ã€ŠPrince of Prophecyã€‹


 Chapter 1: Chains of Frost and Fire

    The dripping of water on the cold stone floor was no different to the sound of blood falling delicately off the tip of a blade; she thought to herself as she rocked her body back and forth, trying to summon a shred of warmth to fend off the frostbite pricking at her exposed toes. Her dress, once a swirl of pink and black fabric, was now shredded in several places, reduced to a pile of tattered ruffles stained with dots of red¡ªthe blood she had recently shed. Somewhere along the path from the grand ballroom to the castle dungeons, she had lost her glass shoe. She no longer cared for it, though its only benefit would have been shielding her dainty foot from the icy breeze fluttering in through the high, barred windows.

    The room around her was pitch black, save for occasional slivers of moonlight cutting through the window as the clouds shifted. The air was thick with the stench of rot, mingling with the sour tang of vomit and urine from a bucket by the cell door. Shackles¡ªfrozen, heavy, and bolted to the stone¡ªhugged her ankle, thigh, and wrists, keeping her pinned in place. The chains clinked faintly as she rocked, filling the silence. She had lost all sense of time since being drugged and thrown into this dungeon. Days¡ªweeks?¡ªhad passed since the winter ball. Her hunger gnawed at her like a cruel animal, her already pale skin growing more papery with each passing moment.

    Her long pink hair was a mess, tangled and crusted with vomit and other unspeakable grime. The dim moonlight illuminated her pale green eyes, once vivid, now dull and hollow. She propped her chin on her knee, wrapping her trembling arms around her leg for warmth. The royal guards had even taken her prosthetic, leaving the stump of her right leg exposed to the bitter cold. At first, the chill had been unbearable, but as time dragged on, she had grown numb to it.

    Squeak, squeak.

    Her pointed ears twitched at the noise. Sliding her emerald eyes to the right, she spotted a small brown mouse weaving its way through the hay scattered in the corner. A sharp pain stabbed through her gums as her fangs extended, piercing her chapped lips. A black, blood-like substance oozed from the cuts, sliding down her chin. She didn¡¯t bother wiping it away; her energy was too drained to heal even the smallest wounds. Hunger clouded her senses, driving her to lunge toward the mouse.

    The sudden motion pulled her chains taut, a sharp, metallic clang echoing in the cell. Her frail body jerked to a halt as the shackles bit into her wrists and ankle. Before she could steady herself, a powerful force yanked her backwards with twice the strength, slamming her into the cold, unforgiving wall.

    Dust rained down from the ancient stone as her bruised face met the floor. Pain throbbed distantly like it belonged to someone else. The room swam in and out of focus as she lay there, too weak to move.

    Footsteps echoed down the corridor, heavy and deliberate. Then came the unmistakable rhythm of three heartbeats¡ªwarm, alive, and painfully human. Delilah gritted her teeth, lifting her bruised face toward the door. The light of a torch stabbed into the darkness, blinding her. Tears filled her eyes as the brightness burned.

    With a click, the door creaked open, and three men stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. Delilah¡¯s chains rattled as she tried to push herself back against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. The men surrounded her.

    A large hand reached out, forcing a cool metal mask over her nose and mouth. The edges bit into her skin, shocking her into immobility. Her lips trembled as she felt their hands on her, rough and intrusive, tearing at the fabric of her dress and leaving her body exposed to the freezing air.

    Delilah squeezed her eyes shut as humiliation surged through her, tears slipping down her cheeks. She let out a strangled sob, then stopped herself. She couldn¡¯t give them the satisfaction. Instead, she forced her mind elsewhere, clinging to a memory¡ªa time long ago, when she hadn¡¯t yet known this pain when her life had been different.

    <hr>

    1 Year Before

    ¡°Keep on moving!¡± The bark of the guard was gruff and impatient, echoing through the crowded city gates. The pink-haired assassin ignored the sound, her sharp, green eyes scanning the scene as the carriages crawled forward, one by one. Oxburr was buzzing with activity, the streets alive with the mid-autumn celebrations.

    The red and orange paper chains strung between the buildings and the lanterns glowing softly in the dusk gave the city a falsely inviting charm. She knew better. Beneath the cheer of the festival lay the cold reality of Oxburr¡ªa place renowned not just for its academics, but for its ruthless trials and dangerous secrets.

    Her fingers rested lightly on the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath her cloak as she shifted her weight on the edge of a rooftop near the gate. She crouched low, the black folds of her hood blending seamlessly with the shadows. Below her, the line of carriages snaked toward the city, carrying the na?ve hopefuls who sought glory and knowledge within Oxburr¡¯s stone walls.

    The voices of the passengers drifted up to her.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± a man¡¯s voice asked. The vampire tilted her head slightly to catch the reply.

    A girl answered, her tone polite but distant. ¡°The mid-autumn festival marks the start of the school year. All current students gather to welcome the new starters with what¡¯s called the Initiation.¡±

    Initiation. The word left a bitter taste in her mouth. She had seen enough of Oxburr¡¯s ¡°traditions¡± to know the truth. The Initiation wasn¡¯t welcome; it was a test of survival.

    She smirked bitterly as she listened to the conversation continue. The man seemed curious, the girl tense. She didn¡¯t need to see their faces to know the expressions they wore¡ªhope, perhaps tinged with unease. Oxburr had that effect on everyone, but the vampire no longer felt its sting. Her purpose here was clear. Like every other mission, she would need to watch, assess, and eliminate.

    She shifted slightly, the stone beneath her knees cold despite the warmth of the lanterns below. The carriages passed through the gate one by one, the chime of bells announcing each new arrival. From her vantage point, she could see the towering academia beyond the inner city¡ªa monolithic, cathedral-like structure with sharp spires that seemed to pierce the darkening sky. Its windows were like eyes, unblinking and watchful.

    The vampire¡¯s focus snapped back to the present as the girl exited the carriage. A white-winged man entered the first, followed by a shorter woman with round, soft ears and weasel-like features. Behind her came a girl with narrow eyes, rounded glasses, and a pointed mole-like nose, clutching a quill and notebook, but the girl did not follow the trio. Curious. The girl wore a deep green blazer, her hair short like a boy, and her eyes as white as the snow of the west. She moved like someone trying to find purpose, her steps hesitant but deliberate. The vampire watched as she paused by the grand fountain, her pale eyes scanning the statues and inscriptions.

    The girl lingered too long near the guarded paths leading to the academia. The vampire¡¯s lips curled into a faint smirk. Foolish. She didn¡¯t belong here, and her curiosity would only lead her to trouble.

    From the shadows, she followed her, her movements silent and fluid. The girl¡¯s gaze wandered to the rooftops, and the vampire pressed herself flat against the stone, watching as the girl attempted to climb. Her attempts were clumsy, her hands scraping against the rough surface. She was determined, though. She had to give her that much.

    The girl finally perched herself on the edge of a nearby roof, her attention focused on the square below. The vampire shifted, her own vantage point giving her a clear view of the scene unfolding beneath them.

    Two hundred initiates were crowded in the centre of the square, surrounded by the current students in their long, hooded robes. The stillness of the scene was eerie, the air thick with anticipation. Delilah leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the hilt of her blade.

    A large bolt of lightning struck with a deafening crack.

    Delilah didn¡¯t flinch, her gaze locked on the chaos below. Screams filled the air as the bolt found its target¡ªa boy with green butterfly wings. He collapsed instantly, his wings changing hue from green to silver as his body stilled.

    An elderly man at the front of the square raised his arms, his voice booming over the panic. ¡°Those who are unworthy shall match his fate. And so it begins. Those who remain will have passed the entry exam and are welcomed into the academy as one of our own.¡±

    The corner of the vampire¡¯s mouth twitched. She had seen this ritual before, but the spectacle never failed to amuse her. The academy dressed up its brutality of the ceremony, pretending it was all for the sake of tradition and progress. The truth was simpler: they were weeding out the weak.

    More lightning struck, scattering the initiates. The guards drove the survivors back toward the centre, their cries lost in the chaos.

    The vampire¡¯s attention shifted as the light intensified. She straightened slightly, her sharp gaze catching the figure descending through the brightness. She didn¡¯t need to see their face to know who it was.

    Her own hood slipped back as her pink hair tumbled free, catching the faint glow of the lightning. She smiled, the gleam of her dagger reflecting in the light as she dropped effortlessly into the square. The scissors in her other hand felt warm against her palm, the weight familiar.

    She didn¡¯t hesitate. The elderly man¡¯s eyes widened as she approached, but he didn¡¯t have time to speak. Her blades found their marks, slicing through his abdomen and neck in a single, practised motion. Blood pooled at her feet as his body crumpled.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    The guards rushed her, but the vampire moved like a shadow, darting between them with lethal precision. Her scissors flashed, her dagger spun, and one by one, they fell.

    When the last guard hit the ground, the vampire raised her gaze to the rooftops, her emerald eyes finding the girl who had been watching. A faint chuckle escaped her lips before she turned and vanished into the night.

    She moved swiftly through the twisting streets, the thrill of the hunt still humming in her veins. When she finally slowed, it was only because she sensed something¡ªor someone.

    The pink-haired vampire scaled another rooftop, her boots silent against the stone. She found the girl where she had left her, her pale face illuminated by the distant glow of the lanterns. The vampire¡¯s blade slid silently from its sheath as she crept closer, stopping just behind her.

    The tip of her dagger rested against the girl¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± The vampire whispered, her voice low and smooth.

    The girl stiffened, her breath hitching audibly.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± She pressed.

    ¡°L-Lynn,¡± the girl stammered.

    The vampire smirked. ¡°Full name.¡±

    ¡°Lynn Albert.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here? On this rooftop?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I wanted to watch the Initiation,¡± Lynn admitted, her voice trembling.

    The vampire tilted her head, amused. ¡°Do you know who I am?¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡± Lynn flinched as the blade pressed into her neck and broke the skin, releasing a trail of red.

    The vampire chuckled softly, leaning closer. ¡°You¡¯re clueless,¡± she murmured. Her finger dipped into the blood trickling from the girl¡¯s neck, bringing it to her lips. She licked it clean, her green eyes gleaming. ¡°Delilah Dagon. All you need to know is that you should be very afraid of me.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Lynn mumbled quickly.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t just kill you here.¡± Delilah sighed, withdrawing the blade and swiping the blood off.

    ¡°Why won¡¯t you?¡± Lynn asked without thinking, still not turning to look at the vampire.

    Delilah laughed slightly at the question, sheathing the dagger at her side. ¡°Your blood¡¯s too special to waste on these tiles.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Lynn questioned, turning to face Delilah. But as she did so, the vampire was gone.

    <hr>

    The wind carried the faint scent of blood as Delilah moved across the rooftops, her steps light and deliberate. Her weapons were back at her side, the weight, comforting, the faint smear of Lynn¡¯s blood still lingering on her lips. She could taste it ¡ª clean, untainted by greed and desperation, yet electrifying as if the owner was writhe with magical capabilities. The blood tickled her tongue, filling her with immediate relief.

    She crouched at the edge of a gabled roof, her emerald eyes flicking back to where she¡¯d left the girl. Lynn was still frozen, her pale fingers trembling as they clutched the edge of the rooftop. A faint smirk played at Delilah¡¯s lips. What a strange little thing, she thought, watching as the girl finally found the courage to lower herself back down to the safety of the streets.

    Delilah leaned back against the stone, her sharp nails tapping softly against the blade¡¯s hilt. She hadn¡¯t expected to find anyone like Lynn tonight¡ªsomeone so ill-suited to Oxburr¡¯s darkness, yet determined to wander through it anyway. Most of the newcomers were either starry-eyed fools or shivering wrecks, clutching their dreams as if they might shield them from the academy¡¯s brutality. Lynn was different. She wasn¡¯t naive, but there was something raw in her, something that Delilah couldn¡¯t quite place.

    Why did you climb that rooftop, Lynn? Delilah wondered, her gaze drifting to the square below.

    The Initiation had ended, the surviving initiates herded off like sheep to the slaughter. Their tear-streaked faces haunted the edges of the courtyard, but none of them dared to glance back. Delilah¡¯s grip tightened around her dagger. The academy¡¯s rituals had always felt theatrical to her, a polished veneer to cover the blood-soaked truth.

    The wind shifted, rustling the loose strands of her pink hair. She pushed herself to her feet, stepping lightly along the sloping roof. From here, she could see the dark spires of the academia towering over the city, their jagged silhouettes cutting through the moonlit sky. Oxburr had a way of pulling people in, its grandeur hiding the cruelty within. It had pulled her in once, too.

    But those days were long behind her.

    Delilah dropped silently into a narrow alley, her boots landing with barely a sound on the damp cobblestones. The streets had grown quieter now, the hum of the mid-autumn celebrations fading into the distance. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their flickering light casting long shadows against the stone walls.

    Her fingers brushed the edges of her cloak as she slipped into the crowd, her presence unnoticed. She moved like a ghost, her green eyes scanning the faces around her. Most were too drunk or too distracted to notice the predator in their midst. Good. She wasn¡¯t in the mood for interruptions.

    She thought of Lynn again. There had been fear in the girl¡¯s eyes, yes, but there had also been something else. Curiosity. Resolve. It wasn¡¯t the usual brand of foolish bravery she despised. It was¡­ different.

    A faint chuckle escaped her lips. You¡¯ll get yourself killed, Lynn Albert. But perhaps not tonight.

    Her path brought her back toward the academia¡¯s gates, their iron bars glinting faintly in the moonlight. She stopped just short of the shadowed archway, her gaze lingering on the tall spires that loomed overhead. This place had claimed so many lives, so many souls desperate to prove their worth. Some survived. Most didn¡¯t.

    And then there were those like her¡ªcreatures who walked the line between life and death, who refused to be tamed by Oxburr¡¯s cruel hands. She had no loyalty to this place, no illusions about its promises of greatness. But it was useful, and she had long since learned how to use its darkness to her advantage.

    The gates creaked faintly as a gust of wind swept through the courtyard. Delilah¡¯s grip tightened on her dagger. She had other work to attend to tonight, but for now, she lingered, her thoughts returning to the girl with ghostly eyes.

    You don¡¯t belong here, Lynn, she thought, her lips curving into a faint, amused smile. But perhaps that¡¯s what makes you interesting.

    With that, she turned, her cloak billowing softly behind her as she disappeared into the shadows.

    <hr>

    Present Day

    When Delilah opened her eyes, she was back in the cold, suffocating darkness of the castle dungeon. The faint trickle of water dripping onto the stone floor filled the silence, echoing like the ticking of a distant clock. The haze of her memory faded as pain surged through her body. The burns on her arm stung viciously where sunlight had touched her skin. She hissed through clenched teeth, dragging herself back into the shadows to escape the weak ray of light filtering through the barred window.

    Her dress had been hastily repaired, the shredded fabric now pieced together poorly. Her pink hair, once vibrant, hung limp around her face, strands sticking to her damp forehead. Someone had scrubbed her skin clean and tucked her hair neatly behind her pointed ears, but she felt no comfort in the gesture. It was mechanical. Empty. A way to prepare her for something she couldn¡¯t yet name.

    The sound of boots on stone broke through her thoughts. Heavy, deliberate steps echoed down the stairwell above, growing louder with each passing second. Delilah sat frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. This wasn¡¯t the timid servant who brought her water every few hours. This was something else. Someone else.

    The footsteps stopped just outside her cell. A tall man stepped into view, flanked by four guards. His blonde hair was combed perfectly into place, and his pale blue eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating malice. His presence was oppressive, filling the small space with an air of authority. He knelt just outside the bars, his lips curling into a slow, cruel smile.

    ¡°Delilah Dagon,¡± he said, his voice sharp and mocking. ¡°Renowned assassin of Zilah. You¡¯ve been sentenced to death.¡±

    The words struck her like a blow, yet she didn¡¯t flinch. She had been expecting this. They¡¯d brought her here to rot, to starve, to break. Still, hearing the sentence spoken aloud sent a chill down her spine.

    The guards moved swiftly, unlocking the door to her cell with a loud click. As they stepped inside, Delilah pressed herself against the wall, her fingers curling into the damp stone. The shackles scattered around her body clinked as she struggled, but the guards were faster. They descended on her, securing heavier chains to her frail limb and thin waist. The cold metal bit into her skin, tighter and harsher than before.

    She screamed a raw, desperate sound that echoed through the corridor. She kicked and twisted, her remaining strength fueled by panic, but the guards overpowered her easily. They dragged her out of the cell, her bare foot scraping against the rough stone floor.

    The tall man stood, watching the struggle with detached amusement. ¡°You know,¡± he said casually, ¡°I expected more from someone with your reputation. Aren¡¯t you supposed to be dangerous? Lethal? A legend?¡±

    Delilah glared at him, her green eyes blazing with fury despite her weakened state. ¡°Coward,¡± she spat, her voice hoarse. ¡°You talk about legends, but all you can do is hide behind your guards.¡±

    The man¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver. If anything, it grew sharper. ¡°I don¡¯t need to dirty my hands with you, Dagon. That¡¯s what executioners are for.¡±

    The guards pulled her forward, her body jerking with each step. Delilah¡¯s breath came in short, ragged bursts as she was dragged through the dungeon corridor. Her mind raced, grasping for any plan, any escape. But there was nothing. No allies. No strength. No hope.

    The stairwell loomed ahead, the faint light of the world above filtering down through the cracks. Each step they climbed felt heavier, as if the weight of her chains was growing, dragging her closer to her inevitable end.

    At the top of the stairs, the cold wind hit her like a slap, biting into her exposed skin. The sky above was a dull, slate grey, clouds swirling ominously as if the heavens themselves were watching. The courtyard was empty save for the scaffold in the centre, its wooden frame stark and foreboding. A noose swayed gently in the breeze.

    Delilah¡¯s legs buckled, and she stumbled. The guards hauled her upright, their grips like iron. Her gaze locked on the scaffold, her stomach twisting in fear. She¡¯d faced death countless times before, but this was different. This was final.

    As they dragged her closer, she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Not like this, she thought. I won¡¯t go like this.

    The tall man followed behind, his voice ringing out for all to hear. ¡°Let this serve as a warning,¡± he called, addressing an unseen crowd. ¡°Even the greatest killers cannot escape justice. Delilah Dagon, the infamous assassin, will meet her end here before the eyes of the gods.¡±

    The guards forced her up the steps of the scaffold, her chains clattering loudly. She felt the rough wood beneath her feet, the icy wind cutting through her dress. The executioner stood waiting, his face obscured by a dark hood. He held the noose in one hand, the other gesturing for her to step forward.

    Delilah¡¯s breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. The tall man stood below, his smug expression etched into her memory. Her gaze flicked to the crowd that had begun to gather at the edges of the courtyard. Their faces blurred together, but she could feel their stares, their curiosity, their judgment.

    The metal noose slipped over Delilah¡¯s neck, the steel biting into her skin like a brand. Her breathing hitched as the executioner tightened it with cold, deliberate movements, each twist of the rope sealing her fate. The scaffold creaked beneath her as the wind howled, tugging at the frayed edges of her dress.

    From below, the tall man smirked, his pale blue eyes fixed on her like a predator savouring his prey. ¡°Any last words?¡± he asked, his tone mocking, as if he¡¯d already won.

    Delilah forced herself to steady her breathing, her green eyes narrowing as they locked onto his. Her heart thundered in her chest, but her defiance burned hotter. If this was the end, she wouldn¡¯t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

    Her lips curved into the faintest, bitter smile. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in hell.¡± she rasped, her voice hoarse but unyielding.

    The man¡¯s smirk faltered, just for a moment.

    Delilah¡¯s gaze darted to the edges of the courtyard, where the crowd lingered in silence, their faces blurring into a sea of indistinct shapes. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, not like this.

    The executioner stepped forward, his gloved hand gripping the lever. The tall man raised a hand, signalling him to wait.

    For a heartbeat, Delilah thought she saw hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of doubt. Then it was gone.

    ¡°Proceed,¡± he said, his voice cutting through the wind.

    The executioner pulled the lever.

 Chapter 2: The Taste of Blood

    ¡ª 156 Years Previously ¡ª

    ¡°Drink.¡±

    The command, deep and sonorous, echoed through the dimly lit hall. A golden goblet, ornate and gleaming faintly in the candlelight, was extended toward the girl.

    She hesitated, her rosy pink braid shifting as she reached out with trembling hands. Her pale fingers curled around the chilled metal. The contents of the goblet swirled darkly¡ªan ominous crimson, thick and foreign. She tipped it to her lips, and the foul liquid coated her tongue, bitter and metallic. Immediately, she recoiled, coughing violently as the fluid burned its way down her throat. Her stomach churned, and she gagged, her body rejecting the unnatural substance.

    ¡°Pathetic.¡± The voice grew colder, slicing through her weak protests. ¡°I said drink.¡± The man loomed before her, a figure of stark contrast: his black hair cascaded past his waist, blending seamlessly into the layers of dark fabric draped over his wiry frame. His alabaster skin seemed carved from marble, and his eyes were voids of black, unyielding as the night sky above Zilah¡¯s endless forests.

    The girl¡¯s hands shook violently as she raised the goblet once more. Tears slipped from her tightly shut eyes as she forced the rest of the liquid down, swallowing against the rising bile. Her throat burned, and she coughed again, staining her white teeth with streaks of red.

    The man¡¯s lips curved into a thin smile as he observed her. ¡°Do you know why you are here?¡±

    She shook her head, averting her gaze.

    His hand moved swiftly, slender fingers curling beneath her chin and tilting her face upward. ¡°You died,¡± he said simply, his tone dripping with cruel amusement. ¡°Well¡­ you were murdered. But it¡¯s all the same, really.¡±

    Her green eyes widened in shock. Fragments of memory clawed their way to the surface of her mind¡ªimages she couldn¡¯t fully grasp but instinctively feared. She looked down at herself. Her body was clothed in a tattered dress, white fabric faded and smeared with dirt and blood. The dress clung to her small frame, gaping in places where the material had been torn and crudely repaired.

    Her skin was unmarred but riddled with scars, deep and jagged, remnants of wounds that should have killed her.

    ¡°What happened to me?¡± she croaked, her voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

    ¡°You died,¡± the man said, crouching before her with unnerving stillness. ¡°Your heart stopped. You were butchered like an animal and left to rot. But I found you, little corpse, and I gave you a choice: rot¡­ or rise.¡± His lips curved, baring sharp fangs. ¡°And you rose.¡±

    Her emerald eyes widened. She scrambled back, her bare foot slipping against the slick stone. ¡°No. This¡ªthis isn¡¯t real. I¡ªI¡¯m not¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not human anymore,¡± he finished, his smirk growing. ¡°You drank my blood, and it flows in your veins now. In two days, your body will transform. If you¡¯re smart, you¡¯ll thank me.¡±

    Tears streamed down Delilah¡¯s face as his words settled into her mind. Memories clawed their way back¡ªshouting, pain, knives piercing her skin again and again. Her parents screamed that she was an abomination before leaving her for dead. The alley. The men.

    A wave of nausea crashed over her. Tears streaked her dirt-smeared cheeks as the weight of his words sank in.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I found you,¡± he continued, turning his back to her. ¡°When a person dies, there¡¯s a small window before their soul departs. If you drink the blood of a vampire during that time, you return¡ªlike this.¡±

    ¡°WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!¡± she screamed, stumbling to her feet. Her balance wavered; she toppled to the ground as the absence of her right leg betrayed her.

    ¡°I saved you.¡± His voice was calm, almost bored, as he crouched beside her trembling form. ¡°You¡¯ll keep ageing until your first kill. I¡¯d suggest waiting until you¡¯re older. An eternity as a 14-year-old would be¡­ unfortunate.¡±

    ¡°Who¡­ who are you?¡± she whispered, shrinking away.

    The man grinned, revealing sharp, gleaming fangs. ¡°Orpheus,¡± he said, his name rolling off his tongue like a venomous promise. ¡°King of Zilah.¡±

    Her breath hitched. Orpheus¡ªthe name was infamous, spoken in hushed tones in the shadows of every town and village.

    ¡°Why?¡± she choked out. ¡°Why did you do this to me?¡±

    ¡°I have many reasons,¡± he said, rising to his full height, his slender frame draped in layers of black fabric. ¡°I need sharp teeth in my service, and you, girl, have shown me potential. You fought back even when you were weak and doomed. That is rare. That is useful.¡±

    ¡°Useful for what?¡± Delilah spat, her voice trembling but defiant.

    ¡°To become something better. A predator, not prey,¡± he said, his eyes gleaming like polished obsidian. ¡°You will be trained. Moulded. You will serve me as one of my assassins, a dagger in the dark.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to!¡± Delilah shouted, her voice cracking. She tried to rise but stumbled, her balance faltering.

    ¡°Oh, but you owe me, Deelie.¡± His voice dipped, sharp and venomous. ¡°My blood sustains you. Without me, you are nothing but a corpse. You are mine.¡±

    She froze, the weight of his words sinking into her chest like a stone. Her hands balled into fists, but the fear in her heart kept her still.

    ¡°Take her to the servants,¡± Orpheus said over his shoulder, his tone dismissive as if she were a chore to be managed. ¡°Feed her. Clothe her. Train her. When she stops trembling, bring her back to me.¡±

    Two silent figures stepped out of the shadows, their movements smooth and soundless as they approached. Their hands gripped her arms, dragging her from the hall as she struggled weakly.

    ¡°Let me go!¡± she screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls.

    Orpheus chuckled, the sound low and cruel. ¡°You¡¯ll thank me one day, Deelie. You¡¯ll see.¡±

    <hr>

    An indeterminate amount of time passed before Delilah¡¯s eyes fluttered open. She lay nestled in layers upon layers of blankets and pillows, sinking into the soft, luxurious bed beneath her. The room around her was what she¡¯d imagined royalty might sleep in: towering walls draped in heavy, silken curtains, an ornate chandelier overhead casting soft golden light, and a vanity adorned with gilded edges.

    This must be the castle, she thought bitterly, her memory rushing back to her encounter with the King of Zilah. Delilah sighed and swung her left leg over the edge of the bed, but a heavy tug at her right thigh gave her pause.

    Her breath caught as she pulled the blankets away.

    The limb she had lived without for years was now replaced by an ornate prosthetic of polished bronze, its design as mesmerising as it was functional. At the back of the knee, a gleaming green crystal caught the chandelier¡¯s light, casting faint reflections across the room. Intricate carvings adorned the metal, swirling into elegant, delicate patterns. The foot tapered into a graceful heel, cleverly designed to collapse flat¡ªa detail that struck her as equal parts ridiculous and impractical.

    She sat frozen, stunned by the craftsmanship. Her fingers traced the metal, feeling its cold strength. Testing it, she tugged at the prosthetic, but it didn¡¯t budge. It was affixed to her as if it had always been part of her. Taking a deep breath, she shifted her weight forward and carefully stood.

    She wobbled for a moment, her balance unfamiliar, but with a few tentative steps, she was walking. Her heart thudded as she made her way around the room. Five years of stumbling and struggling with a crutch, and now¡­

    Her gaze fell on the black heel sitting neatly on a nearby table, tied with a long pink ribbon. The sight was almost laughable. She slipped it on, finding it a perfect fit. With the heel balancing her prosthetic, she walked more easily, each step more confident than the last.

    Dressed in a thin robe, Delilah padded to the adjoining bathroom. The grandeur of it was almost overwhelming¡ªgleaming marble tiles, a clawfoot tub, shelves of neatly arranged bottles. She rummaged through the cupboards, finding shampoos and body washes. A wave of relief washed over her as she turned the tap, hot water gushing into the tub.

    Though her skin had already been scrubbed clean¡ªno doubt by someone else while she was unconscious¡ªshe couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of intrusion. Climbing into the bath, she sank beneath the bubbling water and scrubbed herself with ferocity as though trying to erase every handprint left on her body.

    ¡°Miss Dagon?¡±

    The sudden voice startled her. Delilah tensed, sinking deeper into the bubbles. ¡°I¡¯m just in here,¡± she called hesitantly, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. ¡°I¡¯ll be out in a¡ª¡±

    The door creaked open, cutting her off.

    A tall, slender woman entered, her dark skin flawless, her long braids neat and immaculate. Her eyes were concealed by a pale bandage wrapped tightly around her head. Delilah relaxed slightly, realising the woman couldn¡¯t see her.

    ¡°Or¡­ just walk in, then,¡± Delilah muttered, leaning back into the bath.

    The woman set a towel and a long pink dress on the counter. ¡°You will be joining My Lord for dinner. Please get ready soon.¡± Her voice was soft yet commanding, her smile unnervingly calm.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Delilah asked.

    ¡°Aster Kamaria. I¡¯ll be assisting you from now on.¡± Aster¡¯s smile widened briefly before she turned and left, her footsteps light on the stone floor.

    Delilah lingered in the bath, her mind churning. She didn¡¯t want to meet the King again, didn¡¯t want to sit at a table with him and pretend she wasn¡¯t terrified. But what choice did she have? Sighing, she climbed out and wrapped herself in the towel, drying off before slipping into the pink dress.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    As she dressed, her gaze fell on the tall mirror by the sink. Curiosity overtook her hesitation, and she stepped closer, peering at her reflection.

    Her green eyes widened in horror.

    Scars crisscrossed her torso, arms, and legs¡ªjagged lines and puckered skin marking every place she¡¯d been stabbed. The wounds that had killed her had left their imprint, a permanent reminder of her death.

    Delilah turned away quickly, focusing instead on finishing her dress. The fabric hugged her figure, covering the scars, though she could still feel them beneath.

    When she stepped back into the bedroom, Aster was waiting patiently. The woman gestured for Delilah to sit at the vanity. She obeyed, and Aster began brushing her long pink hair with a silver comb.

    ¡°Forgive me for asking,¡± Delilah began hesitantly, ¡°but are you blind?¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± Aster replied, not missing a beat. ¡°I lost my eyes as a child, so they couldn¡¯t regenerate. As someone born a vampire, we can age and develop scars or disabilities until our first kill¡ªjust like you. But we drink blood from the start, not milk.¡±

    ¡°How can you see what you¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t see,¡± Aster corrected with a smile. ¡°I sense. Losing one sense strengthens the others. I can navigate easily, and tasks like this are muscle memory.¡±

    Delilah fell silent, watching as Aster plaited her hair into an elegant half-up style. After a moment, she asked softly, ¡°Can I ask how old you are?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Aster¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver, but she offered no further response. She stepped back, bowed slightly, and left the room.

    Delilah stared at her reflection, unrecognisable yet eerily familiar. Her skin was flawless now¡ªno dirt, no bruises, no hollow shadows under her eyes. Her bright green gaze caught the flickering candlelight, shining with unnatural vibrancy. She tried to smile, but her fangs glinted in the mirror, sending a shiver through her.

    Tearing herself away, she left the room, unwilling to look at herself any longer.

    <hr>

    The halls of the palace were shrouded in an oppressive darkness and an icy chill that seemed to cling to every corner. It wasn¡¯t surprising, but the sheer depth of the cold and gloom exceeded anything Delilah had imagined. As she walked, the candles along the walls flared to life, their golden light chasing her steps as if acknowledging her presence. She passed door after door, each one closed and uninviting until the corridor abruptly ended in front of a set of heavy, intricately carved wooden doors.

    With no other path to take, Delilah hesitated, then gripped the handle and pushed it open. Beyond was a spiralling staircase descending deep into the earth. She plucked a candle from its sconce, its flame wavering slightly as she started down the seemingly endless staircase. The air grew colder with each step, the flickering light casting long shadows on the damp stone walls. When she finally reached the bottom, she found another door, its iron handle cold against her palm. She pushed it open and stepped into yet another corridor.

    Frustration bubbled inside her as she traversed one identical hallway after another, each ending with another staircase or another door. The pattern repeated¡ªdoor, staircase, corridor, door¡ªuntil her patience thinned into anger. Her steps became heavier, her grip on the candle tighter, as she threw open yet another random door in the endless maze.

    A cold hand seized her wrist.

    She froze. Another hand slid around her chin, tilting her head upward to expose her throat. Warm breath ghosted against her skin, and a low voice, smooth and predatory, whispered near her ear.

    ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t wander around all alone, Deelie,¡± King Orpheus murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting so patiently for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª I¡¯m sorry,¡± Delilah stammered, her throat dry as her pulse raced, though her heart no longer beat.

    ¡°Come.¡±

    Without another word, he released her and began striding down the corridor. His movements were graceful and deliberate; his hands clasped neatly behind his back. Delilah hurried to keep up, her smaller steps nearly breaking into a jog to match his pace. They reached another set of double doors, which Orpheus opened with a wave of his hand.

    The dining room assaulted her senses before she fully stepped inside. The aromas of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, ripe fruits, and decadent desserts flooded her nostrils. The grand table stretched the length of the room, and each dish was presented with perfect precision. Her surprise must have shown as Orpheus let out a low chuckle.

    ¡°You don¡¯t seriously think we eat people, do you?¡± he asked a hint of mockery in his tone.

    Delilah flinched, embarrassed but unwilling to answer.

    ¡°Vampires eat real food,¡± he continued, easing into his chair and gesturing for her to sit beside him. ¡°We don¡¯t need it, strictly speaking, but we enjoy it. Blood keeps us alive; food keeps us¡­ living.¡±

    Delilah sat hesitantly, her gaze lingering on the plates that materialised before her. Piles of warm, inviting food and a single goblet of dark red liquid waited. She ignored the goblet, diving hungrily into the meal. Each bite was a revelation¡ªflavours she hadn¡¯t tasted in years, textures she barely remembered. After surviving on scraps and starvation for so long, this was pure indulgence.

    Orpheus watched her, his sharp etiquette contrasting with her ravenous appetite, though he showed no sign of disapproval. Finally, he tilted his goblet toward her.

    ¡°Come now, Deelie,¡± he said, the nickname grating in its familiarity. ¡°You must drink. I can¡¯t have you dying on me so soon.¡±

    Delilah bristled but reluctantly reached for the goblet. The dark liquid swirled ominously, its scent rich and metallic. She hesitated, nausea churning in her stomach, but she forced herself to take a sip.

    The taste was unlike anything she¡¯d expected¡ªsweet, warm, intoxicating. Her eyes fluttered closed as she savoured it, her body responding to the blood in ways she couldn¡¯t understand. She drank deeply, draining the goblet without pause, her earlier reluctance forgotten. When she placed it down, she saw Orpheus watching her, his head propped on interlaced fingers, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

    ¡°It¡¯s good, isn¡¯t it?¡± he asked.

    Delilah nodded mutely and returned to her meal, but nothing compared to the taste of the blood.

    Once the meal was finished, Orpheus escorted her back to her chambers. His hand hovered just above her back, a silent warning that she was under his watchful eye. When they reached her door, he stopped.

    ¡°Don¡¯t try to leave,¡± he said softly, his tone as smooth as silk yet heavy with menace. With that, he turned and disappeared down the corridor.

    Delilah tested the door handle as soon as it clicked shut. Locked, as she¡¯d expected. She sighed, defeated, and turned her attention to the windows, but they, too, offered no escape. Finally, she changed into a pair of silk pyjamas and ran her fingers through her hair, undoing the carefully styled locks until her pink strands fell loose around her shoulders.

    Climbing into the plush bed, she stared at the stark white ceiling, the events of the day swirling chaotically in her mind. Fear, exhaustion, and confusion tangled together until they pulled her into a restless sleep.

    <hr>

    ¡ª 4 Years Later ¡ª

    ¡°Again,¡± Orpheus demanded, his voice like steel cutting through the training hall.

    Delilah lunged forward, her twin daggers gleaming in the low light. She aimed for his chest, but he sidestepped easily, catching her wrist and twisting. She yelped as her blade clattered to the ground, his foot sweeping beneath her legs and sending her sprawling.

    ¡°Pathetic,¡± he said for the third time that morning.

    Delilah hissed through clenched teeth, rolling to her feet. Her bronze prosthetic glinted under the moonlight, streaming through the high windows. ¡°Maybe if you didn¡¯t fight like a snake, I¡¯d have half a chance!¡±

    ¡°Excuses won¡¯t save you in battle,¡± Orpheus said coolly, circling her like a predator stalking its prey. ¡°Your enemies won¡¯t hesitate to kill you. They won¡¯t give you second chances.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I wouldn¡¯t need second chances if my lord taught me instead of using me for target practice!¡± she snapped.

    Orpheus paused, his lips curving into a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Careful, Deelie,¡± he murmured, stepping closer. ¡°You¡¯re not indispensable yet.¡±

    Delilah bristled, her grip tightening on her remaining dagger. She hated him, hated the way he looked at her like she was a tool. But deep down, she hated herself more for needing him¡ªfor the way his blood kept her alive, for the power it gave her.

    ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± he said suddenly, tossing his sword onto the rack with a metallic clang. ¡°Go clean yourself up. We¡¯re celebrating tonight.¡±

    ¡°Celebrating what?¡± she asked, suspicion lacing her voice.

    ¡°You¡¯re eighteen,¡± he said, his smirk returning. ¡°Old enough to make your first kill.¡±

    Her blood ran cold.

    ¡°I¡¯ve picked a target for you,¡± Orpheus continued his voice calm but laced with malice. ¡°A gift. A chance to tie up loose ends.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Delilah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°Your parents,¡± he said simply.

    Her heart stopped.

    ¡°Tomorrow, you¡¯ll go to them,¡± he said, stepping closer until his breath brushed against her ear. ¡°And you¡¯ll finish what they started. No hesitation. No mercy. Do you understand?¡±

    Delilah¡¯s throat tightened as she met his dark gaze. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to refuse. But deep down, she knew he wouldn¡¯t let her.

    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± she whispered.

    Orpheus¡¯s smirk deepened as he stepped back, his towering frame casting long shadows in the dim light of the hall. ¡°Go now,¡± he said, waving her away like she was nothing more than a servant. ¡°Rest. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡±

    Delilah didn¡¯t move at first, her legs frozen beneath her. The weight of his command sank into her chest, suffocating her. She clenched her fists tightly, her nails biting into her palms. Finally, she forced herself to turn, her bronze prosthetic clicking softly against the stone floor as she left the training hall.

    <hr>

    The corridors stretched endlessly before her, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight streaming through tall, arched windows. Her footsteps echoed in the silence, but her mind was louder than the halls around her.

    Her parents. Their faces flooded her memory like a tidal wave, blurry but filled with the unmistakable sting of betrayal. The screams. The knives. The cold, unrelenting hatred in their eyes as they abandoned her left her broken and bleeding in the street. And now, Orpheus wanted her to kill them.

    Her heart ached with confusion. Could she do it? After all they had done to her¡ªafter they had stolen her childhood, her limb, and left her for dead¡ªcould she take their lives in return? She felt the familiar sting of tears, but she blinked them away, refusing to cry. Not here. Not where his eyes might be watching.

    When she reached her chambers, the sight of the pristine, ornate room felt like mockery. The soft silks, the gilded edges, the pink tones¡ªall of it felt so wrong. She wanted to tear it apart, to scream, to claw at the perfect walls until they crumbled around her. Instead, she stood in the centre of the room, staring at the untouched bed and the vanity¡¯s glinting mirror.

    Her reflection stared back, her green eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The scars on her neck and arms were partially hidden by her training tunic, but she could still feel them, like whispers of the past etched into her skin. Her prosthetic caught the light, its intricate carvings mocking her with their beauty.

    She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, her head falling into her hands. Her body trembled¡ªnot from fear, but from anger. Orpheus had taken her, moulded her, trained her, and now he wanted to push her over the final edge. He wanted her to become something unrecognisable, something she wasn¡¯t sure she could stomach.

    ¡°Delilah?¡±

    The voice startled her, soft and hesitant, coming from the doorway. She looked up sharply, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her side.

    It was Aster.

    The blind woman stepped cautiously into the room, her head tilting slightly as though she could sense Delilah¡¯s turmoil. ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked her voice calm, measured.

    Delilah let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. ¡°No,¡± she muttered. ¡°Not even close.¡±

    Aster moved closer, her movements fluid and precise despite her lack of sight. She perched lightly on the arm of a nearby chair, her bandaged eyes turned toward Delilah. ¡°The King gave you your task, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    Delilah¡¯s head snapped up. ¡°How do you know that?¡±

    ¡°I know him,¡± Aster said simply. ¡°And I know what he expects from you.¡±

    Delilah stared at her, the weight of her anger and confusion bubbling dangerously close to the surface. ¡°He wants me to kill them,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°My parents.¡±

    Aster¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but her head tilted slightly. ¡°Do you want to?¡±

    Delilah froze, the question hanging heavy in the air between them. Did she want to? The thought of her parents¡ªof their betrayal, their cruelty, their hate-filled her with rage. But beneath the rage was something else. Pain. Doubt. Fear.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted finally, her voice cracking. ¡°They deserve it. After everything they did to me, they deserve it. But¡­¡±

    ¡°But?¡± Aster prompted gently.

    Delilah¡¯s hands clenched into fists. ¡°But if I do it, I¡¯ll be exactly what he wants me to be. A killer. His weapon.¡±

    Aster was silent for a long moment, her bandaged gaze fixed on Delilah. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm. ¡°Your choices are your own, Delilah. Not his. Whatever you do, make sure it¡¯s what you want¡ªnot what he¡¯s forced you into.¡±

    Delilah stared at her, the words sinking into her mind like stones. Aster stood gracefully, her footsteps light as she made her way to the door. ¡°Rest tonight,¡± she said. ¡°Tomorrow will come whether you¡¯re ready or not.¡±

    The door closed softly behind her, leaving Delilah alone with her thoughts. She lay back on the bed, staring up at the canopy above her. Her mind raced, the storm of emotions refusing to settle.

    Her parents¡¯ faces haunted her, their hatred etched into her memory. Orpheus¡¯s voice echoed in her ears, cruel and commanding. Aster¡¯s words lingered, a quiet reminder that she still had a choice.

    But as the hours ticked by and sleep evaded her, one thought repeated itself over and over.

    Tomorrow, everything will change. One way or another.

 Chapter 3: Cost of the Curse

    The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the hardened earth echoed in Delilah¡¯s ears, a monotonous tune that had long since lost its charm. Dust rose in lazy clouds around the carriage wheels, coating the passengers in a fine layer of grime. The once-vivid memories of Zilah¡¯s bustling markets and warm, sunlit streets seemed a distant dream as they pressed onward through barren fields and dense forests that whispered secrets with every gust of wind. The fatigue of the road clung to them, seeping into their bones as tempers grew as frayed as the carriage¡¯s worn leather seats.

    Delilah sat huddled on the floor of the carriage, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as if trying to shield herself from the weight of the journey. Across from her, Aster sat calmly on a bench, her legs crossed and hands resting neatly on her lap. The third companion, Harkin, lounged nearby, his piercing red eyes scanning the horizon with a mix of disinterest and irritation. His fair skin gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his long white hair, plaited to the side, shifted slightly with the sway of the carriage. His pointed ears were adorned with a collection of black rings, and long red earrings dangled from their tips, imitating dripping blood. Two rings adorned the right side of his bottom lip, completing the picture of a man who seemed to wear danger-like a second skin.

    ¡°Dagon, right?¡± he had asked upon meeting her, his eyebrow quirking as he took in the sight of her with a lazy smirk. ¡°Name¡¯s Harkin Caochlaoch. I¡¯d say it¡¯s lovely to meet you, but I didn¡¯t want to do this.¡±

    ¡°Be nice to her Harkin,¡± Aster warned, crossing her arms over her small chest.

    ¡°Hmm, whatever.¡± His dismissive tone cut through the air like a blade, and that was the end of their introductions.

    <hr>

    Now, a week later, tension had grown thick in the cramped confines of the carriage. Unlike Aster, who sat patiently with an air of quiet serenity, Harkin was visibly losing his temper. His long fingers flipped a dagger up and down idly, the blade glinting menacingly as he sulked.

    ¡°I would¡¯ve gotten there, killed them, and been back by now,¡± he sighed, flipping the blade again.

    ¡°Patience, Harkin,¡± Aster responded, her tone soft but firm.

    He scoffed, his red eyes gleaming with annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m over 600 years old, Aster! And I¡¯m on escort duty for some mangy fledgling? How am I supposed to stay quiet and patient¡ªAri?

    Aster¡¯s expression didn¡¯t falter. ¡°I¡¯m older than you and doing the same. Yet you don¡¯t see me throwing tantrums.¡±

    Harkin grumbled something unintelligible but fell silent, his dagger flipping a final time before disappearing into its sheath.

    <hr>

    Two days later, the carriage trundled into Spiriburgh, the small, dilapidated city that Delilah had once called home. The sight of its twisted streets and decaying buildings made her stomach churn violently. Poverty hung heavy in the air like a shroud. The sick, the old, and the desperate lined the streets, their hollowed eyes turning toward the carriage as it passed. Begging hands reached out, trembling and skeletal, but no one dared to approach too closely.

    ¡°Filth,¡± Harkin muttered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ¡°I bet they taste even fouler.¡±

    Aster shot him a sharp look, and he quickly turned his gaze to the window.

    Delilah pulled her hood further over her head, trying to disappear into its shadows. As they reached the inn where they would stop for the night, she braced herself for the memories clawing at the edges of her mind.

    ¡°You know this place, Aygo?¡± Harkin asked, his sharp voice cutting through the quiet as he glanced back at Delilah.

    ¡°Aygo?¡± she repeated, her hooded head tilting slightly, confusion etched across her face.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said with a smirk, his crimson eyes gleaming mischievously. ¡°Like Dagon, but drop the D and the N. Aygo. Easier to say. Deal with it.¡± He gave a lazy shrug, his long white braid shifting as he stepped off the carriage with a fluid grace. Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the desolate inn ahead, boots crunching against the dusty road.

    Delilah let out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting to the weathered building as she nodded. ¡°Yeah¡­ I used to work here for a few coins when I was a kid.¡± Her voice carried a faint edge of bitterness, the weight of old memories pressing down on her words.

    ¡°The Cruel Angel Inn,¡± Harkin said as he stepped out of the carriage, poking at the rusted sign that dangled precariously from its post. ¡°What kind of shitty name is that?¡±

    Delilah sighed as she followed him out. ¡°It¡¯s named after the gods. People here blame them for the city¡¯s state and the high mortality rate. The name stuck.¡±

    Harkin raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t comment further.

    Inside, the inn was as dreary as its exterior promised. The hunched innkeeper greeted them with an eerie toothless smile and led them to their room upstairs. It was a cramped, depressing space with one double bed and a single mattress pressed together to form a makeshift sleeping area. The bathroom down the hall consisted of two buckets¡ªone empty and one with murky water¡ªand a questionable soap bar floating inside. The barred windows let in slivers of moonlight, casting faint shadows across the cracked walls.

    Harkin grimaced as he stepped inside. ¡°This is¡­ horrific.¡±

    Harkin, who had been mid-sentence, suddenly froze. His crimson eyes widened, and his face flushed slightly as he turned on his heel. ¡°Damn it, Aster! Give a warning!¡± He grabbed Delilah by the arm and dragged her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

    Leaning against the wall outside, he scowled as he paced the corridor, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. Delilah watched him, bemused, as he muttered under his breath. Finally, he snapped, ¡°Stop staring!¡±

    She shrugged, sinking to the floor. ¡°You¡¯re acting like a child.¡±

    Before he could respond, Aster called out for them to return. Harkin glared at Delilah one last time before pushing the door open.

    ¡°Aygo, hurry up and change,¡± Harkin snapped, his tone sharp as he tugged off his shirt in one fluid motion. His muscled torso was unblemished, the pale skin flawless and smooth, a stark contrast to what his crimson eyes would soon see. ¡°Tomorrow we¡¯ve got the rest of this journey, but honestly, it¡¯d be faster on foo¡ª¡± His words faltered, his eyes widening in shock as they fell on Delilah¡¯s bare back, crisscrossed with deep, jagged scars.

    ¡°What the hell¡­ How did you get those?¡± he demanded, his voice dropping lower, a rare note of unease threading through his words.

    Delilah paused, her movements unhurried as she slipped her nightdress over her head. She let out a tired sigh, her shoulders sinking slightly under the weight of the question. ¡°How do you think I became a vampire?¡± she replied, her voice flat, almost emotionless.

    Harkin frowned, his usually confident demeanour cracking. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you were turned,¡± he muttered, his gaze still fixed on the scars. ¡°You¡­ you died?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said simply, pulling the fabric down to her knees before sitting on the edge of the bed. ¡°Twenty-seven stab wounds. Left to rot on the street. Just a couple of meters away from here, actually.¡± She let out a bitter laugh, devoid of humour, as though mocking the cruelty of it all.

    Harkin opened his mouth as if to say more but hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. For once, he didn¡¯t press further, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before turning away. Delilah, seemingly uninterested in continuing the conversation, lay down without another word, her expression unreadable.

    The room was tense as they settled in for the night. Delilah claimed the single bed without hesitation, shooting a pointed look at Harkin that spoke volumes: Keep your thoughts about Aster to yourself and share the double with her. Harkin¡¯s jaw dropped, a rare moment of unguarded surprise flashing across his face, but he grumbled something under his breath and slid under the blanket beside Aster. He positioned himself as far away from her as physically possible, stiff and awkward at the edge of the bed.

    Eventually, she couldn¡¯t ignore the plan forming in her head. This is my chance. Quietly, she slid out from under the thin blanket and placed her feet on the cold wooden floor. Careful not to wake the others, she tiptoed to the far wall where their bags were stacked. Grabbing hers, she slung it over her shoulder and crept to the door.

    She paused for a moment, glancing back at the bed. Aster was curled up, her dark braids spilling across the pillow, and Harkin¡¯s pale arm was loosely wrapped around her. The sight sent a pang of something Delilah couldn¡¯t name through her chest, but she shook it off. Turning back to the door, she slowly twisted the handle and slipped into the hallway.

    The wooden floor groaned faintly under her weight, but she moved carefully, her steps feather-light as she descended the narrow staircase. The dim glow of moonlight filtered through the dirty windows, barely illuminating the space. She was halfway down when a calm voice stopped her in her tracks.

    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±

    Delilah froze, her heart leaping into her throat. At the bottom of the stairs stood Aster, arms folded loosely, her head tilted slightly as she regarded Delilah with a mixture of exhaustion and disappointment, visible despite the white cloth around her eyes. She scratched at her scalp, tugging at one of her braids as though the situation were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

    ¡°Come now, Dee,¡± Aster sighed, her voice soft but firm. ¡°You know better than to try and flee. Turn around. Back to bed, please.¡±

    Defeated, Delilah slumped her shoulders and trudged back up the stairs. Aster followed her, her presence a silent reminder that escape wasn¡¯t an option.

    When they reentered the room, Harkin was leaning casually against the wall, shirtless, his dagger flipping lazily between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of them and let out a low chuckle.

    ¡°Well, that was a stupid idea,¡± he said, amusement dripping from his voice. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the dagger across the room. The blade sank into the wall with flawless precision, embedding itself right where Delilah¡¯s head would rest when she lay down.

    ¡°Harkin¡­¡± Aster¡¯s voice carried a warning, her tone sharper than usual.

    Harkin rolled his eyes but pushed off the wall, padding back to the bed without protest. ¡°Fine, fine. I¡¯m going to sleep,¡± he muttered, flopping down onto the mattress.

    ¡°Good,¡± Aster replied curtly, her frustration evident. She turned to Delilah, her gaze softening slightly. ¡°Sleep.¡±

    Before Delilah could respond, Aster placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her toward her bed. With surprising strength, she all but pushed Delilah onto the mattress, ensuring she stayed put.

    Aster then returned to the double bed, slipping beneath the blanket where Harkin had already settled. He instinctively shifted closer, his arm curling around her once again, though his expression was one of indifference as he drifted back into sleep.

    Delilah lay in her own bed, staring at the ceiling as the room fell into silence. Sleep wouldn¡¯t come easily tonight, but at least now, escape would have to wait.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    <hr>

    The following day, they left the carriage behind and continued their journey on foot, winding through the maze-like streets of Spiriburgh and into the small village of Falstide. By late afternoon, they reached a house Delilah knew all too well. It loomed before them like a spectre, its cracked facade and crooked shutters were as menacing as the memories that haunted her.

    She froze. Panic clawed at her chest, threatening to crush her.

    ¡°You can¡¯t stop now,¡± Harkin growled. ¡°It took us ages to get here.¡±

    ¡°Harkin, for the love of the gods, let her breathe,¡± Aster snapped, her usually serene voice edged with frustration. Her golden eyes glinted with a rare sharpness as she fixed him with a glare. ¡°She¡¯s about to walk into a house that holds nothing but nightmares for her¡ªand you think cracking jokes is appropriate right now?¡±

    Harkin threw his hands up, his rings catching the faint glow of the lanterns lining the street. ¡°I¡¯m just saying, if it were me, I¡¯d be done with this place already. Torch it, and leave no loose ends. But no, we have to wait even longer because she¡¯s a-.¡±

    ¡°Enough. If you were in her position, you wouldn¡¯t have even left the palace yet.¡±

    Aster was the embodiment of composure¡ªalways poised, her voice steady and never raised. She spoke with purpose, her words measured and deliberate, and carried herself with an air of efficiency that bordered on perfection. Everything about her was meticulously clean and organised, as though chaos had no place in her world.

    Yet, with Harkin around, she seemed almost¡­ human. His presence chipped away at her unshakable demeanour, exposing flashes of irritation and a mild temper that Delilah had never thought Aster capable of. It was as though he existed solely to test the limits of her patience, provoking a side of her that felt oddly ordinary¡ªa stark contrast to the composed figure Delilah had come to expect.

    But Delilah couldn¡¯t spare the energy to analyse this shift, not with the nausea twisting her stomach like a vice. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, threatening to spill over at any moment. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the task ahead, pushing the unsettling thoughts and emotions to the back of her mind.

    With a deep, shuddering breath, she stepped forward, her companions watching silently as she approached the door. Her fist hovered for a moment before she knocked.

    <hr>

    The door creaked open, and a soft, melodic voice greeted her. ¡°Oh, hello, miss. How can we assist you today?¡± The woman standing there had warm green eyes, twin to Delilah¡¯s own, that sparkled in the sunlight. Her face carried a gentle smile, her demeanor welcoming, almost maternal. ¡°Please, come in. We rarely get visitors,¡± she gushed, stepping aside to let Delilah in.

    ¡°Are you Mrs Dagon?¡± Delilah questioned, despite already knowing the answer.

    ¡°Yes, dear, that¡¯s me,¡± the woman replied cheerfully, moving to the small hearth to heat water. ¡°How can we help you?¡±

    Delilah¡¯s gaze swept over the room, each familiar detail twisting the knife in her gut. ¡°I was just wondering¡­ do you have a child?¡± she asked, carefully keeping her voice neutral, though her hands trembled beneath her cloak.

    The woman froze, her smile faltering slightly as she opened her mouth to speak. ¡°Er, we actually¡ª¡±

    ¡°We do not,¡± a man¡¯s voice cut in sharply. Delilah turned to see him descending the staircase, his heavy footsteps thudding against the worn, curved steps that had been smoothed from years of use. His eyes were hard, and suspicious, and his tone was colder than she remembered. ¡°Why do you ask?¡± he demanded, his gaze narrowing. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    Thinking fast, Delilah forced a smile. ¡°Erm, my name is Aster,¡± she said, borrowing her companion¡¯s name in a moment of desperation. ¡°Aster Caochlaoch,¡± she added, her tone light. ¡°I used to play with a girl from here when I was younger, and I was just hoping to find her. She was very dear to me.¡±

    The man¡¯s expression didn¡¯t soften. ¡°Sorry, but we¡¯ve never had a daughter,¡± he said flatly.

    The words hit Delilah like a blow to the chest. Pain rippled through her, but she kept her smile firmly in place as she accepted the tea her mother¡ªno, this woman¡ªplaced in her hands. Her stomach churned, tears pricking the edges of her vision as anxiety morphed into a deep, simmering anger.

    Her eyes flicked to the table, the very one where she¡¯d been chained down for days, left to starve. The staircase where she¡¯d been thrown from time and again, each scar on her body aching with the memory of her falls. Her gaze shifted to the small door beneath the stairs¡ªthe dark, airless room where she¡¯d been locked away for weeks at a time.

    Her mother¡¯s kind voice became a cruel mockery. The sickness in her stomach boiled into a fiery rage, and tears began to stream down her cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. A laugh escaped her lips, cold and sharp, startling both her parents.

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡± her father started, but he barely had time to react before she lunged. Her foot hooked around his ankle, and she yanked, sending him crashing to the floor.

    ¡°You did have a daughter,¡± she hissed, standing over him. ¡°Her name was Delilah.¡± She drove her boot into his ribs, the crack of bone echoing in the room. ¡°You tortured her. Abused her. Left her to die on the streets of Spiriburgh.¡± She kicked him again, harder.

    ¡°And she did die,¡± she snarled, unsheathing a wicked dagger from her thigh. The blade gleamed, its serrated edges catching the light. She knelt beside him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to force him to meet her gaze. Her voice was cold, unrecognisable, as she whispered, ¡°You had a daughter. And she¡¯s right fucking here.¡±

    The first stab was swift and precise, sinking deep into his abdomen.

    ¡°One,¡± she counted, her voice dripping with malice.

    The second stab ripped through muscle, the serrated blade tearing the wound wider.

    ¡°Two.¡±

    She didn¡¯t stop until she reached twenty-seven. His screams ceased after the seventh, his lifeless body crumpling beneath her.

    Her mother¡¯s sobs filled the silence, and Delilah turned, her bloodied hands trembling with rage.

    ¡°Please, Delilah,¡± the woman pleaded, her once-kind face now twisted in fear. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt me. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    Delilah¡¯s smile returned, but it was cruel and hollow. Without a word, she drove the dagger into her mother¡¯s leg, using the serrated edge to saw through flesh, tendon, and bone. The woman¡¯s screams filled the room, piercing and unrelenting, until the blade struck home for the final time.

    When it was over, Delilah stood amidst the carnage, her chest heaving. The bodies of her parents lay torn and bloodied at her feet, their mutilated forms barely recognisable.

    A guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, shaking the very walls of the house. Birds fled from their perches, their wings beating frantically against the sky, the pure shrill of her despair raged around the small village of Falstide.

    The door burst open, and Aster and Harkin stormed in, their weapons drawn.

    ¡°Holy fuck,¡± Harkin muttered, his crimson eyes wide as he took in the blood-slick walls and the bodies on the floor.

    Delilah collapsed to her knees, clutching her head as fresh waves of agony rippled through her. Aster knelt beside her, retracting her claw-like nails as she tried to soothe her, but Delilah¡¯s screams wouldn¡¯t stop.

    Blood seeped from phantom wounds across her torso, limbs and back, each one a cruel echo of her death. Her ears elongated, her fangs extending further as her body contorted with the pain. Black, viscous fluid poured from her mouth, staining the wooden floor as she convulsed.

    Aster called her name, her voice filled with desperation, but Delilah couldn¡¯t hear her. The world spun, the pain consuming her entirely. Finally, the darkness closed in, and she slumped into Aster¡¯s arms, her screams fading into silence as unconsciousness claimed her.

    <hr>

    Aster

    The room fell eerily silent as Delilah¡¯s body went limp in Aster¡¯s arms, her head lolling to the side. The only sounds were Aster¡¯s sharp breaths and the faint creak of the blood-soaked floorboards beneath them.

    ¡°Is she¡ª¡± Harkin started, his voice unusually uncertain, the usual smugness stripped away.

    ¡°She¡¯s alive,¡± Aster interrupted, her tone clipped. Her golden eyes, sharp and calculating, darted over Delilah¡¯s pale face. ¡°But barely.¡±

    The black ichor that had spilled from Delilah¡¯s mouth began to spread across the floor like a living shadow, curling and writhing as though it had a mind of its own. Harkin took a wary step back, his hand instinctively moving toward his dagger.

    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± he demanded, his voice laced with both anger and unease.

    ¡°Residual energy,¡± Aster murmured, brushing a strand of her braid away from her face. ¡°It¡¯s her death, her pain¡ªit¡¯s manifesting.¡±

    ¡°Manifesting? Fantastic,¡± Harkin muttered sarcastically, his crimson eyes flicking between Delilah¡¯s unconscious form and the writhing shadows. ¡°This is why I don¡¯t get involved in personal vendettas. Shit like this always happens.¡±

    ¡°Would you shut up and help me?¡± Aster snapped, her tone unusually sharp as she struggled to lift Delilah. Despite her slender frame, there was an undeniable strength in her movements as she hoisted the younger woman onto her shoulder. ¡°We need to get her out of here before this spreads.¡±

    ¡°Spreads?¡± Harkin repeated, his irritation quickly giving way to alarm. He gestured at the ichor with his dagger. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that¡¯s going to get worse?¡±

    ¡°Possibly,¡± Aster said grimly, already moving toward the door. ¡°This kind of energy doesn¡¯t dissipate on its own. It feeds on emotion¡ªanger, despair, grief. And in this place¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, her expression darkening.

    Harkin didn¡¯t need further explanation. The oppressive weight of the house, with its bloodstained walls and memories of suffering, was almost palpable. He swore under his breath and followed Aster, pausing only to retrieve his dagger from the floor.

    As they stepped into the cold night air, the ichor seemed to claw at the edges of the doorway, writhing and snapping like a trapped beast. Aster didn¡¯t glance back, her focus entirely on the path ahead as she carried Delilah toward the village¡¯s outskirts.

    <hr>

    Outside, the moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the abandoned streets of Falstide. The air was heavy with silence, the kind that pressed against the skin and made every sound seem louder than it should be.

    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here,¡± Aster said, her voice firm despite the strain on her expression. The white bandage over her eyes remained still, a quiet symbol of the blindness she¡¯d borne for so long. ¡°She needs rest, but not here. This place will only make it worse.¡±

    ¡°And where exactly do you suggest we go?¡± Harkin asked, his irritation returning as he glanced back at the house. The shadows in the doorway seemed to pulse, as though waiting for them to return.

    ¡°There¡¯s an old chapel on the outskirts of the village,¡± Aster replied, her senses acutely attuned to the world around her despite her lack of sight. ¡°It¡¯s abandoned, but consecrated ground should keep the energy at bay while she recovers.¡±

    Harkin snorted. ¡°A vampire in a chapel. That¡¯s rich.¡±

    ¡°Do you have a better idea?¡± Aster shot back, her patience clearly wearing thin.

    He held up his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Fine. Lead the way.¡±

    <hr>

    The journey to the chapel was tense and silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Delilah stirred faintly in Aster¡¯s arms, a pained whimper escaping her lips, but she didn¡¯t wake.

    When they reached the chapel, it was clear the building had seen better days. Its once-proud steeple was leaning precariously, and the wooden doors were splintered and weathered by time. Still, the faint glow of moonlight through the cracked stained glass windows gave it an air of quiet sanctuary.

    Inside, the air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and long-extinguished candles. Aster gently laid Delilah on the dusty altar, brushing a strand of pink hair from her face.

    ¡°Will she be all right?¡± Harkin asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

    Aster didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, she knelt beside Delilah, her hands hovering over the younger woman¡¯s chest. A faint golden light emanated from her palms, illuminating the deep scars that crisscrossed Delilah¡¯s back and arms.

    ¡°She¡¯ll survive,¡± Aster said finally, though her tone was heavy with uncertainty. ¡°But this isn¡¯t over. Whatever¡¯s inside her¡ªit¡¯s waking up. And when it does¡­¡± She trailed off, her golden eyes meeting Harkin¡¯s. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here long,¡± she said quietly, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of urgency. ¡°This place won¡¯t hold the ichor for long. ¡±

    ¡°When it does, what?¡± Harkin interrupted, his impatience bubbling up again, though it was tempered with a genuine concern. ¡°What are we even dealing with? What is this stuff?¡±

    Aster exhaled sharply, her eyes flicking toward the altar where Delilah lay, barely conscious. ¡°The ichor isn¡¯t just a physical poison. It¡¯s a force¡ªa manifestation of pure, unfiltered pain, hatred, and suffering. It¡¯s been festering inside her for far too long. It feeds on negative emotion, grows stronger with every act of violence, every drop of blood. And now it¡¯s awake.¡±

    Harkin¡¯s gaze darkened, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his dagger as though bracing for something to leap out at them. ¡°So this is just a preview? And we¡¯re supposed to wait around for it to explode?¡±

    Aster met his eyes, her blind gaze not faltering, with a calmness that bordered on unsettling. ¡°No. We¡¯re not waiting around for anything. We¡¯re leaving.¡± She paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. ¡°But we¡¯re not done here. This thing inside her, it¡¯ll come for us again. It¡¯s far from finished.¡±

    Harkin gave a harsh laugh, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding. You¡¯re telling me we¡¯re supposed to wait for it to come back? A decade? A century?¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t be the same next time,¡± Aster replied evenly. ¡°The ichor is an ancient energy, and once it finds a vessel¡ªespecially one as powerful as Delilah¡ªit doesn¡¯t stop. It won¡¯t rest until it¡¯s consumed everything. And that means us, too. It¡¯s just waiting for the right moment. But the next time¡­ it will be stronger. And harder to defeat.¡±

    Harkin¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°So we¡¯re stuck with this ticking time bomb?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Aster said quietly, kneeling again by Delilah. ¡°Not stuck. But we need to prepare. And Delilah¡­¡± She hesitated, brushing her fingers lightly over the other woman¡¯s forehead. ¡°She¡¯ll have to fight it. It¡¯s the only way to keep it from spreading, from consuming everything in its path. And that¡¯s a battle that will take everything from her.¡±

    A silence fell over them, thick and heavy, as the weight of her words settled in. The night outside seemed to press closer, the shadows still stirring in their unseen watch.

    Harkin grunted, pacing in a tight circle. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m thrilled about any of this.¡±

    Aster¡¯s gaze drifted back to Delilah, as though she could see her ashen face. The younger woman stirred faintly again, a soft breath escaping her lips as if trying to fight her way to consciousness. ¡°She¡¯s strong,¡± Aster murmured, almost to herself. ¡°She¡¯s the only one who can defeat it. But she can¡¯t do it alone.¡±

    The silence deepened as if the very air held its breath in anticipation. Whatever had been unleashed in that house was far from gone. It had only just begun.

    And when it returned, they would need to be ready.

    Harkin frowned but didn¡¯t argue. Instead, he turned his gaze to Delilah, who lay motionless on the altar, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

    The shadows of the night seemed to gather outside the chapel, pressing against the cracked windows like a living thing. Whatever had been unleashed in that house wasn¡¯t gone¡ªit was waiting.

 Chapter 4: Threads of Intruige

    ¡°Where is she?!¡± The door to the infirmary exploded open, fragments of wood scattering like brittle leaves under the force. King Orpheus stormed in, his calm demeanour obliterated. The tranquil smirk that typically graced his face was replaced with a lethal intensity that rippled through the room. His dark eyes burned with unrestrained fury.

    Delilah lay sprawled on the pristine white sheets of the infirmary bed, her body bound by ropes that dug cruelly into her reddened wrists and ankles. The restraints kept her from clawing at her skin in a fit of madness. Her figure was draped in a thin, grey garment that clung loosely to her frame, offering little warmth. Her pale complexion had taken on a sickly green hue, glistening with sweat from the fever that wracked her fragile body. She shivered violently, consumed by phantom pain, her unconscious form writhing slightly under its weight.

    Orpheus strode to her bedside, his movements sharp and purposeful. He pressed a cool hand to her forehead, the furrow in his brow deepening. ¡°Explain,¡± he growled, his voice an unrelenting demand as his gaze pinned the trembling doctor. With a flick of his wrist, the ropes binding Delilah disintegrated into faint wisps of ash, freeing her bruised limbs. Relief seemed to wash over her body as he gathered her up with tender precision, her head cradled against the broad expanse of his shoulder.

    Without hesitation, Orpheus carried her out of the infirmary, his steps resonating in the stone corridor. Servants and guards wisely stepped aside, their eyes lowered as he passed. Each door swung open under his outstretched hand until he reached his chambers¡ªa cavernous room imbued with quiet elegance.

    The King¡¯s bedroom was a sanctuary of subdued opulence. A grand piano stood sentinel by the stone fireplace, its polished surface gleaming under the flickering light. Tall windows led to a balcony that overlooked the sprawling Zilah forest, its emerald canopy stretching to the horizon. In the centre of the room was a massive bed draped with navy and black blankets, an island of comfort amidst the storm brewing in the King¡¯s chest.

    His room was very large, with a grand piano against the stone fireplace along the far wall. The room entered onto a balcony where the entire of Zilah¡¯s forest was visible, stretching around the city beyond. There was a large bed in the centre of the back wall, where several black and navy blue blankets were draped. The King hurried over and carefully laid Delilah down amongst the pillows and then sat beside her, cradling her neck like a child. She soothed down her sweaty, pink hair and combed through the knots with his long, white fingers.

    ¡°Oh Deelie, what are we going to do with you.¡± He sighed, looking down at her and pulling her dress further down after it had scrunched from the change in position. ¡°I am so sorry.¡± He planted a kiss on the top of her head. ¡°Let me help you.¡±

    Orpheus lifted his wrist to his mouth and took a bite, puncturing his immaculate skin. Thick black blood started leaking from the wound before he pressed his wrist to her mouth, urging her to drink. The blood dribbled past her lips, tickling her tongue. Unconsciously she licked at the two punctured, sucking more and more blood out of the wound as Orpheus stroked her hair.

    ¡°Just like that Deelie. Good girl.¡± He smiled down at her, his expression soft, like a father soothing his daughter.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, Deelie. Good girl,¡± he encouraged, his voice low and soothing. The deadly King, so feared by all, now looked like a father cradling his child.

    When she finally released his wrist, the punctures healed instantly, the skin smooth and unmarred. Orpheus adjusted her position, settling her beside him. His gaze turned inward, shadows flickering behind his black eyes.

    ¡°You know,¡± he began, his voice barely above a whisper, ¡°I hated you at first. Hated the way you gave up. You fought so valiantly, brought two of them down, yet you surrendered as though death was a mercy. It disgusted me.¡± He laughed bitterly, a sound devoid of warmth. ¡°But now I see you for what you are¡ªa mirror. You reminded me of myself.¡±

    He paused, his hand resting against her cheek. The silence stretched, the cawing of crows in the distance the only sound.

    ¡°When I was human,¡± he continued, his voice cracking slightly, ¡°I gave up too. My wife, Eurydice, was taken from me, and I¡­ I couldn¡¯t go on. I thought death would reunite us. But instead, I woke as this¡ªa selfish, cursed creature.¡±

    Delilah stirred in her sleep, turning towards him. Her soft pink hair framed her face, and Orpheus tucked it behind her ear with aching care. ¡°I turned you for vengeance,¡± he admitted. ¡°To condemn you to the same suffering. But now¡­¡± He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Delilah.¡±

    He rose, covering her with a blanket before stepping onto the balcony. Cold air swirled into the room as he approached the piano. Lifting the heavy lid, he revealed the keys beneath, their ivory surface dull with age. Brushing away the dust, Orpheus placed his fingers on the first chord and pressed down.

    A haunting melody filled the air, sorrow bleeding into every note. His hands moved with grace, conjuring a song that carried the weight of centuries. Tears slipped down his cheeks as his heart ached with memories of his lost love.

    ¡°Eurydice,¡± he whispered into the night, his voice breaking. ¡°Forgive me.¡±

    As the last note faded, he turned back to find Delilah no longer on the bed. She sat beside him on the piano stool, her emerald eyes wide and glistening.

    ¡°That was beautiful,¡± she murmured, brushing away a tear. ¡°Did you compose it?¡±

    He nodded, his voice soft. ¡°It was her favourite.¡±

    ¡°Teach me?¡± she asked, her voice a quiet plea.

    For the first time in centuries, Orpheus smiled¡ªa true, unguarded smile. Shifting to make room, he placed her hands on the keys. ¡°This is the first chord,¡± he said gently.

    And together, they played, the music binding them as master and prot¨¦g¨¦, king and heir, two lost souls tethered by their shared pain and growing hope.

    <hr>

    ¡ª152 years later, 2 months before her capture¡ª

    Delilah followed her usual routine within the sprawling palace of Zilah. Fresh from a mission that left her unscathed despite single-handedly dispatching 20 traffickers preying on young vampire women in Loke, she had bathed and was now getting dressed. She slipped into a striking red-and-white dress, its layers of cotton and tulle forming an elegant high-low hemline. With thin spaghetti straps emphasising her sharp collarbones and scars, she looked like a living rose in bloom. The scars across her arms, neck, and chest were badges of honour she wore openly now, their presence a proud declaration of survival and strength.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Tying her vibrant pink hair into two flowing ponytails, she admired how the locks cascaded well past her hips¡ªthe longest it had ever been. A knock at the door interrupted her.

    ¡°Good morning, Dee,¡± came a familiar voice as the door creaked open. Aster, her assistant-turned-confidant, stepped inside. ¡°You¡¯ve got a particularly busy da¡ª¡±

    ¡°ASTER! I MISSED YOU!¡± Delilah darted across the room, tackling her friend in a gleeful hug.

    Aster, always composed, returned the embrace with a warm smile. Over the decades, their bond had deepened into an unshakable friendship.

    ¡°I missed you too, Dee,¡± Aster said with a chuckle. ¡°Now, may I continue?¡±

    Delilah released her with a laugh and bounded back toward the vanity. ¡°It¡¯s been forever since I¡¯ve seen you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been three days,¡± Aster replied dryly, though her smile betrayed her amusement. Over the decades, their bond had only grown stronger, weathering the storms of palace politics, dangerous missions, and even Delilah¡¯s occasional temper.

    Delilah was already reaching for her makeup. ¡°So,¡± she said, her tone turning sly, ¡°any progress with Harkin?¡±

    Aster stiffened, her composure slipping. ¡°D-Dee!¡± she sputtered, her cheeks reddening.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t talked about the kiss yet, have you?¡± Delilah pressed, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. ¡°In front of the entire royal guard, no less! Props to you, girl. I¡¯ve been rooting for you for over a century.¡±

    ¡°ANYWAY!¡± Aster said, raising her voice to deflect. ¡°You have a busy day ahead! M¡¯Lord is waiting for you at breakfast.¡±

    ¡°AND YOU¡¯RE ONLY TELLING ME NOW? I¡¯M STARVING!¡± Delilah laughed, hugging Aster once more before dashing out of the room, her dress flowing behind her.

    <hr>

    Navigating the labyrinthine palace of Zilah was a skill Delilah had honed to perfection. Each corridor, with its towering arches and dim sconces, held a secret. The doors were the true key to mastering the palace: round-handled ones led to static rooms¡ªlibraries, armouries, and the like¡ªwhile long-handled doors opened to magical passages, capable of transporting her to any desired location within the estate. Reaching for a long-handled door, Delilah envisioned the great hall and stepped through.

    The transition was seamless. One moment she was in a dim hallway, the next she stood before a grand dining table. Orpheus was already seated at its head, his presence commanding even in stillness. He turned to her with a wry smile. ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve finally joined us,¡± he remarked, gesturing to the seat beside him.

    Delilah¡¯s sharp gaze swept the room. Three unfamiliar faces stared back at her¡ªburly men, human, and radiating the scent of sweat and trouble. She wrinkled her nose discreetly as she slid into her seat, her posture poised but relaxed. Orpheus raised a brow as she picked at the scrambled eggs on her plate, clearly unimpressed. Sighing, she relented and took a sip from her goblet, the rich blood washing away the faint tang of irritation.

    ¡°What¡¯s the mission this time?¡± she asked, crossing her arms, her voice sharp and direct.

    One of the men, chewing loudly on a piece of toast, hesitated before speaking. ¡°It¡¯s a difficult contract¡ª¡±

    ¡°I doubt that,¡± Delilah interrupted, her tone dripping with mockery. ¡°Spit it out.¡±

    The second man leaned forward, his voice low. ¡°The Albertine Crown Prince.¡±

    Delilah¡¯s brows arched in interest. ¡°Interesting. And the payment?¡±

    ¡°Thousands upon thousands of gold!¡± the third man exclaimed, his enthusiasm poorly masking his desperation.

    Her emerald eyes slid toward Orpheus. ¡°Father,¡± she said with deliberate slowness, ¡°may I take this?¡±

    Orpheus regarded her for a long moment, his dark eyes inscrutable. Finally, he nodded. ¡°Mission accepted.¡±

    <hr>

    Back in her study, Delilah pinned the mission details onto the sprawling corkboard that dominated one wall, the room dimly lit by flickering sconces. Her emerald-green eyes roamed over the various pieces of intelligence, her hand deftly connecting notes, photographs, and maps with strands of red string. Each thread created a complex web of intrigue, leading to one name: Crown Prince Azrael Albertine.

    Azrael was a figure of contradictions¡ªa charismatic public speaker who rarely ventured beyond the confines of his palace. Reports painted him as enigmatic, his polished demeanour concealing the sharp cunning of a ruler who thrived in the shadows. Delilah¡¯s lips curled into a sly smile as she traced the strings with her finger. The challenge thrilled her.

    A soft knock on the door broke her concentration. Only Orpheus would bother knocking on a star-handled door. She rose and turned the handle, allowing him inside.

    Star-handled doors were special, reserved for rooms imbued with personal magic and designated for a single occupant. They were impenetrable to anyone else, yet Orpheus had the unique ability to bypass these enchantments. Still, he respected her space enough to knock.

    He stepped inside, his presence commanding but subdued. ¡°Looks intriguing,¡± he said, gesturing to the board as he took a seat beside her.

    ¡°It is,¡± Delilah admitted, still gazing at the board. ¡°It¡¯s complex. I¡¯m excited.¡±

    Orpheus nodded, his dark eyes searching hers. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    ¡°Same old. Bored, mostly. But this should fix that,¡± she replied, leaning back in her chair.

    He hesitated, his tone softening. ¡°Are you doing well? Mentally?¡±

    Delilah rolled her eyes, though her voice carried a trace of warmth. ¡°What are you, my therapist?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said, his voice firm yet gentle. ¡°I¡¯m your father, and I care about you. Be careful, Delilah.¡±

    She gave a noncommittal shrug, and Orpheus rose, lingering at the door. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to say more, but instead, he vanished into the shadows as quietly as he had appeared.

    <hr>

    That night, Delilah immersed herself in planning. The intelligence packet provided an intriguing detail: the contract included a substantial bonus if Prince Azrael were assassinated during a public event. She pored over the Albertine calendar, flipping through dates and scribbling notes in the margins.

    ¡°The Winter Solstice is too far out,¡± she muttered. ¡°Harvest Festival is cutting it close. His birthday¡­ tempting. And then there¡¯s the Mid-Autumn Ball. Ugh, royals and their endless parties.¡±

    The notes soon devolved into idle sketches, her pen tracing faces from memory. The first sketch emerged as a young woman with thick, curly hair cascading loosely around her shoulders. A deep gash across her neck hinted at the tragedy she¡¯d endured¡ªDelilah¡¯s first murder case, decades ago, in the Albertine village of Erdin. Her hand lingered on the image, a pang of regret surfacing before she moved on.

    The second drawing was a vampire woman, perhaps in her 40s, with a sharp bob framing her pointed ears. Her obsidian eyes seemed to pierce through the page, reminding Delilah of the haunting circumstances of her discovery¡ªabandoned at the kingdom¡¯s border, her fate unknown.

    Finally, Delilah sketched the most captivating face of all¡ªa witch with flowing purple hair and curling black horns. Her beauty was otherworldly, her eyes shimmering with secrets. Delilah had met her briefly in the palace years ago, but the witch had vanished, leaving only unanswered questions. Frustration prickled at her as she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire, watching it curl into ash.

    <hr>

    The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched the palace walls, Delilah packed her satchel with precision. Weapons, disguises, maps¡ªeverything she might need for a mission as delicate as this one. She glanced at her reflection one last time before slipping on her signature black cloak.

    ¡°Heading out already?¡± Aster¡¯s voice brought her to the doorway. Her friend¡¯s usually neat braids were undone, cascading in soft curls around her face.

    ¡°Yeah. New mission,¡± Delilah said, fastening her satchel.

    ¡°I¡¯ll miss you,¡± Aster replied, stepping closer to hand her a small object. A rose quartz ring, delicate and gleaming, rested in her palm. ¡°You left this.¡±

    Delilah slipped it onto her finger with a grin. ¡°I¡¯ll be back. And you better have Harkin updates for me when I return.¡±

    Aster rolled her eyes but smiled. ¡°Travel safe, Dee. And please¡ªdon¡¯t do anything reckless.¡±

    ¡°When have I ever?¡± Delilah quipped, her grin widening as she pulled her hood over her head and vanished into the night, leaving Aster shaking her head knowingly.

 Chapter 5: The Bite that Burns

    ¡°One ale,¡± Delilah demanded, sliding three silver coins across the counter.

    The coins clinked across the counter, glinting faintly under the dim, flickering lantern light. The air reeked of stale ale and unwashed bodies, thick with murmured conversations and the occasional burst of drunken laughter.

    The bartender, a freckled man with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a bit young to be ordering alcohol?¡±

    Delilah¡¯s emerald eyes narrowed. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a bit stupid to be asking questions?¡± She sighed and slid two more silver coins across the counter. ¡°Do you want my money or not?¡±

    The barkeep¡¯s grin widened, exposing a glinting gold tooth as he pocketed the coins and slid her a tankard. Delilah took a long sip, grimacing at the watered-down flavour.

    This kingdom was a joke. She hated the Albertine Kingdom, hated the drumming, pounding heartbeats of its people, which gave her a constant headache and stirred a hunger she suppressed with great difficulty. Her fangs ached with the effort as she sipped lazily, knowing it would take far more than this weak ale to get her drunk. Even among vampires, her tolerance was unparalleled.

    ¡°Hey, aren¡¯t you a fine specimen?¡± A man¡¯s meaty hand clamped around her waist, his fingers worming higher.

    Before he could reach further, the scissors hidden in her cloak gleamed. Four fingers fell to the floor, cleanly severed. The man¡¯s scream shattered the tavern¡¯s chatter.

    Delilah pocketed her blade and sighed, unimpressed. ¡°Men like you never learn.¡±

    The man lunged at her, fury in his bloodshot eyes, but she moved like lightning. Her kick sent him crashing into the wall. Daggers flew from her hands, pinning his tunic and trousers to the wood, leaving him immobilised like a grotesque portrait. The tavern fell into stunned silence.

    Delilah drained the last of her ale, stood, and approached him. She crouched, picking up his severed fingers, her green eyes glowing in the candlelight. His curses turned to whimpers as she drew silver pins from her cloak, delicately impaling each stump. One by one, she reattached his fingers with surgical precision, ensuring he¡¯d remember the encounter every time he used his hand.

    The room held its breath as she retrieved her daggers, slipping them into her sheathes with practiced ease. Her final dagger¡¯s hilt found the man¡¯s temple, knocking him unconscious. He crumpled to the floor, lifeless as a doll.

    Delilah pulled back her hood, revealing pointed ears and a long pink braid that swayed as she turned. Gasps erupted.

    ¡°It¡¯s her!¡± someone whispered.

    ¡°The assassin from Zilah!¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Dagon, obviously! Who else?¡±

    ¡°They say if you stare at her beauty too long, you¡¯ll die a painful death.¡±

    Delilah rolled her eyes. ¡°Give me the strongest ale you have. None of that watered-down swill.¡±

    The barkeep, pale and trembling, obeyed without a word. This time, the ale was worth drinking. She finished it in a single gulp, her fangs glinting as she slammed the tankard down. ¡°Goodnight, all. Sleep well.¡±

    She left the Tailgate Inn, the heavy door slamming shut behind her, its echo swallowed by the vast silence of the night. The stars blinked down at her, uncaring, as the distant hum of the capital¡¯s chaos faded with every step into the mud-slicked paths of the countryside.

    <hr>

    The countryside stretched before her, the soft mud clinging to her boots with each step. Frustrated, Delilah collapsed the heel of her prosthetic and walked barefoot, the night breeze tugging at her cloak. The peace of starlit paths was a rare balm, but something felt off tonight. The prickle of unseen eyes followed her every move.

    She paused on a ridge overlooking the farmland of Haniver. East of Ravenford, the capital¡¯s imposing stone walls loomed in the distance, their lights like fireflies in the dark. Delilah scanned the horizon but found nothing amiss. Shaking off the unease, she continued, her journey a blur of fields fading behind her until she stood at Ravenford¡¯s gates.

    <hr>

    The capital¡¯s main street was alive with drunken revelry. Delilah slipped through the chaos, dodging ale spills and careless shoulders, her scowl deepening with every step. Finally, she reached a quieter quarter, her sharp ears catching whispers from the shadows.

    ¡°That one looks easy.¡± ¡°Yeah, boss. Let¡¯s get her.¡± ¡°Follow my lead¡­¡±

    Delilah smirked but feigned obliviousness. She played the part of a lost traveler, her pale hands gripping her cloak as four men surrounded her.

    ¡°Give us everything you¡¯ve got!¡± the leader barked.

    Delilah¡¯s green eyes shimmered with amusement. ¡°Oh no! Please don¡¯t hurt me!¡± She covered her mouth, hiding a sharp grin.

    Before she could strike, someone dropped from above, landing between her and the men. A hooded figure, taller than Delilah, brandished a gleaming silver sword.

    ¡°Leave her alone,¡± the stranger commanded their voice firm, their stance unyielding.

    The men laughed. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡±

    ¡°Your worst mistake.¡± The stranger lunged.

    Delilah watched, stunned, as the figure dispatched the thugs with practised skill. The leader fell last, groaning in the gutter. Before Delilah could intervene, the stranger grabbed her hand, pulling her into a sprint through the winding alleys of Ravenford.

    They came to a dead-end. Voices echoed behind them as the stranger heaved open a sewer grate.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding,¡± Delilah muttered, but the stranger pushed her in. She tumbled down the pipe, landing ungracefully on the damp floor. The stranger followed, landing atop her.

    ¡°Get off me,¡± Delilah snapped, shoving the weight off her back with an irritated grunt.

    ¡°Sorry!¡± the person wheezed, scrambling upright. They extended a hand to help her up, but Delilah slapped it away, standing on her own.

    ¡°Follow me!¡± they said, not waiting for a response as they darted down the damp stone corridor.

    Delilah hesitated, scowling at the retreating figure before muttering, ¡°This better not be a waste of my time.¡± She followed reluctantly, her steps echoing against the walls.

    <hr>

    In a small, stone room lit only by moonlight streaming through a grate above, Delilah leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her sharp green eyes scanning her so-called savior with open suspicion. The person yanked back their hood, revealing short brown hair with a striking white streak at the front, tanned skin, and cloudy white eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.

    ¡°Right,¡± Delilah drawled, glancing around the bare, cramped room. ¡°No furniture. No weapons. This your idea of a safe haven, street rat?¡±

    The stranger ignored her jab, brushing dirt off their sleeves. Then they extended a hand, offering a disarming smile despite the tension between them.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Delilah didn¡¯t take it. Instead, her dagger was in her hand in an instant, the blade pressed to their throat. ¡°Why did you save me?¡±

    The stranger froze, their throat bobbing as the dagger¡¯s edge grazed their skin. ¡°You looked like you needed help.¡±

    Delilah tilted her head, studying their face for cracks in their calm. ¡°That¡¯s it? You just threw yourself into danger for someone you don¡¯t know?¡± Her tone was laced with incredulity and disdain. ¡°Either you¡¯re unbearably noble or hopelessly stupid.¡±

    ¡°Maybe both?¡± they offered with a nervous laugh.

    Delilah sighed, rolling her eyes as she lowered the blade. ¡°Idiot.¡±

    To her surprise, they grinned wider, unshaken. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re not as bloodthirsty as people say.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t test me,¡± Delilah growled, stepping back. But her sharp retort faltered when the stranger calmly rolled up their sleeve and extended their wrist toward her.

    ¡°Here,¡± they said plainly, their expression soft but determined.

    Delilah blinked, caught off guard. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Offering,¡± they replied. ¡°You¡¯re starving, aren¡¯t you? Drink.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Delilah snapped, turning away with a dismissive shrug.

    ¡°You are,¡± they countered, their voice steady. ¡°You¡¯re sweating, your hair¡¯s a mess, and your skin¡¯s practically gray. Your fangs are so extended you¡¯re starting to lisp, and don¡¯t even try to deny how loud my heartbeat sounds to you. You¡¯re starving, and I¡¯m offering. I haven¡¯t touched alcohol or anything weird, so my blood¡¯s clean. Honestly, I bet it tastes amazing.¡±

    ¡°Stop talking,¡± Delilah demanded, her temper flaring. ¡°First of all, why do you know so much? Doesn¡¯t your head hurt from storing all this useless information? Second, I don¡¯t care about ¡®clean.¡¯ And third¡­¡± She trailed off, lips parting as her gaze lingered on the outstretched wrist.

    The silence between them stretched, the faint pulse of the stranger¡¯s veins a maddening drumbeat in Delilah¡¯s heightened senses.

    ¡°You really are stupid,¡± she muttered, crossing her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t need help from a mortal.¡±

    They didn¡¯t move, their hand steady. ¡°You¡¯re a vampire, right? And vampires need blood.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Delilah snapped. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I need it from you.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± they pressed. ¡°I¡¯m offering. Free of charge.¡±

    Delilah¡¯s lip curled into a sneer. ¡°You think this is a game? You don¡¯t save a vampire. You stay out of their way.¡±

    The stranger chuckled softly. ¡°You talk like no one¡¯s ever tried to help you before.¡±

    Delilah flinched at the comment, her green eyes narrowing. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°Just what I said,¡± they replied with a shrug. ¡°You¡¯re not used to people caring. But here¡¯s the thing¡ªI do. So either drink, or we can stand here all night while you keep glaring at me.¡±

    Delilah¡¯s fangs pricked her lip, her hunger undeniable now. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re inviting, mortal. What if I can¡¯t stop? What if I drain you dry?¡±

    ¡°I trust you,¡± they said simply.

    Delilah barked a bitter laugh. ¡°Trust me? You don¡¯t even know me.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± they admitted, their glowing eyes steady. ¡°But if you wanted to kill me, you already would¡¯ve.¡±

    The audacity of the statement left Delilah momentarily stunned. She exhaled slowly, stepping closer. ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± they replied with a small smile. ¡°But you¡¯re starving. So go ahead.¡±

    With a reluctant growl, Delilah seized their wrist, her grip firm but controlled. ¡°If you regret this, it¡¯s your own fault,¡± she hissed before sinking her fangs into their flesh.

    Warm blood flowed over her tongue¡ªand she froze. It didn¡¯t just satisfy her hunger; it fizzed, bright and electric, sparking along her nerves like a live current. Her glowing green eyes snapped open as recognition flooded her. This taste¡ªit wasn¡¯t ordinary. It was rare, potent, and unmistakable. She¡¯d encountered it only once before, long ago, in the veins of someone with extraordinary potential.

    Her grip on the stranger¡¯s wrist tightened involuntarily. ¡°What did you say your name was?¡± she murmured, her voice sharp and low.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Delilah pressed, retracting her fangs and licking the wound clean.

    The stranger met her gaze, their knees wobbling but their defiance intact. ¡°Lynn.¡±

    Delilah¡¯s mind raced, searching her memory for any past encounters. Nothing surfaced. But the truth was undeniable¡ªLynn¡¯s blood was charged with a magic so rare it bordered on legend.

    ¡°Your blood¡ªit¡¯s special,¡± Delilah said, her voice tinged with suspicion. ¡°Where did you come from? Who taught you magic?¡±

    Lynn blinked, startled. ¡°Magic? I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me,¡± Delilah snapped. ¡°Blood like yours doesn¡¯t exist naturally. You¡¯re either incredibly dangerous or incredibly clueless.¡±

    Lynn swayed, their confusion evident. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± they said softly. ¡°But if I¡¯m dangerous, why didn¡¯t you stop?¡±

    Delilah hesitated, her expression hardening. ¡°Because you taste like power. And power like yours doesn¡¯t go unnoticed.¡±

    Lynn swallowed. ¡°So¡­ what happens now?¡±

    Delilah smirked, though unease flickered in her eyes. ¡°Now? You figure out what you are before someone less patient finds you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to help me?¡±

    Delilah chuckled darkly, undoing her braid to let pink waves fall over her shoulders. ¡°Telling you was help enough. I don¡¯t owe you anything, mortal.¡±

    She turned away, arranging a makeshift bed on the cold stone floor. Without looking back, she muttered, ¡°I¡¯m staying here tonight. Gone by morning. Don¡¯t try anything stupid.¡±

    Her voice dropped, carrying a lethal edge. ¡°Because if you do, I will kill you.¡±

    <hr>

    The room was suffocatingly quiet as Delilah leaned back against the cold stone wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her glowing green eyes remained fixed on Lynn as the mortal fussed over the fresh bite marks on her wrist. Despite the faint scent of blood lingering in the air, Delilah¡¯s hunger had been sated¡ªthough the taste of Lynn¡¯s blood still lingered on her tongue, an electric current she couldn¡¯t ignore.

    Lynn¡¯s voice broke the silence. ¡°Did you know someone like me before?¡±

    Delilah stiffened but didn¡¯t respond immediately. She turned her gaze away, feigning disinterest, but her jaw tightened. ¡°Go to sleep, mortal. Your questions are pointless.¡±

    Lynn didn¡¯t back down. ¡°No. You said my blood doesn¡¯t exist naturally. That others would want it. That it¡¯s dangerous. So why not tell me what I¡¯m up against?¡±

    A low growl escaped Delilah¡¯s throat as she sat up sharply, her piercing eyes snapping to Lynn¡¯s. ¡°You really don¡¯t know when to stop talking, do you?¡± she hissed, her fangs gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

    Lynn flinched but stood her ground, her expression determined. ¡°If I don¡¯t know what¡¯s out there, how am I supposed to survive?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± Delilah shot back coldly, leaning forward. ¡°Not without someone to protect you.¡±

    ¡°Then help me,¡± Lynn countered, her voice firm. ¡°You¡¯re the only one who¡¯s noticed whatever this is. If someone¡¯s going to hunt me, I¡¯d rather have you around than someone worse.¡±

    Delilah narrowed her eyes, studying the mortal with a mixture of irritation and grudging admiration. The audacity of this girl was maddening. Most humans would¡¯ve begged for their lives by now or run screaming, but Lynn remained steady, staring at her with a calm resolve that bordered on reckless.

    ¡°You think I¡¯m better than whatever¡¯s out there?¡± Delilah asked, her tone sharp. ¡°You don¡¯t know a damn thing about me.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not,¡± Lynn admitted with a shrug. ¡°But you didn¡¯t kill me. You could have. That means something.¡±

    Delilah leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. She hated how those words struck a chord deep within her, somewhere she thought she¡¯d buried centuries ago. ¡°It means I was feeling generous. Don¡¯t mistake that for kindness.¡±

    ¡°Call it whatever you want,¡± Lynn said evenly, ¡°but you didn¡¯t walk away, either.¡±

    Delilah laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked its usual venom. ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake,¡± she said after a pause. ¡°Sticking with me won¡¯t keep you safe. It¡¯ll make things worse.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Lynn said, her gaze unwavering. ¡°But at least I¡¯ll know who to trust.¡±

    Delilah stared at her, caught off guard by the simplicity of the statement. It wasn¡¯t trust that kept mortals alive¡ªit was fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of power, fear of predators like her. Trust was a luxury that always ended in ruin.

    ¡°You¡¯re hopeless,¡± she muttered, standing abruptly. ¡°Fine. Do what you want. But don¡¯t expect me to hold your hand.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Lynn said softly, her lips curving into a faint, almost triumphant smile.

    ¡°Good.¡± Delilah turned her back on Lynn, settling into her makeshift bed in the corner. Her movements were precise and deliberate, but her thoughts were anything but. Lynn¡¯s words clung to her mind like cobwebs, and no amount of disdain could shake them off.

    For a while, silence reigned, broken only by the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the shadows. Delilah lay still, her pink hair spilling over the thin blanket she¡¯d pulled around herself. Her glowing eyes remained open, fixed on the darkened ceiling as her thoughts raced.

    Lynn¡¯s blood. The spark of raw energy it had left on her tongue. The way it had burned through her like a flicker of forgotten sunlight. It wasn¡¯t just rare¡ªit was dangerous. Power like that didn¡¯t appear without reason, and it certainly didn¡¯t go unnoticed. She¡¯d tasted something similar before, long ago, in someone who had tried¡ªand failed¡ªto harness it.

    They hadn¡¯t survived.

    Delilah clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wasn¡¯t a savior. She didn¡¯t owe Lynn anything. The mortal¡¯s fate wasn¡¯t her problem.

    And yet, when she closed her eyes, all she could see was Lynn standing there, unwavering, even when her life was at stake. That stubborn defiance. That foolish trust. It grated against every instinct Delilah had honed over centuries of survival.

    She scoffed softly under her breath, shaking her head. ¡°Fool,¡± she muttered, though whether the word was meant for Lynn¡ªor herself¡ªshe couldn¡¯t quite tell.

    Across the room, Lynn sat with her back against the wall, her wrist still cradled close. Despite her exhaustion, her thoughts mirrored Delilah¡¯s, racing with questions about what she might be¡ªand why the vampire seemed just as uncertain as she was.

    For now, the two of them shared the same unease, the same questions, and the same quiet, moonlit room. But Delilah knew one thing for certain.

    By morning, everything would change.