Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
I sat alone in the dining room. It had been over a week since I last laid eyes on Draven, and the absence of his looming presence had brought a sense of peace to my troubled mind.
Imalda had informed me that he had left days ago and had yet to return.
I did not ask her about him, yet she still felt the need to keep me updated on his whereabouts.
My peace did not last long. The dining room doors burst open with a force that sent me reeling from my seat, and a scream clawed its way from my throat as I staggered to regain myself.
Then, like a shadow of death, he stood there at the entryway; Draven, his presence twisted by madness, his hair disheveled, and he was once again drenched in blood.
Draven dragged two large sacks across the floor, their contents hidden, but their weight evident in the way they sagged. The stench of blood and dirt hit me. Draven looked at me. His eyes were a hollow gaze of a man lost to grief.
“Draven, what in the name of all that is holy is wrong with you?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
He lifted one of the bags and emptied its contents on the floor before me.
Four severed heads tumbled out, their lifeless eyes staring into the abyss.
I recoiled in horror and covered my eyes, unable to bear the sight before me.
Even though I only looked for a moment, I could tell they were the heads of Blood Hunters, with their pallid skin and elongated fangs.
“Which one did it?” Draven’s voice pierced the silence, its tone devoid of emotion, lost in the depths of despair. “Which one killed your mother?”
My heart pounded against my ribcage, each beat echoing the chaos of my mind. How could he bring dead Blood Hunters here?
“Have you lost your mind?” I asked him.
“I am trying to earn your forgiveness, Rosalia. If it requires me to kill every Blood Hunter I encounter in avenging your mother’s death, then I shall do so without hesitation.”
“I never asked you to do this.” Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. “You are frightening me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I instinctively backed away, placing the dining table between us. “You need to leave, Draven, now.”
Draven stood before me, his form shrouded in shadows cast by the dim candlelight, his eyes reflecting an emptiness.
“Please, Rosalia. You must listen to understand. I need your forgiveness.”
“I cannot,” I replied, my voice wavering as tears continued to blur my vision. “Not like this. Not when you bring death and violence into our home.”
Draven’s shoulders slumped. “I apologize. I want to make it right.”
And with that, he turned and left, leaving me and the sacks of Blood Hunter heads.
Perhaps it was time to leave, to escape the confines of this mansion that had become a breeding ground for nightmares. But where could I go? With nowhere to turn, I felt trapped in the labyrinth of my own uncertainty.
October 24, 1891
I retrieved the crucifix Vail had given me from its hiding place under my mattress.
I clasped it around my neck, its weight a comforting reminder of protection.
I took out my father’s journal and struggled to decipher the smudged ink.
Each word felt like a lifeline, a way to protect myself from my husband while I tried to figure out what to do next.
I tucked his dagger into the waist of my skirt; it gave me a sense of security even though I knew it would not harm Draven. As I gripped the doorknob, a wave of fear washed over me, but I pushed it aside as I opened the door.
I stepped into the hallway, and I was met with a breathtaking sight.
Bunches of bouquets adorned the tables and floor, their vibrant colours and delicate petals casting a kaleidoscope of hues amidst the dim light.
Some of the flowers were unfamiliar to me, their exotic beauty a stark contrast to the dreary surroundings of the mansion.
It was clear that Draven had placed them there as a gesture of apology, and I could not help but wonder where he had obtained such rare blooms.
Though tempted to linger and admire their beauty, I knew I could not afford to be distracted. With a quick glance, I tore my gaze away from the bouquets and continued down the stairs, each step echoing in the silence of the mansion.
I approached the heavy, dusty curtains of the hallways and as I walked, I pulled each one open, letting the daylight flood in, illuminating for the first time in what I suspected was a very long time, the dim walls and paintings.
No longer would this place be shrouded in darkness.
Satisfied with my small task. If I was going to live in this house, I was determined to make it a place of comfort.
After my failed attempt at killing Draven, I decided to ward my room. I did not want him to enter whenever he pleased.
Standing on a chair, I meticulously arranged the stolen garlic from the kitchen around my bedroom door. A hushed chuckle from behind startled me. I whirled around to find Draven standing a few feet away from me, his presence seemingly materializing out of thin air.
“What are you doing, Rosalia?” Draven asked.
“I am protecting myself,” I told him.
“With what?”
“Garlic,” I retorted, my voice tinged with frustration as I secured the last strand.
He regarded me with an inscrutable expression, his gaze unwavering. “Yes, but why are you putting it around your bedroom door?”
“So, you will not feel entitled to enter whenever you wish.”
Draven’s expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and mild amusement danced in his eyes. He took a step closer to the garlic braids and crucifixes adorning my bedroom door, but made no attempt to enter.
“Is that what you believe, Rosalia?” he asked.
I nodded, trying to hide the unease that was gnawing at me. “Yes, I do not want you coming in without my permission.”
Draven’s lips curved into a faint smile, revealing his sharp fangs. “You are quite resourceful, I will give you that,” he remarked. “However, do you truly believe these superstitions can keep me out?”
I hesitated for a moment, torn between my fear and the desire to stand my ground. “I do not know,” I admitted, my voice wavering. “However, I have to try, Draven. I need a sense of security.”
He studied me for a moment, his gaze unwavering. “I understand,” he finally said, his tone softer. “But need I remind you, Rosalia, I would never harm you. I may be what I am, but you are my wife, and I would do anything to protect you.” He was closer to me now, our bodies almost touching.
“I fear as though I may have gone too far yesterday. And I am sorry that I frightened you,” he said.
His words tugged at my conflicted emotions. I wanted to believe him, to trust that the man I had married was still in there somewhere, but the revelations about his true nature had shaken me to the core.
Draven reached out and gently touched the crucifix around my neck, his fingers tracing the pendant. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cold and otherworldly aura that surrounded him.
I batted his hand away from me, but he caught it quickly. “I see you have not taken this off yet.” He moved my hand, so my wedding ring flashed in the dim light.
“I must have forgotten,” I said, my voice a whisper in my throat.
“Rosalia,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I know this is all overwhelming for you. However, I need you to understand something. I never wanted this life. I never wanted to be what I am. But I am bound by it, and I cannot change what I have become.”
I looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of deception, and all I saw was a deep sadness. It was a sadness that mirrored my own, a longing for something we both knew was forever out of reach.
“I did not want to fall in love with you,” I confessed. “But I did. And I want to believe you, Draven. I want to believe that you will not hurt me. But I have already been hurt enough, and I cannot open myself back up again. I am afraid I am not strong enough.”
I couldn’t deny the connection between us, a connection that defied the darkness that threatened to consume us both. Draven moved closer, our lips almost touching.
His hand moved from my wrist to gently cup my cheek. His touch was delicate, as if he were holding something precious. “I will be patient, Rosalia,” he continued. “I will not ask you to be strong. Please know that I am here for you.”
I closed my eyes, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to believe him and to have things go back to normal again. The crazy thing was that deep down through the layers of hatred and fear, I still loved him. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on that, as it felt like a betrayal of my beliefs.
“Draven, I cannot,” I said softly, and walked into my bedroom, closing the door with him still in the hallway.
Just as I was in the comfort of my bedroom, the door opened behind me. “You cannot keep walking away from me, Rosalia,” Draven said, his tone irritated.
The intensity of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to turn around. Instead, I stood my ground, clutching the crucifix around my neck as if it were the only thing keeping me anchored.
“Draven, please,” I implored, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and frustration. “I need space and time to process everything that has happened.”
He took a step closer, his presence looming behind me. “I understand that this is difficult for you,” he admitted, his voice softer now, carrying a hint of regret. “But you must comprehend that I cannot simply allow you to cast me aside. We are bound by more than mere vows, Rosalia.”
I turned to face him; my eyes locked with his. “Bound by what, Draven? Bound by secrets and deceptions? I must discover who I am and what I truly desire, and I cannot achieve that with you perpetually by my side.”
Draven’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hurt and longing. “Bound by love, Rosalia,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of our ragged breaths. “Bound by the memories we have shared, the moments of joy and sorrow that have woven us together.”
I felt a pang in my ch est at his words, torn between believing him and the fear of being hurt again. “Love is not enough,” I murmured, as tears welled up in my eyes. “Not when it is tainted by bloodshed and betrayal.”
Draven’s expression faltered, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I am willing to do whatever it takes to make things right, to earn back your trust.”
I wanted to believe him, to let go of the pain and anger that had consumed me since my mother’s death. But the wounds ran deep, too deep to heal with mere words.
“I need time, Draven,” I said softly, my voice tinged with sadness. “Time to heal, time to forgive.”
Draven nodded; his gaze filled with understanding. “I shall grant you all the time you require,” he promised, his voice steady despite the turmoil that flickered in his eyes. “I will always be here, waiting for you.”
He hesitated for a moment, and I waited for him to say something else. His posture remained straight, and with a heavy heart, I watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.
Alone once more, I sank to the floor, the weight of my emotions pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.