When we got back to the living quarters, Darien showed me around. He figured I knew the living room and kitchen by now, so we bypassed them. He then walked to the hallway with the four doors. The first door on the left, I recalled, was his studio. He pointed to the room next to it and said that was his bedroom. I am not going to lie, I was rather curious to see what his bedroom was like—not for any particular reason, just curiosity about how he decorated it. His studio wall was covered in such beautiful art, I had wondered if that was a trend throughout all the rooms.
I was surprised to hear that the room at the end of the hall was, in fact, not a bathroom but a gym. I was dumbfounded when he opened the door to reveal wooden floors lined with exercise mats. There was also a dummy that looked like it had taken its fair share of hits, some of which looked like claws. Then I noticed an abundance of weapons lining the wall.
When he saw me gawking, he folded his arms and said, "What?" Humour flickered in his eyes. I knew he was finding this hilarious.
"I have questions," I said, walking into the gym, though I slowed slightly as I crossed the threshold. The air felt different in here—heavier somehow. Or maybe it was just the weight settling in my stomach, a sense of foreboding. I ran my finger along the hilt of a dagger on display, not wanting to test the sharpness of the blade. It looked used. Not decorative.
I looked up and saw a huge array of what my mind could only think to call "pointy things." Knives, swords, things with curved edges and others with long handles—I didn't even know what half of them were called. Some looked old, almost antique. Others… not so much.
"A lot of questions," I sighed, more to myself this time.
I heard a chuckle from behind me. Darien hadn't moved from the door and was casually leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me take everything in like this was the most normal thing in the world.
My gaze drifted back to the centre of the room, landing on the dummy. Up close, it was worse. The surface was torn in places, stuffing slightly exposed, but what made my stomach twist were the marks—deep slashes, some jagged, some clean. And then there were the ones that didn't look like they came from a blade at all.
Claws.
I tore my eyes away a little too quickly.
"Were you expecting a sex dungeon, vixen?" he asked. I didn't turn around, but I could hear the grin in his voice.
"Just wondering why a musician would ever need to train with weapons," I said, stepping further into the room as if that would make it feel less… intense. I picked up one of the longer weapons—some sort of stick with a blade at the end—and immediately regretted it, setting it back a second later like it might bite me. "Competition must be fierce in the music industry," I added dryly.
"There are a lot worse things than me that go bump in the night, Elena."
Something in his tone shifted just slightly. Not enough to alarm—but enough to ground the words.
"This is something I will need to train you on."
I stilled.
Slowly, I turned to look at him.
Me. Fight.
He's got to be kidding.
As if he could read my mind, he gave a small, confirming nod.
"The first few months, we will need to hunt together. I cannot have you going out in the dark of night without knowing what's out there. There is also the unfortunate fact that you were murdered—for a reason. Until we know why, I am not letting you out of my sight."
I opened my mouth to argue, the words already forming, but they stalled before I could say them. Because… annoyingly, he had a point.
I didn't know how to hunt. I didn't know how to do anything, apart from revealing the stars on a cloudy night and having visions. I was, in fact, a newborn in vampire terms.
Fighting, however? I huffed out a quiet breath, glancing back at the wall of weapons. I was pretty basic in PE in school—average, even. Enough to make my PE teacher happy and get off my back. But to actually learn how to fight? With weapons?
This was going to suck.
Sensing my inner turmoil, Darien pushed himself off the doorframe slightly, his tone easing just a fraction.
"Listen, you already have skills—it's instinct. I can attest to that. So I wouldn't worry too much. We'll start at level one."
"How about level 0?" I half-joked, glancing back at him.
He rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement there, and I could tell he was looking forward to this far more than I was.
He held out his arm, gesturing towards the door, clearly signalling the end of the tour. I didn't need telling twice.
I gave the room one last look—the weapons, the dummy, the marks. What had I got myself into? One decision to walk out of my house had changed my life forever. I died fighting for my life, and now I had to continue fighting. The danger had never left. I turned and walked out, more than happy to leave it behind for now.
He closed the door and pointed to the third room on the right.
"That's just another spare room. Perhaps we can make it a studio for you if you want. It just has a couple of boxes and junk, but I can easily move them." He opened the door to prove his point and, yup, the room was small and had a couple of boxes with labels written in marker that said "records" and "music sheets." Funnily enough, there were also years written under them. The box labelled "records" had "1960 to 1970" on it. I gawked at the music sheets box. It had "1870 to 1899" written on it. I then remembered what he said.
"Studio? For me?" I questioned.
"Well, yes. If you are claimed by the Blood Witches—which I think you will be—they usually hone their visions through some kind of medium. You started off with sketches, right?"
I had forgotten about my sketchbook.
"Y-yes. It helped me calm the visions down." He nodded.
"As you know, there are many different mediums. Perhaps one day, you will want to experiment—paint, clay, even metalwork. Just let me know, and I can get things set up for you."
I felt hope and happiness surge through me. He was opening up his home for me, making space for me in a way I hadn't expected. He barely knew me, yet I felt like he got me.
I smiled, nodded, and replied, "Sure thing."
He closed the door, and we walked up to the fourth door, which was across from his studio.
"Here we have your room." He opened the door with a flourish. Did I detect a bit of pride in his voice?
I walked into the room and felt an immediate sense of familiarity and comfort. It was set up like my room—the bed on the left, a desk beside it, the window on the right. It even had a wardrobe. The only difference was a door next to the desk.
"It has its own en-suite bathroom. There's a shower. I am sorry the room didn't come with a bathtub, but give me some time and I could look into getting one installed."
My eyes widened.
"Darien, woah. You don't have to do that for me. Honestly, I was expecting to just sleep on the couch. I didn't expect my own bedroom."
I stepped further into the room, my gaze drifting to the walls. They were lilac, similar to my room at home, but freshly painted. And on top of that, whoever had done the gothic art nouveau style in his room had done something similar here—but this time it was a large lotus flower, black smoky swirls curling around it.
It was like my poster.
I stilled.
The familiarity shifted into something else.
I started to understand it.
He had been in my room. In my house.
I turned to look at him, my feelings a mess. He had been in my house. He had been in my room. He had seen how I lived—how I was—and recreated it here. To make me feel comfortable?
I thought back to when I had told him about my lotus poster—how it was my favourite thing to look at. He already knew about it. He had recreated it for me. He looked proud of himself, like he had done something good.
And yet…
All I could bring myself to say, in a far more accusatory tone than I intended, was:
"You were in my house?"
His expression faltered. I don't think he had been expecting that reaction. But he didn't look away. He didn't lie.
"Yes."
"Why?" I could feel the emotion building in my chest, making my voice tremble despite myself.
"I had to make your parents believe you had left of your own accord," he said. "So I packed a bag—clothes, a few personal things. Pictures. Toiletries."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"I took your laptop as well. I'm sorry—I had to access it. I used your phone to help. Face recognition." He gave a small shrug, like it was the most practical solution.
"I sent them an email. Said you needed to leave, that you wanted a fresh start, and didn't think they would understand."
His gaze held mine, steady.
"You're twenty-one. In most cases, that's enough for it not to be treated as anything more than a voluntary disappearance. It buys time."
"Time for what? You told me I could never see them again!" I cried, anger rising before I could stop it.
My hand flew to my mouth in shock. This wasn't like me at all.
Darien stepped forward, seemingly unaffected by my outburst.
"I did say that," he replied calmly. "And that statement is still correct. We have rules about humans knowing we exist."
He paused, his gaze steady on mine.
"Truth be told, I should have made it so they believed you were dead."
I blanched.
His expression shifted then—subtly softer.
"Instead, I considered making it look like you were missing," he continued. "But I heard your parents talking about you. They love you."
His voice lowered slightly.
"I couldn't leave them with that. The posters. The police. The constant what ifs."
He let that sit for a moment before adding more quietly,
"This way… they believe you made a choice. That you're alive. That you're somewhere out there."
A brief pause.
"And sometimes… that's enough."
He tilted his head slightly, almost thoughtful.
"It also means there are… limited ways to reach out. Carefully."
I put my hand to my chest and sat down on the bed. Though my heart had stopped beating, when I was turned, it came back fully functional—and now it was racing in my chest.
My parents knew I was alive. Alive and… okay-ish. They were heartbroken, but they would never think I was dead.
My thoughts turned to them. My mama—short, yet powerful in personality. My dad—tall and quiet, but always with a hint of a smile on his face.
Then it hit me.
Darien had said I was twenty-one.
I thought back over the days.
My birthday had been yesterday.
I had missed it.
I clutched at my shirt as the emotion tore through me. Tears spilled down my face as I thought about the chocolate and vanilla swirl cake my mama made for me every year. My dad would always buy me the most thoughtful, awkward gifts—ones that meant more than I ever realised at the time.
A small cry escaped me as I stood and walked over to the window.
"Elena?" Darien asked, concern threading through his voice.
I shook my head and stared out into the night. The streets below were washed in that dark golden light, empty at this hour.
Iah and Val would have gotten me something too—something small, but always perfect. Things I kept, always.
I felt Darien's presence beside me. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just stood there, close enough to reach, waiting.
I guess I chose to talk.
"You know… when I was in the voi—I mean, veil, I could hear my parents talking to the police. They didn't believe I would just run away. My mama… she's strong. She would search the ends of the earth to find me."
I let out a soft, broken laugh, wiping at my face as more tears slipped free.
"My friends said it didn't make sense. That I was too careful to do something like that."
I swallowed, my voice quieter now.
"It was my birthday yesterday."
A pause.
"I'm guessing you already knew that."
"Yes," he replied.
I felt his arm brush lightly against mine, like he was asking a question without words.
I turned and stepped into him, wrapping my arms around him as the sob finally broke free. My face pressed into the fabric of his black sweater. For a moment, he didn't move.
Then his arms came around me, slow but sure, pulling me closer. His chin rested gently against the top of my head as I leaned into him.
"Happy birthday," he murmured.
I sniffed, burying my face further into his shoulder.
Missing my birthday felt like missing my human self.
Would I even have birthdays now?
I realised our hug was turning into a cuddle and broke away.
"I'm sorry," I said, looking back out the window.
"For what? Having a moment to let everything out? Elena, you were murdered and then turned into a vampire. Your whole life was flipped upside down. I was honestly expecting more of a breakdown."
I smiled slightly.
"Thank you for everything. I'm sorry I got upset earlier about you going into my house. I guess I just wasn't expecting that."
"You and me both. I did learn a bit about you though." He smiled wickedly.
"Oh really?" I wiped a tear away and smiled. "Have you suddenly realised that I'm extremely crazy and therefore you should run a mile?" I joked.
"Oh well, sure. Aren't we all, Eleanore Marie Jackson?"
I pretended to gasp.
"How dare you call me by my full name!" I pushed his shoulder in mock annoyance. He chuckled.
"Especially since I don't know your full name to tease you the same!" I now pointed my finger at his chest. He leaned forward, bowing his head to my level.
"That, you will never have the privilege of knowing, Eleanore." He then stood back and bowed in a gentlemanly way.
The way he said my name caught me off guard. His accent shifted slightly, the first syllable softer—more eh than ee.
Eh-lean-nore.
I had never heard it like that before.
"Until then, Darien Varcolac, your servant, madam."
I curtsied back and waved my hand like a fan.
"Why aren't you the gentleman?" I said in probably my worst Southern belle accent.
He grabbed my hand suddenly and looked at me seriously.
"I mean it, Elena. You are now my responsibility. My home is now your home. Anything you need, you just let me know."
He then kissed the top of my hand, and I trembled. He let go, but I could still feel the touch of his lips, and it took every ounce of strength not to rub the spot.
"I think you should get some rest." He walked towards the door but turned back. "You have some of your clothes in the wardrobe. Forgive my taste, but I did like the grey nightgown you have." There was that wolfish grin again.
I felt my cheeks heat in embarrassment. Is this what it's like to have roommates who know every single thing about you? I scoffed at him.
"Maybe I'm comfortable with what I'm wearing now." I crossed my arms.
"Hmmm… yeah, I'm going to need that band T-shirt back and those sweatpants. If you're not offering them freely… I could always take them off by force."
His eyes flashed an excited purple as he closed the door behind him, not allowing me to argue back. He always knows how to get a rise out of me!
I turned back to my new room and looked around. I guess I'd better see what clothes that mischievous cad brought for me.
*******
As far as clothes were concerned, he brought the basics—enough to do me for a couple of days. I would need to figure out how I was going to earn money and pay for things. Heck, I would probably need to pay him rent. I'm sure owning a church isn't cheap! I grabbed the grey nightgown and tried not to smirk. I looked around the room for a bit, but I wanted to head straight for the bathroom. A girl just needs a hot shower to settle her nerves. I stopped by the desk and saw my sketchbook and white charcoal pencil sitting there neatly for me. A weird sensation ran through me. It almost felt like it was calling out to me. I know I stayed in the veil while I was transforming, but I didn't think anything there was worth sketching—except the clan symbols, which I had drawn on Darien's chalkboard. I chose to ignore it and headed into the bathroom.
It was a spacious yet modest bathroom, the kind you would build for a guest room. It had all the amenities: a walk-in shower, sink, and toilet. It looked pretty new and well cared for. There was dark grey wooden flooring and light grey tiles, and it even had one of those heated towel rails. Already, I felt like I'd hit the jackpot. The only time I'd ever had one of those was in a hotel. Towels were already hanging on it, and I could feel the cosy heat radiating from it. I was definitely giddy about this shower. It had been days, I realised. I started taking off the clothes Darien had lent me when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I stared in shock. Dried blood.
My blood.
I had tried not to think about the fact that Darien had to clean and dress me. Yet, from the dried bits of blood still in certain places, I realised that, out of respect for me, he hadn't been too thorough. Now, that's not to say he didn't get most of it. I was rather clean, considering. It just so happened that the intimate areas were not as clean. I smiled—then suddenly saw a green flash in the mirror and nearly yelped.
My eyes.
My eyes glowed.
I moved up to the mirror and felt like another person was staring back at me—someone almost familiar. My face was still the same shape, but my cheeks were slightly sharper. My eyes were the brightest green I had ever seen. My hair, once a soft copper, had deepened in colour and turned a fiery orange-red. It had also grown about six inches and gathered in soft waves. Despite its elegant look, my hair felt wild and untamed. I loved it. I was pleased to see that my freckles were still there and quite prominent. I opened my mouth and saw only normal teeth, but they were whiter than before. The canines were sharper, but I was sure that when I attacked Darien, they were longer. The memory of sinking my teeth into his delicious neck caused my canines to elongate and my eyes to glow bright green again. I backed away from the mirror.
Holy shit.
I stared as my eyes continued to glow. The green was bright and gave off a hint of warning. I looked like a cat in the dark when the light caught its eyes. I stepped forward again to the mirror, wanting to see them up close. I was intrigued. I looked ghostly, like something out of an old gothic painting. When I had calmed down, I noticed the glow start to ebb, my eyes returning to a shimmering peridot green. I concluded my eyes glowed with my emotions. Great. I was going to have to learn how to control that. I was already bad enough as an open book with my facial expressions. I didn't need my eyes pitching in!
I turned on the shower and watched as heaven poured from the showerhead like a waterfall. I immediately stepped under it and shivered as the heat hit my head and body. I watched the dried blood come alive beneath my feet and pour down the drain. It felt like I was washing away the horrors that had befallen me.
I grabbed the shampoo that was on the small shelf in the shower. Curious, I opened the cap and smelled lovely floral scents. I happily squirted a large amount into my palm and started to massage my hair. While working the suds, I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened. I was attacked, killed, and turned into a vampire. My life, as I knew it, was flipped upside down. I had entered the underworld that was hiding in plain sight. How does anyone cope with such a surreal change? I remembered that Bastian had a similar story to me, and he seemed fine. If by fine, you mean grumpy and sarcastic. I rinsed my hair and savoured the hot water streaming down my back. I would have to let Darien know that I didn't need a bathtub; this shower would do just fine. I had thought that so casually that I suddenly sobered.
I miss my parents. My friends. My old life. I know I complained about it, but it was mine to complain about. When I said I wanted to turn my life around, I didn't mean this.
I came out of the bathroom, dressed in my grey nightgown and a towel wrapped around my head. I could feel the heaviness on my eyelids. Sleep was calling and I wanted to answer, truly, but I still had to dry my hair. I was happy to see that a hair dryer was in the wardrobe, so I got to work. Once my hair was dry, I collapsed into the bed and wrapped myself in the duvet. Sleep came immediately, but I should have known that it wouldn't be peaceful.
I was in the veil, and I was not in the mood. I had hoped for a peaceful sleep, but I guess my visions had decided otherwise. I felt a sense of urgency in the veil. The fragments that peeked through the inky blackness shimmered with tension. I didn't like where this was going. I felt fur brush against my leg and saw the Wolf by my side. He looked up at me, and his eyes glowed purple, the same wariness I had seen before in my own eyes. Great, even he was anxious. Here I was, hoping to seek comfort from him. We walked through the darkness of the veil as black swirls of smoke twisted around my ankles. The Eye appeared on my other side like a guardian, and I nodded in greeting. It stared at me and then faced forward. It could see something in the distance.
As we got closer to the object, I could sense the stranger. They seemed to be everywhere, ducking in and out among the shadows. I would catch glimpses of them, but this was not the friendly one who had spoken to me previously. No, this one radiated violence. I put my hand on the Wolf's head, and he growled as the stranger ducked into the shadows again. I had felt this before, I realised—recently. I watched it carefully as it kept its distance. It filled me with so much anxiety that I clutched at my nightgown as we finally approached the object. My heart plummeted. Waves of grief hit me so hard that I collapsed to the floor.
It was the dead figure again. I cried out in agony. Then words—words that I had never said aloud—spilled from my mouth.
"Nooooooo, not her! My Child-of-the-Moon, please don't leave me!" The words of intense grief echoed around the veil. I stared down at the dead figure and gasped as bright grey eyes—dead eyes—stared up at me in horror. They were the eyes of a girl—a teenager, I think—but the rest of her was still blurred out. I could not distinguish any other features. I began crying. I felt so much guilt, as if I were the one who had killed her. I immediately stood up. I needed to get out of here. I backed away from the dead figure, her eyes still staring up at me, haunting me. The Wolf cried out in warning, and the Eye blinked in fear. I chose to ignore them. I couldn't do this. I couldn't keep seeing her and feeling this pain. I suddenly felt arms around me, and the stranger let out a low, sinister chuckle in my ear. "Only the beginning, Seer."
It was a male voice, and it carried a warning. I closed my eyes and relived the pain of my death as I felt him plunge his teeth into my neck.
I woke up with a gasp. Instinctively, I grabbed my neck where the shadow man had attacked me. I looked around my new room and immediately got out of bed. My vision was distorted by flashes of the images I couldn't escape. My pulse was wild and I had old and fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. Her eyes. They chilled me to the bone.
Child-of-the-Moon.
Who was she? I didn't know anyone by that name—or anyone with eyes that were that pure, ghastly grey. I grabbed my sketchbook and white charcoal pencil. I took one look around my room but didn't sit at the desk or move back into bed. Instead, I looked at the door. I quietly opened it and saw no sign of movement or lights to indicate that Darien was awake or even here. I tiptoed to my right, to the room next door. I turned the knob, eased the door gently open, and checked that there wasn't anyone in there. When I saw the coast was clear, I turned, glanced at Darien's bedroom door, and then quickly headed into what was going to be my studio.
The daylight was grey and filtered through the single window of the room. I guessed it was mid-morning, but I had no way of telling. I sat down against the wall, slightly obscured by the old boxes filled with Darien's artefacts. There were no decorations on the walls, no lampshade to cover the interrogation light in the middle of the ceiling. The carpet was new and dark grey. The fluffiness was rather comforting against my feet as I wiggled my toes through it. I paused again, listening to the silence, relieved by the possibility of not being disturbed. I opened my sketchbook and sketched everything I saw: the blurred body, the eyes so crystal-clear, and the name Child-of-the-Moon. I felt some tension release and exhaled. I still had one more thing to sketch. I wondered how I could possibly sketch the shadow man. Then I realised: I knew he was a man. My pencil felt like it moved across the page on its own. White lines across the black page brought the shadow man to life. I had drawn a male figure covered in shadows. Then I remembered what he said.
"Only the beginning, Seer."
I wrote down the phrase. It wasn't just a threat; it was a promise. I hadn't been attacked at random. I was a target. I didn't know why. There were plenty of vampires in the Blood Witch clan who had visions, so why did I stand out? I rested my head against the wall with the sketchbook open in my lap, the pull of the visions finally eased. I exhaled gently and closed my eyes. Before I knew it, the exhaustion took over, and I fell into a deep and undisturbed sleep.