Ghost
POV BLAKE
Istruggle to stop drinking from her. Every fiber of my being screams to take more, to drain her dry, to consume every last drop of her intoxicating fire.
“What are you?” I murmur, tearing my mouth from her throat.
The taste of her floods my senses—honey and lightning, warmth and eternity. I stagger back, my chest heaving, my entire body trembling with the effort of restraint.
“What—” I stare at her, confusion warring with hunger. “That was not supposed to happen.”
I reach for her throat, my fingers tracing the twin puncture marks. Blood wells beneath my touch, and I feel the pull of it like a physical force. The spark. The impossible snap of something ancient locking into place.
“The bite,” I manage, my voice rough. “It shouldn’t cause this reaction. Pleasure like that only happens for one who is already bound.”
My mind reels. Vampires do not mate with humans. It is impossible. It has always been impossible.
And yet. I felt it. The mating bond. It snapped into place the moment my fangs pierced her skin. A connection so deep, so primal, it shook the foundations of my two-hundred-year exile.
The flush on her cheeks, the wild pulse at her throat, the hunger in her eyes that mirrors my own.
She is different.
I tasted it in her blood. Liquid sunshine. Ancient power. Magic that should not exist in a mortal woman.
The question burns in my mind. I have lived for millennia. I have tasted the blood of kings and peasants, warriors and saints, the pure and the damned. Never—not once—have I tasted anything like her.
“You need to leave this house,” I say, the words coming out sharp and urgent.
Her brow furrows.
“You are in danger here. More danger than you understand.” I pace before her, my shadows writhing at my feet, agitated by my turmoil.
If the Order discover what her blood truly is—if they taste even a fraction of what I tasted—they will not stop until they have consumed every drop.
Is not just blood. In thousands of years, I have never tasted anything like it.
“You are not fully human, Lucille. I do not know what you are. But the power in your veins—the magic—it is ancient. So powerful. And it will be your end if you stay here.”
I see the conflict warring in her eyes.
She touches her throat. Her fingers come away red.
“You bit me… What are you?” she whispers, her voice small. “I’m so confused. felt a pull. A bond. I felt it snap into place.”
My jaw tightens. She felt it. Of course she did. The mating bond does not discriminate. It claims both parties equally, irrevocably.
“You must go,” I say. “Tomorrow. First light. Leave this house and never look back.”
“I can’t.” She gasps, her eyes wide.
“You are not safe with me.” My voice cracks, the words scraping out of my throat like broken glass.
“I am a monster. And you—” I shake my head, my fists clenching at my sides.
“You are like a drug. Impossible to resist. I want to drain you. I want to consume every part of you and leave nothing behind. And the worst part—the most damning part—is that you would let me.”
She stares at me, her chest heaving. I see the fear in her eyes. But I also see something that terrifies me more than any monster could. She wants this too.
“You must leave,” I repeat, forcing steel into my voice.
“I can’t.” Her voice breaks. “My father. The debts. If I leave, they will—”
“Your debts…” I stop, processing. “Money. That is what keeps you here?”
She nods, tears welling in her eyes. “I sold myself to save him. If I leave, they will kill him. The Crimson Order—they will—”
“Enough.” I hold up my hand, silencing her. “So what keeps you here is money. That is the only chain binding you to this place?”
She nods again, a tear sliding down her cheek.
“Then I will give you the money to go.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
My shadows stir, responding to my agitation. A gust of wind rises from nowhere, rattling the small table near the balcony doors. Papers scatter. The Crimson Order’s rule book, left open.
One of my shadows snatches it from the air. It carries the book to her, pages open, a pencil hovering beside it.
“Write,” I command. “Mark where you should go.”
She stares at the book in her hands, her mind clearly reeling. “I don’t—”
“There is an old cemetery behind the north wing of the manor.” I speak quickly, urgently. “The small chapel there, is adjacent to my tomb. Inside, you will find gold. Gemstones. A fortune that has sat untouched for years.”
She looks up at me, confusion and disbelief warring on her face.
“One gemstone would be enough to pay your father’s debts a hundred times over.” I hold her gaze. “Take as many as you want. Go tomorrow. Then leave this place and never return.”
“But—”
“The others—Thomas, Cain, the rest of them—they will kill you if they taste what I have tasted. They will drain you dry and fight over the bones. I cannot—” My voice catches. “I will not allow that to happen.”
She looks down at the book in her hands. Her fingers trace the page, and I see the conflict written across her features.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “Why help me?”
I close my eyes. The question cuts deeper than it should.
Because I am already lost to you.
“Go,” I say instead, my voice harsh. “Tomorrow. Do not tell anyone. Do not look back. And if you value your life, you will forget I ever existed.”
She rises, the book clutched to her chest. She is still naked beneath the sheet my shadows draped over her. I realize I covered her without thinking. Some primal part of me wanted to protect her modesty, to shield her from my gaze. I am a fool.
“Blake,” she says, and my name on her lips is a knife to the chest.
“Do not.” I shake my head. “Do not say my name like that. It makes this harder than it already is.”
She takes a step toward me, and I retreat. I cannot. I will not.
I meet her eyes, and I let her see everything.
The loneliness. The hunger. The desperate, aching need that has consumed me for two centuries.
“I cannot be what you need me to be. I am not the man in the portrait. I am the monster who built this house on the bones of his enemies. And if I keep you here, I will destroy you.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. I see the tears glistening in her eyes, and it takes every ounce of my will to remain still.
Finally, she nods. “Tomorrow,” she whispers. “I will go.”
The words should bring me peace. Instead, they feel like a wound that will never heal.
I turn away, my shadows rising around me. “Sleep Lucille, sleep. And in the morning, forget the monster who wanted you more than anything he has ever wanted in two hundred years.”
I dissolve into shadows, watching her dream so peacefully, so unaware.
And I remain in the darkness, utterly alone, the taste of her blood still on my tongue
I let her go. I sacrificed my one and only chance to break this curse.
And I would do it again. A thousand times over. Because she is worth it. She is worth everything.
And the knowledge of that—the devastating weight of it—will haunt me for the rest of my existence.