littlekittenamy - Tumblr blog

littlekittenamy · 3 months ago

Text

Samsara; 2

⤕ She was plagued. Shadows loomed over her mind. She was alone in a world where no one dared to look into the occult. She missed the faceless man from her dreams, the one her soul longed for. She wanted to meet him again.

He was plagued. Alucard had loved countless times. There was one love he was never able able to forget, however; the one that was ripped away from him. He knew they could never meet again.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: reincarnation, angst, romance, smut, hurt/comfort

warnings: violence/blood, explicit sex, mental health issues, blasphemy (?), reader is a girl kisser, century xix misoginy, mentioned suicide and rape (very brief, non descriptive)

rating: 18+

word count: 12k

A/N: gosh this ch got so long. but i'm very proud of this one!! - when writing this fic, i like to imagine @/viccerys' version of alucard! their fanarts are absolutely gorgeous and i love their interpretation of him! - i'm really into 80s rock/love ballads so i listened to looking for love by whitesnake on repeat while writing this chapter. feedback as usual is much appreciated! enjoy <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Taglist open!

Sometimes, you wondered if everyone else was right about you.

Flourished imagination. Excessive daydreaming. Not wanting to face reality. Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe the things you saw and felt were really not real. Of course… you didn’t doubt your premonitory dreams and visions. Those were way too accurate to not be real. But...the shivers? The sudden overwhelming discomfort that made you want to rip your hair off your scalp, scream, lay on the floor in fetal position? What if it was just some sort of brain disease?

Maybe that was why your stomach was turning. Maybe that was why the tiny hairs in the back of your neck were raising. Maybe that was why you felt this sudden cold creep under your skin as you approached the ceremony hall.

It was either that… or there was something horribly wrong about that place.

You didn’t want to get inside.

The feeling got worse and worse and worse as you approached it. Clara spoke some encouraging words on the way (“You look stunning!” or “It’ll all be okay. No one will hurt you.”), but you barely listened as a strange buzzing sound muffled your ears. It was… it was as if fog covered the area around the ceremony hall and the garden. But Clara didn’t mention fog, so you assumed only you could see it.

You didn’t want to get inside.

Your body was begging you to turn around and run.

DANGER, something in your mind screamed — as if there was a wild animal there. Your heart raced. Your fingertips trembled. Turn around and run. Turn around and run. Turn around and run.

But maybe it was all in your head.

The hall was filled with people that laughed at you, made rumors about you for fun. You knew many more rumors would surface after that night simply because you attended. And you knew that man was there — Alfred Zardini… your future husband. The first time you’d see him in person. And you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

So… maybe that was why your brain was reacting that way. Scared of being in a situation that would cause so much discomfort. Maybe that is why it was heightening your senses as if you were about to face great danger.

But you didn’t want to embarrass yourself anymore. Not in front of the entire city. Not when it’d bring Clara more shame.

So you tried to take a deep breath.

This time it is all in your head. Relax. It’s just people. It’s just people.

You walked behind Clara into the hall.

And the moment you stepped inside—

You knew.

It was not all in your head.

There was something horribly, horribly wrong about that place.

It made you want to vomit. It made you want to run. The fog was inside the hall, too, and the smell— God, the stench. It was rancid and disgusting and you didn’t want to breathe anymore. And— and that black mud— it was everywhere, dripping from the curtains and soaking the floor and making everyone’s clothes dirty with it… what the fuck was that black mud?! Why wasn’t anyone else seeing it?! How could they not feel that stench?!

Turn around and run. Turn around and run.

It was loud. Loud loud loud loud. The music playing. The chatter. The voices. Not spoken voices — the voices that reached your mind, not your ears. Their thoughts. Their feelings and emotions. Everything reached you from all sides, bombarding you with more information than what you could bear. You were the center of attention— and you felt it, the mocking, the contempt, the curiosity. They were expecting you to yell all of sudden or embarrass yourself. But you actually wanted to run away this time — you wanted to run run run and hide, you wanted to take these clothes off because the gown was way too heavy and didn’t let you breathe and oh my God I am suffocating I am suffocating I will pass out I don’t want to be here no please please please—

Don’t embarrass yourself, the somewhat sane part of your brain tried. Don’t embarrass your sister in front of all of these people.

But I don’t want to be here. There’s something wrong here. Something evil.

Some of Clara’s and Julien’s friends came to greet you. You tried to smile, tried to not look so nauseous— but how could you when this disgusting black mud was everywhere, even on their teeth? How could they not feel that stench?

Don’t embarrass your sister. Don’t embarrass your sister.

Voices popped up in your mind. Miss Salles. That pretty thing is crazy. Clara is brave for bringing her along. Mr. Zardini might be insane too for wanting her as a wife.

Mr. Zardini.

No no no no no. You didn’t want to meet him. Not only because you didn’t want it from the start — but right now? As you felt about to spit your own guts out? As you could barely breathe? You simply had no conditions to hold a decent conversation with anyone. He’ll laugh at me. Everyone will laugh at me. Please, don’t approach me. Please, I just want to be alone.

The musical group started another song. Something a bit more agitated. Couples swiftly floated to the center of the hall to dance. The hem of their gowns — they were drenched in that black mud. I’m gonna vomit.

And then you spotted him across the hall, slowly making his way towards you.

No no no no no please no no no. He looked exactly like the painting in the locket — and it didn’t make it any better. He… he could very well be your father. No no no don’t approach me. Stay away from me. No no no I don’t want to marry you I don’t want to be your wife.

You could barely breathe.

Turn around and run. Turn around and run. Turn around and run. Turn around and run-

And then—

Then—

The world stopped.

It went silent.

Suddenly, the overwhelming cacophony halted. You couldn’t hear voices or thoughts or feelings anymore. Your vision blurred.

You couldn’t focus on anything else but the man standing in front of you.

He… Where did he come from? You had no idea. He blocked the sight of Mr. Zardini behind him… and everything else, too.

Your eyes widened slightly. A soft gasp that you couldn’t hold back escaped.

He was beautiful.

No… beautiful was an inappropriate adjective to describe him. He was something that couldn’t be properly conveyed in words.

The stranger was tall — perhaps the tallest person in the hall. His hair was a long, wavy waterfall of pure white strands that cascaded over his broad shoulders. His skin was porcelain white… had you ever seen someone so pale before? But surprisingly, his skin tone didn’t make him look sick. It contrasted greatly with his golden eyes — literally golden, you realized; not hazel. Golden. Like melted gold. Each facial feature seemed symmetrically measured to perfection; his nose, lips, eyebrows, jawline… he wore an elegant black attire with only a few golden details and buttons of his coat. It was simpler than what most men around him wore, but he didn’t need anything more luxurious to stand out.

He was the only person not drenched in this strange black mud. He was clean.

His eyes were serene. In his lips, a small — even charming — lip tightened smile.

Your eyes widened even more when, with the elegance of a swan, he bowed politely and offered you a gloved hand.

“Ms. Salles, may I have this dance?”

And then, you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Not because of the horrible feeling of danger hovering in the air. Not because of the anxiety. Not even because he was embarrassingly handsome.

But because of his voice.

It was deep. Quiet. Husky. Seemed to reverberate in your bones.

And you’d heard it before.

In your dreams.

The faceless man…

The voice of reason spoke again. Don’t embarrass your sister.

You couldn’t leave him waiting. But… but you were supposed to dance with Mr. Zardini, right? Wouldn’t… wouldn’t he be offended…?

But you didn’t care about Zardini. Not at all.

So, somehow, you remembered how to move. You remembered how to blink and open a demure smile. You remembered how to pick your skirt and bob a polite curtsy.

You remembered how to take his hand.

And for the first time, you wished you weren’t wearing gloves.

Physical touch was… most times, unbearable — because you could feel people through their skin. Their emotions and sometimes even their thoughts. Of course… being in this hall full of people made you feel them as well, but it was like standing near a furnace: you could feel its heat. Physical touch was like putting your hand inside the furnace. You couldn’t control that; it was uncalled for, it was maddening. You were used to wearing gloves even in the warmest weather.

But at that moment, you wished to touch his skin. You wished he wasn’t wearing black leather gloves as well. Maybe… maybe like that, you’d understand him a bit better.

He guided you to the center of the hall smoothly – and once more, you remembered that you were the center of attention. They are all shocked somehow. Is it because they knew Zardini was going to court you? Yes, it was that, but there was another reason. Their thoughts and intentions were like a flock of parrots hooting around you all at the same time.

Miss Salles Miss Salles Mr. Zardini so disrespectful what is happening what what what does he want with her the Duke Mr. Tepes the Duke of Wallachia–

Sudden cold ran down your spine.

A Duke?

He was a Duke?!

Finally, you faced him again. The stranger – a Duke! – bowed elegantly once more; you immediately bobbed another curtsy before taking his left hand. His right hand came to rest on your waist, which immediately made more shivers run down your spine. His hand was big like… like the rest of him. His grip was firm but gentle. The serenity in his eyes remained. God – it was hard to keep eye contact with him.

The Duke began to guide you in the dance.

For a moment, you had something else to focus on: dancing. You had trained with Clara at least two days prior… you weren’t a socialite like her. You hadn’t attended many balls in your life, as your parents were way too embarrassed of you to allow your participation. So, she had to step in and teach you over and over again. It didn’t feel that hard when you were dancing with her – but right now? With him?

You focused all of your might into not stepping on his foot or tripping over your own dress. You knew you probably looked stiff and funny to everyone else… as if you needed another reason to be laughed at.

Before, you wanted to run away because of the sense of danger; now, you wanted to run away due to the sheer awkwardness of it all…

Until he decided to speak for the first time.

“These people don’t have anything better to do, aye?”

It caught you off guard.

That deep voice that sounded so oddly familiar. He was surprisingly soft spoken… but what surprised you even more was his somewhat good humored tone. Slightly annoyed, even – but not at you.

Apparently, he didn’t like all that attention as well.

“Oh, I believe they don’t.” Your voice was as quiet as his to not let the couples around you eavesdrop. “If they did, they wouldn’t waste their precious time coming here.” You almost choked on your own words. That was inappropriate. He is here after all. What way to talk to someone you don’t even know! You cleared your throat and avoided his gaze for a second. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

He chuckled.

It caught you off guard again.

“No need for apologies. No need for your grace, either.” He frowned slightly. “Though… I don’t remember presenting myself.”

Oh.

He actually didn’t. No one did, at least with spoken words.

You tilted your head awkwardly. “Well. I heard. They’re loud and irritating. Like a flock of parrots.” That was also inappropriate. You weren’t that used to social interactions overall, and the sheer nervousness of it all made you speak before thinking.

He chuckled again.

“A flock of parrots sounds like an accurate description.”

The music elevated for a moment. He made you twirl around; your gown fluttered around your body like a whirlpool of emeralds before his hand was on your waist once again.

“But you haven’t presented yourself either, and I already knew your name… so we’re even.”

It was your turn to chuckle dryly. “It’d be a miracle if you hadn’t heard about me at this point, sir… as I am this circus’ main attraction.” You didn’t intend to sound so bitter, but it was quite impossible to hide it.

He narrowed his eyes. “I certainly see why you’re the main attraction. It has nothing to do with any circus, however.”

It caught you off guard again.

Harder this time.

You almost gasped.

A quiet giggle followed.

“You flatter me, sir.” He did actually flatter you a lot, but perhaps the nervousness stunted your nerves, preventing you from embarrassing yourself even further. “But there’s no need to pretend you didn’t hear what you heard. My reputation precedes me. I am used to it.”

He quirked his eyebrow slightly. “Is it true?”

His tone was still lighthearted. Not a drop of judgment, hesitation or awkwardness… and it made you feel less and less nervous. Made the annoying parrot voices quiet down. Suddenly, you caught yourself not caring about the black mud anymore. Or about the crowd of spectators… or even if what you said was appropriate or not.

You shrugged. “It depends. Would that make you afraid of me like everyone else?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is true. I am in fact insane.”

He chuckled again, closing his eyes for a moment. “What have you heard about me?”

“I heard you came all the way from Wallachia… to stand in my brother-in-law’s ceremony hall. Which makes me wonder if you are a bit insane as well.”

“I certainly was going insane some minutes ago.” He nodded. “You are right. They are loud and irritating. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for business…” His gaze became a bit more intense. “...but my evening became very interesting all of sudden.”

You smiled.

The first genuine, unapologetic smile you opened from the moment you got out of bed.

And he smiled back. A smaller smile… but genuine nevertheless. A smile that reached his beautiful golden eyes.

He twirled you around once more. You couldn’t hear or feel anyone else anymore… anyone but him.

The song ended. The couples stopped dancing, the crowd applauded. You faced each other at some steps distance.

“But let me do things the proper way. It’d be rude of me not to.” He, once more, bowed politely with his right hand over his chest and his left arm behind his back, a lighthearted smile never leaving his lips. “I am Adrian Tepes, the insane hermit of Wallachia… at your service.”

A quiet but unavoidable giggle erupted from your chest. Once more, you bobbed an elegant curtsy – a much less stiff one now that you felt more comfortable in your own skin.

“I am Miss Salles. The court jester… at your service.”

And it was strange, that small moment you shared. How comfortable and at ease you felt with this man you knew nothing about. How he made you forget about everything that plagued you, even if for just a few minutes.

Until that happened.

The black mud. In one second, it was still there.

The next second – it wasn’t.

It was so abrupt that your smile immediately vanished; your stomach dropped. All of that sticky, disgusting black liquid disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place. For the first time, you saw clearly what color the attendees’ gowns were, the impeccably clean marble floor, the shiny crystal chandelier…

All gone.

Maybe you should’ve felt relief, for the sense of danger vanished as well. But… there was something so eerie about it that you couldn’t help but feel even more apprehensive. What was that thing? Why did it disappear?

When you looked at Mr. Tepes again… he wasn’t smiling anymore. He had a frown over his features, his eyes hardened. He looked around to the oblivious crowd as if searching for someone specific.

His gaze dropped to you again.

And for a second, he seemed to hesitate. Just for a second.

“My apologies, Ms. Salles. I must make myself absent.” He bowed his head respectfully. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Truly.”

You gulped and bowed your head too. “O-Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you as well.”

Mr. Tepes walked away.

You weren’t brave enough to follow him with your eyes.

You stood there for some moments, feeling the awkwardness creep all over again. You were alone once more. The attention never left you. The parrot whispers were coming back… the perception of what happened was coming, too. Everyone expected you to dance with Mr. Zardini. But you danced with another man instead…

You didn’t want to face him. You didn’t want to face anyone.

Quietly, you walked to the back of the hall.

No one tried to approach you. You already knew they wouldn’t. At that point, you didn’t care if it’d be rude to simply vanish five minutes after arriving; they already had enough material to make up rumors for months. So, rapidly, you walked towards the back doors that led to a corridor connecting the hall to the manor.

You unceremoniously ran as soon as the doors closed, almost tripping on the hem of the dress – and just stopped running when you reached an office on the first floor.

No more inconvenient voices or looks – but that didn’t ease your raging heart and mind, not anymore.

It took Clara three minutes to find you.

She closed the doors and looked at you with widened eyes.

“What just happened back there?”

You shrugged helplessly.

“A dance?”

Clara walked from side to side, holding her own head. She looked absolutely distressed.

“Oh, God. They’re all talking. This is not how things were supposed to go. And- And Mr. Zardini, he looked so displeased–“

“Well, what was I supposed to do? Say no to a Duke?!”

She nodded. “Yes, yes, I know – you had no way out of that situation. It’s not your fault. It’s his fault.” Clara stopped and put both hands on each side of her waist. “Respectfully, is he not aware of good manners and etiquette?”

“He wasn’t disrespectful.”

You avoided her gaze.

And that was enough for Clara to understand.

God, how you hated the fact that you could feel her feelings slowly fill the room like smoke. Of course, she was a woman as well; she saw the stark difference between Mr. Tepes and Mr. Zardini. Who wouldn’t be flattered? And she felt bad for you, because that dance gave you a little bit of hope that maybe, maybe you wouldn’t have to be tied to that much older man…

Clara sat on the couch in front of you and looked down at her skirt.

“I didn’t know him before.” Her voice was quiet. “Julien had mentioned that he met a duke a few years ago… but I didn’t know he would attend. He appeared last minute.”

Slowly, you sat down by her side.

Silence.

She looked over the sofa to check if someone was coming through the door before turning to you.

“...He’s Adonis incarnate, isn’t he?!”

Both of you started giggling like two little girls.

You covered your mouth, feeling your entire face and neck get hot. Clara looked at the door again before continuing in an excited half whisper.

“God, I got so shocked when he approached you!”

“I got shocked, too! I almost didn’t know what to do.”

She tightened her hands in fists and let a very unlady-like groan escape. “It was so satisfying to see their faces, sister! All of these vultures shocked that he chose you for a dance.”

“Why me, however? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, please.” She pushed your shoulder jokingly. “If he’s Adonis, then you are Helen of Troy. Why would any gentleman not want to pick you for a dance?”

“Stop.” You pushed her shoulder back. You knew Clara was just trying to lift your spirits… no man aware of your history would want to be seen with you, no matter how embellished you looked. There were some seconds of silence again. “Why do you think his hair is white like that?”

“Oh, I’ve seen someone like that before… Anne’s child. Her babe was born pale like that. Not a bit of color in him. Poor thing couldn’t even be out in the sun for too long without getting burned.”

You avoided her gaze again… for a different reason this time.

If you told her that you thought he looked like a vampire, she’d say you were hallucinating again.

Clara never seemed to notice the differences in people. Nor your parents… and most people around you. But you knew it. They looked like human beings, talked and moved like human beings… but the scent of blood that followed them made them stand out. The red aura that revolved them.

You hadn’t seen many in your life – at least, not many while awake; your dreams constantly involved these creatures. Maybe two or three, all aristocrats, always from a distance. But you never forgot them. The sheer sense of danger they exhaled. The fact that predators like them could blend in a crowd and no one would bat an eye at them.

Mr. Tepes looked like one. But he lacked the crimson aura and the smell of blood… which made you wonder if Clara was right this time.

But so many strange things happened in the span of ten minutes that his unusual hair color was the least of it. That black mud that covered everything and vanished in a second… the absolute sense of danger… what caused it? Was it even something relevant, or was it just your heightened anxiety making you see things?

Him…

His oddly familiar voice…

The sense of comfort you shared in that short dance.

Almost as if...

Another shiver ran down your spine.

Almost as if you already knew him.

One week later, you were set to meet your future husband… again.

And it was awful how everyone already treated him as your fiance, even though he hadn’t properly asked your hand in marriage… because they knew no other man would be brave enough to even begin any sort of courtship. That’d be the best and only chance you’d ever have at marriage.

No one ever asked your opinion on this, obviously. You were invalid. Incapable of making choices of your own.

Truth be told… after what happened at the ball, Clara even tried to slow down the process. Of course, a simple dance wasn’t the same as courtship; a few minutes of conversation didn’t mean the Duke was interested in you. But, well… Clara had some hope. Who wouldn’t?

But Mr. Tepes had vanished.

Julien didn’t know where he was hosted. According to his words, the Duke was a very private man. He didn’t care for lavish stays or grand introductions despite his position, preferring discretion and isolation instead. And… well, if he was interested, he would’ve already made some sort of move.

He didn’t have to.

He definitely wasn’t the prince on a white horse you had fantasized about when you were a kid. You had been through enough to understand that this sort of thing didn’t exist.

Mr. Zardini, on the other hand, was adamant in meeting you.

Again, according to Julien… he was able to “explain” the Duke’s behavior as, “the people of Wallachia have different manners. Don’t see it as an insult.” And surprisingly, Zardini believed it. More than that – it seems he didn’t even mind it at all. He really wanted to meet you officially.

Julien hopped around in happiness that the accord wasn’t broken – because yes, to him, this was nothing but a business accord. Zardini was the owner of a great shipping company, after all, and Julien wanted to link with powerful families to strengthen his own influence.

Clara just felt sorry.

Feeling sorry doesn’t change anything, unfortunately.

She stood behind you as you faced the mirror.

“You look like a spring flower, sister.”

A light gown for the warm weather, the color of cherry blossoms. Simpler jewelry. Delicate gloves, as usual.

You did look beautiful.

But the lack of a smile on your face ruined everything. There wasn’t any reason to be happy at all. And Clara knew it. You saw her struggling to find the right words. She didn’t want to encourage you to “behave” or indulge Zardini… but she knew you had no way out of this either.

Her hand touched your shoulder softly.

“I am sorry, sis–“

“Please, don’t.” You took her hand off your shoulder delicately, deciding to look anywhere else but her reflection in the mirror. “Let’s… let’s just get this over with.”

Clara looked down and nodded as if words got stuck in her throat. She turned around and left.

It’d be a long afternoon.

Turns out Mr. Zardini paid little to no attention to you during lunch – and you couldn’t be more thankful.

Him, Julien and a cousin of his that came along, Mr. Ricci, were too absorbed in keeping their conversation between each other. Clara barged in with clever commentary as usual. You stayed shut, focusing in trying not to vomit instead.

They already knew you were crazy, right? You wouldn’t try to act like you weren’t.

You couldn’t even look at him, in fact.

Zardini.

He was impeccably well dressed. His outfit, manners and ways of speech made it clear that this was a man of power, born and grown in wealth. Very intelligent. His gray beard was perfectly trimmed, hair perfectly styled. Everything about him was perfectly done.

That wasn’t a compliment.

In the moments you had the courage to lift your gaze to him, you could see that he… he wasn’t exactly ugly. Maybe you’d have found him very attractive twenty years ago. Zardini clearly took care of his appearance, more than most man would.

But that didn’t change the fact that he could very well be your father.

That didn’t change the fact that you were at his mercy with no visible way out.

That didn’t change the fact that you’d have to perform the duties of a wife with him.

You’d have to let him kiss you. You’d have to lay in bed and let him stick his flaccid penis inside of you. You’d have to let him do it for five minutes (which is what he probably could take) every night until he finally managed to make you pregnant. And then you’d have to give birth and raise his child.

And everyone expected you to be grateful for it.

You wanted to die.

You thought of throwing a tantrum. It’s what everyone in this table expected of you, isn’t it? You were great at those. Sometimes your fits were real. But you learned to fake them over the years, just to annoy the nuns and set havoc in the convent. Pushing the table towel, hollering like an animal, kicking the air, drooling… you seriously considered doing it.

But Clara was there.

And your nephews somewhere in the house.

You had a few night terrors ever since coming to live with them. They hadn’t witnessed any of them… but you didn’t want them to see what actually happened to you when you had one of these fits. These boys were the only people on Earth who didn’t see you as a dangerous creature. You didn’t want to change their perception.

So you behaved.

No smiles. Not participating in any conversation. Not acting as if you liked anything that was going on. And that’s the best they would get.

After lunch and tea were over, Zardini asked to have a private walk in the gardens with you.

You’d rather die. But there was no way out of there, was it?

The afternoon was awfully beautiful. A refreshing breeze, blue skies, the flowers were blooming. You walked slowly on a stone trail by the lake. You held a parasol the same color of your dress; it had no intention to protect you from the sun, however, but protect you from him, as if to create a visible barrier between you two.

Zardini was tall. He smelled of tobacco and a strong male cologne that made you even more nauseous. His voice was grave and quite authoritarian.

Worst of it all – he didn’t seem bothered by your apathy. Not at all.

“Beautiful property, this one. I heard your sister helped with most of the renovations and the new garden. Talented woman.”

“She is.” You nodded without bothering to look at him.

“A good mother. A well loved woman by high society. A diligent wife. You sister is perfect in every sense.”

You frowned slightly. Why exactly was he complimenting Clara that much all of sudden? Was it to make you feel bad? Was it because he secretly liked her but chose you instead since she was already taken?

Zardini stopped walking, which made you stop as well. You realized he did it now that you were at a considerable – but still safe and respectful – distance from the gazebo where you had lunch.

He fiddled with a golden pocket watch absently, eyes glued to it.

“We’re both grown adults. I believe we can speak clearly without the formalities required by societal norms.” For the first time, you were fully paying attention to what he had to say. “I figure you already understand what my interests are with you.”

You were taken aback.

This is usually not how things went. Not so straightforward.

You nodded.

“I also would like you to understand that I do not require perfection from you. I do not expect or hope for love either; respect and loyalty are more than enough.”

“And what should I expect from you with this marriage, sir?” The first time you actually spoke out loud that afternoon, matching his stone cold tone. “You’ll already get a good business partnership with the Saint-Clairs. Already very beneficial without my respect and loyalty.”

If he wants to be direct, then let’s be direct.

Zardini quirked one eyebrow. He didn’t seem upset by your harsh retort.

“Protection. And I know what you might think. You’re a woman of high status, what else could I provide that you already do not own? But unfortunately, the Salles estate is in possession of your brother-in-law, and he does not plan on taking care of you forever, no matter how hard your dear sister might insist. I believe there aren’t many more gentlemen willing to do so, either.”

That was like a punch in the gut.

You knew he was right, but you didn’t expect him to know all this. Perhaps it was obvious to everyone else… yet, the way he shoved it in your face made you deeply upset.

Made you despise him.

“You will have my properties. The comfort. The peace you need. I’ll just ask you one thing, other than giving me an heir.” He stepped closer. Dropped his voice.

There was something eerie in his green eyes.

“The use of your abilities.”

Soft wind made the grass rattle, the trees shuffle. A note of silence extended between you two.

You had a notion of what he meant. But you didn’t want to believe it.

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

“You do.” Zardini chuckled dryly. “As I already said… we can speak freely without any formalities. People say… absurdities about you. But from the moment I first heard the rumors, I knew the truth.”

Your jaw dropped.

He… he couldn’t be talking about this, could he?

You gripped the stick of the parasol tighter, getting increasingly more uncomfortable. “I still don’t understand what you mean.”

Zardini looked down at you with a strange smirk.

“What was my mother’s name?”

You were, once again, taken aback.

“How would I know your mother’s name? You haven’t told me.”

He waited in silence.

The wind made noise again, played with your dress. Your discomfort grew more and more. Was this man in his right mind?

But you heard it.

With your mind. Not with your ears.

You heard the name.

You didn’t even need to concentrate to hear it; it slipped into your head with ease.

“...Victoria.”

Your voice was quiet. Hesitant.

Zardini’s green eyes gleamed.

“Extraordinary.” He said under his breath. “Truly extraordinary. I have never met a psychic with such raw talent.”

“A what?”

“A psychic. Someone who bears the power of feeling and seeing beyond the common human senses. Someone who can even predict the future with ease.” His gaze over you had a new type of interest; he analyzed your features as if you were an expensive Chinese vase. “...And to think your parents hid you for so long. Heavens, they had no idea.”

You watched him in shocked silence.

This old man… who you already despised. But, at that moment, you let that aside. Maybe because shock stunted your other emotions.

Your voice came as a fragile whisper.

“Do you… do you believe in me?”

No one ever did before. Ever.

No matter how much proof you had. No matter how hard you screamed. No one ever believed you. No one ever gave you the benefit of the doubt. Not even your beloved sister.

At that moment, Zardini did.

His eyes softened; so did his smirk.

“I’ll give you the most quiet, comfortable life… so you can flourish your abilities to its highest capacity. No more judgment. No more questions. All you have to do… is see the future for me in return.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Maybe you should’ve been happy at the fact that someone believed you for the first time. But that was still an inescapable situation; he was not asking for your collaboration. Neither was he asking your hand in marriage.

He was demanding it.

And he had the power to do so.

That same evening, you got engaged.

He knew she was coming.

It was impossible not to hear her quiet steps approaching the library. Inside the colossal empty castle, any small noise became a thunder in his ears, as if living in the pipes of an organ. He could hear the freezing winter wind out there, softly touching the windows. Tiny rodents hiding from the snow. The flame of the candlestick beside him crackling quietly.

When he lifted his gaze and saw her entering the library, he was not surprised.

She had a blanket wrapped around her figure. Her hair was loose, a gracious mess falling over her shoulders. Her face was slightly swollen. Barefoot.

She approached him in silence.

The castle had many libraries spread around its sections. Each library stored specific genres of books. The astronomy tower… the philosophy library… his mother’s study, where he didn’t have the courage to enter anymore. Some sections of the palace were… silently forbidden. He didn’t get near these places. She didn’t, either.

This library was one of these places.

His late father had a library of its own right in his chambers. But this one… the circular library equivalent to three floors of books with a glass skylight on the roof, was where he kept some of his most precious discoveries. There were probably over sixty thousand books inside that library alone. All written by the man himself.

He didn’t get there. Not even to clean it. After months, a thin layer of dust covered the entire place.

There was a reason for him to be there that night, however. Multiple books were scattered on the floor around him. He sat on a blanket and some cushions to protect himself from the cool marble floor, but didn’t bother to light up the fireplace.

And he didn’t mind her presence there.

Months ago, when she arrived, this would be unthinkable. He didn’t trust her enough to be near his father’s ancient knowledge.

Things were different now.

Quietly, she sat in front of him.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was almost as silent as the single candle cackling beside him.

She shook her head. “It’s too cold.”

He dropped his eyes back to the small book at hand. “You could light up the fireplace.”

“You should light up this fireplace.” She caressed her arms under the blanket to ward off the cold. “It’s freezing here.”

“I don’t mind cold.” He flipped a page. “I’m more worried about you walking around barefoot at night during winter.”

She sighed and eyed the books around. “…Did you find a solution?”

“Not yet.”

The heating system was not working in some sections of the castle. The pipes were probably damaged during the battle months ago… and he was trying to find a solution in his father’s engineering books.

That was a great excuse.

There weren’t just engineering books around him. There were… other things, too. Random annotations. Even poetry. It could be unthinkable to anybody that the late king of the vampires would write anything of the sort.

Hesitantly, she reached for a thin book next to her, as if waiting to see if he would prevent her… but he didn’t. She opened the first page and read quietly.

A small smile adorned her features.

“He had a beautiful way with words.”

He nodded softly. “When he wanted.”

She looked down at the pages again. “He… truly loved her. Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer.

Silence lingered between them. But… it wasn’t uncomfortable like it was in the beginning. When they still had their walls up. When most days were reigned by awkwardness and aggressiveness. When they were wary of each other, as if expecting to wake up in the middle of the night with a knife in their throats.

It had been months ever since she decided to say. He didn’t invite her; she just… stayed. And albeit he wasn’t fond of her in the beginning, it was still better than being alone. Anything was better than sitting alone in this cold, soulless castle.

At first, he tolerated her.

Then, he… got used to her presence.

She could be funny when she wanted to. No… she was funny. He realized that after she started to tolerate him. An acid sense of humor he could relate to. He caught himself giggling at her self deprecating jokes and even at the way she joked about him.

She was smart. Not an academic type of intelligence, but a type one can only learn through life. He could see that life was not easy on her – and it made him more and more curious to know about her past, even though she scarcely touched the subject. She was his opposite in this sense. He… had been trying to move on. But many times, he caught himself stuck in the same place, in the same feelings. Meanwhile, she was like an unstoppable avalanche; always facing forward. Never looking back.

It was thanks to her that they had been busying themselves with renovating the castle. It’d take years for two people alone to fix all the damage in a structure so big, but they had been doing a great job until that point.

It felt that they were silently healing each other in the process. Day after day. Meal after meal. Argument after argument. Laughter after laughter. They tolerated each other. Then, they got used to each other… and now, they appreciated each other.

This appreciation was growing into something… deeper. Unspoken. But it was there – and none of them were oblivious to it. The brief touches. The quick glances. The racing hearts.

It was escalating. The two knew it.

None of them planned on fighting it back.

Her eyes were still down when she spoke again.

“...I’m a bit thankful to him, in a grotesque way.”

It made him immediately look at her and forget about the book in his hand.

The quiet fragility of her voice. She… had never showed fragility in front of him.

He immediately understood this was important.

“How so?” His voice was as quiet; peaceful, welcoming, to encourage her to speak.

She hesitated before starting.

“...I’m from Targoviste.” His eyes widened slightly at her sudden confession. “Our house was a bit far from the city… into the woods. I was the only girl in the family. Only had brothers.”

She hesitated again. He did not rush her.

“One night, a man knocked on our door. A vampire.” Her grip on the thin book tightened as she spoke. “He was drunk. I didn’t even know vampires could get drunk. But that one… he could barely stand on his feet. He was still strong enough to destroy half of the house and injure two of my brothers. He threatened to kill all of us. Laughing. And then...” Another extended pause. Her throat audibly tightened more and more. So did his heart. “My father fell on his knees and begged him to leave his sons alone… in exchange of his daughter.”

He felt a cold hand grip around his heart.

“Young and pretty, he said. Will serve you well.” She chuckled dryly. “The drunk vampire accepted the deal. So merciful.”

He didn’t know what to say for long, agonizing moments.

“Did he not… feed off you?”

“He had other interests.” His stomach dropped. “But do not worry. I spent barely a day in his lair. As I said, he was a drunk… while he slept, I put a stake through his heart.” Another chuckle. She scratched her nose with the back of her hand. He saw the subtle gloss in her eyes, the way she blinked rapidly… “Took me five days of wandering in the woods to find our home. But when I got there…” She shrugged. “Targoviste was already destroyed. A sea of blood. Corpses out in the open. Few survivors. A horrible sight.” Another pause. “The night creatures wandered into the woods, too.”

She took a shaky deep breath.

For the first time, she lifted her gaze to him. A painful tightened smile crept up her lips.

“And I was glad when I found my old house and saw my father with his guts ripped off. Because I spent five days planning on how to kill him.” She covered her mouth for a moment, eyes wandering elsewhere… almost lost. “The night creatures took care of it for me. Lifted a burden from my shoulders.” She gulped and blinked rapidly again. “How cruel of me, aye?”

It was automatic. Even instinctive. Before realizing, his hand softly cupped her cheek – softly, softly; almost hesitant. His hand was freezing cold, but she didn’t flinch away. Their eyes met once again.

“You’re not.” His voice was but a whisper.

At that moment, it was as if none of them dared to breathe.

This… feeling surrounding them. Quiet. Fragile. Intimate in a way they had never been before. It was as if they were scared to move or speak and make it go away.

But she was implacable like an avalanche. She always moved first.

Her eyes dropped to his chest. Slowly, her fingers touched the neckline of his white blouse. She pushed it with her fingertips.

“...Does it still hurt?” Her voice, like his, was but a whisper.

The big scar crossed over his chest. Inflicted by his own father. The wound that almost killed him, took a year of hibernation to close again.

He unconsciously caressed it all the time, always with a slight frown over his features. She had noticed it.

“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly.

She locked eyes with him for a moment.

Then, carefully, she inched closer.

He watched, barely breathing, with his heart pounding in his chest, as she came closer and closer. She pushed the blouse to expose more of his chest. He watched, mesmerized and astonished and even a bit confused, when she pressed her soft lips over his scar.

The touch of her kiss was featherlight… chaste, in a way. But it immediately spread fire through his veins, pushed all the cold away. She pressed another kiss… and another, following the shape of the scar. And another. And one more.

Until he couldn’t take it anymore.

He captured her chin on his fingers and guided her lips towards his.

It was warm, too. It was easy. It was fulfilling.

A simple press of lips at first that extended for long seconds – and it was like the world stopped turning at that moment.

She leaned away. He looked down at her. She looked up at him.

And then, they were kissing again.

Their lips moved unhurriedly, matching a pace that set real fire in their hearts. The hand that once held her chin went to rest on the back of her neck; she, on the other hand, placed her hands on his broad shoulders. And it was slow, almost agonizingly so; it deepened and deepened and deepened, tongues meeting and entangling, until their breaths became faster and more difficult, until all the cold went away, until all they could hear were the wet noises their kisses produced, until she sat on his lap.

“Have you ever done it before?” She whispered, almost out of breath.

He shook his head. No, he hadn’t. But he wasn’t embarrassed of it, nor he put much thought into it.

She smiled – and that alone made his blood boil like lava. Her smile wasn’t mocking. It was… endeared, perhaps. Lustful.

The blanket she brought along was forgotten. She wore nothing but a long sleeved nightgown underneath.

She did not break eye contact while taking it off.

He stared, mesmerized, at her body; the way visible shivers ran over her skin due to the cold, her gloriously exposed chest, her hardened nipples. His large hands didn’t hesitate to touch her, bring her closer, caress her. His lips didn’t take too long to greet her – neck, shoulders, breasts… and when he heard her soft moan for the first time, he knew he would never get tired of it. Never.

She guided him. She showed him where to kiss, how to kiss. She was sweet. It was warm and sticky. He was, once again, mesmerized – how mesmerized! – at her reactions, her deep breaths and hisses and moans, the way she gripped his golden locks while he tasted her, ate her; he didn’t know pleasuring someone else would be so pleasurable. To know he was the cause of the sounds she made and the obscenities she whispered and the way she trembled and squirmed under his touch. The sweet power he had over her in these moments. It made his pants ache.

And finally, it was his turn to get undressed; she was also astonished – how astonished! – at his muscular physique, the way his body resembled the perfection of Greek statues. Her core ached for him the moment she heard his deep moan for the first time, how he closed his eyes and took a deep breath when she enveloped her hand around his member. He was large and heavy and pinkish, and his cheeks and neck and chest blushed, and he truly had the perfection not even an immortal could achieve.

And when he finally slipped into her – God! He claimed for God, even though he didn’t believe in one. He claimed for God, for she was so tight; no one told him it would be so tight and so incredibly hot, steaming hot. She was wet, wet, wet, and slippery, and for a moment he got scared to hurt her. But she knew what to do. She told him to move slowly at first. He waited until she got used to his size.

She couldn’t tell what was better: the feeling of his member deep inside of her, or the glorious sight of his pleasured expression when he first slipped in. How he tightened his eyes, mouth slightly open, the increasing blush, the thin layer of sweat, his golden locks cascading around her face. He had the beauty of a God, even though she didn’t believe in one.

He picked up a pace. The library, previously silent and cold, was now filled with obscenities – skin hitting skin, moans and grunts and hisses, panting, the wet sounds. The shivering winter replaced by trembling sweat. He filled her once, but realized she hadn’t reached her high with him, and he wasn’t satisfied. He could do better. So they did it again. With her on top this time. And on her back. And over the desk. Repeatedly, continuously, until she couldn’t take it anymore, until she was trembling and weak and out of her mind, until the blankets were drenched in sweat and juices, until the sun peeked in the horizon once more, until he was finally satisfied.

Only then, finally, they fell asleep on the floor of the library, over blankets and cushions. The fair skin of his neck and chest where peppered with hickeys, his back softly scratched. They should probably get up to bathe, but none of them minded. Not at that moment, when she fell asleep over his chest. He didn’t want to break that moment of intimacy by moving.

Before falling asleep, he noticed how it was all so… natural. It didn’t feel awkward or embarrassing. It was just a progression of what had been happening since they met. It was comfortable, and warm, and easy.

It was friendship. It was companionship.

It was love.

The same way she filled this empty cold castle with her presence, she filled his empty broken heart with love.

He could only hope that he, too, had filled her aching heart with love. For he would not be able to let her go after that night.

He would never be able to let her go.

You didn’t want an engagement dinner, but what you wanted didn’t matter.

Zardini paid for all the expenses. The food, the musicians, the servants, the decorations, your gown and your jewelry. The gown was ivory white with matching elbow length gloves, small pearls decorated your figure. The chastity of a bride, as if you had never been kissed or touched before. The manor was decorated in white, too: white roses, ribbons, the servant’s outfits… everything in white. Zardini’s family, friends and associates were present. Most of the town was there, too.

More than ever, you wanted to die.

A circus, that was. Zardini showed off his wealth. His friends patted him in the back, for he had achieved a beautiful bride (even though she was not right in the head) and had landed a new business accord. The townspeople, like before, came to inspect the freak. You were forced to stand there, greet his family – soon to be your family – barely three days after he proposed.

Why was he doing everything so quickly? Was he scared of you trying to run away? Well, maybe you should. Disappear, change your name, live without a penny – anything would be better than this.

It didn’t matter that Alfred Zardini believed in your abilities; that didn’t make you relieved. He wanted to use you with this thing you couldn’t control. He wanted to cage you the same way your parents did. The only difference is that now, it’d be in a manor by the sea, not an asylum.

Maybe you should be grateful. How many girls and women you met didn’t have half this luck? Completely forgotten by their families, locked forever in convents; their parents claimed that their girls had offered their lives to God, but in reality they were too embarrassed of them. Girls that were ostracized for melancholy, for “insanity fits”, because they got pregnant before marriage or because they were dishonored. Treated like criminals, worse than animals, doomed to live their lives in imprisonment and shame.

How many of these women would happily marry Zardini in your place?

It only made you feel more miserable.

You didn’t want to eat. You didn’t want to dance. As usual, Zardini barely paid attention to you, and once again you were grateful. You were the bride, the literal main attraction, but you chose to sit in a corner and stay there in silence.

This isn’t what marriage was supposed to be. A forceful transaction with no feelings involved.

And you hated, hated, hated how your brain made you dream of him again past night; the library dream was a recurring one. The dream were you gave yourself for the faceless man for the first time, and he accepted it. A dream filled with raw love.

You’d never experience it with that old man. Never.

You knew what real love felt like – both in your dreams and in reality, even if it was brief and painful and you couldn’t think too much about it without feeling the urge to cry. But you also knew you were doomed to never having it again. Your parents doomed you at nine years old, when they judged you were an embarrassment and sent you to a hospital for the first time.

Uncomfortable. Uncomfortable. Uncomfortable. You could barely breathe.

That was when you saw it.

Creeping in the carpet. Slowly filling the room.

The black mud.

Your heart raced. Your eyes widened. No no no no not this again.

Why was that happening in a social gathering again? Could this be a sign that it really was just your nervous mind playing tricks?

Instinctively, you covered your mouth and nose. The stench – awful. It smelled of decaying flesh, completely overwhelming the sweet scent of roses that filled the room previously. That thing was slowly drenching the carpet, making its way inside the hall and dripping from the ceiling and walls and–

I can’t take it this time.

You got up and walked out.

While you still could control yourself, you made your best to not run and draw unwanted attention. They were all too focused on Zardini anyway, and they didn’t know the labyrinth that house was. You walked out of the room, crossing corridors and doors until you were outside to breathe some fresh air, still walking at a fast pace.

Once you were outside, you ran. Unceremoniously.

You crossed the property. Past the gazebo and the lake into the gardens. The full moon high in the clear sky illuminated the way in silver hues – which was of great help, since your vision was blurry and you wouldn’t be able to run in the dark. Finally, you reached the orchard where the greenhouse stood.

You stormed in and finally, finally, finally cried.

It was the type of cry that hurts the chest, that tightens the throat, that doesn’t let you breathe. You crouched down, not caring if it’d dirty the hem of the dress, and held your head while crying. I can’t breathe, you thought, trying to make your lungs work the way they should, but they wouldn’t obey. You sobbed, almost choked, and simply cried.

How glad you were that you had time to run away from the manor before this started. This type of weeping… the ones that came when you were truly, inexplicably desperate, were involuntary. You couldn’t control them. Sometimes, they came without much of a reason. You could be having a perfectly normal day and had one of these “fits”.

You had a reason to that night.

Not only just because of the incomprehensible black mud or stench, but all of it. You were miserable.

So you just stayed there, letting it all out, not caring if the makeup was ruined by the end of it… until your breathing went back to normal and your heart calmed down.

After long minutes – you were sure Clara must’ve been looking for you at that point – you got up.

The circular greenhouse was packed with flowers. Clara really liked gardening, and you liked to be there because it was very distant from the manor. It was peaceful and beautiful, the perfect place to paint. Your easel was still there in the corner with unfinished charcoal sketches. You leaned the small of your back on the central table where dozens of pots with the most different flowers were and stared into nothing.

God. You probably looked like a mess.

The previously ivory gloves came out dirty when you wiped your cheeks… which made you look at the engagement ring. A single huge diamond around your finger.

That could very well be a shackle.

You thought of the many women you met in asylums and hospitals. Their hopelessness. The suicides. You thought of Lucy, even though you usually avoided to.

Maybe you really were being ungrateful.

You took a deep breath… it was time to face reality.

You were about to leave when a deep voice saying excuse me made you jump and yelp.

Someone had entered the greenhouse through the back door.

And you couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Mr. Tepes,” you gagged, one hand over your chest, feeling your heart race violently.

The man looked terribly sorry.

Moonlight touching him through the glass roof and walls made him look even more ethereal, if that was even possible; his long hair shone like silver threads. He, once more, wore all black, but in a less formal attire, with gray buttons and details. A black cloak fell over his shoulders. He had a brown leather belt around his waist and black gloves.

His hand was lifted in an appeasing gesture.

“My apologies, Miss Salles. I did not mean to startle you. I saw some movement in the greenhouse and thought someone might be needing help.”

You straightened your back and instinctively ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look a little more presentable. God, I must really be looking like a mess, by the expression he’s making…

“Mr. Tepes.” You repeated in a more controlled tone. “I… I didn’t know you would come.”

You didn’t bother checking the guest list. Of course Julien would find a way to add one of his prestigious associates in the list, even if the dinner wasn’t his.

The Duke approached slowly and hesitantly. There was a slight knot of worry between his eyebrows. “...Are you feeling unwell?”

Hell. I never thought I’d ever see him again, but now that he’s standing in front of me, I look like an absolute mess.

You sniffed and nodded, trying to open a smile.

“N-No. Thank you.”

He stood in place for some moments, still at a considerable distance. That was the most obvious, idiotic lie in the world, but he decided not to question it.

“Do you want to be left alone?”

“No!” And oh God, how embarrassing it was that you said that so quickly, how weirdly high pitched your voice went. But no, you didn’t want him to go away, even though you felt horrible; you didn’t know when and if you’d ever seen him again – and you didn’t care if it’d be inappropriate for a bride to be alone with another man. You cleared your throat and once again, tried to smile. “No, you may stay. T-The greenhouse is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He wasn’t looking at the flowers.

Mr. Tepes approached slowly.

He barely made any sound as he walked… that’s why you didn’t notice him entering the greenhouse. He still seemed hesitant. Each step he took seemed to send waves directly to your heart.

At last, he settled by your side, leaning on the table as well.

Some seconds of silence lingered in the air.

“Congratulations on your engagement.” He bowed his head respectfully. Don’t congratulate me for this, you wanted to say, but just bowed your head back. “...Things evolved rather quickly, if you allow me to say. It hadn’t been two weeks since the ball.”

You chuckled dryly. “Mr. Zardini is in a hurry for reasons unknown.”

It seemed he wanted to say something more on the matter.

But refrained himself.

A few more seconds of silence.

“...Miss Salles.” He called quietly. His voice was so infuriatingly deep. It almost caused a physical reaction whenever he said your name. Mr. Tepes was, once again, hesitating. “I… would like to ask you something. But you can choose not to answer.”

For the first time, you looked at him.

His side profile was also infuriating. Mr. Tepes kept his eyes down in somewhat of a serious expression.

“Yes?”

It looked like he was choosing the right words.

“That night at the ball. Right before my departure. You seemed to… react to something no one else did.”

You frowned slowly.

Was he talking about the moment the black mud vanished?

It immediately made your stomach drop.

“What did you see?” He finally looked at you.

It was your turn to avoid his gaze.

Why was he talking about this of all the things you wished he’d say? Bring all the discomfort you left at the manor?

You shook your head softly.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” You fiddled your fingers uncomfortably. “Crowds make me uncomfortable. Especially judging ones.”

“Miss Salles.” More goosebumps. His tone became gentler and welcoming. “I know it might sound abrupt, since we don’t know each other well… but you don’t need to lie to me.”

Your eyes met him again.

That’s precisely what made you more nervous and agitated.

It… it felt that you knew him already. More than just dancing a song and exchanging a few words. His presence was comfortable. Why on Earth would you want to be in a closed space with another man if it wasn’t? And perhaps it was embarrassing, for you had no idea if he felt this much as ease around you, but that’s how you felt.

Was it because his voice was strangely similar to the one you already knew so well? Was it because, through your short first meeting, he did not treat you like an aberration? Or was it simply due to the obvious and intense attraction you felt for him?

You had no idea.

A tired sigh escaped past your lips.

“...You’ll think I’m insane, sir.”

He smiled softly. “I already know you’re insane. You told me so.”

You giggled, looking down for a moment. He chuckled, too.

You turned your body in his direction slowly. Your right hand tapped on the wooden table nervously. He turned to face you too.

And waited.

“I…” Why was it so hard to speak? You’d been through that before: explaining to “doctors” how this thing worked, until you finally realized no one believed you and you began to blatantly lie in the hopes they’d think you were normal. You were afraid that he’d laugh. But you continued speaking anyway. “I… feel the people around me. Their emotions. Sometimes, their thoughts. I also see things… things no one else sees. In my sleep. Sometimes awake.”

He nodded slowly.

“And you can’t control it. That’s why crowds make you uncomfortable.” Your eyes darted up at his face. He… didn’t question anything. Just went to the obvious conclusion instead without any judgment.

You nodded.

Mr. Tepes hummed and held his chin in a thoughtful expression.

It was the second time a man actually believed you in the span of a few days. What the hell was happening?!

“How exactly does it work?”

“I don’t know. Things just… come to my mind. Like whispers… but they’re not exactly words, though I can decipher them as words.” Your eyes narrowed slowly and you went silent.

“What?” He asked quietly.

“...I can’t really feel you. It’s like I’m alone. How strange.” You analyzed his beautiful features with confusion.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“No. It’s peaceful... But still strange.” You avoided his gaze again.

If you told her that you thought he looked like a vampire, she’d say you were hallucinating again.

You froze.

Mr. Tepes didn’t exhale aggressiveness or violence. He’d been anything but respectful. But what if… what if he was not? What if he was the cause of the strange black mud you saw?

What if he was dangerous?

A vampire?

He didn’t smell of blood. No crimson aura. But perhaps, as a vampire, he could seal himself from you.

And for the briefest second, you felt scared.

He wouldn’t tell you right away if he was one… would he?

So you looked down for a moment. To your hand resting over the table.

Physical touch was like putting your hand inside the furnace.

You gulped.

“I could… try. To prove it to you.” Hesitation. The mere idea of doing it made your heart race. “Usually I… I can also feel people by touching them.”

Mr. Tepes could’ve said you didn’t need to prove anything. He could’ve said he already believed you.

But he didn’t.

He just closed his eyes for a moment and nodded, as if saying go ahead.

You took the glove from your right hand off. Awkwardly, as if suddenly you forgot how to make such a simple movement; your entire right arm went cold.

Again, hesitation.

You looked up at his face.

He had been watching you the entire time. His expression was… a bit unreadable. Inside that poorly lit space, you were under the impression that his eyes glowed faintly.

There was something strange in the air. Charged. It had nothing to do with the idea that he was, perhaps, a supernatural creature.

No, it had nothing to do with that.

“Excuse me…” you said under your breath, so quiet that he perhaps didn’t hear it.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reached for his face. The only spot you could touch his skin.

When you were a mere second away from touching him, you stopped. A mere second of fear of discovering something you didn’t want to. If he was a vampire, he’d murder you right there – too far away from the manor, no one would hear your screams. What was the point of even doing it?

But deep down, you already knew there was no point.

You touched his cheek.

Tenderly. Your touch was barely even there; you were scared of burning, after all.

And yet, the moment your skin brushed his–

You gasped.

Your heart raced. Your eyes widened softly.

Mr. Tepes’ eyes on you never wavered.

Golden. You found yourself unable to break eye contact, as if he had put you in a trance.

This touch, so soft, could perhaps be seen as inappropriate – you were an engaged woman, cupping the face of another man… but still, it was but a simple touch. Why, however, did the air inside the greenhouse become so charged? So intense? It was as if you lost the ability to move, to do anything else but look back at him.

He was the one to break the silence.

“What do you feel?” His voice was but a whisper. Sent goosebumps through your body. This voice that sounded inexplicably so familiar.

“I-I…”

He stepped closer.

There was barely any space between your bodies.

The air became more charged, charged, charged, when his large gloved hand touched the right side of your waist.

A soft touch at first, that rapidly became more firm; and with that, it was as if your legs lost their strength. His other gloved hand traveled up slowly; your arm, your shoulder, the ghost of his touch making your core tremble and your lungs fail.

His other hand stopped on your neck.

“Tell me.” He was even quieter. Even deeper.

How could you answer, if you could barely breathe? If the world was but a blur except for him? If your heart felt about to explode?

“Mr. Tepes–“ You managed to stutter.

“Adrian.” His breathy correction sent another wave of goosebumps through your skin. “Tell me. I want to know.”

You did not have the ability to answer. Not with how strong the emotion flowing from him hit you. Not with how incredibly raw it was, how surprisingly so, despite the serene mask on his face at all times. Breathtakingly strong. Incomprehensibly strong.

Desire.

He kissed you.

You didn’t fight back. You didn’t try to push him away. His soft lips touched yours, and suddenly the rest of the world disappeared. Nothing mattered anymore. Perhaps nothing had ever mattered as much as in that moment.

He kissed you, and it wasn’t soft and tender like he had been acting before. It was intense, it was charged, it was explosive. Your lips seemed to melt into each others’, merge into a single thing. He tilted his head to the side, immediately deepening the kiss, as his hand held the nape of your neck. It was as if he didn’t have time to be slow at first, as if he was desperate, as if he was hungry.

That intensity was dizzying.

You didn’t mind it.

You cupped both sides of his face, reciprocating with that same intensity, feeling his long hair tickling your own face and shoulders. He was tall, so much so that as the kiss deepened, you bent back slightly; he kept your bodies glued with his firm grip on your waist. He was like a massive wall of heat and desire engulfing you, drowning you, taking your breath away. He spread fire through your veins, to every corner of your body.

Your left hand traveled to the nape of his neck, gripped the hair on his scalp – and he groaned into the kiss, sending vibrations through you, making your legs even weaker. It was hot and hot and hot and you wouldn’t be surprised if all the glass from the greenhouse steamed up with condensation.

For the briefest moment, you were aware of what adorned your ring finger: the shackle, the diamond engagement ring. Your soon to be husband was somewhere inside that manor, receiving pats on the back for the marriage, while you kissed another man in the dark.

You didn’t care.

You broke the kiss for the first time, trying to breathe for a second; he chased your lips again. And once more, as if he was unable to control himself.

“Adrian–“ you tried to call, but that seemed to cause the opposite reaction in him. He let another deep groan and suddenly you were being pushed against the table; he lifted you swiftly and made you sit over it, placing himself between your legs, kissing you incessantly, and you heard the noise of a ceramic vase falling and breaking somewhere beside you but you didn’t care.

You gripped his coat, pushed him closer, bit his plump lower lip defiantly. You did not mind when he pushed your skirt up, felt shivers and more shivers as his gloved hand caressed your thigh. Both of you were panting. Both of you thought there was too much clothing between your bodies. Both of you thought that was not enough.

Until you heard Clara out there.

That was the only thing that made you stop.

You gasped, froze in place, looked behind his shoulder. Mr. Tepes looked back as well.

“Sister, where are you?!” Her worried voice came from an approaching distance.

“Oh my God,” You gasped.

He put you on your feet again as easily as he put you on the table. He was panting, lips slightly swollen, the otherwise fair skin around it stained by your rouge.

You didn’t want him to go. It was the least thing you wanted.

But the blurred vision was disappearing. The heat. Reality came back into focus following the steps of your sister.

“W-We can’t be seen like this.” You whispered.

Adrian looked down at you.

His usual serenity was gone. He hesitated. He almost looked in pain.

But he nodded.

He took your right hand – the one without the glove – and left a tender, long kiss on your knuckles, as if to make sure you’d feel him again for one last time.

And, like that, he left through the back door.

You leaned on the table, shaking and panting for a completely different reason than from when you arrived. You stared into nothing, feeling your heart pound in your chest, hearing Clara get closer and closer.

You didn’t find out who or what exactly Mr. Tepes was. But that notion, the initial excuse you had to touch his skin, was forgotten.

Another realization filled your mind.

That kiss. His touch. His presence, his heat. It was explosive, dizzying, hot, maddening.

But it was not unfamiliar.

Almost as if a part of you was used to that. Used to his kisses the same way it was used to his voice.

The man that lived in your dreams.

You spent a lifetime foolishly waiting for that man to finally appear, even though the context of your dreams barely made sense with your current reality. But what if… what if these dreams weren’t premonitory?

What if you had already lived all of that in a distant past?

The next question you made yourself was almost as maddening as the kisses you had just shared.

What if…

What if he was that man?

223 notes · View notes