Chapter 8. Blaise
I glanced between my mate—Gods, it was going to take a long time to get used to that—and the creepy-ass house that had just magicked into existence right in front of my eyes.
Neither of them looked like a natural match for the other.
Caitlyn, all bright colors and nervous energy, looked like she belonged in one of those cheerful houses with fake flamingos dotted across the front lawn.
Her house, however, looked as though it should be perpetually surrounded by blood moons and thunderclouds. Everything about it was black, right down to the intimidating wrought-iron spikes spearing skyward from its crooked towers.
And I immediately fell in love with it.
A memory bubbled to the surface. Back when the four of us—Devlin, Lochran, Ambrose, and I—were first exploring the mortal world, we had stumbled across a similar, though nowhere near as impressive, abandoned house.
A group of mortal kids had been gathered outside, daring each other to spend five minutes inside.
I’d been instantly intrigued, listening with fascination as the mortal kids traded ghost stories about the place, that familiar itch sparking under my skin—the need to be the one who went in and proved there was nothing to fear.
Devlin had blanched, immediately refusing. Lochran had stayed with him, though more out of bored indifference than fear.
It was Ambrose who’d followed me inside. His shadows had coiled with mine before slipping ahead of us, probing the dark corners of the rooms—the same midnight shadows that had torn apart an entire nest of vampires, I realized suddenly.
My stomach flipped. He’d been protecting me. Even then.
While I’d rushed toward danger for the thrill of it, he’d been right behind me, ready to tear anything apart that tried to hurt me.
I bit the inside of my lip.
Stop thinking about Ambrose. You’ve literally just found your fated mate, I chastised myself.
“Um, I know it’s not what everyone would pick,” she said in a near whisper—presumably so the house didn’t hear her.
“I love it,” I said, loud enough that it definitely would.
Caitlyn sagged with relief, though she still twisted her fingers together nervously. “Um... well, I guess I should bring you in to meet Creep,” she said, taking a tentative step toward the house.
My brows furrowed. “Creep?” I asked, following her.
She let out a small, bracing breath and threw me an almost pleading look over her shoulder. “You know how I said the houses were sentient?”
I nodded, but she’d already turned away, her attention fixed on the front door as she stepped onto the creaking porch.
“Well, sometimes they like to manifest,” she said, waving a vague hand, “and possess—well, possess isn’t quite the right word, but... anyway.”
She stopped in front of the uninviting doorway, shaped into a gothic lancet arch. The black paint was peeling, and cobwebs drooped from the point of the arch like a creepy, weirdly charming net curtain.
Caitlyn followed my gaze, color rising in her cheeks. “I, um... every time I try to spruce the place up, Creep just puts it back the way she likes it. Honestly, I think she has some kind of control over the spiders. They just go straight back and rebuild the webs.”
“So... who is Creep?” I asked again.
“Creep is—” Caitlyn began, just as the front door creaked open.
She shot me an apologetic glance as I peered inside.
The hallway was dark enough that even I had to narrow my eyes to adjust. A dusty, threadbare Persian rug stretched across dark oak floorboards.
Against one wall sat a carved console table, crowded with small taxidermy creatures beneath grimy glass domes, vases of long-decayed flowers, and what I assumed was once an ornate mirror, its surface so clouded with filth it no longer reflected anything at all.
A staircase, with thick, gothic-carved balustrades, wound its way up the side of the hall, the landing beyond cloaked in shadows so dense the only thing I could make out was the glassy glint of more taxidermy eyes watching us from above.
The only light came from a carved archway to our left, where a soft orange flicker hinted at a dying fire.
With a long, resigned sigh, Caitlyn stepped inside, dust puffing up around her boots as she headed toward the room where Creep was presumably waiting.
As I followed her, I could’ve sworn the glassy gazes of the countless dead animals tracked my movement as we crossed into what turned out to be the living room.
The faint flicker of light came from the dying embers of a fire burning low in a hulking stone fireplace.
Its muted glow revealed the stares of even more taxidermy animals, this time joined by the judgmental glares of grimy portraits, their occupants little more than vaguely humanoid shapes beneath centuries of neglect.
Carved side tables lined the walls, cluttered with unlit candles, tarnished trinkets and, oddly, an assortment of creepy Victorian toys. The hearth itself was surrounded by a mismatched collection of threadbare chairs, their upholstery worn thin by time.
Atop the three-seater couch sat a porcelain doll—the only thing in the room untouched by dust—staring lifelessly into the dying fire. Her clothes were pristine, the burgundy velvet of her dress catching the firelight with a soft sheen.
Her shockingly red hair looked to have been freshly brushed and carefully styled with a ridiculously large bow.
“Um, Creep?” Caitlyn said to the doll, which remained lifeless. “You know how I said we might have someone joining us for a few weeks? Well, as it turns out, Blaise”—she gestured vaguely in my direction—“is actually my fated, erm... mate.”
She stumbled over the word, and something in my chest tightened.
Of course she wasn’t ready. If she were, she would’ve already summoned me. The realization sent a prickle of guilt and dread skating over my skin. Neither of us had been prepared for this. Did either of us even want it?
“And he’ll be staying here...” Caitlyn trailed off, the uncertainty in her voice mirroring my own thoughts.
Would I be staying? We barely knew each other. Until six months ago, it had never crossed my mind to question that one day I’d have this total stranger standing in front of me that I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
Hades. What a monumental train wreck this was about to be.
And what was worse was I had kind of hoped for a split second after I’d felt the bond settle into place that Ambrose and that night would simply fade away.
But he hadn’t. And how did one say to their new mate “Hi!
Nice to meet you! You look lovely, and smell delicious, and my body is begging me to skip the house tour and devour you, but—side note—I'm kinda low-key still in love with someone else.”
And Gods only knew what had been happening in Caitlyn’s life all these years—what had made her wait, what had kept her from summoning me at all.
But regardless, I was maybe going to be here for a while, which meant I’d have to make a good first impression on a house that was, apparently, notoriously difficult to win over.
I pulled my most charming smile and offered a small bow to the creepy-ass doll, and —hoping that this wasn’t an elaborate prank—said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A moment passed in complete silence.
Then, slowly, the doll’s head swiveled a full one-eighty to face me.
Her face was cherubically chubby, painted with the faintest wash of peach.
Her lips were fixed in an angelic grin, stained the same rouge that warmed her cheeks, while dark red brows arched in a strangely friendly, permanent curve.
Her eyes sent a shiver down my spine—the mint-green irises, framed by a fan of disturbingly realistic lashes, sliding up and down inside their sockets as if assessing me.
Yep. Creep definitely earned her name.
At a loss for anything specific I could compliment her on, I finally settled on, “I adore the gothic vibe of the house.”
Creep’s eyes narrowed a fraction, as if weighing whether I meant it. Ironically enough, I did.
Had I ever in a million years imagined myself spending the rest of my days in a haunted house, appeasing a possessed doll?
No. Not even a little.
And yet, standing there, it felt oddly... homey. The same thrill stirred in my chest that I’d felt all those years ago when those kids dared me into the abandoned house—the itch of curiosity, of wanting to explore every shadowed corner.
And, completely out of character for me, I felt a near-overwhelming urge to grab the nearest duster and start uncovering whatever treasures lay hidden beneath decades of dust and grime.
Unable to help myself, I crossed the room to the nearest table and reached for the glass dome centerpiece. I had just enough time to register Caitlyn’s wide-eyed stare—her mouth opening as if to warn me not to touch it—before my hands closed around the glass.
Caitlyn’s gaze flicked anxiously between me and Creep, whose narrowed stare tracked my every movement. I blew gently, sending a plume of dust swirling off the dome in a glittering cloud before it settled heavily onto the floorboards at my feet.
Something dark lay within, still obscured by grime.
Without thinking, I cradled the dome against my chest and rubbed a clear patch with the sleeve of my jacket.
The filth seemed to seep into the fabric, and I found myself hoping that the house had a washing machine.
Otherwise, this was going to be an expensive trip to the dry cleaners.
After a few moments of scrubbing, the glass cleared enough to reveal a pair of beady red eyes staring back at me. A large, fat black rat sat preserved inside, frozen mid-snarl.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Creep tilt her head, as if daring me to drop the taxidermy rat in disgust.
In actual fact, I was quite fond of rats.
“Aw,” I said, lifting the dome closer to my face for a better look. “Does this little guy have a name? I bet this one’s called something like Plague.”
Creep’s eyes widened, as did Caitlyn’s.
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth as I carefully set Plague back in the exact spot I’d taken him from, mindful not to disturb a single speck more of dust than I already had.
That was when something else caught my attention.
On either side of the fireplace hung a pair of life-sized portraits, their occupants obscured beneath decades of grime. Even so, it was clear that each painting depicted a couple.
A strange sensation settled in my chest as I studied them. A sense of recognition. Of kinship.
“Are these the people who lived here before?” I asked, unable to keep the awe from my voice. I couldn’t make out their faces, but I felt it, that beneath the dirt sat an incubus in each portrait, the brighter colors beside them belonging to their witch fated mates.
I glanced toward Creep, who was still watching me intently. She gave the slightest nod, and my attention drifted back to the portraits.
It suddenly struck me just how old this house was. Not old enough to date back to the original bargain between my clan of incubi and Caitlyn’s coven—but still centuries old at least.
Ambrose would have known. He was forever harping on about architecture—how this carving meant that age, how a certain arch or beam marked a particular era. He would’ve loved this place.
The thought landed like a punch to the gut.
I immediately chastised myself for letting my mind wander back to him. Here I was, standing in my fated mate’s living room, staring up at members of my own clan, trying to charm a possessed doll, and I still couldn’t seem to keep Ambrose out of my head.
I let out a slow, steadying breath and forced myself to refocus. To try harder. To give Caitlyn the space she deserved—or at least enough room for something to grow between us.
I settled my expression into something neutral before turning back to Creep and to a very surprised Caitlyn behind her.
I closed the remaining distance and crouched in front of Creep, bringing myself level with the demon doll.
“Thank you for letting me see them,” I said earnestly. “I hope one day I can...”
I trailed off, not sure what I wanted to say. Have my own place beside Caitlyn on these walls?
“... see their faces properly,” I finished instead.
Creep’s head tilted again. Then, with a faint creak, she raised one small porcelain hand toward me. I reached out, gently hooking my finger beneath her cold ceramic hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as if she were a queen granting me audience.
Then, to my utter horror and undeniable relief, Creep’s eyes fluttered.
Her porcelain cheeks seemed to flush impossibly darker, and an odd, disembodied girlish giggle echoed from the depths of the house.
She yanked her hand from mine, creaked upright, and somehow, despite her fingers being cast permanently into little fists, managed to grasp the sides of her dress and dip into a curtsy.
And then she was gone.
In the blink of an eye, she vanished into the darkness, the pitter-patter of small feet fading away, that eerie giggle trailing after her.
I turned to Caitlyn.
The stunned expression she’d worn for nearly the entire exchange had curdled into a scowl. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest as she angrily tapped her battered Converse against the hardwood floor.
“Did I, um, do something wrong?” I asked.
Caitlyn’s lips pressed together. “No,” she snapped, then immediately softened, her frown easing.
“Sorry. It’s not you at all.” She huffed out a breath.
“It’s just... me being jealous. I’ve lived with Creep for six months now, and she still cuts my hair off while I sleep.
You’ve been here less than five minutes, and she’s already warmed to you more than she ever has to me. ”
Caitlyn dragged in a slow breath, uncrossed her arms, and pinched her thumb and forefinger together on each hand, drawing them inward as she exhaled. When she looked back up at me, the tight frustration had finally smoothed from her features.
“Well,” she said, “now that you’ve officially been introduced to Creep... how about I show you around, and we can, y’know...” She seemed to fumble for the right words. “... get to know one another?”