Chapter 6 Balthazar
Balthazar
As the carriage rolled into the distance, its wheels whispering along the path toward the stables, I stood alone before my estate.
The air was scented with the fragrance of summer roses, their sweetness mingling with the breeze that curled gently against my skin. It had been years since I’d stood on this land, yet everything felt achingly familiar—the aroma, the silence, the memories.
And yet, something had changed. I had changed.
Alina Tocino—Lady Tocino—was not what I expected. I had come for blood. Come to extinguish a name, erase a lineage. But instead… I found her.
A vision in chaos.
Beautiful. Defiant. Utterly intoxicating.
She was no innocent porcelain doll unaware of the shadows clinging to her soul. No—her villainy was nascent, blooming like nightshade under moonlight, and I longed to pull her deeper into my wicked world. To watch her ripen into something terrifying and exquisite.
She was temptation incarnate.
A ripe fruit, teetering on the edge of surrender.
The thought alone stirred something dark and delicious within me. I suppressed a shudder as the image of her body beneath mine crossed my mind—mouth parted, soul half-consumed.
I turned toward the estate.
The stone pillars flanking the entrance stood as proud and cold as they had a century ago. Weathered but enduring wrought-iron gates creaked open at my approach as if they remembered me.
The night around me held its breath. The grass rustled beneath my boots, and with every step, I felt the thrum of something old and vital returning to life.
I had never felt more alive in all my centuries.
And it was because of her.
Inside, the marble floors greeted me with a familiar chill. My cloak billowed behind me as I stepped into the grand foyer, the scent of roses lingering here, too, as if her presence had already bled into the walls.
Through the towering windows, the gardens glowed silver under the moon. The paths wound like veins between flowerbeds in full bloom. Topiaries, untouched by time, stretched like reaching hands. Every hedge was still shaped to perfection, the work of artisans long buried but not forgotten.
Beyond the gardens, the villa rose like a monument to memory—stone bathed in moonlight, regal and silent.
This place had once been a sanctuary—a fortress.
But now, with Alina on my mind and her taste still on my lips—
It had become something else entirely.
A throne.
And she, perhaps, the queen.
I learned of Alina’s whereabouts through a shadow known as Valentina.
She, like me, had survived the fall of the Coven.
Ever since her mother ripped her from my grasp—vanishing into the folds of time—I had hunted Alina with a singular, burning purpose. I tore through realms and decades in search of her, the ghost of her memory whispering promises of vengeance and closure.
And in the meantime, I turned my fury elsewhere.
Mathias’ legacy was the first to fall.
The once-prestigious Coven of Shadows became my playground of destruction. I dismantled it with maniacal precision, brick by cursed brick, erasing its doctrines, silencing its disciples, and gutting the heart from its halls.
Nothing remained but an eerie graveyard of ash and memory, a wasteland where ambition had once thrived. The grounds were choked in silence, the students scattered like dust or dead. Most never saw the blade coming.
I had reduced his world to ruin.
But there was still one piece left.
One final act to complete the tragedy.
Alina.
His precious, protected Alina.
Valentina—one of the few surviving darknesses from the Coven—had accompanied me across time. We arrived in 1540 Florence under the pretense of a romantic escape, though we both knew the truth was far from tender. She draped herself over me, eager to reclaim whatever hold she thought she still had.
The mission had been simple—locate Alina Tocino, a girl marked by bloodlines, time, and the moonstone and ruby necklace once worn by her mother.
It should’ve been swift. Clean.
But then I saw her.
In the village marketplace, sunlight catching in her copper hair, her skin kissed by dusk, her presence quiet yet piercing.
A dark-haired fool hovered near her protectively, unaware of the danger he stood beside.
The necklace I had described gleamed at Alina’s throat, but it wasn’t the jewel that caught me—it was how she wore it, as if it belonged to her soul, not her skin.
That was when everything changed.
I had meant to kill her.
And instead, I watched her.
Valentina noticed. She always did. Her jealousy was a blade she wielded effortlessly, even when hidden behind a smile.
She wanted credit. Recognition. A reward.
She claimed it had been she who led me to Alina, that without her, none of this would have been possible. She hinted at things she thought she was owed—devotion, exclusivity, love.
I offered none.
But I pretended.
I brought her to Lord Costa’s masquerade. Let her dress in silk and suspicion. Let her think she was still relevant, still desired, even as my mind burned with Alina.
She watched me. Always watching.
When she saw Alina slip away into the barn, hand-in-hand with the man she’d brought to the party, Valentina didn’t wait long to whisper her discovery.
I said little in return—just a single, quiet order.
Kill him.
It had never been about loyalty.
Not mercy. Not strategy.
It was jealousy—irrational and overwhelming. The mere thought of Alina in another man’s arms had ignited something feral in me.
Valentina, ever eager to please, obeyed without hesitation. Her eyes gleamed with triumph as she returned, unhurried and graceful in the way only the cruelest predators were. Bloodlust clung to her like perfume as she leaned in, her voice smug.
“It is done.”
She was smiling.
I’d already heard the gurgled scream echo from within the barn—the sound of a life ending in pain. Tomaso’s death hadn’t brought satisfaction—only silence.
And then Alina stumbled out of the shadows.
Her body trembled violently, her skin ghost-pale. Terror carved her features into something unrecognizable. She looked cracked—like a porcelain doll with a thousand hairline fractures spreading beneath the surface.
My heart clenched with unexpected agony.
Had I gone too far?
“What have you done?” I snarled, turning on Valentina.
She begged. Pleaded. Said she’d only followed my wishes, desperate to earn a place closer to me.
I shoved her away.
But it wasn’t enough.
She turned on Alina next. That was her final mistake.
I had no choice but to destroy her.
Not for what she did…
But for daring to touch her.
I shook free of the memory as I moved through the estate.
The hall was unchanged, lined with oil portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow me with silent judgment. The furniture was still exquisite but dulled by time. Draperies hung limp, their colors faded. The carpets were worn beneath my boots, their once-luxurious fibers now tired.
The chandeliers still sparkled faintly in the grand ballroom, casting fractured light on the polished floors. The tapestries swayed slightly, whispering secrets I no longer cared to hear.
It felt like walking through a mausoleum.
I had returned to my house, but I was a stranger in it now.
Because everything had changed.
Because she was coming.
And I had much to do.
I ascended the stairs, each step echoing thoughts I couldn’t contain—revenge, power, longing, love, madness. They swirled inside me like a storm, fed by the darkness outside the windows and the silence pressing in from every corner.
The air was thick with anticipation. The night watched me with held breath.
Something was coming.
Something wicked.
I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, though my mind remained far from the room.
When I found Alina, I was struck speechless—not merely by the perfection of her face but by the darkness shimmering behind her eyes—a darkness that mirrored my own. She was unlike anyone I’d ever encountered, a creature made not just of beauty but of contradiction.
Of chaos.
Of temptation.
She captivated me with a quiet ferocity, pulling at something ancient inside me. I wanted to know her—to peel away each layer of her mystery and feel her warmth pulse beneath my hands.
The memory of her kiss lingered like wine on the tongue.
It hadn’t been innocent. It had been a descent—an invitation into the depths of her soul.
My lips still tingled from it, and I raised my fingers to my mouth, reliving the way her body had molded into me, her breath tangled with mine, her back arching.
There had been something sacred in her surrender.
And something damning in mine.
A stirring bloomed in my chest, radiating down my limbs—heat, need, and something dangerously close to tenderness. Her scent still clung to me, delicate and floral, as if her spirit had followed me home and refused to leave.
Alina and I were something terrible and beautiful together. That truth pulsed through me like a fever.
Pleasure rose in waves as I imagined her lying here, limbs tangled with mine, her voice breaking in my ear. I slid my hand beneath my clothes, needing a taste of that imagined intimacy. But the release was fleeting—a mere echo of the storm she could bring.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough unless it was her.
I rose, my breath ragged, and moved to the open window. The night air kissed my skin, sharp and cold, but I welcomed it. The wind tangled in my hair, and the sky above stretched like a waiting veil.
I drew in the power of the dark, letting it surge through my chest, limbs, and every thrum of my pulse.
And when I could no longer contain the hunger—
I vanished.
Drawn back to the flame that had undone me.
Many kilometers away, I stepped through the veil of darkness and reappeared in a moonlit field surrounded by towering trees. The land thrummed with energy—the whisper of leaves, the quiet pulse of the earth beneath my boots, the ancient stillness that lived in wild places.