The Vaelthorne Manor had fallen silent.
Days had passed since Alaric returned from the brink of death. Seraphine thought his recovery would bring peace, perhaps clarity, but instead, a new shadow hung over him—one that she could not name but felt deeply. Since the second day of his return, he had locked himself in his chambers, refusing food, refusing visitors. Refusing her.
She knocked gently once again, her knuckles trembling against the cold oak of his chamber door.
"Alaric... please, eat something," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The tray in her hand had long gone cold, but she hoped the gesture might stir something. Anything.
"Leave it at the door," came the muffled voice from within—gravelly, restrained, and entirely unlike him.
Seraphine bit her lip, holding back the tears threatening to fall. Each day, he seemed to fade more and more, not just in body but in spirit. His once piercing eyes no longer met hers. His gentle glances were now distant. The warmth he allowed himself to show her—the rare smiles, the touches—had disappeared into a void of silence and locked doors.
She stood outside for several minutes before placing the tray down and walking away, feeling more helpless than ever.
---
Inside, Alaric paced the dark room, drenched in cold sweat. His skin was pale, even for him, and his breathing shallow. Images—flashes of an unknown past—clawed through his mind like phantom daggers.
A battlefield under twin moons.
A woman with hair like golden threads and eyes of ancient sorrow.
Blood. So much blood.
His hands shook as he splashed water onto his face, trying to hold onto the present. But it was slipping. Time had become blurry, moments bleeding into each other. His skin ached, burned, yearned. A new thirst clawed at his soul, and no wine nor soup could quell it.
He stumbled toward the window and opened it, letting the cold night air hit him like a wall. The scent of the earth below—the roses, the pine, the distant river—did nothing to ease the roaring hunger.
He reached for his communication stone, a crystal artifact only a few Vaelthornes owned.
"Caveen…" he rasped.
Within moments, the glowing rune pulsed to life, and the familiar voice answered.
"Alaric?" Caveen's tone was sharp with concern. "What's happening? You sound—"
"I need answers," Alaric whispered, gripping the sill to stay upright. "There are memories. I—I see things. I feel… something inside me is awakening. I can't stop it. I—Caveen, I—"
Caveen went quiet before finishing the sentence for him. "You're awakening. It's begun."
Alaric's body tensed. "No. I'm not… like that."
"You are," Caveen replied calmly. "You're one of us, Alaric. You always have been. The Vellaria line was cursed and blessed with dormant vampiric blood from your grandfather's union. You've just been lucky it didn't stir until now."
"I don't want it!" Alaric growled, knuckles whitening.
"You need blood," Caveen stated firmly. "Fresh. Human. If not, it will consume you. You'll die. Or worse."
"I would rather die," Alaric spat bitterly.
There was a long pause before Caveen shouted, "Damn it, Alaric! Don't be stupid! Hold on—I'm coming."
What neither realized was that outside, just beyond the door, Seraphine had heard everything. Her breath caught in her throat, heart pounding. Her mind reeled. Vampiric blood? Awakening?
So this was what had been consuming him.
Without another word, she raced through the manor. She climbed the ivy-covered trellis leading to Alaric's terrace, her gown snagging on a thorn but she didn't care. She would not let him suffer alone. Not like this.
---
He sat curled at the edge of the room when she entered, staring at nothing, lost. His shirt was soaked with sweat, hair disheveled, and his lips parched.
He barely turned when she came in.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmured hoarsely, eyes gleaming unnaturally blue. "I'm not myself."
"I don't care," she said, stepping closer.
His hand trembled as he gestured for her to leave. "I can't control it. You need to leave, Seraphine. I could hurt you. I don't want to."
She stood firm. "You won't."
Alaric turned to her with anguish in his eyes. "Please. Don't tempt fate."
Without another word, she knelt before him and placed her hands on his face. He flinched under her touch, but didn't pull away.
"You would never hurt me," she whispered, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss on his lips—a kiss that was both grounding and heartbreaking. "Feed on me. If that's what you need to live… then take it. I'm yours."
"No," he breathed. "Seraphine, I—"
But before he could finish, she took a sharp breath and cut her wrist with the jeweled hairpin she wore. The blood welled instantly, fresh and glistening. She pressed it to his lips before he could protest.
The scent hit him like wildfire.
His body seized, instinct overwhelming reason. His fangs descended. Alaric clutched her arm, his mind gone, and drank.
It was ecstasy and agony.
Seraphine gasped but didn't pull back. Her eyes fluttered, her skin paling. "It's alright…" she whispered weakly, "just a little more…"
But Alaric couldn't stop. The taste of her blood—it wasn't just human. It was ancient, powerful. A storm of memories returned with every drop. Her touch, her warmth, her scent—it all wove into the deepest recesses of his being.
And he kept drinking.
Until the door flew open and Caveen stormed in.
"ALARIC!" he bellowed.
The force of the sound snapped Alaric from his trance. His mouth was still at Seraphine's wrist. Her body limp.
"No—no, no, no—" Alaric recoiled, cradling her as panic surged through him. Her breathing was faint.
"You fool!" Caveen snarled, rushing to check her pulse. "If I'd come seconds later—she'd be dead!"
Alaric held her tighter, blood staining his lips. "I didn't mean to—I couldn't stop—"
Caveen pulled Seraphine gently from Alaric's arms. "She gave herself to you. You should've known better!"
"I tried… I tried to push her away…"
"Then why didn't you?" Caveen snapped. "You love her, don't you? Then protect her from yourself!"
Alaric fell silent, staring at his hands stained with her blood. His throat burned, not from hunger anymore—but guilt.
Seraphine stirred faintly. "A…lari…c…"
Her voice was faint as a whisper in the wind, but it shattered him.
Caveen looked at Alaric grimly. "We need to get her to the infirmary. Now."
---
Later that night, Alaric sat beside her bed in silence, watching her chest rise and fall. She had lost much blood but would live.
Her selflessness had nearly cost her life.
And him?
He had tasted something more dangerous than her blood—he had tasted love, and it terrified him more than the awakening ever could.
Alaric bowed his head, gripping her hand gently.
"I'll never let you suffer for me again."
Behind him, Caveen stood in the doorway.
"You're one of us now," Caveen said quietly. "But more than that… she's not just some noble girl, Alaric. You've seen it too. Her blood—it wasn't just human."
Alaric's expression hardened. "I know."
"She's special."
Alaric nodded slowly. "And I'll protect her. With everything I am."