Chapter 12
Alina
Invigorated from our lovemaking, I felt weightless—as if a massive boulder had been lifted off my chest. A strange, giddy glee buzzed through my veins as I waltzed barefoot through the house, stepping over the bloodied remains of my family without a single shiver of guilt.
No longer did the suffocating grip of their conservative, narrow-minded ideals bind me—no more masks. No more pretending.
I was free.
And the man who gave me that freedom—my dark, devastating lover, Balthazar—was watching me with a bemused glint in his eye.
“I’ve never seen you so cheerful,” he said, lounging in the drawing room doorway.
His breeches were still hung open, his shirt half-tucked and rumpled from my hands clawing at him minutes ago. His long hair was tangled, falling around his face like a halo of sin. He looked wild, ravished. Beautifully savage.
He began to adjust himself unhurriedly, tucking in his shirt and fastening the buttons, but his gaze remained fixed on me—part curiosity, part concern.
Maybe I had gone over the edge.
But gods, it felt glorious.
Watching him kill… it ignited something primal in me. Like the wild inside me had finally been awakened, answering a call I didn’t know existed until he came crashing into my life.
There was peace in the blood. In the silence that followed.
And in Balthazar.
I loved him for it—for the chaos, for the clarity, for bringing me back to myself.
I no longer needed to play the good daughter, the obedient puppet.
From now on, I would dance to my own rhythm. And Balthazar?
He was the maestro. The beat. The flame.
I could feel his energy radiating from across the room—dangerous, magnetic, irresistible. He made me feel alive.
Made me feel limitless.
“Would it be possible for you to cease your frolicking and kiss me farewell, amore mio?” Balthazar asked, smirking as he adjusted his collar in the blood-speckled mirror.
I turned, lips parted. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just smiled—smooth, elusive. “I have things to attend to.”
“What kind of things?” My smile faltered, a flicker of irritation cracking through the euphoria.
“This and that,” he said with a vague flick, before combing his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wildness I had created.
“Why won’t you tell me?” I purred, sauntering toward him with a deliberate sway of my hips. My fingers slid along his sharp jaw, tracing the edge I already knew too well, craving another taste of him.
But instead of answering, he grabbed my face in one rough hand and kissed me—deep, dirty, possessive. His teeth scraped my lower lip, drawing a gasp from me that turned into a moan. I melted into him, heat simmering low in my belly, but even as my body responded, something in me rebelled.
I wriggled, trying to pull away from his grip. My hand shot up, ready to slap him. But when I swung, he was gone.
My palm cut through a wisp of blackness.
He had vanished.
“Damn you, Balthazar!” I screamed into the empty room.
Somewhere in the shadows, I could’ve sworn I heard his chuckle—low, mocking.
I stormed across the drawing room, my rage bubbling to the surface. My foot connected with my father’s severed head, sending it rolling. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look back.
But I did stop.
Because I knew Balthazar, and Balthazar always tested me.
This was no disappearance. This was a game.
And I was done playing by his rules.
The house had fallen eerily still, save for the metallic scent of blood thickening. The corpses of my family lay strewn across the floor like discarded dolls—silent, useless, forgotten.
My pulse thrummed in my ears, the reality crashing in around me.
I thought that craving his violence… being aroused by his killings… made us equals.
But I was wrong.
He was still holding the reins.
And that needed to change.
I scanned the room again, taking in the carnage, the grotesque artwork of Balthazar’s wrath. And then a single thought rooted itself in my mind—
What will they say when they find me here—alive, untouched, surrounded by corpses?
They’d assume I helped him, that I was his accomplice.
And they wouldn’t be wrong.
But I won’t be caught.
An idea sparked and formed in the dark. Dangerous. Desperate. Delicious.
What if I disappear?
What will Balthazar do then? Will he miss me? Will he hunt me down like prey?
Would that excite him?
Or would it finally drive him mad?
I chewed at my lip, adrenaline surging through my veins as a plan formed—wicked and beautiful.
I’d go to Signor Zampa.
Tell him I was in danger. That Balthazar murdered my family and would kill me next.
I would cry. I would shake. I would bleed if I had to.
I’d make him believe me.
Make him protect me.
And then—I’ll beg him to teach me how to time travel.
If Balthazar wanted to play games, he had no idea what I could do.
Not yet.
I gathered what I needed, wiping Balthazar’s scent from my lips, and stepped toward the door with a new rhythm in my stride.
I flung myself from my horse, skirts billowing, heart thundering in my chest. Without waiting for permission, I burst into Signor Zampa’s estate, screaming through sobs.
“Something awful has happened, Signor Zampa!” I wailed, stumbling into the drawing room. “Balthazar—he’s killed my entire family!”
Zampa looked up from his armchair, startled. The dusty old book in his lap snapped shut with a sharp thud as he rose, urgency flashing across his features.
“My God,” he breathed. “Are you certain?”
I collapsed in the doorway, tears streaking down my cheeks—real ones now, mingled with the ones I forced.
“Yes,” I cried, letting hysteria tremble in my voice. “I—I barely escaped with my life!”
He crossed the room in seconds, pulling me into a firm embrace. His arm wrapped around my shoulders as he stroked my hair in gentle, paternal comfort.
“It’s alright now, child. You’re safe here,” he murmured. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
I shivered in his arms, reciting the tale of the massacre Balthazar had wrought, layering truth with exaggeration, carefully painting myself as the terrified survivor.
I described blood on the walls, limbs torn apart, my mother’s lifeless body slumped in her rocking chair.
Zampa’s expression darkened with each embellished detail, his jaw tightening in fury.
When I finished, he stepped back and clenched his fists. “This is… unspeakable,” he said, voice low with rage. “But you’re safe now. I’ll see to it you’re protected. Justice will be served.”
I forced a sob, collapsing into his chest. “Justice won’t stop him, Signor. You don’t understand. I’m still in danger. He’s going to come for me. He’ll find me.”
Zampa drew in a breath, then cupped my face in his hands, his eyes serious.
“Yes, you are in danger,” he said softly. “Balthazar has power—too much power. He slips through the cracks of the law like smoke through fingers. The only way to truly escape him… is to leave this time altogether.”
I blinked, my breath catching. “What do you mean?”
He looked over his shoulder, then leaned in closer. “Time travel.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“The full moon is six nights away,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “You must be ready by then. You must memorize the scripture—the rite. If you perform it correctly, the moment the moon peaks… you’ll be gone. Somewhere new. Somewhere safe.”
His words struck something deep inside me.
Fear, yes.
But also, something else. A flicker of power I hadn’t known I was missing until now.
His intense gaze bore into me, waiting for my reaction. I drew in a shaky breath and nodded. My voice failed me, but my resolve didn’t.
“You must leave in six days, or you’ll never escape,” he continued. “Balthazar will find you—no matter where you run. He has eyes everywhere. He sees the threads of your movements before you even pull them. If you’re going to survive, you need a plan.”
I nodded again, more firmly this time, though I still felt lost inside.
But not helpless.
I would find a way. I would start over.
“I want you to stay here,” Zampa said. “Until the ritual. He can’t reach you under this roof. I’ll keep you hidden.”
I met his eyes. In them, I saw no lies. No hesitation.
Just protection.
Genuine and undeserved.
Gratitude swelled in my chest. Signor Zampa didn’t truly know me. He didn’t owe me anything. And yet, here he was, offering sanctuary without condition.
A small, fragile tendril of hope kindled inside me.
Maybe… just maybe, I could pull this off.
I could outmaneuver Balthazar.
I opened my mouth to thank him, but he raised a hand, and his face changed. The softness vanished.
“This is serious, Lady Tocino,” he said. “You must do exactly as I say for the next six days. I can’t let you out of my sight. Not even for a moment.”
I dropped my gaze and nodded. “Of course,” I murmured.
But a knot twisted in my stomach.
Because even now—even here—my heart ached.
For him.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Balthazar.
His touch, his voice—how he claimed me, mind and body, until I forgot who I was without him. We had never stayed apart for long. We were fire and shadow, two elements destined to collide no matter how many lives lay in ruin between us.
The ache of longing painted vivid pictures in my mind.
I imagined us curled up on a window seat, the dying light of a sunset washing over our tangled limbs, his fingers threaded through mine as if I belonged only to him.
Or wandering hand-in-hand through an overgrown cemetery, ghosts of the past whispering in the wind while we remained wrapped in our own sacred silence, feeding off of each other.
But the memories were cruel.
They didn’t stop there.
They twisted.
Moments of passion by candlelight bled into blood-slick nights.
Sweet laughter by the river turned into the echo of screams as we fled crime scenes like lovers from a fairy tale written in red.