Chapter Five
CLARA
The forest stretched endlessly around me, the towering, ancient trees twisting together in a canopy, filtering in only a minimum of the golden sunlight.
I’d wandered farther than I planned, the trail disappearing behind me long ago, but I wasn’t worried.
I needed this.
I had felt out of place before. No matter where I went, it was like I was the square peg in a round hole.
But when I’d come here—when I was here—everything swallowed me whole.
The silence, the very shadows that seemed older than the earth itself wrapped themselves around me until I felt… warm and safe.
And yet, the strangest part wasn’t the place.
It was me. Every step I took echoed in front of me, like the trees and plants and mountains were trying to lure me forward.
Lure me toward something. I should have been afraid.
But I wasn’t. I enjoyed being alone and thought this foreign place really didn’t seem so foreign at all.
Sometimes, when I caught my reflection in the stream, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
The features were mine, yes, but I stared into my eyes and felt like someone from another world was looking back at me.
It was as if I was waiting for something I couldn’t name.
As if I had lived a life I couldn’t recall, one that had been carved away and buried beneath time.
The solitude, the quiet hum of nature, and the raw, untamed beauty of this place made me feel like I’d been here before. It was like a memory I knew I didn’t have, but was so strong inside of me it was undeniable.
In this moment, it felt like this was why I’d come this far.
The deeper through the trees I walked, the more I finally had a moment to breathe. God, I hadn’t even fully started working at the gallery yet, and already, I had drama surrounding me and my new home.
This place—the region, the landscape, the history—called to me. Now that I was here, moving through the forests my grandparents most likely walked once long ago, I felt something stirring inside me. Something familiar and strange all at once.
The chill of the Romanian air rustled the tree leaves, and I adjusted my jacket and just took a deep breath in. I'd brought my sketchpad with me and couldn't wait to sit down and draw whatever was in front of me, feeling my muse wake up and take notice.
For months, I’d struggled to create anything that felt alive. Everything I sketched, painted, or sculpted seemed hollow, as if I’d lost the spark that once came so naturally. But this forest, with its dense shadows and golden light, seemed to whisper possibilities.
I kept walking until my legs ached and my belly grumbled that it was time to eat. The trees opened up to a clearing, and there it stood…an estate unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was so beautiful that my breath caught.
The structure was massive even though it was nothing but ruins.
It was clearly ancient with its jagged spires rising to the skies.
The crumbling stone walls must have towered over everything at one point in all their otherworldly glory.
Ivy crept up the stone, and I stared at what was once probably stained glass windows, now black and empty like watchful eyes.
But right now, it didn’t seem like it belonged here...yet it did. The way it loomed in its decaying and defiant beauty made it seem alive.
My breath hitched as I stepped closer, weaving through the rubble and tangled foliage until the trees thinned and the forest gave way to a clearing, an overlook on a massive hill.
The air itself seemed to still, as though the world held its breath.
Beyond the sprawling wild, cradled by the jagged rise of mountains, it stood.
A castle.
It loomed like a sentinel of stone and shadow, its towers piercing the sky, its walls etched with the scars of centuries.
The structure was both ruin and majesty, as if time itself had tried to devour it but failed.
Turrets jutted like sharpened fangs, and high windows glimmered faintly in the pale light, reflecting a beauty that was almost cruel.
It should have been terrifying, a monument to darkness. And yet, in its grim grandeur, it was heartbreakingly beautiful—like a fairy tale twisted into something unholy. A fortress of nightmares and dreams alike. A place where monsters were born… and where they waited.
And it… was familiar. I blinked, confused, staring at it like I did a picture I recognized. A flock of birds flew overhead. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to leave this place behind, but I couldn’t.
Because the artist in me wouldn’t let me, not when this type of beauty was in front of me.
I sat down on a nearby fallen log and immediately pulled my sketchpad out. I started drawing the ruins, getting the details of the crumbling stone and the flora making its home in the rubble. Emotion consumed me. My hands trembled as I ran my pencil across the paper.
The way the shadows crossed and clung to its walls made it seem like they were intimate lovers too afraid to part. I snacked on a few things I’d brought in my bag, getting lost in my art as the air grew colder and the daylight continued to fade.
And then I felt it. A presence.
Someone is watching me.
The back of my neck tightened, tingled, and I froze, my pencil still in mid-stroke as I glanced up and looked around. I noticed the first thing right away.
The surrounding forest had gone silent. I didn't hear birds chirping, didn’t pick up on animals scurrying around. I didn't even hear or feel the wind.
I closed my eyes, my muscles tense as I let myself just…feel my surroundings. After a minute, I opened my eyes and lifted my head, my gaze sweeping the clearing once more before landing on the darkest structure of the ruins.
And then my vision cleared, and I saw him.
There was a person standing in the ruins, partially hidden by the crumbling archway and deep shadows. It was a male, his shape and height a definite giveaway.
He was massive and imposing, with broad shoulders and a towering frame that cast a long shadow across the ground—a shadow that was terrifying and seemed inhuman.
My chest tightened, and I felt something weird take control of me as I took in his very presence. He hadn’t said one word, yet I could feel his gaze on me. And although I couldn’t make out his face, I knew without a doubt he had sharp and angular features… and he was impossibly handsome.
And then he stepped out of the blackest of the shadows, yet still stayed in the darkened recesses of the ruins. I didn’t recognize him, but I knew—without a doubt—that I knew this man.
I held my breath as I stared at his face. But it wasn’t just his features that struck me. It was the way he stared at me, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made me feel like prey.
Or like he knew me on the most intimate level.
Because the way he watched me was with this almost hungry expression that was feral and predatory.
I stood, gripping my sketchpad, and took a step back, instinct in me saying this man was safe…yet he was fierce.
Both of us were still silent, and then his lips curved into the faintest smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Here you are.” His voice was low and rough as he spoke in thickly accented English.
His voice curled around me and made my heart race. But it wasn’t out of fear, and that fact terrified me on a primal level.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not sure why I was apologizing.
“What do you have there?” he asked, gesturing to my sketchpad.
I pulled the pad away from my chest and glanced down. “I was just sketching.” He stepped toward me, his movements deliberate. My legs felt shaky, my feet taking me another step back.
I could make out his facial features more. Taking him in with a more critical eye now, I took note he was even larger than I’d realized. His frame was towering, and if I had to guess, I would have said he was six foot eight. His presence was suffocating.
I started breathing faster as I sensed the air grew colder and the sun set further, casting more darkness until the light disappeared beneath the horizon.
“It’s getting late,” he finally said. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was sharper now, cutting through like a blade.
“You’re right,” I whispered, clutching the sketchpad to my chest again. “I better get going.” Yet I didn’t move.
The last sliver of sunlight disappeared, plunging the clearing into shadow. God, how had I stayed out so late? Time had slipped through my fingers.
His figure blocked everything behind him as he moved away from the ruins and walked closer to me. But my feet refused to retreat and take me away from him. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his eyes gleamed faintly, this unnatural glow flickering in their depths.
“I’m going to go,” I whispered again.
“Come here, Clara.” His command was soft, but it carried the weight of something ancient, something that demanded obedience.
I found myself walking, almost floating, to this strange man who somehow knew my name. The way he spoke to me, commanded me, wrapped around my body in a seductive embrace. I couldn’t place him, had never seen him before, yet… he was familiar.
He leaned in, his face so close to mine I could feel his warm breath brush against my skin. My neck tingled, and I lifted my hand, touching the spot where I knew the bite mark was.
A sharp, sudden sound left me as I looked into his glowing eyes. “You,” I gasped.
“Yes. Me,” he murmured, his voice low…dangerous.
I tried to get my legs to move, but it was too late. His hand shot out, catching my wrist as he pulled me close to him so my chest slammed against his.
The world tilted, the shadows swallowing me whole as he held me to him, his lips barely brushing mine as he murmured, “You’re mine, Clara. And I’ve waited long enough.”
And then he gripped my hair and tilted my head back. I felt his mouth feathering across my throat.
“I’ve been waiting ages for this…for you,” he growled, and then I felt him strike, sinking his teeth into the side of my neck.
And I didn’t fight it.