How to Dump a Vampire (How To Villain On RomCom)

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Thorn

T he icy wind nips at my cheeks as I trek through the forest, hushed outside of my boots crunching the fresh blanket of snow. A stubborn lock of raven hair covers my eye, escaping the warm confines of my crimson woolen hood. I blink away frozen tears as the wind whistles past, threatening to tear away my fur-lined cloak.

These woods have been locked in winter’s grasp for endless weeks, but today, it has loosened its icy grip just enough for me to step outside and stretch my legs. I know I can’t linger long. The ancient magic that thrums through the forest warns me the blizzard is soon to return. I can feel it in the brittle air. The trees creak and groan under their frosty burden .

Out here, no one can find me or judge what I am. My little cottage awaits, beckoning with its promise of tea and a crackling fire. Here, I’m far from the backstabbing leeches who tried to kill me. Twice! You would think one murder attempt would be enough.

Some “rulers” they turned out to be, the vindictive bastards. I tried reforming their corrupt world once. I thirsted for justice and revenge. I dug up their dirty secrets. But I also learned the hard way you can’t force change on the unwilling.

So I freed myself instead.

Now, it’s just me and the elements. This winter storm is especially nasty. I pull my hood lower as icy flakes assault my cheeks. The things I endure for some peace and quiet.

I curse under my frosty breath, quickening my pace. I can’t wait to be home sipping tea by the fire, my safe little sanct—

What’s this? A man is face-down in the snow up ahead.

Cautiously, I approach, ready to defend my part of this forest from any threat, but as I draw near, I see he poses no danger in this state. Rather, he is in danger.

I kneel down and turn him over. His skin is frozen, lips tinged blue. Clumps of white snow stick to his black hair. My eyes widen. He could almost pass for one of my kind with those sharp features, but I haven’t seen another in ages. Well, I haven’t seen anyone really, but who’s keeping track?

I glance around warily. Where did he even come from? Is this an ambush or trap?

Everything looks clear, though, and I can’t just leave him out here. With a reluctant sigh, I brush the snow from my skirts, loop my arms around his shoulders, and prepare to drag him back to my cottage.

“You better not be trouble, buddy,” I mutter, hefting him up.

He’s slender but tall, and I’m out of practice using my preternatural strength. Still, I manage to hoist his limp form and start dragging him toward shelter.

I don’t need this complication. As soon as he’s conscious, I’ll give him some supplies and send him packing. Back to my peaceful, solitary life. That’s the plan.

So why does part of me want to unravel the mystery of this stranger? And why, when I glance down at his angled features, do I feel an odd stirring in my long-guarded heart ?

Bah! Just the cold playing tricks on my mind. Once we’re inside by the warm fire, I’ll tend to him, get some food in his belly, and wave goodbye without a backward glance. No twist of fate can dictate my future or who I give my heart. My life is mine alone now.

I’m in control of my destiny. The past and whatever strange magic stirred here tonight will stay buried, where they belong.

Trudging through the drifts, I half-carry, half-drag him toward the shelter of my cottage. Tendrils of smoke wisp cheerily from the stone chimney, contrasting the stranger’s dire condition. The structure is small and modest, nearly hidden amongst the naked winter trees, but to me, it’s perfect.

I pause at the heavy oak door, gathering the energy to move him enough to open the door. The inside of my home is calling me—the woven rugs covering worn floorboards, strings of drying herbs, a crackling fireplace casting warmth through the single-room abode all my own, away from any who would think less of me.

Shifting the man’s weight, I unlatch the door one-handed. We practically fall across the threshold in my haste to get him near the fire. I settle his limp form on the thick fur in front of the hearth, my breath coming fast. His fate now depends on my skills, long disused.

Kneeling by the fire, I peel back the stranger’s tattered cloak and search for injuries. There are none, only the unnatural pallor indicating his weakened state. I place my palms on his chest, seeking a heartbeat. It thrums slowly, so unlike my own rapid pulse.

Closing my eyes, I delve into long-restrained abilities. A conduit opens between us as I channel restorative energy into his body, only a trickle at first, probing cautiously at the breach between life and death, and then more forcefully, sensing his fading life force.

Suddenly, his back arches, body convulsing violently. His striking silver eyes fly open, meeting my gaze with a blaze of recognition. Inexplicably, his life essence entwines with mine, two strands knotting together. The cottage darkens around us.

No! This can’t be!

I recoil, breaking our connection. The stranger collapses back, breathing labored but regulated as he falls back asleep. I stagger away, clutching my chest as unwanted heat courses through my veins. The ancient magicks of a fated mating bond flicker to life.

Hands clenched, I can’t stop pacing. Sorcery has meddled here, that much is clear, but I’ll be damned if some ancient mate-bond with a random starving man will ruin the solitary life I’ve built.

I learned the hard way that destiny and “meant to be” are fantasies. Trusting them only leads to disaster. I refuse to give up my freedom a second time.

Kneeling by sleeping handsome here, I study his face in the firelight. He has no clue that fate thinks we’re a match made in heaven or that he now has power over me, and he never will.

When he wakes up, I’ll play dumb about all this magical connection stuff. As far as he’ll know, I simply took pity and helped a stranger in need. I’ll get him back on his feet, send him on his way with some supplies, and pretend this never happened. No twist of fate can dictate my future or who I give my heart to ever again.

My safe little cottage, my rules. I control my destiny now. The past and whatever magic stirred here tonight will stay buried .

After settling the stranger’s unconscious form by the fire, I rise to stoke the flames. The howling of the gusts of snow has only grown louder since I returned, so I add another log and prod the embers, sparks dancing up the chimney.

As the fire regains warmth, I glance back to check on him. Still as death he lies there, raven hair framing his angled features. A closer look makes me freeze. His lips are partially open, revealing the lengthened fangs of a vampire.

Carefully, I move closer to see if they are, in fact, fangs. In my shock, I fail to notice his hand shooting out to grab my wrist in an iron grip. Before I can react, he pulls it toward his mouth, teeth poised to pierce my skin.

I cry out, yanking my arm back desperately. The reflex seems to stir him, just enough for his fangs to retract and release me as he sinks back into unconsciousness.

I stumble away, staring wide-eyed and cradling my wrist. “Shit,” I breathe aloud. This is no mere lost traveler. A weakened vampire in my cottage… This can’t be happening !

Yet the puncture wounds I expected do not bloom. Some part of him, even deeply unconscious, resisted the urge to feed, but the primal instinct will only grow as starvation sets in.

Thoughts churning, I pace in front of the fire. When he awakens, his tenuous control will be all that stands between decorum and violence. I can’t risk his bite. It could make the bond between us harder to break, if not impossible.

The solution comes to me in a flash—the asrbloom elixir, a tea that can sustain a vampire, abating the thirst for blood. It may be this stranger’s only hope… and mine.

I rise from his side and make my way past the dried bouquets adorning my timber walls. At my carved oak cabinet, I sift through jars of dried flower petals, bundles of herbs dangling from the rafters, vials of essential oils, and hand-sewn pouches holding rare ingredients—treasures I’ve slowly gathered, transforming this little cottage into a sanctuary imbued with nature’s magic.

I sift through the various pouches and jars filling my cabinet, glass clinking, until my fingers close around a small linen pouch tucked in the back. Pulling it out gently, I loosen the drawstring and peer inside at the precious contents—a fine powder with a shimmering crimson hue, flecks sparkling like rubies in the firelight.

Asrbloom pollen, harvested from a rare magical flower that only blooms beneath the full moon. So potent is its magic that simply steeping a pinch in hot water can nourish a weakened vampire without the need for blood. It is a secret my mother uncovered through decades of studying botanical lore, one few in the realms know.

This stranger’s only hope is the restorative tea this pollen can produce.

With care, I sprinkle a small amount into the iron kettle hanging above the fire, but as the water starts bubbling, the pot suddenly shakes violently then, explodes in a spray of shards that rain down onto my worn wooden floors.

I stand stunned, gaping at the wreckage now scattered across the woven rugs. Never before has my magic acted so volatile when crafting a curative elixir. What disturbance has shaken my intuitive talents so?

When our energies connected briefly, it was as if a rock dropped into a still pond, disrupting the calm flow. That must be why my attempt to bring this stranger back from the brink of death affected my magic oddly.

Taking a deep breath, I center my focus, grab another kettle, and begin brewing a second batch, willing my magic to flow calmly. This time, the healing tea steeps perfectly. Gently cradling the man’s head, I lift the mug to his colorless lips and administer the steaming crimson liquid.

As the tea restores faint color to his cheeks, relief washes over me, yet it is short-lived. When he wakes, I must ensure no sign of my true nature is revealed. My existence depends on secrecy. Better he believes I’m merely a humble herbalist who took pity on a lost soul than for him to learn the truth.

The sooner he’s on his way, the less likely our crossed paths will dredge up secrets best left buried. If distance comes quickly, perhaps this mate bond between us will fade back into dormancy before he recognizes it. I can’t risk the alternative, especially not with a vampire. The fated mate magic grows stronger with proximity.

Once he’s healed, I will give him provisions and directions through the forest and hope I never gaze upon those piercing silver eyes again. It is for the best, no matter the whispered protests in my conflicted heart.