dark, empty. Like… I was trapped.”
I swallowed hard, feeling that same gnawing fear in my chest. Whatever had just happened to her, it had taken her to the edge of something terrible.
I reached out and touched her forehead. Immediately, my stomach dropped. She was burning up, her skin feverishly hot.
“Dammit, Annika,” I muttered, not waiting for her to respond.
I gathered her into my arms and lifted her from the floor. She leaned into me, still shivering, like a little kitten. I lowered my gaze to her. Her face was pale and clammy despite the terrible heat radiating from her. I carried her back to the couch, laying her down gently. Then, I grabbed a cloth from a small basin nearby, dampening it with cool water.
I knelt beside her, pressing the cloth to her forehead. I watched as her features relaxed just slightly under the coolness. Her breathing was still shallow, but at least it was steady. She exhaled, closing her eyes.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at work here, something I myself didn’t quite understand. That alone was enough to unsettle me. I’d been around death, darkness and curses long enough to know when something felt wrong… terribly wrong.
I sat beside her, dabbing the cloth along her cheeks and neck, trying to ease the fever.
“Come on, Annika,” I whispered, willing her to hear me. “You have to fight this… whatever this is.”
I don’t know if she heard me. From her breathing, I could tell she had fallen asleep. Perhaps that was for the better.
I thought about it for a moment, then I decided what to do.
A minute later, I locked the door behind me. I just cast a single glance before stepping into the night. The woods loomed thick and dark ahead, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. I needed to find that herb. Feverroot. Old vampire knowledge, something few knew anymore. If anything could help with the transformation fever, it was that.
My boots sank into the damp earth as I pushed deeper into the forest. Shadows twisted around the trees, and the fog was dense here, clinging to the ground in wisps like ghostly fingers. I knew every path in these woods well. I knew where the rare plants grew, but tonight, the silence felt different. Somehow… heavier. Maybe it was because of the knot tightening in my chest.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Annika, lying on the couch back there, burning up with a fever I didn’t understand. Was it even transformation fever? I had no idea.
She’d looked so vulnerable, so different from the strong, defiant woman I’d met just days ago. And it was worse because I couldn’t shake the thought that she wouldn’t be staying, that whatever we’d been through together was only temporary.
It had all started with a casual question, one she probably didn’t even think twice about. Just a mention of someone back home, someone waiting for her. A friend, maybe, I’d told myself at first, but the thought clawed at me. And I couldn’t help it… I started wondering if it was a man. A lover. Hell, maybe even a husband.
The thought of it gnawed at me, jealousy twisting like a knife. I shouldn’t care. I know I shouldn’t. I’d never cared about anyone staying before. But with her, it was different. She’d done something to me, something I couldn’t quite place, like she’d reached into the deepest, darkest parts of me and pulled me back into the light.
And now she was leaving.
I pushed through a tangle of branches, spotting a small clearing up ahead. Feverroot liked damp, shaded places, and this patch of ground was perfect. My fingers brushed against a cluster of spindly, dark green leaves, the faintest shimmer of blue running through the veins.
There it was. I crouched down, carefully pulling a few sprigs free. The herb was delicate and temperamental, but I didn’t have time to be gentle.
I straightened, holding the feverroot in my hand, feeling its faint warmth against my skin. With luck, it would help her, maybe buy her time to recover. Maybe… maybe enough time to see what was between us. Because no matter how I looked at it, there was no one else in the world who’d made me feel the way she did.
But as I turned back toward the cabin, a dark voice inside me reminded me of the truth: even if I managed to keep her here a little longer, she was never really mine to begin with. And someday, when she healed, when she was strong enough, she would leave—back to her world, back to whoever was waiting for her.
When I returned, she was sitting up on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself, looking pale but slightly more alert. Relief flooded through me at the sight of her awake.
She looked up as I closed the door, her eyes narrowed in question. “Where did you go?”
I held up the small bunch of herbs I’d spent the last hour tracking down. “Just out,” I said, shrugging. “To get something to help bring your fever down.”
Her brows knitted together as she watched me grind the feverroot leaves and pour hot water over them, the sharp scent filling the room. When the tea was done, I brought it over to her and handed her the mug, watching her face as she took a tentative sip.
The instant the liquid hit her tongue, her expression twisted in disgust, and she almost spat it out. “That’s terrible,” she muttered, grimacing. “How is this supposed to help anyone?”
A laugh escaped me—couldn’t help it. “Yeah, it’s awful. But trust me, it works. Just try to get it down. It’s good for you.”
She glared at the mug like it had personally wronged her but took another sip anyway, braving the bitterness. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of admiration for her; even in her weakened state, she was still tough, pushing through the things she didn’t like without complaint. Well, not much of one, anyway.
As she drank, I sat beside her on the edge of the couch, the warmth between us electric and grounding. She didn’t say anything, but the way her gaze softened, the way her lips finally parted in a small, reluctant smile… it was everything I needed.
I watched her eyes linger on me as she set down the cup, her nose wrinkled from the bitterness of the tea. I couldn’t resist… I leaned in with a smirk on my face.
“You know,” I said, keeping my voice low and dead serious, “I could’ve made it worse. Some people add raw eggs to help mask the taste.”
She stared at me, horrified. “You’re joking, right?”
“Not at all,” I replied, widening my eyes in mock sincerity. “Eggs. Maybe some fermented garlic. Vampires have been brewing it like that for centuries. Really puts hair on your chest.”
Her mouth dropped open, but then she caught on, and allowed a laugh to break free despite herself. The sound filled the room, warm and light, and I could feel a knot of tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding start to loosen. Seeing her like this, relaxed, the worry in her eyes melting away, brought a feeling I couldn’t quite name. Still, that settled deep inside, spreading warmth to the places I’d almost forgotten could feel it.
“You’re a terrible liar, Lucas,” she said, shaking her head, but she was still smiling, her cheeks flushed.
I just shrugged, unable to hide my own grin. “Maybe. But at least I got you to finish the tea.”
She rolled her eyes, but another laugh slipped out. Then, she suddenly turned grave, as if she remembered something.
She looked at me, her eyes searching. “Do you think... Do you think the shifters’ slaves could be saved? All of them?”
I hesitated. I wanted to give her some kind of reassurance, but I’d learned long ago that empty words didn’t help.
“I don’t know,” I answered finally. “But I’m damn well going to try. I’ll fight until there’s nothing left of me if that’s what it takes.”
Her gaze softened, and I could feel her silently urging me to say more, to go deeper. And for some reason, with her, it was easier to let down my guard.
“I come from a long line of vampire leaders,” I began. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this, with just me. My clan… they were some of the oldest, some of the strongest.” I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to say the next part. “But they’re all gone now. I’m the last of my clan, the last with our particular gift.”
“What gift?” she asked quietly, her curiosity genuine, not like so many others who only wanted power or knowledge.
I looked at her, then away, knowing how dangerous it was to tell anyone about it. “My clan had the ability to manipulate shadows. We could turn them into forms, into weapons. It’s not a gift many know how to control,” I added, a dark smile forming. “The shifters—they want that power. They think they can harness it, bend it to their will. But they don’t understand what it takes to wield it. They’d never survive.”
I felt her watching me, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and something close to sadness. “I suppose that’s why they’ve kept you here… why you keep fighting.”
I met her gaze, the weight of those words settling around us. “They can take everything from me, but they won’t take my soul. I won’t go down easily, not while I have something left to fight for.”
For a long moment, she said nothing, just took in everything I’d shared. There was no pity in her eyes, no fear… only the kind of quiet understanding that ran deeper than words.
She knew now, who I was, what I’d lost, what I still held onto. And somehow, I felt lighter for having told her.