VIOLA
Upon leaving my apartment, Matic stood in the hallway while we waited for Emery to finish applying the last touch of her makeup. She had said the Uber driver was not even ten minutes away, and she still had to decide what heels worked with her outfit, and then pick a complimenting purse.
“Em,” I called standing in front of the open door. “You know that one of the elevators is broken right? We’ll be waiting forever for the other to get to my floor, and right now it''s clear!”
“I know, I’m coming. Just give me like five minutes,” She called from my bedroom.
“You said that like five minutes ago.”
Radio silence.
Any other night, I''d be ransacking my closet, trying on five different dresses while Emery critiqued each one. But tonight, my reflection barely registered as I smoothed down the black chiffon corset midi dress. It hugged my curves in all the right places and I had twisted my curls into a sleek ponytail, clipping on basic gold earrings. Simple. Safe.
Matic, not naked or in a towel, cut an impressive figure in his perfectly tailored suit as he glanced around and murmured, "Who else resides in this estate?" The fabric molded to his broad shoulders and lean frame like a second skin.
"It''s an apartment building," I told him, inhaling deeply and trying to ignore how the fabric of his suit did nothing to hide the raw power beneath. The black material stretched across his shoulders like it was painted on, every shift of muscle visible despite the expensive tailoring. It wasn''t fair that someone so lethal could look so...
I forced my eyes away. Dangerous. He looked dangerous, I told myself and pushed away any other thoughts. That''s all I should be noticing.
"Everyone has their own space," I continued, despite the heat creeping up my neck. "Their own apartment."
Even in my four-inch heels, I had to tilt my head back, my eyes traitorously resuming its…admiration
Matic’s brows furrowed as his gaze swept down the hallway, the faint shift of that damned snake tattoo beneath his white dress shirt drawing my attention again. It coiled and slithered, a constant reminder of the raw, restrained power barely concealed beneath his polished exterior.
His crystalline stare narrowed on me, "You permit commoners to dwell within arm''s reach?"
“I don’t permit, because I don’t own this apartment building. This is my home, right in there,” I pointed through my door, and then gestured around the hallway. “Every door you see will take you to another home.”
His jaw clenched, a shadow of disbelief darkening his face. “You live in a tavern?”
“No,” I shook my head.
Matic opened his mouth, when a door across the hall opened, and my neighbor Sarah emerged ready for her evening shift. She froze mid-step, her eyes widening as they raked over Matic with undisguised hunger.
I knew that look—the universal stare ''I want now'', and the way she bit her lower lip, her fingers toying with her keys, every movement designed to draw attention.
Something twisted in my gut. Before I could stop myself, I stepped closer to him, too close, and inhaled. His scent was my body wash, vanilla and shea moisture but there was also him. Masculine, primal and winter storms.
My pulse skipped and my fingers found his shirt collar, brushing against warm skin. "Your bow tie," I managed, trying to steady my voice. "It''s missing."
Icy blues held mine, "A what?" He raised an eyebrow and Sarah continued on her way.
“It’s black and goes around your neck,” I told him, staring up at the Vampyr.
"Uber''s downstairs!" Emery''s voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and she was now standing in the doorway and slipping on her heels.
Withdrawing my hand, I swiftly headed back into my apartment with my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. I went into the bathroom, where Matic had changed into his three-piece Gala outfit. I found the bow tie on the ground near the garbage bin.
Snatching it up, I hurried back to where they were waiting. Emery closed the door behind me and locked up with her extra key, and I stepped in front of Matic. He stood with that same predatory stillness that made my hands shake, just slightly as I reached up to fix his collar.
"These are like neck stocks,” His voice was low, almost intimate.
“What’s that?”
"What noblemen wore in my time." I felt Matic’s eyes observing me as my fingers worked the silk. "Though we had proper ones made of the finest fabric. Not whatever this is…”
"If you two are done with the history lesson," Emery called out, halfway down the hallway "our driver''s waiting."
Finishing fastening the strap around his neck, I called after her with a teasing tone. “Says the woman who had us waiting.”
Emery only waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder, disappearing into the hallway.
When we stepped outside, the waiting Uber caught my attention immediately. It wasn’t just a car; it was one of those sleek, luxury models—black, glossy, and screaming a price tag that could fund my rent for months.
The ride passed in relative silence, broken only by Matic gazing out the window and murmuring about how everything was so bright, loud, and busy. At one point, he asked where all the horses and buggies had gone.
On my other side, Emery''s phone buzzed for the third time. Her fingers flew across the screen, tension radiating from her hunched shoulders. When a few calls went to voicemail, she cursed under her breath, typing furiously.
I shifted closer, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Emery angled away with her phone, and something cold settled in my stomach. We''d been friends since childhood—she’s been there through bad spells and celebrated my small magik victories, aka changing my hair color.
"It''s nothing," she muttered, still not meeting my eyes. Her usual warm smile was nowhere to be found, replaced by tight lips and a furrowed brow.
Another buzz and another string of rapid-fire texts.
Something was happening. However, I redirected my focus and watched the city blur past us. I tried to ignore my friend lying to me and tried not to focus on how Matic''s thigh pressed against mine in the backseat. Or how his very masculine scent seemed to fill the enclosed space.
When we arrived at Casa Loma, the main entrance was chaos—camera flashes lighting up the night like lightning, reporters shouting questions at Toronto''s elite as they strutted down the red carpet.
Matic questioned, "This is Fraden''s castle?"
“No one owns this castle,” I said, watching his profile as he studied the gothic spires rising against the night sky. “Well, the British royal family does, but this is more like... a museum that rich people rent for parties.”
The driver circled around to a quieter side entrance, where the kitchen staff and servers slipped in and out like shadows.
The Uber dropped us off, Kaylee stood waiting by the metal door, clipboard in hand.
Her eyes widened as she took us in, and she asked Emery. "Uh oh, something is wrong…" And she glanced between the three of us, her curious hazel eyes landing on Matic.
Emery replied, almost instantly. “I’m fine.”
Inside the building, we were now in the busy kitchen. The space was a symphony of controlled chaos—servers in crisp black and white weaved between prep stations, balancing trays of delicate appetizers.
I said to Kaylee, “Everything is wrong and that’s a whole conversation for another day. To address Emery, she won’t tell me what’s going on.” Then I introduced my friend. “Kaylee, Matic. Matic, Kaylee.” I pointed between them.
Matic stepped forward with that fluid grace that made him seem otherworldly even in this modern setting. He took Kaylee''s hand, bending slightly to brush his lips across her knuckles.
"I am most honored to make your acquaintance," he murmured. It was something out of the movies and proved that he can act civilized.
I watched Kaylee’s cheeks flush, her clipboard dropping slightly as she melted under his courtly gesture. I recalled how he’d snarled and snapped at both Emery and me.
Funny how five centuries of aristocratic manners only surfaced when it served his purpose. But then again, he thought I was his wife who locked him away for five centuries, and Emery had attacked him on my behalf and threatened him periodically.
"Oh," Kaylee breathed, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on Matic before she caught herself and shot me a look that clearly said we''re definitely talking about this later. She turned back to him quickly, smoothing her expression. "I mean, yes. Nice to meet you too."
Around us steam rose from massive pots while chefs barked orders. The air was thick with the clash of scents: seared meat, fresh herbs, butter browning in pans.
“Lead us to the Gala and we’ll be out of your way,” I said.
Kaylee cleared her throat, cheeks red. “Of course,” and she gave one last look at me before gesturing for us to follow her. In the background, a chef cursed as flame erupted from a pan, the burst of heat making servers dodge and weave.
Somewhere, glass shattered, quickly followed by rapid-fire apologies. Kaylee led us confidently through the maze of stainless steel and controlled chaos, pausing only when someone asked for guidance on dessert placements.
She gave quick advice, barely breaking stride, and when another chef handed her a spoon for a taste test, she sipped, nodding approval before moving on.
Her clipboard was like a shield as we navigated past the frantic prep cooks and waiters arranging intricate displays. Every person we passed straightened slightly, acknowledging her authority without breaking their rhythm.
Finally reaching our destination, Kaylee pushed open a set of ornate double doors. "Have fun," she smiled and waved goodbye.
Passing my friend, I said to her. “Good luck tonight.”This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
We stepped from kitchen chaos into pure opulence. The grand ballroom of Casa Loma stretched before us, its gothic revival architecture a testament to a bygone era. Ornate stone archways soared overhead, their carved details casting elaborate shadows in the golden light. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling like cascading stars, their light catching on the dark oak paneling that lined the walls.
Women in designer gowns that probably cost more than my rent floated between clusters of men in perfectly tailored tuxedos. Waiters glided through the crowd with flutes of champagne and elaborate hors d''oeuvres, practiced smiles fixed on their faces. A string quartet played in the corner, though their music barely carried over the carefully modulated laughter and conversations.
Matic moved beside me, his presence unavoidable and somehow more dangerous among all this practiced civility. His eyes swept the room with predatory focus—a wolf among peacocks, sizing up prey dressed in Gucci and Prada.
He was seeking Fraden Saldana, the very reason why we were here.
It was at this moment, my last conversation with Jamal replayed in my mind. His silence in that hallway had echoed louder than any words—another person choosing not to fight for me. That silence had sent me running to Phantombrook, chasing visions and voices, desperate to prove I was more than just another girl who didn''t quite fit.
My fingers traced the simple gold earrings, my one concession to glamor in this world of diamonds and designer labels. Each detail of my appearance tonight had been carefully chosen—the black dress, the sleek ponytail—all armor against Jamal and his uncle''s judgment. As if looking the part could prove I was worth something. Worth keeping. Worth fighting for.
Studying the space and the guests in their designer gowns and red-bottom heels, I felt that familiar outsider ache. My inheritance was a stack of foster care paperwork and magik that barely lit candles, while even Emery had generations of power backing her—a mother and grandmother running the most prestigious witch academy in northern Ontario, a father whose empire stretched across Toronto.
I had watched Kaylee navigate the kitchen with practiced authority—every inch the empire heiress her mother had groomed her to be. Jamal, who’d marched straight from high school, to undergrad, to law school without a single misstep.
The irony wasn''t lost on me that even Matic, ancient and deadly, fit more naturally into this world of wealth and privilege than I ever could. The way he''d dismissed my apartment as servant quarters, how naturally he wore that three-piece suit—he belonged in this type of world.
Emery spoke to Matic, standing on his other side. "Don''t make a scene when and if you find Fraden. He''s a billionaire, and he will have bodyguards."
"Men, who will attempt to take you down." I further explained
Matic’s fingers ghosted over his cuffs, a gesture too elegant to be merely adjusting them. “Mortal guardians?” His lips curved with ancient amusement.
I reminded him, "You and Emery both admitted that Fraden comes from an old and powerful bloodline. I highly doubt they are men." I was now watching them both, wondering if I missed something.
"Nevertheless, fragile minds are so easily... persuaded. After all,” his voice dropped lower. “Desire and violence have danced together since time began.”
Before I could ask him what the hell he meant by that, Matic slipped away into the crowd.
Cursing under my breath, I hurried after him, weaving through the sea of strangers. It wasn’t until several steps later that I glanced back, expecting to see Emery close behind. But she wasn’t there.
A knot tightened in my stomach—something was definitely going on with her.
Faltering back, I searched for my friend. Weaving through the crowd, and scanning the space and knowing that I had to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her but then Matic''s voice drew my attention like a hook.
There he stood, champagne in hand, holding court with a group of Toronto''s elite.
How in the world did he manage to find people to talk to?
Nevertheless, their bodies curved toward him unconsciously, faces flushed and eager—moths drawn to a flame that could incinerate them.
With each word he spoke, they leaned closer, caught in the gravity of his power like I had been in that forest. Even from here, I could feel it—that honeyed thickness in the air that spoke of desire and danger. The son of Asmodeus was playing with his food.
I started to turn away, to continue searching for my friend, when I heard someone say to Matic, "You''re a Ro?i? but I don''t believe we''ve crossed paths at any of these events."
Someone else raised a question, “There’s only Eva, but she doesn’t have a brother. How are you connected to Roz Industries?”
Damn it. I couldn''t waste time looking for Emery. Whatever she was up to would have to wait—right now, I needed to stop the son of Asmodeus from revealing too much information.
"I am not,” Matic answered. “You mistake my meaning. The Ro?i? holdings have been in my family''s possession since before your grandparents drew breath.”
"How strange," a woman perked up. "Eva Ro?i? is the CEO of Roz Indust—”
"There you are!" I cut in, sliding through the group to Matic''s side. My hand found his arm, fingers digging in with warning pressure. "You wandered off, and I''ve been looking everywhere for you."
The lie came easily, playing the role of concerned date. "You know how these old buildings are—so easy to get turned around in all these rooms." I flashed an apologetic smile at the group. "I hope he hasn''t been boring you?"
“No, not at all.” One of the men responded.
I glanced up at Matic, to find his pale blue eyes cutting into mine. He knew exactly what I was doing, but the question was—would he play along or make this more difficult?
“And who is this beautiful young lady?" Another man glanced at me with a warm smile.
Before I could introduce myself, Matic''s arm slipped around my waist, pulling me possessively closer.
"My wife," he said, his accent thicker than before, wrapping around the word like a claim.
The word ''wife'' froze the breath in my lungs. Before I could protest, his lips brushed my forehead—soft, possessive, a claim made in front of witnesses who had no idea they were watching a centuries-old drama unfold.
My fingers twitched against my palm, nails biting into skin as I forced my lips into a smile.
"My date here loves to embellish our story," I said, injecting warmth into my voice despite the way my throat wanted to close. I gestured to Matic with forced casualness. "He''s my boyfriend."
“When one’s blood recognizes its mate,” He murmured to everyone, his voice low and sure. “Time itself holds no dominion over such truth.”
The calm certainty in Matic''s tone was intense and left me breathless. His words lingered in the space between us, heavy with meaning only I could grasp.
"Aw, that''s sweet," The woman responded.
Another man said, "Well, when you know, you know."
Though no one else seemed to notice, I knew better—Matic, the ever infuriating Vampyr was still seeing Katherine, still anchoring me to a past that didn’t belong to me.
I forced a light laugh to break the tension and my cheeks warmed as I looked at the gathering.
“Now, before my date here weaves his next grand tale,” I said, injecting as much humor as I could muster, “I’d love to introduce him to someone. If you’ll excuse us.”
“Duty calls,” Matic responded smoothly. A charming veneer and before anyone could reply, I took his hand and led him away from the women and men.
When we were far enough from the group, I released his hand but kept moving, weaving through guests in sequined gowns and tailored suits.
My mind spun from his words—his public claim, the way he’d kissed my forehead. He had played along, but he’d also improvised far more than I’d expected but I couldn’t let myself dwell on it.
Matic was playing a game, and he seemed to enjoy watching me flustered and unbalanced.
“Running from something, wife?” Matic murmured, the possessive challenge unmistakable in his tone.
My jaw tightened, refusing to rise to his bait. The word "wife," spoken like a claim rather than a taunt, sent an unsettling prickle down my spine.
I kept my back to him, letting the press of strangers swallow me as I moved deeper into the crowd.
"First, don''t call me that," I tossed over my shoulder, forcing a lightness into my voice that barely covered the pulse hammering beneath it. "Second, you can''t just hint at being centuries old by telling people you owned mines before their grandparents were born."
"I merely stated facts," Matic replied, his accent thickening with amusement. "The Ro?i? holdings have belonged to my bloodline for centuries. But…" There was a pause and I didn’t care.
I spun to face him, keeping my voice low but sharp. My heels brought me closer than intended, and I had to tilt my head back to meet those winter-frost eyes. "You don''t know this but claiming to be centuries old, may get you kicked out of here, or labeled as crazy."
Matic''s gaze held mine, as if my concern amused rather than warned him. "You''ve been awake for less than twenty-four hours," I continued, forcing myself not to step back despite every instinct screaming to create distance. "At least try to pretend you''re from this millennium before someone calls a psychiatric ward."
"Are you worried for my safety, ljubi?" His accent wrapped around the words like silk over steel, those pale eyes gleaming with a dangerous mirth that left my stomach twisting. That amusement wasn’t lighthearted—it was the kind that made you question whether you were the joke.
Matic was enjoying this and I pursed my lips, and placed a hand on my hip. "Since you and I have to rely on each other until Halloween, yes."
There was a silent moment, as Matic observed the crowd around us. Then he finally said, “You know that these mortals could never grasp the truth. To them, I’m just an eccentric, or at most delusional. Entertainment for the evening."
My stomach twisted at his words, at how casually he referred to everyone here as mortals. Separate from him. "Matic," I started and sighed. "We don''t need eyes watching us tonight."
He inclined his head, wavy hair falling with an aristocratic nod. “Very well.”
Accepting the response, I swiveled on my heels and moved through the crowd.
Matic’s question followed behind me, “Who is Eva Ro?i??”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged and then furthered. “Why?”
“She has my family name.”
“From what I know so far, Fraden had a different name back in the day, so maybe it’s the same
thing with Eva.”
His silence felt weighted, despite the conversations around us. Another thing to add to the growing list of questions I couldn’t answer—Eva, Emery’s strange behavior, the real reason we were here.
Frustration bubbled up, as I thought of Matic introducing me as his wife, and I shot over my shoulder. "You played your role a little too well back there."
Matic let out an amused hum. "Did I?" he asked, his tone rich with provocation. "The verdict is still out on what… or who you truly are."
I shot him a sidelong look, trying to brush it off as I paused near the edge of the dance floor, where a handful of couples swayed elegantly to the soft music.
Matic moved in close behind me, his presence a shadow that swallowed the space between us. I caught my breath as he leaned over my shoulder. His warmth ghosted over my skin, and memories surfaced, vivid and unwelcome—the rough press of his body in the forest, his hands gripping me, as he staked a claim on what he saw as his. The pull was undeniable, dark and twisting in a way that both unnerved and enticed me.
Damn it. Why was I thinking about that particular moment? We''d had a similar encounter in my apartment when he''d pinned me against the wall, but it was the forest that haunted me—his raw savagery, the way he''d stripped me down to pure instinct—equal parts fear and need.
The memory of his grip in my hair, his breath hot on my neck, the predatory growl that had vibrated through his chest and straight to my core…
It wasn’t just desire. It was passion in its darkest form—the same man who threatened to fuck me raw until my throat gave out, to drain me dry until my flesh begged for release. Like Emery said: hate and love, two sides of the same coin.
Nevertheless, what did it say about me that his depravity called to something equally dark within me? That the same hands that had torn men apart made my pulse race with something other than fear?
I forced those memories away, but the Vampyr leaned closer, his voice a dark caress at my ear. “I’d wager I know precisely how to awaken that fire within you.”
His fingers drifted down the curve of my neck, light, deliberate, and charged with intent—a little taste of heaven and hell.
My pulse raced, but I refused to give him the reaction he was clearly baiting.
I turned to face Matic, holding his gaze. “Stop,” I said sharply. “If you’re horny, there’s a strip club a block away from my apartment but it won’t be me.”
"Pretty lies, Ljubi," he murmured from behind, his breath a tantalizing whisper against my cheek. His voice was low and rich, a seductive rumble. "Your blood sings with want. You can''t fool a creature who tastes the truth."
I tilted my head, listening to the advice Emery gave me last night. My lips parted into a knowing smile, the gesture always worked on normal men. "And maybe you shouldn''t believe everything you think you taste, son of Asmodeus."
Something dangerous flickered in those pale blues of his, but I didn''t stop there. Drawing closer rather than retreating, I watched that flicker turn to flame.
"For someone who claims to know my blood and body," my fingers found his bow tie, adjusting it with deliberate slowness, "you seem awfully desperate to prove it."
Matic’s pupils dilated and my eyes narrowed on his lips now curled into a low, simmering growl—ancient, hungry, and utterly fascinated.
Damn it. My thoughts screamed, knowing that taunting the half blood wasn’t good for my health but I had done it and then, I did something else. I spun away before Matic could respond, or put his hands on me, like he’s done many times since I released him from his prison.
Right now, my pulse was a frantic drumbeat in my ears. Around me, conversation continued to buzz with laughter.
Regardless of my surroundings, hair raised goosebumps down my spine. I''d just challenged a predator, deliberately provoked him, and now my back was turned to—
I collided with someone, the impact soft but jarring. A male voice apologized, but it was all too familiar and I found myself staring at Jamal. A woman''s arm weaved through his, and my stomach lurched as if I''d missed a step in the dark.
His cologne—the same one I''d bought him last Christmas—mixed with another woman''s perfume, floral and sweet.
Suddenly I recalled the night I first saw my vision of Matic. When Jamal showed up, I smelled the same sweet undertones then, as I am now.
Bile rose in my throat. She looked mildly irritated by the interruption, but all I could focus on was how naturally his hand rested on her waist. Five centuries of imprisonment suddenly seemed far less cruel than this moment of clarity.