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Mari / 33 / Black Writer & Hot Mess / I BITE

[harmshake]

𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖛𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉 𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖐𝖊'𝖘 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌!

I'm Mari, aka Harmshake (she/her). I'm black, queer, and wrestling and writing is my life. All of my fics are tagged #spilledink.

❤‍🔥 𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖘 ❤‍🔥 𝕱𝖎𝖈 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ❤‍🔥

Not my art or a real photo of me. But you get the vibes...take this quiz if you don't. 🔥 (Also not my quiz, lol.)

All stories and graphics (besides photos/gifs where credit is given) are created by me. Don't be weird and steal/repost, thank you!

[caribbeanangel]

Bill Gunn, Personal Problems (1980)

[kibumkim]

If this is real they need to do it again

[buttlengthangst]

team Dula Peep!

[kristina100000]

dont cry my crazy bunny girl... a beautiful june awaits you and me

[elitehanitje]

👑

[free-my-mindd]

[ruesdeluxe]

[333creolelady]

Dracula: Penance Ch.12

The Death Rattle Pt.2

Pairing: Dracula (Jacob Anderson) X Blk Fem OC

This is a two part chapter. If you haven’t read part 1 then click here

Warnings: Blood/ Gore, sexually suggestive themes, cursing, critiques on religion, murder, occult practices.

Disclaimer: Accompanied music for Dracula is available via Pandora App which is free. Links will be available throughout the chapter. Be sure to download the app to get the full reading experience.

Masterlist

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Tagged folks Please scroll to the bottom of the page for acknowledgments and Thankyou!!!❤️❤️

I reach under my seat for the pamphlets. I traced my thumb over the cream cardstock. The ink was raised, a deep charcoal that caught the amphitheater's torchlight. At the top, in a cursive script, were the words: PRELUDIO A COLÓN by Julián Carrillo

Beneath the title, the description was brief, written with the type of academic detachment of someone who had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. I squinted against the dim light, reading the text. 

“ A journey into the 'Thirteenth Sound.' Witness the Fracturing of the traditional octave into micro-intervals, Carrill unveils the hidden frequencies that exist betwixt the notes of the living and dead. This piece is a sonic and phonetic map of the unseen."

Apparently, this piece was written for a soprano opera singer, flute, guitar, violin, cello, and a harpzither. The name of each artist was listed under the instrument they played. According to the pamphlet, the opera singer was Julian Carrollo’s great granddaughter. She stuns in a wine-red dress and a red flower in her hair. 

It starts on a solemn note. Then, the music began on a haunting chord. The soprano's voice rattles something inside of me. With my senses raw, Carrillo’s piece was like a glass of cold water against the skin. The strings had microscopic cracks between them, creating a serrated frequency that vibrated against my feet and shot up to my heart. There was nothing familiar about the harmonies to find comfort in. Just a sliding, ghostly pitch that turned my stomach. 

I'm trying to green out right now. On 2 mg’s IF that. I couldn’t understand it. This sensitivity of it all. 

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm that fought the music’s eerie stretch. I gripped the armrests, nauseated and spinning, as the world shredded into thin, screeching ribbons. This song feels more like the death of something. An ending. Every string plucks at my nerves, causing a deep sense of unrest. The printed program notes that this is Sofia’s favorite arrangement. The violin sounds like a cry. 

The spotlight beams down on the band as they play louder and louder. I press my hand into Vlad’s lap and he takes hold of it.  I straighten my posture to take deeper breaths. The music stops and then starts, intensifying and then diffusing over and over. It feels as if it’s pushing me towards a place I don’t want to go.

Earlier I’d noticed red pattles in the crowd for drinks. I raise mine, and within a minute, a server grabs me a bottle of water for my stomach. I chug half of it as the piece fades out, hanging over the last few notes. 

I’m grateful for the silence, and I focus on box breathing. The technique seems to take the edge off my panic as I rest my hand back into my lap and grab the pamphlet. 

Next. A ballet called Lo Eterno en Marcha. In English it translated to “The Eternal in progress”. I read the dancers' names. Lucian and Estella. They walk into the spotlight shining down on the pit. Lucian is tall with fire-red hair pulled into a ball at his nape. He is freckled and wide-eyed with a hooked nose. His eyes are an electric green. Estella is a tan-skinned, black-eyed woman with her hair slicked into a long braid down her back. There’s is something ancient about her specifically though they look the same age.

I lean closer to Vlad and whisper, “ Are they together?” 

He smiles quietly and nods. At first, I think he won’t elaborate, until he leans over. “They died on the same day during The 1755 Tsunami of Cádiz.”

I marvel at the two of them, reopening the program to read about the performance.

" Emerse yourself in the exploration of the Kinetic Infinite, where dance transcends mortal perception. By moving beyond the speed of sight, the performers shed the friction of time to exist as a singular line."

Hmph. Not for my eyes, clearly. I was riding high. My shoulders relax as the water seemed to calm me down. Slowly, the music morphs into an almost rhythmic thrum. They might as well have been hummingbirds. Their bodies were a kaleidoscope of frantic, impossible motion. I blinked, trying to focus, but my eyes couldn't catch them—not fully anyway. They were moving at a speed that defied the physics of my own sight.

I watch the carousel of bodies entangled together, their garments bleeding into a new color. Ribbons of white silk and streaks of black and red caught in a hurricane. I somehow managed to catch the occasional "stutter" of an image—Estella’s face, twisted in serene focus, before she dissolved back into a trail of silver light. It was as if someone were flipping through a sketchbook, giving the human eye only a millisecond to process a picture that was already long gone. 

I felt a slight pressure on my hand. Vlad was leaning forward, his eyes tracking something I couldn't see. He wasn't looking at the blur. He was watching the individual. "Lucian’s Grand Jete is the best I’ve seen," he whispered, his voice smooth and captivated. "Estella is holding the peak of her arc for a fraction of a second too long. It works..."

I looked back at the pit. I saw nothing but a shimmering mist of movement and the rhythmic snap of fabric slicing through the air. I imagine that for the vampires, this was a display of peak athletic grace. For me, it was a reminder of the sheer, breathtaking distance between our physical capabilities. There would come a day when I could appreciate a performance like this. But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for getting through this event without losing my shit. So far, I think I’ve done somewhat well for myself…all things considered. 

The program moves on. Lucian and Estela get a standing ovation. They’d clearly impressed the crowd of old blokes. I clap alongside Vlad, paying my respects. 

We were closing in on the main event now. Sophia floats down to the pit with Luna in her arms. Luna slowly unties her robe, and Sophia takes it from her and folds it, leaving it on a nearby ledge. A woman and a man walk into the pit, one holding a guitar and the other a microphone. I take another glance at the program. The first dance would be to “ La Llorona” by Chavela Varagas. The performers were yet another set of vampires, Allen Baker and Alicia Chavez. The pair was dressed in matching suits. 

I've heard the song before in a movie, and to my surprise, Alicia sounds just like Chavela. So much so that I start to wonder if she’s lip syncing. I tap Vlad. “ She sounds just like her”, I whisper. 

He nods. “ Some of us are mimics. She could have heard Chavela once, and that was enough for her to memorize every inflection of Chavela's voice. Pretty neat, right?” he murmurs. 

My eyes widen at the sound of her voice. Impressed by the impersonation. I couldn’t tell a singular difference in tone.  Slowly, Sophia pulls Luna into her arms, and they begin their dance. 

The love between the two of them was palpable. I could feel it. Sophia, looked at Luna like she held the moon and the stars. I knew how it felt to be looked at like that. To love somebody so much that if you thought about it long enough, it started to hurt. Luna, with her glowing skin and fragile build, held her arms around Sophia as if she’d float away. 

Sophia is pliable, and I notice she’s not leading. It’s Luna who decides where they go. Her respect for her wife outweighing her need to physically control her. Instead, she tucked her chin into the crook of Luna's neck, her eyes closed, inhaling the scent of her partner. I imagine this would be the last time she could smell her as a human. Or, feel the murmur of her blood under her skin. It was a lingering, almost desperate press of the face…a silent apology, or maybe a benediction.

I can feel myself start to get emotional. A heat burns on the inside of my face but I managed to blink away my tears. I can feel Vlad looking, but he gives me my dignity and doesn’t ask any questions. 

Luna leaned back, her fingers grazing the sharp line of Sophia’s jaw, and for a moment, they stopped moving entirely. Sophia took Luna's small, shaking hand and pressed a kiss not to the knuckles, but into the center of the palm, then folded Luna's fingers as if giving her a secret to keep for eternity. 

Luna is trembling. For good reason. Because these were the last time she’d see Sophia through human eyes. To feel her touch with human skin. 

The singer's voice carries a heavy devotion. As if pleading to whoever she’s singing to. Though I couldn’t interpret the words, I felt what it meant. As the song climaxed, I could see Sophia begin to work the sleeves of Luna’s night gown. Her fingers slip under them as they sway until she’s tugging on them. They slide down her arms, and then her dress slips over the peaks of her breasts, exposing her entire chest. Bare. 

I swallow a small gasp. Luna is unalarmed, eyes closed as if this entire thing had been practiced a thousand times. I can’t help but lean forward as Sophia leans in to kiss her wife, unrushed and patient, not pulling away until Luna needs a breath. Then she moves to her ear as she flicks her hair behind her shoulder.  Slowly, her lips slide down to her neck. Her nose traces itself along her shoulder, savoring her here the most. Then she moves to the front of her throat, kissing a path down her chest in slow pecks. 

Her nose trails to the middle of her breasts, and she kisses her there, tasting her. Luna holds Sophia's hair, her fingers etched into her scalp as she closes her eyes. In an aching pace, Sophia unhinges her jaw and lines her teeth up with Luna’s heart. I think to myself, surely it can’t be here. Did Luna choose this to be the place, or was it only here? 

Sophia’s teeth sink into her wife’s chest as she bites her. Luna lets out a pained mule, cradling Sophia’s head as her own falls back. I can see the tears trickle down her temple as she takes in quick gasps of air. Luna doesn’t struggle in Sophia’s hold despite the pain. She doesn’t push her away. She cries out long and painfully. A finality in her mewls as if this moment had freed her from something. 

I’d realized I hadn’t been breathing when I took in a long-needed gulp of air.  I didn’t feel my own tears until they were dripping on my neck, already starting to cool. I fan myself as I sit back watching in marvel. 

Sophia kept drinking in large gulps. Blood poured down the front of Luna’s dress, inking the silk and widening with each passing moment like tie-dye. My humanity is quietly panicking because I know what comes after this. She’s going to kill her own wife. 

Luna is becoming paler by the moment, and nobody is stepping in to do anything. Yet somehow, her unwillingness to push her away is enthralling. To love somebody that much that you take their blade for them. To stare unflinchingly in the jaws of death. 

Luna goes limp, and Sophia holds her up with a hand on her back.  The crowd is so silent I can hear my own breathing. I tremble at the imagery as Sophia keeps drinking. Gripping the armrest, I keep myself planted in my seat. Forcing myself not to look away. On her last few sips, Sophia pulls away and gazes down at her bloody wife. 

Something wet drops on my forehead, startling me out of my concentration. Then another. Then another, until my head is whipping back and forth, trying to figure out the culprit. Had somebody thrown water on me? Was it leak? Seconds later, a fourth drop prompts me to look up. 

Eyes. All I see are eyes. Fearful eyes. Pleading eyes. Recognizable eyes. 

Enez. Oh god. Enez from the club. Tied up at the mouth, hands bound to his back and hanging from his feet, he looks to me as if I’m his only hope. However, it’s not just Enez either. It’s DJ and dozens of other men bound and gagged. Swaying from the ceiling of the amphitheater at their feet. I cover my mouth, holding in a scream as my heart begins to race. 

Alex warned him. He told Enez what he would do….

“Wait until I tell him the shit you tried to pull” ….. 

Some conveyor device electronically moves the men hanging around various sides of the theatre, pulling them all together to hang over the very center of the pit. They begin to struggle and cry, groaning from behind their gags and pleading. Servers begin to hand out disposable rain jackets and plastic face shields. I can feel my breathing become erratic as I grab one and clumsily pull it on. 

“ospăț…”

“ ospăț!!” 

There’s a shift in the energy of the crowd. Suddenly, these quiet and astute vampires are getting more and more antsy. 

“ospăț”, a woman below us hisses. 

Pretty soon people begin to yell the phrase over and over as it spreads through the crowd like some virus. With trembling hands, I pull out my phone in a panic. I type in the passcode and unlock it, trying to find a way to translate the term. 

A notification pops up on my phone. Nya texted me as if she knew my distress. I open the text to see a picture of food captioned

“My lasagna🍽️😘.” Angrily, I swipe away from the text and open a translation app, recording the sound. 

ospăț… (feast) 

Feast….

The chorus of vampires chants the words until they all say it at once. A stern command as if they alone decide for him. Vlad stands, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He’s stepped out of his shoes. “ Listen to them. The children of the night. What sweet music they make”, Vlad murmurs quietly. I call out to him, but he doesn’t answer. 

He floats to the edge of the dias, feet hanging halfway off the stone. In a single blink, his skin is changing, or rather—shifting. Bones collapsing and lengthening under his skin. The golden undertone I'd come to know was now a pale husk of veiny flesh, taking on a lifeless color. His back widens, stretching the skin thinner and thinner and thinner until something breaks. 

He’s sprouted wings. 

A long layer of skin covers the wings like a bat. His shoulders widen. He gets taller. All of his body hair has vanished. The points of his ears have become sharper. His nails turn to dark talons. 

Am I dreaming? I feel an ancient dread. A familiar one. In a dying attempt, I call his name again. “Vlad Tepes”, I snap sternly. My heart racing, hands pinned to my seat. As if his name alone would give me dominion over him. 

Slowly, he turns to me, revealing glowing eyes, sharp teeth, warped and stretched features. A nose too sharp. A mouth too thin. Pure monstrosity. He’s not even there. I don’t feel him. I can’t feel him. Whatever this is. It’s a shell. 

Soundlessly, he jumps from the balcony, disappearing, and the crowd ceases its chant. I dart to the edge of the Dias to see him free-fall and then shoot upwards to the bound victims. The slap of his wings echoe across the arena with a heavy thwack. 

The creature claws at throats, bursting the skin open like broiled hot dogs. One by one, he silences each man, turning their cries into wet gurgles. Mists of blood hit the crowd. I turn my head, smelling iron permeate through the air. The vampires cheer in delight, some sticking their tongues out like children in the rain. He saves Enez for last, hanging upside down, nails and feet gripping the poor man’s body as he sank his canines into his neck. He pulled away heaps of flesh, making it hurt as Enez begged for mercy. 

I'm going to be sick.

On shaking legs, I begin to wobble down the stairs, holding onto the railing, ducking behind cheerful vampires who roar for more violence. My legs give out from the fear, and I fall flat onto my ass, swallowed by a sea of bodies. 

“ Mato!”, I yelp. I begin to hyperventilate. “ Mato help!”, I shout. 

In a snap, strong arms pull me up from my armpits, and I’m blasted into the lobby at the speed of light. He snatches off my blood-stained raincoat and grabs my face. 

“ Breathe…deeply”, he commands. 

My body has no choice but to follow suit, and it keeps me from passing out at least. I take the stragglers in the lobby into account. A few older-looking vampires and possibly a few humans were eating at the bar, boredly. They’d seen this all before. 

Mato, more sympathetic than the eyes of my lover, wiped my tear-streaked face. His hands rest on my shoulders. The sound of weeping men round the corner, all bound and gagged in a single file line. Sybil walks behind the group in knife-point stilettos, cheerily pushing them forward, towards the opening of the arena. “ Time to feed the beast!” she sang merrily, winking at me as she walked past. 

I stare at her dumbfoundedly. I can hear the moment the next set of food enters the pit, as the crowd gets more lively. I shake my head and look back at Mato. He raises a brow at me. 

“ Vlad should have been more thorough. You are very clearly not ready. I warned him”, he sighs. 

I shake my head. “ I wouldn’t listen to him. I kept…brushing him off. I…those people”, I stammer. 

Mato saves me the guilt. “Remember, we only pick the worst of the worst for these events. In this case, these hybrids were running a whole operation. Taking advantage of women and stealing their life force. It’s been a long time coming ”, he says. 

I frown in confusion. “ Hybrids. You mean incubi ?”, I ask.

He shrugs. “ Usually one parent is, and the other is human. Very pesky creatures, but surprisingly delicious. Luna will make a strong fledgling with quality blood like that”, he explained. 

A wave of nausea hits me again at the thought of blood. I’m greening out. There’s no stopping it this time. I fold my arms around myself, looking at the floor, trying to soothe myself somehow. 

“ Why don’t I call your ride and get you on your way back to the villa. What’d ya’ say, kid?” he asks endearingly. 

I don’t have time to answer him because I’m darting to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. The room is swirling. I flush the toilet, leaning against the stall as I close my eyes.

I slide down the stall, sitting down on my butt, and pushing my head between my knees as I try to recenter myself. My phone vibrates with a text from Nya. I open it. “Should I fuck Alex 🤔🤫”

I shake my head and close my phone, dropping it back into my lap. The sound of humming brings me out of my mental spiral. I peeped under the stall door, trying to see if anybody had come inside. I was completely alone. Weakly, I unlock the stall and peep behind the door. I smell the lavender and opium. There she sat in the mirror, brushing her hair and smoking. Amina.

The longer I stare, the less control I have. My feet scrape forcibly across the floor. She was the storm, and I was the helpless piece of debris being pulled into her orbit. I try to anchor my feet to the floor, hold onto the sink, and push my hands away to no avail. She’s trapped me. 

Amina Medina POV

“ Ghost”, I taunt, exhaling the smoke from my lungs. I turn to the room. I could feel her—I believe it to be a woman. “ Will you be of use today?” I tease. I go back to brushing my hair. I don't suppose the little ghost will answer anyhow. 

The woman in the mirror staring back at me has changed. My hard edges had been sanded down, first by my husband and then finished off by our cherubic children. Anger wasted a lot of my time and shaved years off my life. I found a place to put it long ago. I wrapped it around a paddle much like my hairbrush, except it was made for skin. Every woman finds her hobbies, I suppose. 

My quiet part of the day was dwindling. Soon, tiny feet would stampede into my private oasis, and I won’t get a moment of peace until I’m lying next to my Vlad. I cannot say that I did not prefer it this way. 

I use my last minutes wisely, finishing my pipe and oiling the candles for my children, Hamda, Alexandru, and Petru. In the short years I had with my mother, she taught me the importance of the spirit and how it must be guarded in children. I want to believe my mother's prayers still hold me to this day, and I’d hope the same for my children. 

I dress each candle in rose oil, roll it in an herbal blend with sea salt, working from bottom to top. I look over at Vlad’s candle. Undressed and yet to be lit. I’ve been fighting a thought for many weeks. A bad thought. One that may change the way he viewed me despite all the terrible things that transpired early in our betrothal. It was a forbidden rule. Some things in life couldn’t be cheated. 

I am pulled from my thoughts, hearing the patter of feet. Alexandru is always first because his legs are the longest. He bursts in, smiling, with two missing teeth. A spitting image of his father as a boy. I can’t contain my excitement, though it has only been 7 hours since I last saw their darling faces. Petru wasn’t far behind him as they crashed into me. A chorus of “Mommy! Mommy!” Echoing across the corridor. 

I grab them both into my arms, showering them with kisses on their soft little cheeks. Petru climbs onto me, wanting to be picked up, something his father had gently reprimanded him about. He was trying to get him to embrace being a “big brother” now, but it was a tug of war. He was stubborn, much like me. Secretly, I did not mind picking him up despite his growing heaviness. I hold Petru’s face against my rib, looking at the three of us in the mirror. The boys were dressed well for church, as all little princes should be. 

“ Mommy, Petru, and I want to go see the horses after service—please”, Alexandru asked respectfully. 

I put Petru back on his feet. “ Okay, but you must be nice and quiet during service. Then I will see if Lady Patricia will escort you”, I bargain. They nod excitedly, already knowing they’d get to visit no matter the outcome. 

I recognize the sound of the footsteps barreling around the corner. My heart leaps at the thought of him near. Vlad opens the door, holding Hamda, who’s squealing at the excitement of her little family. Vlad pressed a kiss to her head. I walk over and kiss her dimpled cheeks before landing a peck to my husband. He had stolen far too many this morning. 

Hamda reaches for me, and I pick her up. She grabs my mouth and stares into my eyes, transfixed on me. Would it be so silly to believe she was communicating with me deeply? In a way that her words could not yet form? Of all my children, she looked the most like me. The only girl, the quickest birth, and my easiest baby. And to think the midwives had all said that girls were harder, stole your beauty, and more. They were all so terribly wrong. In fact, I believed her birth had healed something deeply wrong with me. I found something inside myself that I'd lost long ago when she looked at me for the first time. I had so many grand plans for her. She would be the antithesis of my life. 

“ Hello, I’m still here. Hamda. You're rubbing it in”, her father waved to get her attention. We did have a bond that I couldn’t deny. I chuckle as she blinks at her dad, then turns to smile with me, showing her gums. 

“ It will be your turn very soon, I’m sure of it. You’ll speak in that secret language that all girls do with their fathers”, I laugh. Not that I’d ever experienced that, but it was what I saw in the towns. Men were capable of loving their daughters more than themselves. If I’d failed at anything, at least I knew I gave that to my daughter. 

Vlad lifts each boy by their feet, stomping around the room and out the door as they squealed in excitement. He loved to play the brute. Their game of “Mean Papa,” which they absolutely loved. There was no angry man in their home, and yet the idea of one humored them. I follow behind them with Hamda in my arms, watching them climb their fathers' backs. 

Our set of workers followed far behind us as we made our way to church. We sit in the front row of the chapel, last to appear as the crowd stands, waiting for us to take our seats. 

Service was service. Painfully long and achingly quiet. The priest's eyes rolled to me every now and then. I think he knew in his heart that I did not hold onto this faith. That I didn’t truly believe. Vlad did—but almost in a painful way. An almost punishing or fearful way. He needed this all to be true so badly. I couldn’t take that from him. If this was how he made sense of this wicked world, then so be it. 

It was a wife’s duty to abide by her husband's religious beliefs. Six years ago, I would have detested this idea. I eventually succumbed to my duty. Some choices came naturally, and others I gritted through. Not because I had no choice, but because it was easier to just get on with it. Vlad knew about my candles, herbs, and spells. He didn’t ask. He didn’t judge. That was enough for me.

Furthermore, I do not believe the priest is an honorable man. He yearns for violence. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The way they ignite when he speaks with Vlad. I’d know no religious man to talk about decimating their enemies to fire and ash. I look up at the intricate mural paintings on the chapel ceilings. I whisper to Vlad,“ I have often wondered why the angels in church are always so fair. Why is this?” I ask him. 

I can see his dark eyes roll to the ceiling, looking up introspectively. He tilts his head and squints. “ I asked that question many years ago. The answer was unclear. Apparently, angels can only look this way. I do not believe that to be true. It’s all by interpretation”, he murmurs very quietly into my ear. 

Our eyes meet with a deep understanding. I could have left it here but I respond. “ They believe it is only they who will go to heaven. We are the ones who must fight to get in”, I whisper back, leaving him to his thoughts. 

Tensions escalated. The Turks were edging closer to a victory. New battle strategies were drawn up day by day. The feeling of uncertainty drew closer. 

I watch Vlad suit up in armor. I put my hand on my stomach, trying to quell the nausea. He was gone more than he was away. The children had begun having intense meltdowns in his absence, crying for him at night. He’d only been back for three weeks and would soon be gone for another four. He’s staring at me with an apology as he grabs his helmet. He’s an angel in silver and mesh. The suit makes him this terrifyingly large abominable figure. The impaler…they call him. He gets to me across the room in three long strides, towering over me, cupping my face. I look up at him through teary eyes. He kisses me, and it feels like the first time ever. I breathe him in through my mouth. Trying to capture the essence of him with my tongue, just in case it's the last time.

All I can manage to croak is “I need you.” Which frightened me because I never needed anyone. His eyes mirror back my pain. I see them swell with tears, too. I knew this hurt him. I knew he hated being away. But this was duty. That’s what they made the sons of kings believe. And so there would be no debating any of this. I was married to a king. I was a queen consort. I don’t have the power to make him stay. 

This carries on for months and months. The frustration made me agitated, but he refused to argue with me. He would let me get it all out and insisting that he understood. Insisting that he felt the same way, but made no move to change any of it. I would melt back into his arms, tiring myself out with my tears. Sex would ensue, an attempt to try and salve the sting of our situation. It sated us both for a day or so, but it couldn’t fix this. Not permanently. 

Time had become my obsession. I was running out of it. I knew it deep in my heart. One stormy night, I’d dreamt of a large bird that had cracked open the ceiling of Poenari and plucked me from my bed like a bug from a leaf. Our greatest archers were of no use for its impenetrable wings. It had the strength of 100 men or more, and it shot me straight into the clouds. I did not panic at all as the wings holding me by my waist turn into strong hands. It's the nail in my decision. 

Through the French doors, I watch Vlad bounce a squealing Hamda in the air from the other room. I’m seated at my chaise, sitting across from the traveler I’d arranged this meeting with. She pulls back her black hood to reveal her eyes. One green and the other brown. Her skin is darkened, withered from the sun, with a light coating of dirt and dust. She’d travel a long way to get here. I call for a guard to close the curtains, blocking Vlad from seeing this exchange. “ Have you brought it?” I get right to it, picking up my cup of tea and bringing it to my lips. 

She waves her stained red fingers, and the guard brings over the brown leather case, setting it down on the table that divided us both. “ It is there”, she says in a heavy accent. 

I slowly grab it and fiddle with the locks until it clicks open. The petals are like wine, with a thin stem, no thorns, and a sickly sweet fragrance. Rosa Aeternitas. Few knew of the flower's potency. Vlad assumed I was ordering more jewelry for Hamda—— my usual frivolous spending. But no. I had to order in secret. 

I pet the petals with the tips of my fingers, staring at it in complete wonder. Many people say that this flower was cursed. It was created from black magic. In my many travels as an adolescent, grieving women and mothers would use this flower to cheat death. I’d often wondered why women were so drawn to it. Nevertheless,  this world had unseen laws and scales, and toying with the finality of death was precarious.  

“You may stay until you feel you’ve fully rested. Feel free to use any of the guest amenities.  I will make sure you are accommodated”, I say in finality. What more was there to discuss? She’d done good work, but she made no move to get up. 

She puts up a gentle hand and takes a sip of her beverage. Warm milk. No tea or sugar. I eye her suspiciously as she rests the cup on the saucer. 

“ Let us go over conditions of use— to say that I did my part”, she warned in an almost melodic tone. I pause, crossing my legs and clasping my hands on my knee. 

“ Death is a tricky thing. I'm not sure who you will use this for, but I can say this flower won't let you escape sacrifice. Whatever or whoever you're trying to save, you must trade your wish for something of equal or greater value”, she advised. 

“ Naturally”, I quip. Trying not to give away my naivety with this particular plant. 

“This flower has a thirst for blood. Plant it in a pot and bleed over it every day. You will know it is ready when it turns dark red, like old blood. Then you must dry the flower, grind it into a fine powder, and wear it close to your body. Let it get to know you and your intent. Only then can you work with it. Tincture, tea, salve, syrup—no matter…”, she trails off. 

She looks over at the covered door and then back at me. I can see her thoughts swirling in her head. “ It will hurt. Please know that”, she murmurs carefully. 

I grimace. “ Hurt?” I question. 

She begins with a sigh. “ It will feel like death. I do not mean to be forward, but if you feed it to the children, it may be very—”, I stop her. 

“ It is not for children”, I blurt.

That seems to relax her slightly. We sit there for a moment in silence. Suddenly, Petru cracks open the door and then busts in. “ Mommy. Mommymomma!”, he shouts. I stand up quickly.

“ Petru. Mommy will be out in a moment !” I begin to walk to the door. He stands in the doorway with his finger in his mouth, staring past me and at the traveler. Vlad rushes behind him to snatch him up, whispering a quick apology. I close the door behind them both and turn back to my guest. Joining her again, I settle back down onto the chaise, pouring myself another cup. 

“ The King, he dotes on the children”, she observes. I nod quietly. 

“ He enjoys them. Watches them. This is unusual for a man of his status. Terrible rumors have spread far and wide. And yet…”, she counters. 

I turn a defensive eye to her, not wanting to get too much into the details. “ He is good to us ", I murmur.

The traveler stays all but two days before she leaves in the night. I pot the flower in my private room, hiding it behind a wardrobe. On the 7th day the rose turned a dark red—almost black. I plucked it, dried it, and wore it against my skin for seven nights.

In the blanket of the night, I sneak off to the markets with two guards. My hands hover over the stalls and their displays, waiting until the feeling feels right. Snake venom, Dried rat tails, Bat teeth, bird feather, and a wolf's eye marble. 

I spread the materials on my desk, watching their shadows dance under the candlelight. A feeling of hopelessness overwhelms me. In another week, he’d be gone, and this time, there was more risk involved than ever with this ambush. I clasp my fingers together trying to piece together the ingridents. 

My mother once told me that if I wanted something, I should cry to the world.  If I’m worthy, whatever I wish for will come true. So I do. They’re hot and heavy down my face. I plead for his protection, bargaining with his past. Asking the world not to turn its back on him. To give him more time to prove his worthiness. Of what? I didn’t know. There’s a belief that Kings don’t have to be good men—only dutiful men. There was a time I didn’t care about his moral standing. I’d only wanted him and if he was good to me then to hell with the rest of it. I couldn’t have felt any more different than I do now. I bottle each and every single tear into the smallest glass flask I could find, scooping the water from my cheek and watching it pool inside the glass. I close the flask and begin with boiled hot water. 

I add each ingredient minutes apart, grinding down what I can into the thinnest of powders. Rosemary, Rue, and Clove for protection from physical harm. Calamus for domination over the enemy. Yarrow for healing the wounds. What couldn’t be crushed would be steeped, including the marbles and teeth. The Snake venom was for defense, the Rat tail for strategy, The wolfs eye for perception, bat teeth for wisdom, and the bird feather for agility.  Hours later, I’m left with a thick black syrup. I finish it off with the drops of my tears, stirring it all together before straining it. 

I speak over the concoction, commanding dominance over his enemy’s discernment and clarity. Breathing my biggest hopes into the bowl, pleading for his protection. I sing hymns of ancient prayer, my uncles used to sing before heavy storms. As a young girl, I often believed those songs could stop the wind in its tracks, turning the outcome in our favor. Being so far from home for most of my life has left me feeling disconnected. I’d always felt that my  religion was whatever I learned along the way in distant lands. Yet I knew that the best form of protection I could give my husband and my children was my love and my wrath. And maybe that in itself is my religion. 

“ As payment… To this world and this world alone, I give my soul and flesh and bone.  Bind my life to this mortal track, so where he stays, I must come back”.

In the morning Vlad had gone off for a hunt with the hounds and a few foot soldiers. The children were fond of wild rabbit and Vlad had promised to bring some back for supper. The kids and I spent the entire late morning and afternoon in play. Podul de Piatra  (The stone bridge) and Leapșa (Tag) were some of their favorite games. Eventually, the staffers joined in my place as I walked around the courtyard with Hamda, who was now standing on her own at 9 months. Her fists wrap around the tips of my fingers as I guide her down the stoned path. We watch crows dance in the snow. We eventually head back, watching the boys play sword with their nanny. 

The thunderous clank of hooves and the screech of the King spaniels, Greyhounds, and Basset hounds alert the children that Daddy is here. He turns the corner, and it feels like seeing sunlight. The boys run to the mud room, jumping up and down as Vlad walks in with 8 men and dirty dogs, who try to dodge the staff's hands as they try to catch them. On his belt hung 5 small rabbits. The other men hold dozens of wild doves and a pig. 

Chaos ensues as the boys begin to chase the dirty hounds. Vlad’s men laugh as the staff slips in the mud tracks, desperately trying to rein everyone in. Vlad grabs the children in one hand, slamming the rabbit on one of the tables with the other. My husband hooks his finger in his cheek and gives the room a sharp whistle. The dogs stop in their tracks, allowing the staff to herd them back outside for a rinse.

The group disperses as the cooks take the fresh game to the kitchen. The children run off to play leaving only Vlad and myself. He closes the gap between us, and I look up at him, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. He always steals more than I give until we end up in a lip lock. Eventually, we pull away when one of the cooks rounds the corner for the last rabbit. “ How badly did they terrorize you?” He asks. 

“ They played all day. No piano and violin lessons. No foreign language. We skipped all of it…which means they will sleep all night…thank goodness”, I grin. 

He raises a brow at me. “ I’m in luck?”, he hints. 

I can’t hold back my laugh. “ I may or may not have a surprise for you.” I can see the smile widen on his face. “ But you must stay awake and not fall asleep like you did last time”, I tease. When really it was both of us. He just happened to fall asleep first. 

“ You have my word”, he swears, stealing yet another kiss. “ I will not leave my post”, he murmurs. I grab his hand, leading him to the drawing room to join the children and me until dinner was ready. 

On such a cold evening, rabbit stew was the obvious choice. As we funnel into the dining room, I hand Hamda off to Vlad as I sit Petru down in his seat and wipe his little hands clean with a rag and bowl of warm water, a Moorish custom from my people. Bathing the skin meant fewer sicknesses. Alexandru wipes his own hands, waiting for my praise at how independent he is. This, of course, offends Petru, who insists he will do it himself the next time. I choose my battles wisely, not bothering to disagree with the choice that he will surely forget. 

“ Did you boys thank your father for going out and getting your rabbit?” I ask. 

“Thank you, Papa!” Petru shouts. I shush him, holding back my chuckle. 

“ Thankyou”, Alexandru murmurs before stuffing his spoon in his mouth. 

Vlad picks out bits of soft carrot and mashes them between his fingers to feed Hamda. Though many families I've come to know, including my own, expect their children to be peripheral objects, that wasn't quite the approach Vlad and I wanted for our children. We asked them questions about themselves, about their day, about what they dreamt of when they slept. I’ve found that it is at the dinner table that children let their true personalities show. Where one could make the obvious distinctions between siblings. This, in turn, produced outspoken, but very polite and expressive, children. 

“ What did you do with Lady Patricia yesterday?”, Vlad asks Alexandru. Our son perked up, mentally replaying his day at the markets. 

“ First, we went to see the sheep, and then she let me pick which one we could eat. Then, we went to the stables to see the Arabian horses. T-ThenT-then…...”, Alexandru pauses for a moment. We patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts, as he was still very young. Much like his father as a boy, he’d developed a stutter. Vlad assured me he’d grow out of it with much practice and space to work it out on his own. He had extensive speech lessons 3 times per week. 

“ S’alright Alexander. Take your time, it’ll come back to you”, Vlad reassures him gently. I nod in agreement, smiling at his puzzled little face.

Alexandru takes a long, deep breath. “ Then we went to the markets to go pick out toys, and Lady Patricia got us sweets”, Alexandru beams. I chuckled at his sweet face.

Vlad turns his attention to Petru. “ Very good, Alexandru. Petru, what did you eat for breakfast today?”

Petru answers in a way that only Petru could. “ The men in the towns said that papa dips his bread in the blood of his ena….”, he begins to stumble. 

“Enemies, Petru”, Alexander quips. Petru twists his face at his brother for helping. 

Of course, Vlad and I share a look. He looks more amused than anything, and I’m just disturbed. “Those Saxon merchants spread lies to make the day go by faster. It is simply gossip. Do you know what gossip means?” asks Vlad.

Petru shakes his head. Hamda began smacking her hands down on the table because Vlad wasn’t feeding her fast enough. 

I step in. “ Gossip is when people make up stories about other people, where they tell lies for fun or to hurt the person they lie about. People make up a lot of gossip about Daddy. But is Daddy scary? Is he mean to us as they say? Does he hurt us?” I ask. The boys quietly shake their heads no and go back to eating dinner. 

Dinner concluded with the boys falling asleep at the dinner table. I can see the smile creep on Vlad’s face as he picks them both up, getting them ready for bed. I grab Hamda, knowing she’d be the easiest to put down, considering she skipped her nap. 

Like old times, I sent for him through a letter passed by a maid to another maid, and so on. It’s just like when we were sneaking around, when there was so much more at stake on a social front.  I tell him where to meet me—the bathhouse. 

All those years ago, when I made him pay for my affections, I criticized him harshly for the lack of baths in Poenari. If one wanted to bathe, a wooden tub would be moved into their room, and it would never stay hot for long. After an intense night between the two of us, I reminisced on the Arab baths in Grenada. I’d only seen them a few times as a small girl, but they were immaculate. Inside the Alhambra, the Comares Baths were a world wonder. It beheld stunning geometric tilework, marble floors, and a vaulted ceiling punctuated with star-shaped skylights that let shafts of daylight filter through the steam. These large pillars stood from the water, and I’d hide behind them, waiting at just the right moment to scare the older women. The stone kept the water warm along with the underwater heater. I faintly remember the smell: cardamom, jasmine, and clove. 

To my surprise, development at Poenari began shortly after I mentioned it. The bath was completed within three months. Only then did I realize he’d do almost anything to make me happy. Soon after, it became our hideaway. If he couldn’t find me anywhere else, he would look here. 

At the refreshment cart, the two glasses of wine I ordered for the bathhouse sat side by side. I take the syrup flask from my pocket and hold it up, inspecting it. I pour the tiny flask into each cup, swirling the concoction around with the spoon until it dissolves into the cherry wine. I slowly strip out of the nightgown, folding it and leaving it on a bench just a few feet from the water before I step in. 

I submerge myself, swimming under the water to the other side to soak through the twists in my hair. I touch the bottom, swiping my fingers against the colorful tiles, opening my eyes to watch the candlelight dance on the surface of the water. A black shadow blocks the ray of light shining into the pool. I peek my head out to look at Vlad.

I wipe the water out of my eyes and stand, revealing half my torso. Without my prompting, he begins to disrobe. With each thud of clothing, I tread further and further away from him, heading towards the deeper end of the bath. I turn around, pushing my feet from the stone to launch myself into the deep end. When I turn back around, Vlad is gone.  I can hardly contain my laugh as I begin to kick rapidly, moving faster, feeling him near but not knowing what angle he would strike me from.

His arms grab my thighs, and I let out a sharp, startled scream that rolls into a fit of giggles. He lifts me up onto his shoulder, spinning me around before he drops me back down, catching me by my waist. I turn around and embrace him, wrapping myself around so tightly that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. 

His hand encircles my waist as his face nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “ So, this is my surprise. How long has it been, wife?”

I murmur. “ Not since Hamda was born, I imagine.” I slide my hands up his scarred torso, up his neck, and then plant my hands on either side of his face. My heart leaps at the sight of him, all these children later. Maybe even more so than before. 

“ Do you want to try for a fourth? Or how about triplets this time? ” I blurt. Half joking. 

He lets out a chuckle, eyes tracing my mouth before he shakes his head. “ And have you cursing me the entire delivery…again??”

I smirk in remembrance. “ They’re so cute when they’re little, though. They look like little old people. Especially Petru.”

His grin softens into a warm smile. “ Yes, I suppose he did look about 80 years old, didn’t he?” 

Now I giggle. “ Do you remember how he always had hiccups and this little shocked expression. Like he could not believe he had actually been born”, I snort. 

Vlad’s face lights up fondly, remembering those special times. “ Well, maybe we can have a more serious conversation about a few more once the war is over”, he prompts. 

I can’t help the way the hike in my shoulders drops. Then. My smile fades, and I’m looking down in the water, avoiding his gaze. I gently pull back, but he doesn’t let me go. He never does. Even when I’m angry with him, he doesn’t. He always follows me. I’d felt like such a lucky woman in that way. It was no different now. “ Amina…”, he murmurs in a pacifying tone. I turn my head, and he grabs my chin. 

“ Stop it”, I clip. 

“ I’m not doing anything to you”, he soothes. 

“ You are breaking my heart,” I scoff. 

“ I don’t want to fight”, he pleads. His brows furrow when I avoid his gaze.

  “ You know that is not my intention. But this war is what I've been waiting for my entire life. This is what men in my position are trained to do”, he rasps. 

A flame of anger licks me, and I lose the lid on my temper that I'd kept tucked away for some years now. It rears. “ FUCK the war. I’M what you've been waiting for your entire life”, I sneer. He blinks in surprise. I reach behind his head and tug a tuft of his hair, now just short enough to grab hold of. 

I hover close to his ear. I can feel his erection bobbing against my stomach. “I hope that fucking priest dies a slow death. He is a snake. He will pay for the turmoil he has caused this family”, I spit. I let him go, wading further from him. He catches me by the ankle and drags me back to him. I struggle in his grasp when he whips me around, enclosing his arms around my stomach. 

Sometimes, I needed this. When something was too painful to say to his face, he'd turn my back to his chest and wait. I can feel the scruff of his beard and chin rest in the crook of my neck. He was waiting patiently for the truth. 

It spills out in a wounded way. A way that made me feel so incredibly small. “ I hate how emotional you make me. I hate this. You make me a blubbering fool. I hate this feeling”, I whine. I bite my bottom lip trying to stop the incoming tears.  

He grumbles. “ That’s what love is. Complete and utter madness—I’m finding.” 

I take a long sigh, feeling myself relaxing into him like I always do. “ So many women lose their husbands to war. They lose them and get on with it. They find a way through it. I suppose it’s easier when he’s a complete monster. If he’s away, then there’s nothing to worry about. Nobody to pester you for sex or hit you…or berate you. What do you do when you actually love him? ” I mutter.

He chuckles quietly behind me. “ Have a little faith in me, my love.” 

“ I planned to be a spinster before I met you, you know?” I ramble.  A kiss to my temple pulls me out of my haze, and I blink back to life.

“ I consider myself to be one of the luckiest men in Europe—the world even”, he hums. 

I turn around to look at him. “ I don’t want flattery, Vlad. I want to hear how angry you are”, I plead.

Something in Vlad’s expressions drops. “ I’m angry every day of my life, Draga. I don’t want this war, but I inherited it. I don’t want this responsibility, but it’s mine. My faith waivers constantly, and I have questioned the priest in private. It is my family or his. It is my kingdom or his. Sultan Mehmed feels in his heart that he is doing the right thing by attacking Wallachia, because it is a war he himself has inherited too. So perhaps everyone is wrong…I do not know. But what I do know is that I will not run from this fight, and the Turks cannot be reasoned with. So if it's blood they want…”, he sighs tiredly. I can see his brows crinkle in exhaustion. For the first time, I see the physical and mental fatigue written all over him. 

Vlad could put a brave face on for almost anything. He could be hard to read in front of other people. It was only now, however, that I could see the stress. I find myself reaching back into him, feeling upset with myself for coming onto him so sharply. 

He doesn’t push me away. He accepts me into his embrace. I rest my ear against his chest, listening to his heart. I relinquish my control of this war. I know in my heart that there is nothing that can be said to deter this war. No matter how tightly I hold onto him, within the next few days, he could be called into battle. I have to find a way to accept this. All I can do is reinforce my protections and hide. 

He grabs me out of my thoughts and kisses me, hard. It distracts me from the pain as I submit to his advances. All we have right now is this. This is what we both could control at this moment. Each other. 

I find myself pressed up against the ledge of the pool, his fingers wrapped in my hair, leaning over me as he licks into my mouth. I am pliant and wanting, wrapping my legs around his hips. It doesn’t go far before I insist on wine. I feel the water roll off my skin as I walk to the cart to grab our glasses. 

When I hand it to him, he makes no move to observe what’s in the glass. He chugs it, looking straight at me, transfixed on my naked form. He makes no complaint about the bitter taste or the darker-than-usual color. He slams the glass on the edge of the pool. So I do the same, chugging until there’s nothing left. 

“ Get over here”, he gruffs. He’s in a demanding mood. A rare treat indicating that he’s even more frustrated than he seems, but he won’t be able to rest until I punish him. Because not even a warm bath or stiff cup of wine would truly wind him down. 

I stare at the bottom of my glass, settling with what I’ve just done to both of us. I’d secretly hoped I could convince him to pull out of the war. Now, I must let the cards fall where they may. “ Amina..”, I hear him call with such a rare impatience. 

I let him take me the way he wants. I find myself entangled in his grasp, wholly and willingly. His fingers in my mouth, his tongue along my neck. He consumes me in a way that only he can. His odd way of taking me out of myself entirely until I’ve divorced myself from all thought or reason. I scream like I always do. A bathing sponge wedges itself between my teeth, giving me something to bear down on, but I end up pulling it out along the way. 

We break from the haze long enough to get back to quarters, cold from the contrast of the warm water. We sit by the fire, having another glass of wine. The candles in the room turn the air muggy. I watch the way they burn down so quickly before I spring my advances on him when he least expects it because that’s what he prefers. Someone so naturally vigilant in his daily life enjoys the element of my surprises. Enjoys being cut down to pieces and then rebuilt by my hand.  

I play this role. Pretend that he’s nothing to me when he’s become everything. Bound to the bed, blind folded, the wax stings enough to make each muscle in his body contract and then release. Over and over. Each exhale a relief as the sting brings him closer to a sense of release.  I watched the wax dry along his torso, while my hands gripped his shaft. It cools into a dark pink color, the same color as the very tip of him. I’d left him here on the precipice of climax for far too long. The most guttural sounds leave him when the pleasure and pain mix. A wounded mewl that he stifles between clenched teeth. I run my hand faster, up and down, to test just how much of himself he could hold back.  Every so often, my eyes roam up to his face to see the faintest sign of tears. 

I find ways to terrorize him the entire night. He finds his release more than once. I found mine too again and again, and then the sun came up. The fog of the night is lifted. The room is covered in wax and goose feathers from the pillows he tore into. Spilled wine, smoke, and ash litter the rug.

He lies there, muscles loose and eyes half lidded. I’m buried under pounds of his flesh, pressed to the bed with him as my blanket. We gaze upon each other, already halfway between worlds and almost asleep. My handprint is imprinted his cheek.

The words find me and leave me before I can even think. “Be with me, for all time”, I ask quietly. A vulnerability that hurts me in a way that I welcome. 

“ Always”, he croaks, sealing his promise with a kiss. 

A few days of bliss calmed my nerves. The Turks went quiet, and Vlad had talks with his generals about possibly ambushing the enemy. A sense of control over our situation had come back. But soon I would come to regret my decision to feed him my spell. Whatever I have done has affected him in such a horrific way. I question if I have poisoned my husband.

First came the nausea. He was sleeping longer than usual, sometimes even midday. He would get chills that left him shivering in the late afternoon. Our physician assessed him, and the only conclusion was that it was a seasonal cold. 

He sat in the baths, trying to work up a sweat. Breathing treatments with healing vapors and soothing teas did nothing. Boiled garlic made it worse. Then the nausea and vomiting came in the middle of the night. I watch in terror as the episodes unfold, trying to soothe him through it. I’m entirely unaffected. Doctors checked him for cuts and scrapes to rule out secret infections, but nothing came up. 

On a rainy night after a sick spell, he finally settled enough to go back to sleep. I watch over him,  rubbing his chest as he dozes off. That’s when I noticed the glint of his nails, sharp and pointy, they’d somehow grown in the matter of minutes to claws. I hold his palm and bring it closer to my face to inspect it. I watch them retract back into his nail bed. 

The night was full of terrors. Each night, lying beside him, I wait for something else to stir me. Fanged teeth poked from his mouth, and then the next minute, they weren’t there. His eyes glowed when he woke up to relieve himself. I was pinned to the bed in fear, unable to utter a word to him. Cuts and scrapes healed faster than usual, taking maybe a half day to grow new skin. Then he began to sleep less and less. I worried for him. Was this all I had hoped for? Or had I turned my lover into something unrecognizable? 

Soon, we were woken up in the early morning by soldiers banging on our door. I make myself decent as they barge in, armored. They suit him up with lightning speed as I rush behind him, my feet slapping against the marble as I frantically shout for our children. 

Handmaids pick the boys up out of their sleep. I grab Hamda and put on her coat and hat, then put on my own. The boys tug on their fur hats as the workers and soldiers zip past us. 

It’s time. It’s finally happening whether we want it to or not. Vlad is kissing me fully and harshly. An alarm in his eyes that burns me. I’m terrified. The boys go quiet, hanging onto my waist. He bends down to kiss them.  “ Look after your mother…”, he whispered to Alexandru. Hamda is screaming at the top of her lungs as I try to bounce and console her. It’s as if she knows what’s happening. Petru and Alexandru kiss their father as he hugs them tight. Then he presses a gentle hand to Hamda’s face, trying to soothe her. " I love you”, I plead. He says it back. Over and over, kissing me as he’s pulled away until he’s gone. 

“We must get to the safe house, follow me”, our Kingsguard instructs. 

Amina Boudreaux Pov

Zanto shakes me out of it. I peer up at the overhead lights of the bathroom, twitching back to life. I sit up, grabbing my pounding head. Deborah, Lisa, and Lettie all stand in the distance. 

Deborah speaks up. “ Word of advice, dear. We don’t do well with cannabis. That’s a great way to lose control of your abilities and end up in a hell of your own making”, she preached. 

“ How long have I been out?” I scramble to my feet. 

“ Not long. Maybe 5 minutes”, Zanto reassured. 

I remember it all. Every single last detail. A wave of guilt washes over me. I blink away the tears. Nausea swirls in my stomach again. 

“ I can get you to excrete the rest of the THC out so you can stop feeling so badly”, Zanto insists. 

“ Please!”, I beg. 

“ You’re really gonna have to pee in about 5 minutes”, she warns, placing her hands in mine. 

The warmth emitting from her hands is comforting. I look at the three other women. “ Ladies. Why don’t you all rejoin the ceremony? Amina and I will be out in a minute”, says Zanto. 

They all trail out of the bathroom. Sure enough, Zanto's work on me had me rushing to the stall. A welcome relief compared to what I’d been through earlier. I immediately felt better, but a heavy exhaustion weighed on me. Every limb felt ten pounds. I come out of the stall and wash my hands, gazing at myself in the mirror. 

I’d completely cried my makeup off, black streaks riddled my cheeks, and my lips were cracked from dehydration. The flyaways in my hair make me look like a parrot. This was the woman who cursed her husband. Who put him through unimaginable pain in the name of love? Rather than just letting go and letting things be as they are. 

I dry my hands on a napkin, trying to wipe the black makeup off my face, but only making it worse. Zanto looks at me in that wise way that she does. As if she could see right through me. As gifted as she is, I imagine she probably could with or without physical sight. 

“ Tell me”, is all she muttered sympathetically. 

I start, but my lip wobbles, so I bite it, trying to compose myself. “ I…. I'm the reason for all of this”, I whisper. I pause, looking at the checkered marble floor. I start again. “ Amina Medina used spell work to keep Vlad alive. She paid for it with her life. She— I watched what that poison did to him. I watched him suffer, and he blamed himself for it. All these years”, I shake my head in regret.

Zanto shakes her head slowly in protest, grabbing my hand. “ Love is madness. It makes us do things that we never thought we’d do. Don't judge yourself for loving—Amina. It’s the very thing we were put on this earth to do”, she countered.

“ He’s not going to forgive me. He will try, but he won’t be able to”, I argue. 

She made a soothing sound with her voice, resting her hand on my shoulder. “ If you really believe that in your heart, then you have a lot more to learn about him”, she warned. 

With some encouragement, I’m able to leave the bathroom. I didn’t want to be rude to Sofia and Luna, so I figured it was best to finish watching the ceremony. Mato escorts us both to our seats. Overlooking the theatre, I find Vlad still in his altered form. 

Luna, just barely breathing in her blood-soiled dress, drinks from Vlad’s arm. Sophia holds her wife in a bridal pose while she pets her cheek, coaxing her to drink. The dark blood seeps from the sides of Luna’s mouth as she finishes up. Her eyes close again, and Sophia places her on the theatre floor, propping her head in her lap. 

The theatre is so silent that I can hear Luna struggle to breathe. It’s so distinct that I’m sure I’ll never forget it. At first, it was much like a hollow suction. A bubbling rasp as the body tried to clear the airway. Then it morphed into a low, rattling click deep within Luna’s chest. Like pebbles in a pouch. Her diaphragm is barely moving. Small breaths turn to periodic gasps, spreading out from every minute to every two, five, and then none. She stops breathing. 

That was the conclusion of Luna’s human life.

 Sophia rubs Luna's hair so gently. We wait for Vlad’s blood to take its course. A reassuring hand rests on Sophia’s shoulder. It’s Vlad, now in his human form. Sophia looks up, placing one of her hands on top of his own. His eyes find mine in the crowd. We share a quick glance, but my eyes fall back to Luna. 

After ten minutes, Luna’s eyes open, and Sophia cries as if she’s been born. I can hear the sniffling around me as other vampires watch in profound sentiment and tears. Luna’s body reanimates as she sits up and observes the crowd, pantomiming her breathing. Blinking. All functions she no longer needs but what her humanity made her used to. A habit of life that followed her in death.

Luna has church glass eyes now, just like Vlad’s. It only made sense considering he sired her in a way. If we get through tonight, I'll have the same eyes one day. A distinction in his line of fledglings. A part of a whole. 

I watch as her mouth opens and closes. She’s hungry and ready for her first drink. Another group of chained Incubi comes into the arena. They’re compelled into acceptance and silence. Vlad chooses a short-statured man in the lineup and grabs him by the back of his neck, swiftly walking him over to Sophia and Luna. He kicks the back of the man’s legs to force him to kneel. Luna’s mouth opens, showing new and sharp fangs, reacting to the stimuli of a meal. Vlad holds the man down as Sophia whispers something in her ear. I imagine she’s telling her how to drink him correctly. Like a baby animal, standing for the first time, she clumsily brings her mouth to his neck. 

The short man bursts out into a painful scream. Sophia holds the back of her lover's head, still quietly instructing her. Once she’s drained the man, which takes all but five minutes, Vlad flings him into a pile of corpses like withered trash and grabs another body. Luna’s bite deepens this time, allowing her to get more blood at a quicker pace. Her eyes roll into the back of her head in satisfaction. I can’t imagine how this feels to illicit such a reaction from her.  In just a few short minutes, she drains the second screaming man, and Vlad grabs her another. Before I knew it, she was on her fifth body, then her sixth, and finally her seventh. I gawk at just how long it takes her to feel fully satisfied, but I know this satiation won’t last long. In another 30 minutes, she’ll need to feed again. Knowing vampires as I do now, they have it all planned out.  

Luna stands on wobbly legs as Sophia supports her. Her large black eyes take in the audience as she blinks. She looks like herself and then not like herself at all. A newness to her, a carefulness, bordering on uncanny, but also confused.  The audience roars into applause, throwing roses and whistling. They're quite moved by the display. I imagine that they're probably all trying to talk to her, giving her encouraging words in her mind. A whole new world would open up for her, and she’d have thousands of people to guide her through it. 

Unlike Vlad. He did it all alone.

Nauseous from the stench of blood, I ask Mato to escort me to the car and send my regards to the rest of the witches I’d met. When I slip into the vehicle, I open my phone to see that Nya is at the bar with Alex. She sends me a picture of their drinks, and I see his large hand in the picture. I can only imagine how the night will end for them both. As for me, I rest my head against the window, already tired from the events that transpired through the night. Half asleep, the car door opens, making me sit up. I can’t bring myself to look at Vlad. The ride back to the villa is a painfully silent one. 

He lets me shower first, though he’s covered in blood, sitting on the lid of the toilet, and brushing his teeth. I make quick use of it, clipping up my hair and giving my body a thorough scrub. I finished the rest of my care routine. Teeth, skin, lotion. I loosen my hair and throw on a bonnet before digging through my luggage for a night gown. 

Burrowing under the covers, I check my phone again. I sent Nya a text telling her I’m back at the villa and to share her location. She does so, right away, with not even so much as a goodnight. She was plotting clearly. I knew my sister. I rest easy knowing Nya would be safe, and maybe it’s for the better that she’s not here. I’m not sure how this conversation will go. We could easily be breaking up tonight if he can’t stomach what I did. 

I pull back the covers to look at him. He’s in boxers, clean from head to toe, hair still wet and shiny like his lashes. He smells like pine, cedar, and soap. He stands there, painfully still, unblinking, just like a statue. There’s a moment of silence between us both as we watch each other trying to figure out who will break the ice. 

“ I already know, Amina..”, he murmurs. 

My stomach drops, and I sit up, pushing the covers down to my waist. The strap of my nightgown slides off, exposing my breast. I’m oddly embarrassed for some reason. Maybe it’s the added exposure when I already feel so guilty. His head tilts, gently using his finger to hook it up back over my shoulder. Slowly, his eyes rolled back up to me. Not an ounce of animosity in him whatsoever. I shake my head in confusion. He already knows what I’m going to ask next. 

“ In the car. I was afraid I ruined everything between us with that display. I read you. I know you said not to. I know you didn’t give me permission, but I panicked”, he reasoned softly. 

I shake my head softly. “ No. No. " It’s okay”, I said. 

Another moment of silence passes us. I look down in shame, trying to find the words. “ I can’t say that I didn’t mean it, but I didn’t know the brutality it would result in. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I wish—I wish I had done things differently”, I stutter. I feel the tears swell, so I try to hide them, but the wobble in my voice gives it all away. They spill over as I discreetly try to wipe them. He bends down to his knees, resting his forearms on my thighs. His hands encircle my back as he meets me at eye level. 

“ The woman I knew stabbed me in my sleep. I knew then that she was capable of anything”, he croaks. 

I let out a bitter laugh. Not one of humor but rather irony. Because yes…I did. ME. No matter how many degrees of separation I tried to keep between my three lives. There’s a darkness inside of me. It’s always been there, and he sees that. That’s why we work together. He pulls me out of my thoughts abruptly. “ Your proximity to what’s hidden is no ailment. It’s not a burden. Your Darkness is your gift. You command it, it does not command you.” Then he looks at me with the most incredulous look. 

Pride. It’s pride.. of all things. 

His hands reach for my own, curling them around mine and locking between my fingers. “ There is nothing that you can do or say that will make me not want you. I want you when it’s easy, and I want you when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s difficult”, he chuckles softly. “ All these years, I thought my condition was a punishment. You can’t imagine the relief I feel knowing it was your protection all along. A dying wish. Though not everything went as planned and we’ve suffered great losses…I won’t shame you for doing what you felt was right. I would have done the same. I know you thought you’d be able to protect the children. I know you wanted our family together, so I still burn those candles for the children. Every time they melt, I collect it and burn it all again… ”, he rasps. 

That breaks something in me. I hide my sob behind my hand while he embraces me. I was fully ready for him to harbor some form of resentment towards me, and in the back of my mind, I’m still afraid he will. However, I know one thing to be true. I have to get them back. Petru, Hamda, Alexandru. Our story can’t end with just the two of us. If I study hard at the institute, then maybe this won’t all be for nothing. I can fix this…

When my crying stops, and I gather myself, he pulls away to give me a once-over. I wipe my face with a Kleenex, annoyed I’ve cried my skincare off. 

“ I need you to be honest”, he whispers softly.

“ Ok”, I croak. Already so tired and emotionally raw. 

“ I scared you. Yes?” he prompts. 

“ Yeah..”, I sniffle. 

“ I would never hurt you. Not as I am now. Not as I was. Never, never, never…ever ”, he chants. His brows furrow as he looks at me. I know it meant a great deal to him for me to understand this. 

“ Does it hurt you? That version of yourself? Or does it hurt to be like this?” I ask. 

“ No. That version of myself is me at my maximum. My most effective. My true form is as I am. Nothing hurts...”, hereassures. 

“ I called you, and you didn’t answer. I know it’s you, but is it still really you? Does it feel like you?” I whine. 

“ It’s an altered state. A blood lust. My need to feed was stronger, and therefore I did not answer. I can decide if and how I do harm. It’s just a little bit harder to reach all of me— the human parts of me, rather, but I’m still there. I’m still me”, he says with a cautious tone. 

“ I want to see you. Let me try again”, I blurt. I hold onto his shoulders firmly. His face twists in confusion. “ Let me try again, please...”, I beg. 

He pulls away a bit, studying me. “ Amina, are you sure about this…? It’s late, and you’re already so tired, and it’s been a long night”, he trails off.

“ I need this from you. I need to accept what I’ve done. This is important, Vlad ”, I sniffle 

As expected, he does not argue. Instead, he carefully stands to his full height and steps back. He grants me my wish. I look down at his feet. They begin to change, widening and turning from that bronze color to a sickly, fleshy, pale color. 

Soon, I can hear the rumble in his chest when he breathes. It’s akin to a bear or a lion, hollow and wide and rolling. Tuffs of air hit the top of my forehead every time he exhales. My hackles raise, naturally, as I sit as still as possible. My instincts barely comprehend that I’m sitting in front of my boyfriend and not a wild animal. 

My eyes roll up his body. He has pronounced calves and thighs that are larger than usual, having doubled in size.  His torso grew wider, and his forearms were more pronounced with these harsh, deep blue veins. I catch the sharp point of his claw, black, long, and curved. I reach out for his hand, carefully taking it into mine. Compared to my own, his might as well have been a baseball mitt. The mutation had doubled the size of his hands as I traced his palm. 

The thump of his wings unfurling makes me jump, but I don’t pull away. It’s nothing, but flesh stretched tight over bone, veins running in various directions. I stand and slowly reach for the edge, rubbing the tip of my finger to the top. He makes the most perturbed sound in his chest, akin to a rumble or growl. A shiver passes over him, and I run my finger to the highest point of the wings, stopping at the hooked bone that curves over, pausing just at his ear. I don’t dare look at his face. No, not yet. 

I work up the nerve, going back to his chiseled stomach. The skin feels like rubber here, smooth, hairless, and indestructible. I poke him gently, and my finger barely makes an impression. I questioned whether he was carved from stone, given how hard his muscles were. I spread out my fingers just above where his navel should be. I run my palm up, up, up, until I reach his chest. The breath on my forehead keeps me on my toes. I observe his body's reaction to me, careful not to make any sudden movements. If he had a prey drive, I wouldn’t want to trigger it. 

I jump the gun and finally look. Taking in my creation. As I thought, He is absolutely terrifying. My heart races when our eyes meet. Glowing reflective eyes, pointy ears, a sharp nose, and teeth. No hair, lashes, or brows. Just this other worldly creature that could rip me apart in seconds. I notice the way his eyes shift past me. Is this shameful for him? I hoped not. 

Somehow, I swallow my fear and reach for his face, and most peculiarly, he leans into the press of my hand. As if even in this heightened and primal state, he found solace in my touch. I pull my hand away, and he blinks back at me. My breathing fills the silence as we gaze at one another, like two beings meeting for the first time. 

Now, I understand this dynamic. As much as I belonged to him, he belonged to me, too. He’d accepted this long ago, and it was only now that I fully understood it. Without much thought, I guide his face down to mine and slot my lips over his own, holding the sides of his face as I lick into his mouth. I still taste his minty toothpaste, a reminder of the man still buried deep inside him. 

This one is sweet and gentle, opened with a soft parting of the lips, seamlessly aligning with his. Warmth blooms throughout my body. I get the same butterflies I always do, my body reacting to what it knows on a cellular level. He could stay like this and still have my heart. 

He deepened the pressure, tilting his head to allow me to catch my breath as a low vibration of pure contentment echoed from his chest straight into me. His palms close around my back and then his wings, cocooning us inside, pulling me closer to him. Kissing me until I was breathless. Eventually, I come back to myself and pull away to meet his eyes. When I opened them again, I found him back to his real form. No wings. Just Vlad. 

“ Be with me, for all time”, he whispers softly. 

I smile, knowing the origin of the proposal. Without a second thought,  I whisper back, “ Always.”

Vlad and I spent most of the morning and afternoon in bed. I know we should have probably spent our last day doing something special, but neither he nor I could unglue from each other long enough to do so. Nya came back at 2pm, walking in the door singing. I pulled on my robe, tiptoeing out of bed and meeting her on her way to her room. 

Her clothes are in a shopping bag, and her flip-flops squeak against the floor like her own theme music. Her curly hair is pinned at the top of her head in a clip that’s about to fall off, and she’s not wearing any makeup. Just gas station sunglasses, an oversized white t-shirt stating,  “ I heart Mexico”  with matching Mexican flag shorts. 

Her night went as one could expect. She got all dolled up and cute to go out solo clubbing. She bribed her lex to sit with her for drinks, and then the conversation started. He was apparently a tough nut to crack, but she got him open because Nya was a charmer in that way. They hit it off. He seemed like a decent guy. He owned a few businesses, with his security job being his top priority. His family resided mainly in coastal South Carolina and Georgia. Later, they walked the boardwalk, then the beach, and then went bowling. Their last stop was a speakeasy for more drinks and bites. When he was just open enough to laugh at her jokes, she decided to strike, and strike she did. One kiss to his cheek and then the corner of his mouth, and he unraveled. She gave him the rundown as soon as they got to his hotel room. She came prepared with her rapid STD kit and her condoms. As a healthcare professional, she encouraged him to consider going on prep like she had been, stripping down to nothing but a thong and anklet. As one could imagine, he was most receptive. The image of her giving Alex a throat swab while sitting on his lap, topless, had tears running down my face from the absurdity. 

Everything came back clear, of course, because werewolves, much like other supernatural creatures, rarely got sick. She then went into the most explicit, dramatic, and immersive reenactment of the night's main events. Nya assumed that because of how assertive she’d been, she'd have to take charge of the bedroom. To her surprise, Alex preferred to call the shots. Afterward, they went to get food and get high on the beach. 

Nya sighs. “I cannot have a consistent dick like that. I’ll end up on the first fucking 48. He’s either crazy, a liar with no house, or he’s married. Something’s wrong. Besides, he’s not even my type”, she shrugged. I already knew she was talking herself out of pursuing this. 

I squint at her. “ Uh…he’s very handsome. Like objectively.” 

She crosses her arms defensively. “Somebody can be handsome and still not be my type.” 

I shake my head slowly, knowing her thought process already.. “ Well, you haven’t been having luck with your type. Sometimes you have to try something new. You're not marrying the guy”, I counter. “ Stop being scary and actually answer his text when you touch down in the US again. Do NOT block him”, I warn. 

I can already see her getting cold feet. Already overthinking the situation. I knew Nya; she could be a creature of habit when it came to certain guys. There were some glaring differences between the two of them that made her hesitate. Where we came from, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. He was also 16 years older than her, 45, to be exact. No kids, thankfully. Still, I remember the way he looked at her all dolled up in her dress at the wedding. He was a decent guy. I knew that entertaining the connection wouldn’t hurt. “ You said you wanted a rich guy. Live a little..”, I murmur quietly. 

She shrugged, a slight grin falling on her lips. Nya loved material items. She wasn't ashamed of it. If anyone was to blame, it should be Joseph Landry, who spoiled her rotten the minute he found out he was having a girl. A girl he very much prayed for the moment he found out his wife was expecting. I left her to her thoughts, scurrying back to the room with Vlad to let Nya sleep. 

We closed out the trip with a beautiful catered dinner on the beach with some of the best food I’ve tasted in my entire life. Vlad even managed to have an assistant snag us a few souvenirs to remember our trip, even though we had tons of photos. Nya and I left Mexico having gained something. For her, a new love interest or wallet, depending on how she wanted to play it. And for me, a certainty on what the path forward would be with Vlad.

Ironwood Keep had a drawing room that felt ancient, carved from grey stone and softened by centuries of magic. I see accents of crimson and tarnished gold, warmed by a roaring candy red fire in a massive, soot-stained hearth. Gothic windows line the far wall, overlooking the misty forest below. The glass is thick and distorted with age, casting warped, amber pools of light across the oriental rugs and oak furniture.

The entire back wall has been converted into a massive, floor-to-ceiling tea apothecary. Hundreds of tiny, dark-wood drawers and antique glass jars are built directly into the stone masonry, packed with loose-leaf teas, dried roots, and glowing botanical specimens. Lettie stands on A creaking, wrought-iron ladder leaning against the shelves to reach the highest cubbies. “ Calendula. Just what I was looking for ”, she hums as she comes down the ladder slowly, the jar of tea floating behind her by her command. 

Zanto sits in a high-backed velvet armchair, a cup of tea in her lap. Vlad and I sat next to each other on a double love seat. Two children occupy this space, working the room as if they’ve done so many times before. One little black girl with cornrows whispers to an Asian girl with pigtails. They look no older than about 8 years old. 

“ No, I want to give her the tea”, one girl fumes. 

“ No, I wanna do it”, says the other girl.

“ Girls…settle down”, Lettie calls out in warning, not even turning her back. 

They don't listen, of course. They keep whispering while my tea gets cold. “ He's a vampire”, the girl with the cornrows whispers with her hand over her mouth. The girl with the pigtails squints at Vlad as if trying to figure him out. I can see the smirk forming on his face as he sips his coffee. 

With this new knowledge, the girl with the pigtails stays behind and allows the girl with the cornrows to give me the tea instead. I hold back my laugh. “ Here’s your lapsang. Would you like anything else?” She smiles widely at me. I can see her two missing teeth, much like Alexandru, and it warms my heart. 

“ No, nothing else. Thank you for my tea, you guys are such good little helpers”, I chuckle, resting the cup on my lap. 

“ I-Is it true you're a vampire? ”, Pigtails speaks up, joining her friend standing in front of me. 

“ And you drink blood?” the girl with the braids chimes. 

Vlad looks at both of them for a few seconds, relaxing with his back to the couch, one leg resting on his knee.  He opens his mouth to reveal his sharp canines, letting out a faux hiss. The girls scream and run off deeper into the castle. 

I swat Vlad's leg, trying to hold my laugh. “ Why would you do that? You’re so fuckin’ mean.” 

Zanto lets out a loud cackle as red pools in her cheeks. Lettie shakes her head, trying to contain her laugh as she walks over with her own cup.

“ Serves them right. They're both a little too nosy for my liking”, she sighs.

Zanto chuckles. “They'll be bonding over that story for years to come. Trust me. I know my girls.” 

“Your girls?” I ask. 

“Yes, my pupils,” Zanto nods. “ They're just starting out. Much like you will be if you decide to make this place your second home.” 

“ Let’s talk..”, I prompt. Lettie joins Zanto, sitting across from her. 

“ Well, with your permission, I was able to tell the other ladies about your work with Rosa Aeternitas. To use that plant to its highest efficacy takes a very skilled witch. Now that we know the origin of the condition we call vampirism, please tell me you called Dr. Bach. I am sure his research team is beside themselves ”, Zanto asks Vlad. 

Vlad’s eyerbows shoot up. “ To think that my origin traces back to carnevorus plant. It's been a hell of a week. I’ve already contacted Dr.Bach. She'll be meeting with him soon”, he says.

“ Excellent. Lettie and I would love to answer your questions before she starts your tour", says Zanto.

I start. “ You all said you were watching me but I continued to have those dreams well after you guys stopped prying. Why do you think that was?”

Zanto shrugs. “ The truth finds us witches sometimes. Even when we don’t want the truth we find it. Emotional highs and lows can send our abilities into over and under drive. Deep down your subconscious likely wanted that answer.”

I nod slowly, thinking about our hallucination on the boardwalk. Well. Now I knew the truth. A hard truth but it was mine. I lean forward urgently. “ Theoretically speaking, how long would it take for me to become a high witch?” 

Lettie smiles. “ That depends on you. There’s no timeline for self-mastery.  For me, it took about 20 years.”

“ 11 years of study for me. It truly depends, but you’re a very talented girl. It could be even less time if you work hard”, says Zanto.

I nod, feeling a little more hopeful. There's nothing stopping me from passing my milestones sooner. “ Zanto, I know you work with spirits.  What do you think about death and its finality and all that?” I ask hesitantly. 

Zanto thinks for a moment. “ It’s really just a transformation rather than an ending. Why do you ask?” 

I pause. “ So bringing back someone from the dead?”, I prompt. 

The two women have worried looks on their faces. Lettie decides to speak for both of them. “ That is an extremely difficult and risky thing to do. In fact, we know of only one other witch who succeeded, and she is long gone now. People don’t always come back the way they came. It could take you maybe your entire life to do it successfully, and there’s a question of ethics and suffering. What is it that the spirit wants? Is that somebody who should come back? That all comes into account. Most times the answer is to leave things as they are…“Lettie winces. 

Her answer deflates me a bit. Either way, I know I won’t be giving up. I won’t show my hand either. Vlad may protest, but if he sees I can do it, he may change his mind. " Understandable”, I mutter. 

“ Well, we may be jumping ahead a bit. Every witch's experience is hers alone. Why don’t we get started on that tour to see if this place is the right fit for you?” Lettie encouraged.

“ Of course ”, I say, finishing the last of my tea and pulling myself up to a stand. Vlad and Zanto stay behind. It’s only Lettie and I who decide to leave. 

She takes the lead with swift steps. The massive, wrought-iron doors swung outward on their own with a heavy hum. We walk out to the grand Foyer that smells of lavender and wood.  Just above us, gothic arches and soaring glass domes looked out onto a foggy sky.

"We have 7 floors," Lettie murmured as they stepped onto a spiral staircase. Potion brewing was at the lowest level of ironwood. A small class with only one instructor. Which meant fewer classes. “ We only have one instructor for potion brewing, which means the children, teens, and adult groups only get one lab per week, and the rest is coursework. Every witch has a duty to teach and pass on her knowledge.” I peered over the stone railing into the dark lower floor. Below, seven-year-old girls giggled as they dropped beetle eyes into tiny cauldrons, sending up puffs of neon pink smoke. “Now, let me show you the courtyard. That’s where we do Elemental magic”, Lettie leads. 

In the courtyard, water cascaded down bare stone walls, and a harmless mist of stormwater drifted near the opening. To my right, a circle of older women stood in silence. With subtle, fluid extensions of their hands, they tore raw stone from the floor, condensing it into perfect, razor-sharp blades that hovered in the air. I can only imagine how quickly they could throw those if they had to. In theory, the courtyard was just another classroom, with desks, chairs, and whiteboards. No roses like poenari. 

The second floor was dedicated to telekinesis and mind control.  A class of small children sat cross-legged on the floor, faces twisted in fierce concentration as they kept brightly colored feathers floating a few inches above their palms. The instructor looked pretty young herself.

The third floor was devoted to spellcasting and conjuring. This was Lettie’s floor with her assistant teacher, a girl in her late teens. This floor in particular was lively and colorful. Clumsy, earnest adolescents crowded around wooden tables, practicing basic incantations to conjure butterflies made of light or make wooden blocks sprout fresh daisies. They mobbed around Lettie and hugged her. She seemed close with this group. She introduced me, and their bright faces lit up with welcoming smiles. 

This fourth floor was energy manipulation, and it was eerily quiet. A group of adult witches sit on pillows with tea candles in their palms. The objective was to manipulate the flame in time with their breathing. Lisa gives us a quick wave as we pass through. Her room in particular was the most serene, resembling a yoga or wellness studio more than a classroom. At the far end, there was a large window simulating a beach with an ocean for ample relaxation. I guess the concept would make sense. Energy manipulation required the person to be grounded. 

The fifth floor was for scrying. This was Deborah’s department, and I could tell it belonged to her from the coldness in the air.  This was the teen class. The colors here were dark, just like Deborah’s clothing. Her students stood in a circle, observing the student in the middle, who was leaning over a large stone bowl full of water. Its size was comparable to that of a cauldron, although it was stationary. When the student lifted her face from the bowl, her eyes were completely milk-white, rolled back into her head as she channeled. Eventually, she came back to herself. Deborah would then test the girl on the message she meticulously left for her last week. 

Eventually, we moved on to the 6th floor. This was the floor for mediumship. To my surprise, the floor was empty. “ No class today. Only every other day. It can be a very physically demanding class”, Lettie explains. We look into one of the empty rooms for the older woman. It looked much like a theatre except there were rows of chairs surrounding the small circular stage. 

“ What happens there?” I ask.

“ Complete surrender”, says Lettie ominously.

My legs were burning by the time we reached the 7th floor. Cursing and hexing. This floor was arranged like a sparring exhibition, featuring a long, raised wooden platform stretching down the center of a gymnasium-like hall dotted with rows of watchful students. This arena was fortified for safety, with thick, quilted leather padding covering the stone walls and flagstones to seemingly absorb magic. On the elevated stage, an adult student threw a hex at the target dummy. It blackened into decay, completely disintegrating into a mildewed, withered husk. The younger students clapped in excitement.  

The last stop was the library. The towering mahogany bookshelves stretched so high that the tops were lost in shadow. Little girls sat in sunny alcoves, giggling as oversized picture books turned their own pages and pop-up dragons blew real, harmless puffs of smoke. Grown witches scaled floating ladders that lengthened and shortened at whim. 

“ If you ask me, I think this is the most important room in the entirety of Ironwood. We don’t just read here. This is where we archive. We relive events through mediumship, scrying, or dreamwalking, like you. We record them, refining them over time until they’re as accurate as humanly possible.” Lettie smiles proudly at witches writing in books with inked feathers. 

I glance at their faces, full of concentration. “ What do you do with the archives?” I ask. 

She shrugs. “ Well, some of them are simply for preservation. To keep a memory alive. They can be used for historical accounts—primary sources. That sorta’ thing. Leverage. Every now and then, we do sell to big spenders, usually the vampires and fae. Most importantly, we can hold the world and ourselves accountable. To not make the same mistakes. History allows us to solve problems. Break curses and heal whatever was lost. Our first duty as witches is not only to protect but to help those in need. This allows us to do so. At least, that’s what I believe.” 

“My history has been haunting me since I learned to spell my name”, I murmur, looking at the endless rows of recorded documents on the other wall. Lettie pulls a leather-bound book from under one of the desks and hands it to me. I open it, flipping through the empty pages. 

She nudges me softly. “ Well, medieval Romania was no walk in the park.  I’m sure many of us here at Ironwood would love to read it one day. When you’re ready, of course.” 

We walk a loop around the castle grounds. I see women of all ages outside doing various activities like reading or riding their bikes. Ironwood Castle was nestled between the ocean and nowhere. Vlad got me here through his “shadow” travel. Besides the humongous lawn, there was a forest that went on for miles and miles. After that, nothing at all. Apparently, magic worked well here, caught between a rock and a hard place. 

As I watch the little girls playing tag on the freshly cut lawn, I feel a sense of completion here, not quite like meeting Vlad and agreeing to finish our story. No, this was a deep resonance. Almost as if I knew this place at one point and lost my way. 

So, I said yes.

Over Sunday dinner, Vlad proposed the idea. “ Put in your two-week notice. Just focus on ironwood and your art. I’ll keep the bills on autopay.”   I wish I could say that I put up more of a fight. Truly. But I didn’t. I could hear my grandmother now preaching about the importance of never depending on a man. By her teachings, I always kept a little money on the side in case I had to “escape”. Her words, not mine. 

The farewell party in the break room surprisingly got me all misty-eyed. They brought cake, balloons, flowers, and gift cards. I’d worked with some of these people so long that I considered them somewhere between friends and family. Sarah wept for me the most, telling me how happy she was that I was following my dreams. Mr. Landry said he could “sense it”. I’m sure he knew Vlad had something to do with it, but he respected my privacy enough not to ask.  

“ No matter what, we always got ya’ if things don’t work out, but I don’t wanna’ see you back here. Ya’ hear?  If you’re gonna’ swing, swing hard”, he mutters in my shoulder as I embrace him. 

“ I will, I sniffle, pulling back to look at him. I offer him my best watery smile. 

I walk back to the black with my gift bags and balloons. I take off my seat belt and scoot into his lap, suddenly stuck in rush hour traffic. I reminisce on the last ten years of my life. To have moved so slow and then change almost overnight. 

I was sure I’d spend the rest of my career busting tables, and I made my peace with it. I’d lived a life I hated for so long that I barely noticed the way it was slowly killing me. Much like a pair of shoes, they fit me for a long while before the sides began to close in and the ache from the confinement began to throb. Maybe what was becoming my old life was someone’s dream, but it doesn’t belong to me. I can admit it was a lifeline I wouldn’t take for granted.  I was just waiting on the permission to break away.

I watch the city pass us by out the rearview window as the surroundings of my old job stretch further and further away. I take it all in. The fractured asphalt against the cotton-candy-colored houses. I watch the seniors sitting on the porch in their rocking chairs, keeping a watchful eye on the children chasing a deflated ball. The corner grocery was littered with people leaving, carrying styrofoam plates or Thankyou bags. Retired men drove their candy-paint Cadillacs that shook the ground when they played their music. A woman walks home from work, her purse in one hand and a huckabuck in the other. We hit a pothole, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Yeah…the 8th ward. 

We stop just outside the church, parking on the street in front of the entrance. Vlad hands me the envelope, and I put it inside my purse. 

“ Do you want me to come inside?”, Vlad asks. 

“ No, you stay. I won’t be long”, I reassure him. I unbind myself from him and slide against the seat, pulling myself out the door. My shoes tap against the familiar steps of St. Peter. I remember thinking each concrete step was a mountain as I jumped down from them as a little girl in Sunday's best. I can already hear the pipe organ from outside. 

A woman in sunglasses and a hat zips past me, and I knew I’d come at the perfect time. The sun shone through the church windows, casting pink and blue hues onto the tile floors. I waltz past the pews to the confessional and close the door, sitting down. I can hear the slot behind the box opening as Gabriel awaits my confession. 

“ Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 6 months since my last confession”, I mutter. 

There’s a warmth to his voice, and I know he’s pleasantly surprised to have heard from me. “ May the Lord be in your heart”, he says. 

“ I found comfort and solace in the darkness. I went against everything I thought I knew. I let you bless my home, knowing that it wouldn’t work. That darkness I spoke of was never going to truly let me go. It’s always been with me. I tried so hard to fight against it, but it’s only when I stopped that I knew true fulfillment”, I confess. 

Gabriel interrupts me. “ Should I call someone ?” he asks in a concerned tone. Deciding it is best to break formality. 

I let out a light chuckle. “ I’m okay, really. I’m better than I’ve ever been, actually. A little scared, naturally. I let fear rule my life for a very long time. I guess I just came here to thank you. Thank you for always being a listening ear. You’re one of the few people who knew the battle I was up against—against myself.”

A beat of silence passes between us. I know he’s confused. I continue. “ I’ll leave my donation on my seat. You won’t see me for a while.” I pull the envelope from my purse and leave it next to me, standing. “Thank you for everything, Father Gabriel.” 

I leave the box, pushing past the wooden doors. I take my time down the steps, remembering how I toppled over them as a kid. I smile to myself. Cigarette smoke wafts under my nose, and I look ahead to see Vlad. He leans against the car, finishing half a smoke, dressed in black with those same shades on. The corners of my mouth tug upwards at his presence. 

“Amina !” Gabriel opens the door, holding the check in his hand. A bewildered look comes over him. He freezes up when he sees Vlad. Gabriel reaches for his cross cautiously. I look back at Vlad, and he’s smirking, putting out his cigarette with the ends of his fingers and throwing it towards the storm drain. I shake my head at the way he secretly enjoys freaking the Priest out. I don't think he'll ever be a fan of priests again.

When I finally reach for him, he pecks me on the lips. “ Where do you wanna’ go next?”, he ask.

“ Home”, I say. He opens the car door for me, and I slide in. I offer a wave to Gabriel, who’s stuck there at the steps, gawking, and unmoving. The car starts, and we take off down the road. From the rearview mirror, I can see Gabriel standing in the street, watching our car leave. 

“ Which house?”, Vlad asks. 

I slide back into his lap, smiling at the thought of being in Poenari again. “ Our house”, I said.

The End

Authors note: That concludes Dracula guys! I have a 2 part epilogue I’ll be posting in a few days. One of them will be VLAD’s POV finally! LOL. I would like to Thank these special folks for their kind words and comments during the duration of Dracula Penance. You guys have no idea just how much a comment can motivate someone to finish a story.

@harmshake / @ruth-belcher you have been such a pivotal part of this story because of the encouragment you’ve given me. I've been writing since 2017 and the way you've digested this story in such a meaningful way has singlehandedly restored my love writing again. You made it fun again. The amount of care and detail you put into your reviews make me feel so special. Thankyou so much.

Thankyou @that-one-anxious-mango and @blackbi4d for your heavily detailed commentary. I cannot tell you how many times the two of you have made me laugh and smile from your commentary. I’m always excited when you two share your thoughts.

@swiftscepterdragon Thankyou for your consistent interactions with my work.

@aphroditeshea Thankyou for your engagement with my work and taking time to leave comments!

@brownsugarcoffy I watched you binge the story in real time and all your comments put a smile on my face. Thankyou, truly.

@joannasteez Thankyou for always being the helpless victim to my ideas. I wouldn't have gotten the courage to start posting on this hell site if it wasn't for you. You've made me a better writer not only by demonstration but your willingness to critique and encourage along the way.

[333creolelady]

Dracula: Penance Ch.11

The Death Rattle Pt.1

Pairing: Dracula (Jacob Anderson) X Blk Fem OC

Warnings: Blood/ Gore, sexually suggestive themes, cursing, critiques on religion, murder, occult practices.

Disclaimer: Accompanied music for Dracula is available via Pandora App which is free. Links will be available throughout the chapter. Be sure to download the app to get the full reading experience.

Masterlist

YouTube Playlist

Amina Boudreaux POV

Vlad sears my steak with a glob of herb butter. I keep sneaking the homemade croutons from the salad bowl. I thought I was getting away with it until he sets me down on the counter while he cooks to keep a watchful eye on me. 

“ How do you want your steak?” he asks. He's trying to hide his smirk because of my wandering foot. I’ve been rolling it up his leg and trying to pinch him with it for the past 15 minutes. 

I snort, “ I like it raw” between swigs of my champagne. That one little immature joke, of all things, finally gets him to crack. “ I’m supposed to be celebrating you, and you’re making it really hard for me”, he chuckles softly. 

“ I told you how we can celebrate, but you didn’t wanna hear it”, I sigh.

He throws in fresh thyme and a little more garlic. “ That’s the after party”, he jokes. “Excuse me for trying to cook my girlfriend a nice dinner”, he says as he flips the meat. 

“ Alright, alright, fiiineee”, I sigh, trying to discreetly slip off the counter. A gentle hand on my knees lets me know that I am NOT free to go. 

I wait patiently as he finishes the food. When he’s done, he slips me a piece of steak, and of course, it's perfectly tender and flavorful. I help him set the table, and he plates my food. Wagu, scalloped potatoes, and a salad. He fills up my champagne glass and then his own, sitting across from me. 

“The food looks and smells amazing”, I say as I dig into my potatoes. 

He adds homemade steak sauce to my Wagyu for me. “ Now, tell me again how she reacted”, he says. 

Vlad was so ecstatic about my painting selling for 5 grand. He very well may have been more excited than I was. I could hardly believe I’d made that much money from my work, and the buyer didn’t even flinch at the price. “ This is so beautiful, I feel like I stole it for 5k”, I mimic in a tiny voice.

His face lights up with joy, and he laughs quietly to himself. He was really, truly proud of me. “ So how much longer do you think you’ll keep your job?” he asks. 

I pause briefly, surprised at where this conversation is going. “ ….Well, it’s only one painting, Vlad.” 

He half shrugs. “ There will be more.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “ I would have to sell at least…ten more to feel comfortable. It would be just my luck if I quit and suddenly my commissions slow.” 

Vlad disagrees. “ That’s not gonna happen. Worst case scenario, I have a couple of friends always looking to buy art.” 

“ I don’t know. I gotta’ think about it”, I sigh. Vlad backs off, not wanting to pressure me. I compliment him again on dinner because it’s just that good. He seems fairly flattered that I like the meal, and leans to cut my steak into smaller pieces for me. 

“Tell me more about the ceremony”, I mutter casually, between bites of my salad. I pause at the taste of the lemony dressing. Even the fucking Parmesan was perfect. I probably look like a chipmunk right now. My brain references the dinner scene in white chicks, and I actively make myself slow down. If I were alone, this salad wouldn't stand a chance. 

“ What do you want to know?” he says, resting his chin on his fist as he tops off my drink. He looks so good in his t-shirt and sweatpants, painfully casual but a nice difference compared to the tailored clothes he wears. He got his hair touched up, trimming the top just slightly and shaping the edges. His curls were tighter than usual, but they looked great. He looked great.  It’s why I’ve been trying to fuck for the past hour. “ Amina”, he says, pulling me out of my thoughts. Jesus, maybe I’m really no better than a man. 

“ Oh…”, I trail off, trying to organize my thoughts. I take a long swig of my wine. “ The reception…right. What’s the order of events? What goes down?”

He pauses for a moment. “ Well, every reception is different. Some are like parties and others are like Gala’s. Vampires have a flair for the dramatic, so some performance art will be incorporated. As for the main event, there will be a speech. After the entertainment, Luna and Sophia will dance. Sometime after that, they will begin the transformation. Sophia will drink from Luna right before the point of death and leave her there. Afterward, I will bless their union.” 

I squint at him. “...Elaborate.” 

There's another pause. I know the details are likely unsavory if he’s hesitating. Still, Vlad made a vow to always be honest with me, and he hasn’t broken it just yet. “ There is always a human offering. The offerings are people who’ve done irreparable harm to others. It's usually 10-20 people. Then, I guess you can say that I transform in a way? I will feed Luna my blood to honor her. The altered form I take is what is preferred for these ceremonies. I’ve always thought it quenched the audience's blood lust in some capacity”, he says. The tension in his shoulders tells me that this process will probably be anything but pretty.

“ Cool, I understand”, I quip. 

His forehead wrinkles. “ Do you?” 

I chuckle. “ Clearly, I don't, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking you any of this. What I DO understand is that this will be highly intense and that’s why you’re pussyfooting around your explanation because you don’t want me to get freaked out and leave you”, I ramble.

He flippantly rolls his eyes, leaning back into his seat to size up my reaction. “ It’s more than intense, Amina.”

“ Oh, I’m sure, but who and what you are are beyond your control. There’s going to come a day when I’m in Luna’s position. I have to be ready and willing to make that sacrifice”, I counter. Holding steadfast in my point of view. It was easy to push the idea out of my mind now. As for how I’ll feel on the day of the event, that’s another story entirely. I wanted to make a good impression and accepting this part of Vlad’s culture was important for us both.

Vlad goes quiet, and for a moment I think maybe I’ve said the wrong thing until he nods. “ My form will be very distressing. No harm will come to you. I can assure you that,” he warns. He leans forward slightly. “ I just need you to understand that you’re going to see me cause great harm. I’m going to drink from them, and they won’t be coming back. Not like Luna will”, he stressed. 

I slow my chewing and place my fork on my plate. We look at each other for a moment, letting his words marinate. People are going to die. Thankfully for him, I just so happened to be someone who knows what that looks like. “ I hear you. I do...”, I murmur. 

That seems to settle him a bit because there’s a slight drop in his shoulders. “ How about I show you?”, he suggests. 

I slowly shake my head. “ Can I be honest?” I blurt. He, of course, waits patiently. “ I’m not really in the mood to be scared. I want to be surprised alongside the audience. I wanna’ finish this meal and maybe take a dip in the hot tub and watch some tv. I'm in this wayyyy too deep for the monster version of you to unravel the hundreds of years of history we have. That’s not gonna’ go away just because I see you in a different light. I trust you fully, Vlad. Don’t you understand that by now?” I ask, tilting my head at him. 

He relaxes fully. I’m not entirely sure if it was a surrender, but it seemed pretty damn close. I get up and slide into his lap. “ I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it, sorry”, I hum, pressing my lips to his cheek. 

He chuckles and turn his head to peck my mouth, mirroring the same words back. “ I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it either.”

“ I swear, all you Scorpios are the same. Always tryna’ scare somebody away”, I sigh as I return to my seat. 

Thankfully, we do make it to that hot tub and crack open another bottle of wine. We even watched a few movies. It was hard to keep his attention on the Sci-fi pictures, but he surprisingly liked the romance ones. Of course, we didn’t finish the last movie I picked because one thing turned into another. I had all these different plans about what I was going to do to him. So prepared to hand him his ass like back at the hotel. His approach was softer than I expected, using his mouth against every square inch of my body far longer than any other man had the patience for. 

I fail to understand people who say missionary is boring, because with Vlad, it’s something entirely different. In the end, he just wanted me close. No bells and whistles or whips this time, just him and all the sweet words he whispered to me. Every word that left our lips was a confession or a promise in some way or another. He practically murdered me when he pressed his fingers against me to finish me off for the 4th time. I’m unable to recover, falling asleep shortly after.

When I open my eyes, I peer down onto a woman’s head. She sits at a desk with her raven black hair twisted into a crown. Her wooden desk is lined with two books, one of which is open to a page that appears to show an herb. 

“ Now, class. Surprise questions. Who can tell me the base for a tincture?” a woman calls in the distance. The girl below me raises her hand. 

Movement to my left snaps me out of my concentration. It’s another veiled woman. Just like in that strange library a few nights ago. I stare at her hard, trying to make out her features. I squint to make out an eye color, but nothing. 

A modulated and distorted voice seeps from behind the veil. “ You will be tested in your ability to camouflage yourself into another. Enter from the highest point of her head and wear her ”, she commands firmly. I blink at her, trying to process what’s happening.

“ I’d like to wake up,” I command my body, pinching myself.

Nothing. 

She tilts her head as if to challenge me. “ You are on my time”, she warned. 

I sneer. “ Wake up,” I command harder, pinching myself a second time. 

“You can either wear that girl, or I can send you to a harder room? And trust me, it will feel like days within the few hours you sleep”, she warns. 

I jump. Not because I want to, but because I don’t want to stay a second longer in space with that fucking weirdo. 

Soon, I realize the mistake I've made. When I get that falling sensation in my gut, I want nothing more than to turn back. The drop is steeper than I anticipated, and then there’s nothing. Nothing at all but my thoughts in an enclosed space. Too small to breathe. 

I stretch into her. I line my feet with her feet. My shoulders with her shoulders.  It feels wrong. Like I’m slipping into a cold latex. It’s too compressing . This is wrong. This is wrong. 

My inner thoughts flatten to a whisper. Her body tries to reject me when she begins coughing. The pull in my lungs burns. The girls in the class turn to look at her worriedly. When she stops, her will overpowers mine.

Amina Smith POV 

Miss Wood scans the room carefully, holding a piece of candy in her hand. The rest of the girls and I giggled at her antics. At the end of the class, she always gave away treats. She didn’t make it easy though, one would have to work for it. “ I have two pieces of taffy for whoever gets this question right. Are you ready, girls? In our book of tall tales and mythology, one of the Roman gods grants a peasant a wish. He asks for the flower of life to escape death.  What is the scientific name for this flower?” 

I gasp quietly, raising my hand. I was the only one who remembered. Miss Wood was testing our memory for the Latin names. An important part of the apothecary and herbology class. Thankfully, she picks me and awaits my answer.  “Rosa Aeternitas!”, I beam. 

“ Clever girl”, she chuckles before throwing me the taffy. Once Miss Wood picks you, you're out. I wait patiently for the rest of the surprise questions to be over. She dismisses our class, and I gather my books and my purse from my desk and scurry out the door. 

The bustle of Cambridge in the afternoon always flustered me. Naturally, people were on their way home. Usually, I’d be taking a Hansom cab deeper into the city to not exert myself, lest I end up in one of my episodes. My Dear Edmond would have a conniption if I dared to walk the entire way. 

I make my trek towards the local park to meet Julia, a friend I’d made last year at a boutique. At first, I found her quite eccentric. She dressed in elaborate fashions and conducted herself in such a laissez-faire manner. However, it was hard to dislike her. When we met, I’d only just moved to the city and was desperate for friends. A woman can waste away in her marriage if she does not have a friend to chat with from time to time. At least that’s what Julia said. For a woman on her fourth marriage, I’d take her word for it. 

I make my usual stop after class at the roasted potato cart. I grab one wrapped in paper and begin to peel it with my teeth. I should have been paying attention. When I round the corner, I bump into something firm and hard, which nearly knocks me off balance. A large hand wraps around my wrist and keeps me upright. “ Sorry”, I wince. My books slide across the cobblestone walkway, and the wind sends my hat flying. A strange man, standing well over 6 feet in a maroon suit and glasses, catches my hat and picks up my books. 

“ My apologies, ma’am. Are you Alright? ” he says in a strange accent. I accept the books from him. When our eyes meet, the power of his gaze nearly knocks me off balance again. It startles me in that way something frightening does. Shocks me in a way that something beautiful does. I once saw a tiger at a zoo when I was a small girl. It felt like that. I avert my gaze before I can take in the rest of his face. I’m flustered and shuffling my things back into my bag.

“ No bother, I hear that I have two left feet”, I banter. I put my hat back on and fasten my bag, slinging it around my back. I inevitably have to meet his eyes again. Though I don’t want to. I do. They’re the most peculiar pair I’ve ever seen. Brown, but then a prism of other things, the longer you look. Like church windows. Something hot rushes through my chest when I study his face. His expression is twisted in pain. His hat is pressed against his chest in respect. Broad straight nose, perfectly proportioned lips, bronze complexion and a sharp jaw.

“ Never”, he murmurs. As if he could possibly know. His hands have a slight tremor. Maybe he’s poorly ? He’s handsome beyond compare. I tried not to dwell on that feeling too long. I’d already found my great love. I gather myself and shoot a look of disinterest. I wouldn’t want him to assume I’m open to conversation. He's well put together. feet. Here in London, a wealthy man of color was a rarity. I should know. I found one and married him. 

I feel that familiar tickle in my chest. I reach for my handkerchief and begin to cough into it. His eyes darken with sadness as he watches me. I’m in no mood for a pity party. Clearing my throat, I sputter, “Thank you and Good day, Sir.” He’s stunned as he watches me walk away. Mouth moving but not finding the words. Maybe he’s not well in his mind. Either way, I wouldn’t stay to find out. 

I find Julia on a park bench overlooking a large pond with swans and ducks. I hug her, as it has been a few weeks since I saw her. A honeymoon in Italy left her revitalized and glowing. “ Amina! Oh, how I’ve missed you!” she gushed. I chuckle, embracing her tightly. Her auburn hair is pinned perfectly. Her fur coat is tailored to perfection. 

“ How was your honeymoon?” I exclaim, sitting down beside her. 

She moans exasperatedly. I gawk. “ Splendid. We were on the Amalfi Coast. He was absolutely delicious. You know, I dobelieve this is the one. I know I said that about the first two, but this one is just….”, she trails off and shivers, cat-like eyes widening and squinting as she reminisces. She laughs at the astonished face I make.

I giggle. “ I’m happy to have you back. Please tell me all about it. Was the ocean beautiful?”

She shakes her head. “ No more about me! What about you? What have you been up to?!”, she grins like a Cheshire. 

I nod. “ Well, I started my apothecary class. Edmond encouraged me to do it. It’s been really helpful. You know, I’ve been trying to find something to help with how poorly I’ve been feeling. Whatever the doctor prescribed hasn’t been working for me. It’s very insightful, and it’s nice to get away from the house for a few hours.”

Her cheerful expression drops a bit when I mention my health. It’s something I’ve gotten used to with people. She pauses momentarily, almost as if the knowledge had been dropped down into her. “ I hear mullein is quite beneficial for the lungs. Perhaps you could give that a try?” she suggests. I pull out my pencil and write it down in my book for later on. I could use all the help I could get with my search for “the cure”. 

Her demeanor shifts back into her eccentric self, and she turns to me with an excited expression. “ Well, I’m glad you mentioned getting out of the house. Have you heard that the carnival is coming to the city? I think we should go. I’ll be able to introduce you to my gentleman friend that I was telling you about. The one who introduced me to my husband. He’s hosting a group of his friends and should like to show us an exciting evening on the town. Afterward, he’d like to have dinner with us at his new property”, she suggests. 

I hesitate. “ Are you certain this will be appropriate? Should I bring Edmond?” I nudge. 

She waves her hand flippantly. “ Of course not. There will be other people at the dinner, of course. Other women and men. It is simply a soirée. You’ll find that Mr. Tepes is quite fond of music. We will likely listen to his collection rather than speak. He’s a man of few words. It should be a fine evening indeed”, she urges. I reluctantly hesitate but ultimately agree. 

Amina Boudreaux Pov

I blink awake in Vlad's bedroom. I hold my fingers out in front of me and count each finger out loud. A trick to see if I was still dreaming. My grandmother taught me this when I’d wake from one dream and fall into another. 

I’m here. My body feels heavy. My energy is low. A cup of coffee helps me kick-start my morning. Nya is beside herself with joy. When I told her the news about Mexico, she screamed, and then she cried, which was understandable. This was practically a teenage dream for her. I fondly remember being in our late teens and figuring out the astrocartography for the places she wanted to visit. Her Venus line ran through Mexico —it was meant to be. The astrological place where she’d feel the most beautiful, romantic, and creative. It wasn’t hard to understand why she was drawn to it.

Her first time on a private jet was like taking a kid to a zoo. She ran her fingers along buttons and stitches. Our pilot introduced himself, and she flirted with him for shits and giggles. We took a celebratory shot before takeoff. I was under the assumption that Nya would be her usual high-energy self, but she dozed off an hour in. I kept counting my fingers in my head, discreetly pushing my fingers down one by one. Vlad quietly worked on his computer, but he caught me counting. I can see the question forming on his face, but he doesn’t say a thing. I roll my shoulders and close my eyes, trying to follow suit with Nya. 

A quick nap serves me some good. I eventually tune my thoughts out and focus on Nya's experience. I’m forehand deep in a box of chicken biscuit crackers. Vlad is working in a quiet room in the back of the cabin. I notice Nya pull out one of her carry-ons, and it takes a minute for it to register. I see the colorful packaging, and then it clicks. Edibles. I gawk at her audacity. 

“ I’m telling”, I blurt. She dives for me, slapping her hand over my mouth. I can taste the cheese dust on them. I lick her hand, and she moves it from my lips like she touched fire. 

“You're a fuckin' loser if you tell”, she warns. 

I roll my eyes. “ You’re a nurse. What if they drug test you?!” I snort. 

Nya sighs with exaggeration. “ We finished our testing at the top of the year already. I don’t smoke or consume this stuff regularly, so it will clear out of my system quicker than an avid user.  Any more remarks, you little prude?” she warns. 

I start laughing uncontrollably. “ Don’t let them catch yo’ black ass, I’m not getting you outta’ jail”, I cackle. 

I see her cut her eyes at me before she closes her bag and puts it back into the overhead cubby. “ You must not want none then”, she sings. 

My laughter is cut short. “ I ain’t say all that”, I excuse. 

She smirks at me. “ Whatchu’ sayin’ then?” 

“ We aren’t 19 anymore, is what I’m saying”, I excuse.

She shrugs. “ That may be true, but I’m getting high on the beach, and nobody is stopping me”, she plops back down in her seat dramatically. 

“ Policia! Policia!”, I yell playfully. Nya jumps on me, hand on my mouth, trying to stifle my yells. “ Poliiimmmhm!”, I screech behind my hand. 

I can hear Vlad shuffle from his cabin and walk around the corner to check on us. Nya’s eyes widen when she sees him like she got in trouble. I laugh even harder. The puzzled look on his face makes me feel bad for his confusion because I realize he's been sleeping. “ Sorry.." I pout at his face.

Nya scrambles off me. “ Sorry, Slenderman! We didn’t mean to wake you. We’ll keep it down”, Nya pleads. Vlad shakes his head at us and leaves. I throw a pillow at her head, which sends us both I nto an air boxing match. 

Los Cabos, Mexico, is on southern tip of the Baja California peninsula. Nothing but cliffs and beaches and a slew of resorts. It's absolutely stunning. When our jet landed, I marveled at how blue the water was. It's so bright it’s nearly neon. Nya squeezes my hand when our pilot announces our arrival on the overhead speakers.

Las Ventanas al Paraíso, A Rosewood Resort is all I see in big letters when we arrive. We’d come to find that this luxury resort was practically everything we dreamed of along the Sea of Cortez. 

Our villa was disconnected from the hotel. The concierge called it the “Ty Warner mansion,” which featured two ocean-view master suites with their own bathrooms, a 328-foot infinity pool, an oceanfront terrace, a fire pit, a private garden, a private theatre room, a gym, a bar, and full staff service. I did a quick Google search as our luggage was unloaded into our room. 200k for a 4-night stay. As for Vlad? Free of charge. I found a handwritten note from the resort's owner, with a bottle of champagne, on the dining room table.  Apparently, it was a Thankyou for his investments and support over the years. All vampire-related, I’m sure. Speaking of vampires, this place was crawling with them. Once you spot one, it’s hard to stop. 

Everything is so blue from the amount of light the windows let in. I feel like I’m in a 2000’s sandals resort commercial. Nya takes a walk around the villa with a dirty Shirley in her hand, rubbing her fingers across the indigenous wooden sculptures in each room. The bathrooms are always my favorite part. You could see the pool from the roof.

Eventually, we both showered, changing into our bathing suits while Vlad ordered room service. We eat outside on the terrace, sun beaming down on us as we sip margaritas as big as our heads. I’m already planning what pictures to take with my camera at sunset. 

When Vlad joins us again, I can already tell he’s about to give us the rundown. “ Enjoying yourselves?” he says as he slides next to me.

“ Best. Day. Ever”, Nya sighs, clearly content with the meal we both ate. We struggle to finish our drinks. 

Vlad nods. “ You guys know we’ll be here for four nights. Pretty soon, security will be right outside the entrance.  If you need to travel off Ty Warner, then you must have security with you”, he explains. A knock on the door cuts his speech short. Vlad heads for the door and opens it.

In walks this ruggishly handsome, greying man who stood at about 6ft tall. He’s in a black hat, jeans, and a black shirt that reads 'security'. His brown hair is pushed back, short and curly, hanging behind his ear under his cap. He’s got a gun on his hip too, which I found strange. His presence smacks me in the face. I feel a chill when our eyes meet and something tells me he’s not human.

Eventually he’s eyes roll to Nya. Vlad is now behind me, hand resting gently on my waist. And I can’t help but notice that it’s a polite but subtle way to signal who’s who. A quiet “this one is with me”. I’m sure the guard didn’t need to question who was who when he saw Nya. I can see his pupils dilate as she walks towards him. She stunned in a too small sunset colored bikini, showing off pretty much every dip and curve of her body, except the cover-up wrapped around her hips to cover her butt. He takes a quick eyefull of her body and recovers quickly, but I know that look. He’s attracted to her and for good reason. I’ve told her many times she should try her hand at modeling, but she chose the stethoscope instead. I can’t entirely blame her.

I know the sparkle in her eye. She’s up to something already. She begins to circle him like he’s prey, which is quite comical considering he towers over her, even with her above-average height. She sizes him up before standing in front of him. His piercing eyes follow her, not breaking eye contact once. “ Who are you supposed to be?” she teases. 

The security guard clears his throat, “Alex, ma’am. Alex O’Neil. Head of security operations.”

“Nya…”, she drawls boredly. No handshake. No welcoming smile, just a hand on her hip and a suspicious stare. 

“ Hi Alex, I’m Amina”, I wave to him. He nods in my direction but fails to meet my eyes because he’s still staring at her. And it takes everything in me not to laugh because he has no idea he might as well be staring down a shark. When Nya didn’t like somebody, it was always quite funny to me because she liked everybody. And everybody liked her. It was just the type of person she was. 

She folds her arms defensively. “ You won’t be a problem, will you, Alex? I’d hate for you to put a damper on my vacation”, she warns. 

Alex chuckles and shakes his head. “ No ma’am. It’ll be like I’m not even there, I assure you”, he says. I can hear the southern drawl in his voice. It’s a little too sharp to be Louisianaian. Maybe the Carolinas? Texas? Georgia?

“Is that so?” she hums. A nasty, playful edge to her words. She stands straighter now. Reeking of a quiet confidence.

“ My company prides itself on a more hands-off approach to security. I’ll stay behind to give you ladies enough space to feel comfortable. Trailing just out of sight. I intervene only when absolutely necessary while ensuring your safety and evaluating and eliminating perceived threats ”, he explains. 

She cocks her head to the side smartly, as if to challenge him. “You think you’ll be able to keep your distance at a bar or a club and do your job? How would you be able to hear if something went down and you're ten seats away? Seems pointless.”

A slow smirk spread across his face. He’s enjoying this, and I nearly have to press my lips together to hold in my laugh. She doesn’t find anything funny, of course. “ Well, I have excellent hearing. It boarders on the supernatural, some might say. Don't worry”, he confirms. She doesn’t look convinced. 

I quietly clear my throat and turn to Vlad, whispering quietly to him. “Is he a…?”

He gently shakes his head. “No.”

“Human?”, I counter. 

Vlad shakes his head once more. “Werewolf”, he mouths to me. I gasp quietly, and I see Alex watching me. He offers me a stern but somehow reassuring look. As if to say that I can trust him? As Nya and Alex chat, I turn to Vlad quietly. 

“Why?” I ask. 

Vlad shrugs and whispers, “They’re masters of security, remote viewing, safety, and combat. Their ability to assess and detect danger borders on psychic. They’re the muscle of our world with a natural inclination to be protective of humankind. They will keep you safe, and they get along with humans far better than my kind do.”

I smile. “Well, I think we get along pretty well”, I flirt. A small smile graces his face, and I lean in to peck him on the cheek. 

Vlad interjects Nya’s interrogation so that he and Alex can talk about the itinerary . She joins me on the couch, staring at Alex every few minutes. Alex’s gaze finds hers each and every time. “He’s really gonna let this Sons of Anarchy lookin' muthafucka' tail us the whole damn time”, she hisses. 

I stifle my laugh. “ Nya, be nice.” 

She quietly pouts until he leaves. Eventually, I pull her out of her sulking with her playlist, hooking it up to the Bluetooth speaker in the villa. Vlad is a great sport, retiring early so we can dance, drink, and be obnoxious. He knew how special this trip was for Nya, and I appreciated that he gave us our privacy. 

I have a little bit more to drink than I probably should. We were tipsy, walking down to the beach from the villa steps. The sunset was the most beautiful one I’d seen, maybe in my entire life. Nya makes a joke about playing mermaids, and I accept the offer. That’s how we end up collecting seashells on the bank in plastic bags. At night, the waves swell so large that we have to make our way back towards the villa to get out of its path. Butler service starts a bonfire for us, and we watch TV outside until we fall asleep.

I unfortunately don’t remember much else from our night. I barely remember my back touching the couch, or even if I had dinner. That familiar falling sensation was back when I closed my eyes. This wasn’t the spins. This was dreadful. I’m pulled back into a body that doesn’t want me in it. 

Amina Smith POV

Absinthe and cigar-scented nights seemed to be a regular occurrence for Julia's strange gentleman friend. Mr. Tepes has every vice a man or woman could desire. He was simply a supplier and a man of excess. If one wanted opium, Mr. Tepes could provide it. If one needed cannabis, he gave it freely. All the liquor one could hope for. A gaggle of beautiful women and men—pick your preference. Whatever the wish…he would grant it. His very presence brings out a vile hedonism in the room. People over ate, over drank, over-talked, and drowned their senses rather than gently indulging them. Something about that made me feel sick. As if it were some bribe. In a way, it kept everybody around him subdued and unable to question his curious nature. Mr.Tepes does not eat, rarely speaks, and wears glasses indoors as if lamp lights offend him. This posse he keeps around cannot look him in the eye. It brings me great offense. 

I think back to the circus just hours before our current dinner. Imagine my shock when I realized that I had already met Julia’s Gentleman friend on the corner of the street. Without a doubt, I can say that this was the most peculiar evening of my life. Not even the animals could resist Mr. Tepes's presence. The wolves trailed him behind him in their cages as if they wished to stroll beside him. The birds chirped with unrest. The dancing mice ran around their enclosures in complete disarray. The owls hoot and squawk, chests swelling with fright. The foxes chirp a strange cry. It was quite disturbing to me, though the crowds enjoyed it very much. To them, it would seem that it was just a lively night for the animals. A luck of the draw. But I knew. I knew that everything in Mr. Tepes' path unraveled and malfunctioned at his feet. Though I couldn’t be sure why. 

Mr. Tepes cleared a path ahead of us, strolling casually with his hands behind his back. The crowd parts in his favor as Julia and I follow, arms interlinked. There was a strange chill to the air tonight. We bundled ourselves the best we could in our coats. The animals' unrest had reached a fever pitch. They were screaming now. Mr. Tepes calmly drawls, almost as if the entire ordeal was ordinary to him. “Listen to them. The children of the night. What music they make”, he sighs in a quiet tone. 

I push my food around my plate in deep thought. I study his profile while a gentleman has his attention. There is an unnatural shine to him. A strange and timed perfection to his posture, his features, the way he breathes unevenly as if to remind himself. With the grace of a swan in a skin suit. What if he were a demon? Did I even believe in such a thing? To my dismay, he catches me staring with a swift snap of his head. As if the word itself echoed into his mind the minute it materialized in my own. I can hardly hide my disgust. I look away, then down, back down at my roast. 

“ Ms. Smith…?” Mr.Tepes calls for my attention. 

I look up shyly. “ Mrs. Jones”, I clear my throat nervously. “It’s Mrs.Jones now, sir”, I quip. 

A small smirk graces his lips. “ My apologies. Mrs…Jones. How are you enjoying the roast?” he asks me. 

“ It’s delicious, "I answered shortly. 

A brunette woman with strange-colored eyes sat across from me, her bubbly exterior bordering on frightening. She lifts one of the trays. “Treacle tart?” she asks. 

I smile politely. “ I had one earlier. Very tasty. Thank you.”

She nods and sets the tray back down. She was another who drank but did not eat. Mr. Tepes slowly stands from his seat and walks over to the window to open the curtain, revealing a large view of Cambridge. His guests gasp with exaggeration. I can concede that Mr.Tepes has one of the largest and most extravagant apartments in all of London. I will say, however, that even with all these beautiful wonders surrounding him, he seems rather lonely. A wife and a child would surely solve his woes. I wonder why he hasn’t gone down that route. 

We listen to more of the records with Mr.Tepes while his dinner guests boast about their adventures around the world. Julia knew how to work a room with her stories in France and the Far East. Even I couldn’t deny myself the entertainment of watching her speak. Mr.Tepes, however, no matter how formal, had a wandering eye. One that would land on me when he felt I was not looking. I didn’t understand this push-and-pull. It was clear he wanted to speak with me. Why? I did not know, and as the night rolled on, I realized I did not care to know. Because I dislike Mr.Tepes most ardently. His incessant need to seem mysterious was a bothersome gimmick. One, I grew tired of when the clock struck 11. 

Julia decided to stay longer, which meant my walk around the corner to catch my ride would be quiet. Perhaps it was for the best, considering that I was ready to snuggle into bed with Edmond, enjoy a cup of tea, and drift off to sleep. I don’t make my exit grand. In fact, I don’t announce it at all. I sneak out during one of the performances of the rented ballet dancers in the living room. 

It's meant to be a short and brisk walk. Nothing that my body can't handle. London is wet and cold tonight, as expected. My ride is just a block away once I turn the corner. I can hear thunder in the distance. It's a good thing that home is somewhat close to the fair. 

My shoes click along the cobblestone as I pull my coat tighter around my neck. Londoners were lively tonight, and the party was clearly only just starting. Drunkards pass me with warble hellos. I keep my head down and track the final minutes before I reach my destination, and then I feel something pull my arm back. I react with fists, slamming against a heavy chest. 

“What's the rush there, love?” a drunkard slurs, pulls me into his grasp. 

“ Get away from me!!”, I seethe, leaning in to bite him on the arm. He yowls in pain and releases me with a shove. I stumble on my bum and fall backward, padding my fall with my hands. The drunkard falls back, too, drunkenly falling on his bum and flailing on his back like a bug. His hands are bleeding from scraping the ground. He raises them up to his eye level and drunkenly wheezes out a laugh when he sees the blood trickle down his forearms. I make a slow rise to stand as the man suddenly looks to his left. His eyes widen into saucers as he stares into the dark alleyway.

His face contorts into terror as he begins to crawl l away from something. “ No! No, please”, he stutters. I can barely see anything, but something closes in on him. One second, he’s a couple of feet in front of me, and then he’s gone, pulled by both legs into the alley. And then he’s shouting. Shouting and pleading. My heart is beating so fast that I have to put my hand over my face to quiet down. I don’t know what to do. Do I call for help? He may have been a drunken fool, but he deserved better than to be mauled alive. My body creeps forward. I won’t be of much help, but I looked. So maybe, if his family asks how it happened, I can tell them what ate him. It’s the right thing to do. Surely? 

I creep around the corner to take a peek. I expect a fox or Cayote. Perhaps a rabid dog? Maybe even one of the animals from the circus. But no. Nothing like that at all. It’s a person. Or maybe it used to be. Standing at 7 feet tall, the tall humanoid crouched over the now dead drunkard, pulling away heaps of flesh from his neck as if it were biting into a melon. The poor victim's fingers twitch despite him being long gone, like a dead animal after a kill. I freeze in terror. It’s bulky and human-like, with sharp, pointed ears, razor-sharp teeth, and reflective eyes. I notice the too-tight clothing on its form. Shades, tall hat, crocodile gentleman dress shoes, imported suit. Just like Mr.Tepes….

The demon's head slowly turns towards me, mouth covered in flesh and blood. It slings the drunkard away from it like trash, letting his deceased form slide down the wall. I begin to carefully back away. Its hands are up in a careful surrender as if to subdue me. “ Amina!”, it rasps. Dear god. Dear god. Oh god. I grab the cross on my necklace and begin to pray.

Amina Boudreaux POV

I can feel someone gently nudging me. I jump when I see Vlad, and actively recoil. I’m so frightened I can’t even manage a sound. He flinches away. His brows are drawn back in confusion, but also in slight hurt. And that look alone grounds me back into reality.

Nya lets out a breath of relief. “We’ve been trying to wake you up for 10 minutes! I was about to call an ambulance, girl!” she exasperated. 

I slowly rise from my seat, peeling my body away from the couch like a Post-it note. The evidence from last night is sitting on the coffee table. Good wine. And a few shots. I guess I stopped right before my guts could churn, but I definitely had a headache. 

Vlad is already handing me a bottle of an electrolyte mix and a delicious breakfast bowl decorated with flowers, exotic plants, and fruits. I mumble in appreciation and take it from him. He looks a little worried but he doesn’t express that in front of Nya.

“I’m okay, promise,” I kiss his temple. I finish breakfast, narrowly avoiding an interrogation from him.

We started the day with a shopping spree on Vlad’s card. As it turns out, Alex was right about us barely noticing him. Once we left our escort car, we lost track of him almost immediately. I was happy that I waited until Nya was with me to do something frivolous. I might not have been able to do it alone without feeling guilty about it. I watch her try on leather Prada gloves for the winter, knowing damn well New Orleans is rarely cold enough for that kind of thing. She can’t choose between red and black, so chooses both. 

Designer Resort wear was my weakness. I couldn’t stop buying those loose-fitting dresses that hugged at the hip and exposed the back. But my favorite part of high-end shopping was the champagne flutes while somebody else picked my shoes for me. The red carpet rolls out when an associate knows you’ll spend the money. 

At lunch we find ourselves sitting on a cliffside restaurant overlooking the vibrant Pacific Ocean. We eat the fancy head-on fish and pluck ice-cold shrimp from the cocktail cups. In between beats of silence, all we could do was stare out into the water in awe. As little girls, we always pretended that we were on vacation and now ….here we are.

“I feel like I’m in a dream…”, Nya sighs, leaning back into her seat.

“ It’s beautiful right? ”, I smile. 

“Can you believe people live like this all the time? ” she asks with an incredulous expression.

I nod. “ It took me a while to wrap my head around it. Vlad isn’t particularly a minimalist.”

She scoffs. “ Ya’ think!”

“ What do you wanna’ get into tonight?” I waved my hand at the waiter, who was thankfully already in our vicinity. 

“ I definitely wanna’ do the club just to say that we did it. But more than anything, I wanna keep exploring. I mean, there’s so much we haven’t done. I saw a couple parasailing…”, she suggests. 

I shake my head like a rabid dog. “ Hell fuckin’ no. Get Alex to do it. You’re a little daredevil”. 

“ You’re such a baby”, she whined. 

“ If you're hungry for some ocean action, why don’t we go on a dolphin tour?” I suggest.

Nya rolls her eyes playfully. “ Alright. Got any Dramamine?”

I greet the waiter and place the card on the checkbook with the cash tip. She collects it and leaves. “ I’m sure it’s stocked in the escort car. Vlad put just about everything in there. I remember one night I found a fresh pack of organic tampons in there. Dude is ready for anything”, I laughed. 

Nya smiled. Her tone turned inquisitive. “ Ya’ know…he really trusts you to be giving you his card this early. I mean, no complaints from me, but rich guys are usually a lot more careful, right? What voodoo are you workin'?!”, she giggles. 

I grin fondly. “We trust each other. He’s proven himself to me quite a bit.” 

“ You wanna head back to the villa for a bit after the tour? I think I wanna’ nap before—-there he is”, Nya hisses, squinting her eyes. 

I can see Alex in the distance, mid-call about 50-60 feet away. He waves over at both of us, and Nya rolls her eyes with irritation. Clearly, he saw her annoyance because he playfully inches his finger at her, and it gets her even more upset. “ Why don’t you like this man? You just met him. Vlad vetted him, he’s cool”, I laugh. 

Nya crosses her arm and whips her head in my direction, stopping in her pursuit of the car. “ I need to get laid tonight, I really don’t need 'Mr. Foo Fighters' up my ass and in my business the whole evening.” 

Alex is leaning up against the car, aimlessly chewing his gum, smirking at Nya. He opened the door so we could slide in. I nestle into my seat. Nya stares him down, eyes scanning down his features. “ I’m actually more of a Deftones guy”, he chuckles raspily at her pissed expression. Her eyes widen in fear as she slides in next to me, wondering how on earth he heard her from that far. Before he shuts the door, he mutters, “Super hearing…remember?” As he slams it closed. 

The Dolphin tour was the perfect way to end the day. Imagine my shock when I realized how big they are up close. Back at the villa, I pick out a skimpy outfit for the night club before curling and rolling my hair in preparation for our post-dinner nap. Vlad had been gone most of the day and still hadn’t come back.

When it’s time to leave again, around 11pm, we stand at the door, double-checking our bags for the essentials. I add another coat of lip gloss to my lips. I’m in huge barrel curls, a mint-colored spaghetti-strap mini dress, and heels to match. Nya wore a burnt orange cowl-neck mini dress that showed off her perfect legs and complemented her skin tone. Her thick, coily hair was pinned up into a large pineapple. I helped with her makeup and accessories since I brought way more than I should have. I chose silver, and she chose gold. 

Alex nearly inhales his gum when he sees her walk out of the hotel room, causing him to cough on and off for about ten minutes. It takes everything in me not to start laughing.

A club carved into the edge of a cliff had wait lines around the corner. One mention of Vlad's name got us on the list. It was gorgeous on the outside, with white stone, glass railings, and a hot-pink dance floor. Waves crashed somewhere beneath the thump of the music, the rhythm swallowed by reggaeton and flashing lights. A line of fire pits flickered along the perimeter, and the wind fanning the flames sent a thin mist of ocean water into the air. Nya stopped just past the entrance, taking it in with a slow grin. 

“ Alex, can you help me up the stairs?” She turned to him as he trailed behind us. I shake my head quietly. Her tone was just a little too sweet to be entirely innocent. Alex holds out his large hand, and she thwacks her purse into it. He raises a brow at her and then tosses the handle of the bag into his other hand before offering his palm to her once more. She delicately takes it as he leads her up the steep stone steps. I click behind them, watching as the lights engulf their backs and then me. The music is so loud I can feel it in my chest. 

After we ditched our purses, we headed straight for the bar. Its soft gold glow felt like a beacon. An invitation to get fucked up. We start off with two shots first. Then Nya ordered a tall, icy margarita rimmed with chili salt, mango, and lime. I go for a paloma with grapefruit fizzing under a clean pour of tequila, and a sprig of rosemary that I leave on the counter before we make a toast. “To bad decisions,” Nya said.

I add a swift, “To safe ones that feel bad”, before we clink glasses. 

After a bit of liquid courage, the dance floor pulled us in like a high tide. Bodies moved close, music threading through everything like our hips, shoulders. Nya was already gone in it, her rhythm easy and magnetic. It didn’t take long before the attention followed. The music and the drinks were so good tonight that I couldn’t help but dance.

I roll my hips to Masego as we dance together. I could feel the hot air rising in the club, as the humidity from the sea air seeped onto the dance floor. A thin film of sweat coats my arms and legs, as bodies close in from all sides. I couldn’t remember the last time that everybody danced at a nightclub. It’s never been my reality before now. The movies with the dance battles were clearly all lying unless the fear of being recorded killed the dancing spirits in club participants. 

Every song the DJ played kept getting better and better. Beyonce, Masego, house mixes, dancehall, reggaeton. Nya leaned in towards me. “That DJ is fine as fuck. He’d been staring for the past hour!” Nya shouted. I looked over and, lo and behold, he was. And he was exactly Nya’s type. Tall, muscular, long hair (locs), facial hair, and nice clothes. He was already smiling at her, and she was smiling at him. “ Imma’ request a song. I’ll be right back”, she slinks over to DJbooth. I head back to the bar and order another drink.  

I look through the drink menu, and I feel a presence behind me, which causes me to turn my head. An ambiguous-looking guy with shoulder-length hair and a muscular build sits next to me. “ Hi, I’m Enez. I saw you from across the bar. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks politely with a soft smile. He didn’t seem all that threatening, but that didn’t mean anything. From what I could tell, he was human. 

I smile back politely. “ Hi, I already paid for my drink.”

He tilts his head. “ Water, maybe? It’s pretty hot in here. Even I’m sweating a bit ”, he adds in a polite tone. 

I chuckle. “It is, but I’m good. I’ve got water in the car.  Thanks though”, I urge. 

He nods and turns to the bar to order a shot. The waitress hands me a tequila sunrise, and I sip a bit of it before eating the cherry and placing the stem on the counter.  I swirl my straw into the ice and sip it slowly, trying to look as disinterested as possible. I can feel his stare on the side of my face.

Suddenly, A fog wafts over me so heavily that I have to blink to clear it. Why do I feel so drunk all of a sudden? “ Look at me”, Enez quietly whispers. My eyes meet his, and I feel the colors in the room begin to swirl and run together like paint on a canvas. His eyes are pulsing with a warmth that pulls me in like a vortex.

“ You are sooo….gorgeous”, I slur. 

There’s a disturbance. I’m jolted back into sobriety. I push my drink away standing up with a stumble, and bumping into a warm body. Alex stables me with his hand to keep me from falling. His chest is puffed and defensive, and for the first time, I see that almost crazed wolfish quality that he has. “ Do you have any fucking idea who you're fucking with right now? Do you know who she is, son?” Alex reprimands Enez in an almost authoritative tone. And considering he was clearly his senior, it was even more embarrassing. Enez stands defensively, eyes morphing to slits, and for a second, his eyes turn completely black, and it startles me. It startles me so much that I grab the back of Alex’s shirt.

Alex scoffs at his attempt to scare him. “  That’s Dracula’s bride. Wait until I tell him the shit you tried to pull. Call your buddies off the other girl, too, or I will make a scene. Do it. Now,” Alex commands. His southern drawl was thinning with each word. 

Enez’s facade crumbles into fear. “ Listen, man… I didn’t know, dude,” he pleads. He then turns and whistles, which signals the Dj’s attention. The DJ stops to look at our group. I see Nya standing next to him at the booth, wearing his headphones. She waves excitedly to me, and I frown as I trail behind Alex onto the dance floor. 

“ What was that?” I shout over the music, holding onto the back of his shirt so that I don’t get lost. 

“ Incubus. Nasty fucking creatures. Stay away. This place is crawling with them. He was trying to siphon your attention and your money. In the worst-case scenario, he would have tried to steal your essence. Your beauty--everything”, Alex shouts back, stopping just at the bottom of the DJ booth. The Dj holds his hands up as if to surrender and whispers something into Nya’s ear. She removes her headphones and joins us on the dance floor. When she comes closer into view, I can see her frowning.

“ What the fuck?”, she snaps at Alex. I go to try and a block Alex from her incoming fury, speaking before he had time to explain. 

“ They’re pervs”, I mutter. “ Trust me. Some guy at the bar was making a pass, and the DJ was in on it. Let’s go to another club”, I insist. 

She puts her hand on her hip and sighs. “ Fine. I’ll take your word for it, but NOT his”, she says before cutting her eyes at him and walking towards the exit with my hand in her own. 

We do eventually find another club, smaller, more exclusive. The drinks were admittedly better here, and it was right on the beach. I went heavier on the tequila than I should have. I could feel the introvert leaving my body with each sip. Nya is officially tipsy and barreling towards drunk. The dancing wasn’t helping. The night was starting to take on a strange, fuzzy quality. My memory was working less and less, until each moment felt more special than it should have. Nya and I are dancing without a care in the center of dance floor. A man attempts to get her attention. 

He leans in, saying something neither of us could fully hear.

Nya tilted her head. “What?” He tried again, louder.

She laughed, not unkind, but not interested either, and turned back to me, grabbing my hands, spinning me into the beat." Stay with me,” she said.

“I’m not going nowhere,” I replied, grinning with all my teeth. Whatever they put in the drinks here made me feel like I could lift a car.

Our dance was loose, in sync without trying. Years of knowing each other show in small things. How we mirrored, how we made space, how she knew I was getting winded before I did.  

Another drink appeared. Another break. Then repeat.

Somewhere beyond all the moody lighting, Alex blended into the walls like an enigma of sorts. I couldn’t spot him. Couldn’t find him. And maybe for the first time in years, neither one of us cared about getting hammered. There’s no designated driver between the two of us so why not?

Another round of shots and I felt like I could fly.  We leave the club and walk back up the cobblestone steps to the main boardwalk. Everything’s funny. Nothing is serious. We dance to something I can’t remember. Nya ends up on a table somehow, and I fall into a fit of laughter that nearly takes my breath away. We run into a group of girls who buy us drinks, and we swap numbers, the liquor adding an extra layer of friendliness that we didn’t need. 

Time slipped.

The ocean air was sobering enough to keep me upright. Men came and went—some bold, some polite, some instantly forgettable. Nya entertained it, flirted when she felt like it, dismissed it when she didn’t. I stayed close, amused, occasionally stepping in with a look that said enough before words were needed. We bar hop and don't pay for a single thing--not even fries.

Another drink.

This one was stronger. As soon as it hit my stomach, I just knew I fucked up. That was the last drink. Was every person we passed staring? Was it just my imagination? I felt the brush of a woman’s arm against mine as we passed a crowd. A wave of irritation descends over me, and I react before thinking. “ Jesus fucking Christ. Do people say excuse me anymore?” I scoff. 

“ That girl wasn't paying attention, Mimi,” Nya slurred. I whip my head around to look back at her and I see those eyes. Lined with black. Sharp black holes pin me in place. 

Amina Medina. 

Amina Medina.

Amina Medina. 

I dart for the trashcan to empty up the last 4 hours. “ Shit”, Nya sneers as she holds my hair. I can hear the thump of Alex’s boots in the distance.

“You're done” is the last thing I hear him mutter before my vision goes black. 

My head is pounding when I wake up. A breeze of ocean mist licks my skin, and I crack my eyes open. It’s still dark. I’m on the patio, and Vlad is across from me with his laptop in his lap. There’s a tiny lined trashcan below me and a bottle of water. I sit up, holding my head. The pain is sharp and ice-picky. In a blink, he’s at my side, nursing me with water. 

I grab the bottle and sit up straight, fully accepting whatever my stomach does with the fluid I add back into my body. Thankfully, my stomach seems to have settled, but my head is still pounding. 

“ I wasn’t aware you were such a party girl”, he chuckles as he joins me on the opposite chair. 

I shake my head in utter regret. “ Nya brings it out of me. I figured, why not for old time's sake, and clearly that was a mistake”, I chuckled painfully. 

“ Let’s get you washed up and in bed”, he soothes, picking me up bridal style. A long shower helped take the edge off the headache. By the time I got to my room, the sun was starting to come up. I knew it would be a late start to the day. 

Amina Smith Pov

My tears spill into my Lapsang. Edmond rests his hand on my knee in support as I begin to quiver in thought. "Razor-sharp teeth. Pale skin. L-Like he could be made of stone. Glowing eyes. Like a cat's eyes. And the wings. I couldn't tell how long they were, but they were as wide as his body. M-Maybe wider", I stuttered. 

Doctor Van Helsing smokes from his pipe and offers me a sympathetic look. "I see", he ponders. His eyes trail around the room before they land on something placed far behind me. He slowly stands and retrieves it. It's a brown journal. He flips through the pages before he lands on a photo. He holds the book up. "Like this?" he says, flashing the page in my direction. I scream in fright, slapping my hand over my mouth, feeling the tears gather in the inner corners of my eye. 

Doctor Van Helsing takes my cup and places it on the coffee table. Emond grabs both of my hands, trying to soothe me quietly. "I apologize for the scare, Mrs.Jones. I just had to be sure. This creature you've stumbled across is very old. Very, very old. A calculated beast. There is a Latin word called sanguisuga, which means blood sucker or leech. Romanian folklore tells the story of a man named Dracula, the father of all vampiric life. The name of this creature comes from the Greek word Pi which means "to drink". He was the King of Wallachia in the 1400s. He was cursed by god for his cruelty and brutality. In turn, he was forced to live the rest of his days entirely immortal. This demon feasts on the blood of human beings to stay alive. It is very powerful indeed. It can only be killed through fire or decapitation. Wood can badly injure, but the correct blow can be fatal. It's a nasty creature. He has spread this curse to other people through his bite. I've encountered quite a few cases of vampirism. It cannot be undone. Consider yourself lucky to have gotten away, my dear", he warns.

I can feel the panic bubbling up inside my stomach. To think that I was so close to death. "I-I do not feel that I have escaped him. I-I feel that I am being watched. Especially at night, doctor", I plead.

Van Helsing does not look surprised. "Oh yes, my dear. You are being watched indeed. But never the matter. We will not let him take you. I specialize in this type of beast. They seem to have taken a liking to England recently. Every few years, there is a trend in a new country. There were whispers in the coastal African cities and Eastern Europe. In America, the natives were calling it all kinds of names. Wendigo. Skin walker. Wabanaki. In my research, they said the creature was feeding on the white-skinned settlers. And then some of the natives started disappearing and coming back, but not quite like before. Something had changed. I do not feel you need to worry about this creature harming you. If it wanted to kill you, it would have done so the moment it laid eyes on you. Instead, this creature is stalking you. Tell me, Mrs.Jones. Who introduced you to this man? "he urges. 

"Dear god, Edmond shuddered. 

"My friend. Julia. Julia Moreau", I blurt

"Expect any friend you've been in contact with recently to be compromised. They're informants. Spies. Cease contact with them immediately", Helsing warns.

I nod earnestly. "Of course, Doctor."

"The stalking? What interest do you suspect he has taken in her? What are his intentions?" Emond asks carefully.

Van Helsing takes a deep breath of his pipe and exhales for a moment. 

"I have reason to think that this creature believes that Mrs.Jones is his lost bride.”

Amina Boudreaux POV

Another dream. Another dream I didn’t ask for. I calm my mind at the wash bowl, checking my missed messages. Zanto wanted to speak with me.

For some reason, her message sent my stomach into knots. I can’t think of a single positive reason as to why I’d fully hallucinate my past life after one too many shots. 

I send back a quick and kind reply before I close my phone and try to get through my hair appointment without freaking out. 

Apparently, the twins had sent special instructions about how they wanted my hair. I'd be getting a shiny, slick ponytail. Nya, on the other hand, was encouraged to play up the curly hair. 

An hour later, we were inside Nya’s bedroom, with racks full of clothes. Chichi and Ada absolutely adored Nya. Nya was clearly likable, but I was worried they would clash with her strong personality. She didn’t always hold her tongue. Off the clock, she’d say the first thing on her mind. They loved that about her in an almost maternal way, which was strange because the twins looked to be around our age.  

The twins decided on our look. “We want Nya to be the garden, and we want you, Amina,  to be the flowers", said Ada.

The garment bag slid open, and honestly, it looked less like a dress and more like a garden. Just as the twins envisioned. Nya stepped into a mess of silk, shimmying the bodice up her body. The color was this gorgeous, a pale seafoam green Elie Saab 2004 couture gown. But it wasn't just plain green. It was covered in these tiny blush-pink floral bits that made it come to life. My favorite part was the gold thread stitched everywhere. It caught the light every time she breathed, giving the dress a bit of a shimmer. The body shimmer she added to her arms was the perfect finishing touch. The fit was perfect, hugging her in all the right places at the top before cascading into a massive, flowy skirt with peekaboo pink thundering underneath. She took a quick spin, and the silk trailed behind her like a cloud. 

Chi Chi turns to her. “ Isn’t she just darling, Ada? Like a little doll”, she swooned as she fixed Nya’s dress in the mirror. 

“ I’ve been telling you, Chichi. We need one of our own”, her sister retorts. 

“ Whatever that means, chile,” Nya hums as she does another twirl, not caring to ask them to elaborate. 

I'm put into a pink Atelier Versace 2012 fall couture gown. Ada finally stepped away after fidgeting with the back of my dress. It was something like orchid, a shade of pink so vibrant against my skin.The fit was exact, with a deconstructed cage of silk strips and neon patent leather that nipped my waist into a sharp, dramatic curve.  Nearly transparent silicone threads ran along my shoulder, making the gown look as if it were floating. I shake the ends of my dress with my hands and then drop it. 

“ Perfect”, Ada spreads out the bottom of my dress to keep it from catching my heels. I look in the mirror, running my hands down my cinched stomach. I turn to Nya, standing behind me. 

“ You look incredible”, I gush at Nya as she shifts her coily hair into the correct position. 

Nya seemed to shrink away from my compliment in a shy manner. An expression I so rarely see from her, and I feel her pull me into her side as we both now stand in the mirror. “ You know what I was thinking earlier?” she asks. 

“Mm?” I turned to look at her. 

“ We look so much better than we could have imagined as little kids. I mean, I even got the titties I wanted so badly. It’s poetic, really,” she blurts. I laugh at the thought of us stuffing our shirts and putting on our fake, imaginary lipstick and drinking our imaginary liquor from soda bottle caps. 

“ Well, we’re finally women. We can drink the wine, pay the bill, and wear the bras. All the shit we dreamed about. Not as fun as I thought it would be”, I snort. 

“ Sometimes it’s fun but only with you", she nudges me with her hip. 

Ada and ChiChi present us to Vlad, satisfied with their own work. He compliments us both in that gentlemanly way. The way only he could. 

We’re off to the wedding in a black car, all three of us. Alex and his car full of beefy guards follow behind us. I inch my hand into Vlad’s open palm as our car traces the side of a cliff. 

The heat of Los Cabos usually sticks to your skin like a thin sheet, but at the southern tip of the Baja peninsula, the breeze off the Pacific made it all the more bareable. Vlad leads Nya and me towards an entirely paved cliffside lookout, our heels clicking against the cobblestone in unison. Usually, this spot was swarming with tourists taking selfies against the horizon, but today the public had been cleared out, leaving the expanse as a private sanctuary for the ceremony.

I gasp at the foggy aquamarine view. The water crashes onto the jagged rocks below, spraying a mist of salt in the air. The setup was very much an intimate garden party, a sharp contrast to the desert-meets-ocean landscape. The steep stone steps were lined with lush flower arrangements—mostly white roses. In the distance, I can hear a live orchestra thanks to the speakers installed behind the roses to carry the sound. 

"They really rented out the whole lookout," Nya whispered, adjusting her sunglasses as we approached the crowd of about fifty guests. “ Looks like something out of Eat, Pray, Love, " she chimes. I couldn’t agree more. 

At the very edge of the cliff, a simple wooden arch draped in white linen, vines, and white roses, sat framed by the turquoise water below. In the sitting area, there's a large glass canopy that blocks UV light, likely for the vampires in attendance. A live orchestra was tucked into a shaded corner near the entrance. A cello and three violins played a rhythmic, classical cover of a contemporary song, the music swelling to compete with the crashing waves against the rocks. 

We’d have to go down three flights of these steep cobblestone steps that left me feeling unsteady. Vlad already takes my hand with his steady, firm one. I turn to grab Nya behind me, and in a moment's notice, Alex swoops in and grabs her free hand. She whips her head around to see him in a cream suit and an earpiece that was likely for show more than anything. His hair was still wet like he had just hopped out of the shower. “ Oh, you saved me”, Nya teased with the back of her hand on her forehead. I could already see her wheels turning, thinking of something smart to say, but it was clear she liked what she saw. Alex looks at her with a softness that hardens when he notices Vlad and me eyeing the interaction. 

“ You clean up nice, Alex,” I say kindly. 

Alex clears his throat. “ Much obliged, Ms.Boudreaux,” he drawls. 

Vlad gently guides me to our seats, just a row behind the close family and friends section. We were early because not even his fledgling was standing there waiting for her bride. 

“He is very fond of Nya,” Vlad speaks up.

“Isn’t everyone?” I ask. 

“ She makes him nervous. Alex doesn’t get nervous. Out of respect for your friend, I didn’t do any digging on her behalf. But her heart races when he is near. It’s impossible to ignore”, says Vlad.

I nudge his side.“ Boy, do I know the feeling”, I joke. 

He pulls the back of my hand to his lips and pecks it before resting it back in his lap. I take a look around the venue, watching guests fill the seats and talk amongst themselves. “Small wedding?” I ask. 

Vlad shrugs. “ The ceremony is more so for Luna’s human side. There are about a dozen vampires here—all older. The reception will have many more. Hundreds. The two compromised. You see.” 

“ Ah. Well, it seems like they’re already off to a great start on the marriage front. Not that I know anything about what makes a marriage…a good one”, I ramble. 

“ Your parents?”, he adds. 

Now it's my turn to shrug. “ They weren’t perfect, but I guess there was a concerted effort.” 

In a playful tone, he counters my argument. “ I’m sure you’ll get some firsthand experience soon.” 

My head whips to look at him, but he stares ahead, and I can see a small smirk on his face. A 6-foot-tall woman in a sharp black tuxedo walks down the aisle. She has long, curly, black hair and hazel eyes, looking to be in her early 30s. There’s a masculine air about her. She's a beautiful woman with strong features. She swoops in for Vlad, and he stands before she even rounds the corner. They embrace wordlessly and tightly. I figure him being here meant a lot to her because I can see tears rim her eyes. 

“ This is her?”, the mysterious woman asks incredulously. She shakes her head silently. “ Aye Dios mios”, she murmurs to herself.

Vlad quietly nods, and they both smile at me with so much warmth, likely in some cerebral conversation that I’m not privy to. 

The woman shakes her head. “ Where are my manners? I am Sophia Mendoza. I was Vlad’s fledgling. He helped me a lot in my formative years”, she explained, wiping her eyes. I stood to meet her and shake her hand.

“ So, where did you guys meet?” I ask. 

She smiles widely. “ Long story, but we actually met in the mid-30s. I’m from Michoacán. West Central Mexico,” she explains. 

My eyes widen in fascination. “ Wow. The 30’s. What was that like?” 

She laughs. “ Chaotic, but thankfully Vlad saved my ass quite a few times. I owe him my eternal life. By the way, is she coming to the reception?” she turns to Vlad. 

“ We’ll both be there”, he says. I pick up a hesitant expression on Sophia’s face. Vlad adds, “ We felt it would be good to prepare her. I think she's ready”, Vlad reassures her. Sofia’s shoulders relax. 

Sophia eventually leaves to greet Luna’s friends and family. Vlad and I sit back down, and Nya rounds the corner where Alex deposits her in her seat next to me. I can see her winking at him as he hands her back her purse and walks off, stealing a few glances as he walks away. Nya’s a professional tease. She was collecting and giving away phone numbers left and right all night. There may be an attraction there, but I wasn’t entirely sure if she’d make a real move on him. 

The bride, Luna, was gorgeous. Strangely enough, she shared a slight resemblance to Sophia, though she looked to be in her 40’s. The resemblance wasn’t the weird kind, either. Rather, they had the same stylistic font. Dark features, long voluminous hair, dark brows. Luna, every bit of 5 feet 4 was in a cream silk slip wedding gown with her hair in beach waves and a floor-length veil. 

Sophia slips a few tears. They exchange their own vows which I thought was incredibly sweet. I see a few misty eyes in the crowd as well. The love radiating off the couple was palpable. There was a sense of relief between them. Almost as if they fought like hell to make it to this very moment. 

In their vows, I can pick up that they'd been together for quite some time. Luna, visibly a little older than her partner, clearly needed more time to make up her mind about things. That was perfectly fine with Sophia, who was clearly enamored by her. No way would Luna get rid of her that easily. She'd wait. And if there's one thing I know about vampires, they’re incredibly patient. 

After the wedding, Vlad stays behind for a bit to catch up with Sophia and her new bride. The reception wouldn't be for another two hours. This time, it's my job to dress myself. The twins left me a Black Saint Laurent Mini slip dress. As for the shoes, Tom Ford Padlock sandals. I inspected the padlock design on the side of them. I find the styling a little edgy for a reception, but I'm no professional stylist. Nya slips into the bathroom while I smoke out my waterline.

" You look sexy", she says. She sits on the edge of the tub watching me touch up my makeup. "You nervous?" she asked.

"As hell…", I sigh, leaning on the counter.

" Why? You've been to events with him before", she counters.

" Not like this one. This one is special", I said.

I hear the crinkle of a bag behind me. I turn to watch her as she breaks it in half and pushes the entire thing into the side of her cheek. I stare at her, stunned.  "Nya. That's too fucking much", I scold her, grabbing the package to look at the dosage. 

She shrugs. "I've had this brand before with the exact dosage. I'm good. Here. You need to chill out", she grabs the bag back from me and breaks a fourth of the half piece off. She hands it to me, and I eye it hesitantly before popping it into my mouth and chewing. It's a very small piece—maybe 2mg at best. It should be enough to mellow me out. 

When the car finally comes, I rummage through my luggage trying to find a shawl. I find a red one and throw it over my arm as I grab my clutch and head for the door. Nya whistles at me on the way out as I shoot past Alex.

I smell the smoke from outside the car as I slide inside. Vlad had the window halfway cracked, but not by much. He's taken off his jacket, loosened his cuffs, and tie. I'd been too busy assessing him that I didn't notice him assessing me.

“ Are you trying to stay here?” he asks in a falsely curious tone. I roll my eyes playfully. 

“ Why would I want that?” I snort. 

I can see him wet his lips and put out the end of his cigar with his ashtray.“ It would be awfully easy to convince me right about now", he murmured.   I shake my head, looking out the window as we drive further and further away from the villa. “ Tempting offer, but you won’t get out of this that easily”, I warn. My seatbelt ruffles and unclicks. I look down and notice the belt slowly retracting into the holder. Vlad looks out the window to throw me off before his hand shoots out, clasping my waist and pulling me into his lap as I squeal in surprise. I’m giggling, pushing against him when he kisses the side of my face. 

His mouth trails to my jaw, pulling back the strap on my dress, diving for the skin on my neck. My laughter turns into small sighs of pleasure when he finds my pulse with his lips. I get chills when he cups the back of my neck, holding me steady when he kisses me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the partition was already up before I could say anything. My arms sprawl over his shoulders, leaning into him as he keeps me tight in his embrace, his nose takes in large helpings of my scent. 

Here, on my neck, I’ve become so sensitive that I can hardly stand it. My body knows what comes next. He's inadvertently trained me to respond in this way. I struggle to sit still when he begins to suck the skin. His arms encase me, keeping me anchored to him as I bite down on my tongue, trying not to draw attention to the backseat in case the driver could hear.

I feel his hands trail up and down my dress, on my stomach, looking for an entryway, gaining intel. His thumbs sweep over my breast before he squeezes. My eyes fail to stay open, and the sound seeps out. I can’t hold out for much longer when I kiss him roughly. He's a wall I can’t get through because he hardens against me the more I push against him. I feel my temper flare as I try to seize control that he won’t let me have. These last three days he’s accommodated me endlessly, so I don’t suppose he’ll let me have this so easily. 

I wrap my hands around his throat as I lick into him, feeling the way his tongue snakes into my mouth. He grunts as I twist my head to get a better angle. And then I grab the bottom of his face, pressing my nails into his skin. He squeezes me hard as I assert myself onto him. We kiss hungrily, and eagerly, as if trying to enhale one another. My hands run under his untucked shirt, feeling his abs flinch under the warmth of my palms as I trail them up and up, feeling the rouge scars on his stomach. I slowly run my nails back down and feel him shiver.

There's a switch in his demeanor that happens far too quickly. He grabs hold of my hair and pulls firmly until my neck is bared to him. His mouth cranks open, unfurling his fangs to me. They’re the shiniest thing in the car, needle sharp and glinting in the passing street lights. My heart is beating so quickly I can feel it in my ears and behind my eyes. I know what he’s going to ask. He'll ask me where.

“ Don’t tell me…”, I whisper.  

He lets me stew in my anticipation. I feel his muscles tense as he calculates the best place to pierce. He strikes me the way a snake would, quick and fast before retracting completely.  I whimper out in pain. He doesn’t suck. No, he watches the blood begin to pool from my exposed shoulder before he goes back in to suck slowly.

He’s taking large gulps, pulling my essence into his mouth like a leech. I hear him exhale softly, as if the pressure building between us had finally released itself. Every suckle makes me wince with a fleeting pain that doesn't stay for long. It's quickly soothed with a euphoric buzz that trickles down my body like static. I groan out when the feeling greets. His large hand blankets the bottom half of my face, silencing me as he laps at the trickle of blood running from my shoulder. When he’s had his fill, he pulls away to assess me. I look at him, eyes wide in the dark, with his hand still over my mouth. Slowly, he unseals his skin from my lips, and I take in a sharp inhale.

When I exhale, the tears come. They always do. I feel them dry on my temples. The pleasure seeps and spreads, here to wash away the pain he inflicted. I press myself back into his embrace and press my mouth to his. He’s iron and smoke. The two things I’ve become all too familiar with since knowing him. And pleasure. A third and very big theme in this dynamic. It’s practically all I know when I’m with him. It’s intoxicating…making me all pliant and fuzzy. He knows how to get my mind off of almost anything. And at times, I worry that it’s too shallow a feeling to keep this together. That maybe it’s too much of a good thing. Now I realize that I don’t really care.

I break away from our pleasure stupor to see that we've driven to the other side of the island, which isn’t nearly as developed as the rest of the resort. Dense jungle leads us down a pitch-black path that shoots off into a clearing overlooking a cliff. The car stops and Vlad lowers the partition. Demitri has his brights on, revealing something akin to a storm shelter nestled into the grass. A stoned path runs right up to the doors.   What my brain took for trees were, in fact, not trees at all.  On each side of the door stood 8-foot-tall beasts. I can think of no other word to describe it. One a smoky grey color and the other a light green. Short and small tusks jittued from their bottom teeth like walruses. Their bodies were an endless expanse of muscle under their custom suits. Their black hair was shaved short to the scalp. I can feel Vlad move, getting ready to leave the car. “ …..What is that?” I whisper under my breath. He chuckles softly. 

“ Orcs. You’ll be fine. Come”, he encourages. He opens my door for me and pulls me out. I fix my dress and take a quick look in my compact mirror. My eyeliner is running, so I wipe the skin above my cheeks. What was left of my lipstain, I’m sure he ate. My hair is still somehow holding up, but the big mess had already dried on my shoulder. Blood. 

“I need something to wipe this off.” I reach back into the car, but Vlad rests a hand on my back, a sign to slow down. 

“ Leave it like that”, he murmurs. He kisses me on the shoulder, and it's pathetically enough to win me over. With his hand at my waist, he leads me towards the opening of the stairs. 

The orcs quietly eye us with their black eyes, not saying a word. I can’t imagine what would happen to a trespasser in a place like that. They’d probably swing them over a cliff and go about their night.  Thankfully, they open the doors for us, and we enter the stairwell. The steps are steep, and the narrow hall is dimly lit with torches spread a few inches apart from one another.

I followed behind him, stepping onto the stoned steps as the doors shut behind us with a loud clang. My fists are balled into the back of his shirt as we echo down the corridor. I keep my right hand against the wall as extra leverage in case my legs give out. I'm greatful that they don’t.  When we reach the bottom, a set of elevators awaits, already open and completely transparent, exposing red brick on the opposite wall. “Must you vampires make everything feel like an Illuminati ritual?” I scoff. 

“ What is life for a vampire if you can’t indulge in secret?” he murmurs humorously. We step into the elevator, and Vlad presses the only other button, a down arrow.

I fidget with my reflection. The piece of Nya's edible should be working by now, but I don't feel much of anything. Vlad reassures me that I look perfectly fine as the Elevator comes to a halting stop. We're spat out into an entirely red room. Red floors, red ceiling, red art. It’s disorienting and sharp. A woman dressed in black sits behind a translucent desk. A man in a black mesh mask walks towards us with trays holding flukes of blood. The stench of iron hits me like a train. It’s not the champagne glasses. No. It’s the red-tinted waterfall behind the receptionist. And then I realize…it’s not water.

It gives me pause. So much so that Vlad has to tug me along. He puts his hand up to the masked server, passing on the refreshments. Then another masked man appears with a real tray of champagne. I take one to be polite and fake a small sip as we approach the woman at the desk. The reception looks like Rita Hayworth with a wicked smile. The badge pinned above her right breast reads “ Sybil”. Her eyes are the color of flames, rings of orange and red, coming together just short of her large pupils. Her teeth are filed into tiny points that make me want to retreat.

“ What an honor it is to have you back, my liege. And you’ve brought a very special guest”, she turns to me expectantly. I give her a brief smile, even though I want to slip behind Vlad’s back. There’s an almost piranha-like quality to her that makes it hard to look at her for too long. “Welcome to the underworld, Persephone”, she jokes in a cheery tone. She chuckles at my dazed expression. “ Wrist please”, she quips in a syrupy transatlantic tone. 

I look at Vlad for reassurance. He nods quietly, not bothered in the slightest. I slowly put my wrist on the table. “ Oh, I don’t bite”, she cooes, before placing a red band on my wrist. When she’s done she moves on to Vlad, placing a black band on him. I observe her as the two of them make small talk. That’s when I notice her sit back down on not a chair, but a person. A man, positioned on all fours, offers his back as her chair. He doesn’t speak or make a sound. He’s human furniture. All three of these men must be her human pets. The idea is confirmed when one of the servants kneels at her feet, and her hand sinks into the top of his curly hair as if he were a dog.

She waves me goodbye as we walk to the end of the room, taking a sharp left down a dark red hall. We step onto a black glossy escalator. I hold the railing, and Vlad stands close behind me. The sound of the escalator’s metallic gnashing groan echoed off the stone corridors. As we reached the bottom, the stairs flattened, ejecting us into an eerily quiet crowd in a large ballroom. 

Floor-to-ceiling red velvet drapes hung in heavy, soft folds along the walls. The fabric turned every corner into an ocean of crimson, with the deep pleats creating endless vertical shadows with no beginning or end. Beneath us, the floor was a jarring, glossy onyx that twinkled under the light as if one were walking on stars in the night sky.

Black and red chairs and sofas sit a few inches apart. Some people sit and other stand in small groups. The ceiling mirrored the floor, black and endless. I had no idea where the light source was coming from, but it was just a few notches above candlelight. Could it have been magic? Or just a design trick? I couldn't be sure. I couldn’t be sure of anything. Not my sense of self. Not my sense of up or down. Not with the piercing eyes trailing our every move. This wasn’t like the gala. There was an unspoken tension in the room. I feel something coil deep in my stomach. Vlad presses a reassuring hand to my lower back as I look around at the spectators. They give nothing more than a polite nod.   I’ve got a million and one questions in my head but I figure it’s best to wait until later to ask them. Vlad ushers me to the bar on the right. A dazzling monolithic slab of black obsidian, polished to a mirror finish. It was crowded with figures draped in silk and heavy jewelry, their movements unrushed and graceful. Something I believed most vampires possess. Masked servers waltz between groups in their black mesh masks. Their nametags were merely numbers. Was it meant to demean? Or is it for the server’s anonymity? Near the back, a narrow, shadowed gap in the velvet led to the washrooms, marked only by a stand with a sign that read “lavatory”. 

I look around for some familiarity between myself and possibly anybody else here. Rainbow eyes find mine. Some are sharp blue, others coal black, and others in strange colors like purple or pink. Some eyes are too tiny and others too big to be human. A man with pointed ears passes me. He’s unusually tall with glowing skin, the same color as his hair. An almost translucent pale. 

“ Fae. Irish fae to be exact”, Vlad murmurs to me, swirling his drink with his wrist. 

I look at the side of his face in disbelief before watching the fae join a black woman with monarch wings on her back. Monarch wings of all things. I have to check my pulse at what I'm seeing. 

“ Aziza. They're a more benevolent species of fae. There is also a Valkyrie around here somewhere. No shortage of wings in our world, as you can see,” Vlad explains humorously, like it's some inside joke. Really, I'm too busy questioning my reality. How on earth can all these beings exist on earth, and most humans never notice? Where do they go? Where do they hide? I take a tiny pacifying sip of my champagne. Maybe it was a good thing the edible didn’t really work. God knows how I would have taken all of this in under the influence.

“ Amina!” I hear my name in the distance. I look up towards the escalator to see Zanto and Mato. Her assistant, Jeff, gives her a supportive arm as he leads her to me. I spot Mato walking with three other women. A middle-aged blonde woman, a young Asian woman, and an older black woman with auburn locs. 

I embrace her while Vlad and Mato talk quietly. “ Hey”, I beam, setting my glass down to give her a hug. Jeff heads to the bar. The three other women stand a short distance away, observing us. They look beautiful in their sparkly gowns, patiently waiting for…something? I’m not sure. 

Zanto grins. “ It’s so great to hear your voice again. Is it okay if we speak privately? I want to introduce you to my sisters”, Zanto whispers. She looks gorgeous in her vintage red gown and pinned-up hair. 

“ Of course, are you kidding?!”, I gush. The three women wave, signaling for me to follow them to the back of the ballroom. Zanto grabs my wrist as I follow behind them. We huddle into our own little human circle, and for the first time tonight, I take an actual breather. 

“ Amina. Lisa, Deborah, and Lettie”, says Zanto. In order, the younger Asian woman, the older blonde woman, and the black woman. 

“ We’re so excited to meet you. And don’t worry. This conversation is charmed. Nobody can hear us,” says Lisa. I chuckle at the redness in her cheeks. It’s a relief to know that my business won’t be put out on Front Street. Vampires and their hearing…

“ We’ve been wanting to do this for months, but we didn’t know if it was the right time”, Lettie explains. 

I blink in confusion. Every knew something I didn’t. “..Do what?”, I ask.

Zanto clears her throat. “ Those dreams weren’t just dreams. We’ve all met before. After our meeting in Wallachia, I’ve realized how much potential you have. We’ve been testing you. You come from a line of very powerful women. But…have you ever thought about whether or not you’re the reason for that ?”, she suggests. 

I laugh. “ The chicken or the egg thing. Right?”

Zanto chuckles. “ Exactly. I know you're trying to enjoy the reception, so I’ll keep this brief. All four of us are what you would consider high witches. In simpler terms, we’ve reached complete self-mastery. A high witch can work with any medium through practice and experience. We all started off much like you long ago…”, Zanto urged. 

Deborah clears her throat. I find her to be a little cold. Not rude per se, but she wasn’t as warm. “ Our kind has a way of finding one another. Each of us has a role as a high witch, and each of us has a certain… specialty. For example, mine is scrying. Lisa's is energy manipulation. Lettie’s is spell casting, and Zanto’s is mediumship. I’m sure you have a certain specialty as well…likely potion brewing. Tell me, how good are you at making a drink? Considering your work—”, I cut her off with a discombobulated shake of my head. 

“ Have you been spying on me?” I ask worriedly. 

Deborah sighs tiredly. “ We don’t exactly have to, but all in all—yes. As I was saying, generally, we all collect data from past events and record them. But you're a natural dream walker. That means you can access information and events through sleep and sometimes involuntarily ”, she says. Now I remember her. She was the woman who pushed me into Anima Smith. I wasn’t a fan of her. It will probably stay that way. 

Lisa chimes in now. She steps closer to me, looking right through me. As the youngest, it seems like she’s the most excited of all of them. “ Witches are archivists. To extract information from a specific event requires significant effort and many years of practice. Add your clairsentience and claircognizance, and you might as well be a time traveler. There is so much we could accomplish with your gift”, Lisa rambled. My mouth opens and closes in shock.

“ You’re overwhelming her….”, Zanto says in a flat tone.

I let out a long breath. Lisa steps back and smiles politely, as does Lettie. Deborah takes a sip of her champagne, looking around indifferently. 

“ Our proposal is this. I would like you to consider training under us at our institute. There, you'll be able to develop your abilities and truly flourish into the witch that I know–WE know that you can be”, Zanto asks. A sincerity to her tone that never strays too far. 

I shake my head cautiously. “ …The whole reason why I even came here is because im trying to prepare for the idea that I’d become…”, I trail off, pointing to the vampires in the crowd. I feel so incredibly out of my depth as I look at the group. “ I can’t leave him to endure his condition alone. He’s waited long enough. There will come a day when he will turn me. Surely I can't be both. Don't witches need a connection to a source? Vampires don’t have that, at least not entirely. Right?,” I rant.  

Zanto takes hold of my hands. Her cloudy eyes stared directly into me as if she’d gained sight to relay the message more memorably. 

“ We’re not asking you to choose. How old do you think I am?”, she challenges. 

I scan her face. “ Uh….32?”, I blurt. 

“ I am 506 years old”, she quips. My eyes widen with surprise.

Lisa chimes in. “ I’m 98 years old.” 

Then Lettie. “ I’m 211”, she grins. 

Then Deborah. “ I’m 463 and counting”, she challenges. 

I look at their three faces, feeling a chill go down my spine as I look back at Zanto. Zanto is smiling knowingly. As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “ When you master yourself, you master the rules of your life. I won’t die for a long while. And when I’m ready I will join my husband. Amina, whatever you thought about your future. Think bigger”, she whispers. 

A little tingle flutters over my entire body. “ Holy shit…”, I chuckle, nervously taking a small sip of my champagne and thinking about what this could mean for me.“ Okay. Okay, I hear you”, I press. Zanto backs away as the three of us stare at each other in silence. Deborah flagged down a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes, and they all grabbed one. 

I let out a long sigh, feeling a familiar weightless feeling spread throughout my body. The fucking edible was working just when I thought it wouldn’t. Even more worrying, I should not be feeling like this from 1-2mg.

“ Ladies. It’s been amazing talking to you guys, but I’m just gonna’ be frank…” I pause, looking at all four of them. “ …. I’m high”, I mutter. 

Lisa tucks in her lips to stop from laughing. Lettie gives me a sympathetic nod, and Deborah just stares at me. Zanto’s mouth opens for a brief moment, then closes before she mutters. “ Understandable. Let’s table this discussion for when you’re sober. When do you leave? ” she blurts. 

I blink a few times, processing what she said. “ Monday morning, but maybe let's talk back in the states?" I ask. 

Zanto gave the ladies my number. I suppress a needless giggle. Nothing was funny, but everything was funny in an almost sick kind of way. In fact, the urge to laugh is so strong that I have to look elsewhere. “ Sounds good. It was nice meeting you guys”, I put my hand out to shake their hands, and hugged Zanto last before heading back to Vlad. Mato was already walking back to his wife with a tip of his hat to me. I sit beside Vlad and rest my drink on the counter. I know he wants to know what we spoke about. I’d be sure to fill him in later, but right now I was just focused on getting through the night. 

Two masked attendants cut through the crowd and pull back the velvety red curtains, revealing the wall behind them. What I thought would be a doorway was a massive, black iron portcullis, its teeth suspended over a jagged stone archway.

Applause echoes across the room as a crowd forms in the middle of the floor. Sophia and Luna are hand in hand. Luna wears a thin, simple nightgown with a silk robe over it. It’s just simple enough to look less like nightwear and more like something chic and intentional. That is, until I saw her lack of shoes. Sophia clears her throat and grabs a drink to make a toast. The applause quiets down as everyone waits for her speech. 

“ Luna and I would like to thank you all for being a part of this special night as we accept her into this family. All of you know what an incredible sacrifice it is for somebody to join you in this condition we call vampirism. A condition we’ve failed to know the true origins of all these years later. Be it a curse from a god or the mark of the devil or sheer misfortune —or luck depending on your perspective”, Sophia pauses. The audience chuckles. I can feel Vlad pull me closer by my waist, throwing his arm over my shoulder. 

Sophia continues. “ Some of you here didn’t have a choice. You were thrust into this world and had to find your own way. Some of you escaped a troubled past —like me. And maybe you’ve found life much better after death. Whatever your circumstance. No matter who or what situation put you here, know that we couldn’t be more honored to have you embrace Luna tonight. Know that we consider you an integral part of our lives, no matter how little or often we may speak.  I know that you’ll all play a pivotal part in Luna's self-acceptance and her confidence in who she’ll become in this next phase of her life. I want to raise a toast to all of you and to my beautiful wife, Luna.” Sophia raised her glass. 

We raise our glasses with her. An overwhelming sea of red peppered with yellow flukes. Then, Sophia and Luna wait at the gate as it rises. Luna directs the crowd to follow them both into the tunnel. The crowd divides into pairs, lining up behind the newlyweds and waltzing under the cold metal, passing the threshold that smelled of wet flint. 

Vlad and I emerged into what could best be described as a Colosseum. A circular amphitheater of paved stone built to hold the crowd at maximum capacity. It’s subterranean engineering all the more obvious as the whispers bounced off the stone like we were standing inside a fish bowl. Each tier rose in these perfect, steep rings that gave the illusion of leaning inward. We spilled into the center of the room, looking at how high each tier of seats went. Endless rows that went up so high that I lost count. 

Vlad did not lead me to a floor seat.  Keeping his arm looped protectively through mine, he led me up a set of steep, narrow stone steps to a high, protruding dais that hung directly over the arena. 

Our chairs were heavy and high-backed, made from dark basalt. The vantage point was nauseating. From this height, the circular rows looked like a giant eye, and we were perched right on the edge of the lid. Sophia and Luna sat on the other side of the room, in a dias identical to ours. Below, hundreds of watchful eyes tracked our movements with the synchronized, unblinking precision of a school of fish. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. This is a culture I don’t belong to. The baseline of what’s polite and what’s rude was all twisted and rearranged here. Tonight I was nothing more than an observer. Under the cover of the stone armrest, Vlad reached for my hand and squeezed, his thumb tracing my knuckles as the silence below became more and more absolute. 

And the show began. 

[allelitewrestlings]

AEW COLLISION • May 30, 2026

[dailysnoopy]

[harmshake]

Kev vs Speedy tonight

[st4rdarts]

safe space to say that i have a thing for samoa joe?? no? alright my mad

[harmshake]

HE'S HOT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT

[kiyoko18]

HE IS HOT

[st4rdarts]

safe space to say that i have a thing for samoa joe?? no? alright my mad

[harmshake]

HE'S HOT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT

[mjfass]

I love him

[indiaartisticman]

[oldinterneticons]