Arét's POV
I was white as a ghost.
Still frozen, eyes locked on the portrait. My brain was trying to convince me I was overreacting. Then I heard a voice behind me.
I screamed, spinning around so fast I nearly tripped over myself.
An elderly woman stood there. Her wrinkled face was kind, her hunched posture gentle.
"Did I scare you, dear?" she asked softly, reaching out to touch my arm.
I stumbled back, hands fumbling for anything I could grab, my fingers wrapped around a fireplace spear and I pointed it at her.
"Stay the fuck away from me! You bloodsucking vampires! Are you like him too? Are you?!"
Her eyes widened for a second, then she let out a raspy chuckle, amused. "I'm human, dear. Just like you. I don't want to hurt you. Put the spear down."
She didn't look like the others, no ghostly skin, no deep black eyes, no towering height. Just a fragile wrinkly old lady.
Human.
I dropped the spear with a clatter and rushed toward her, gripping her shoulders. "Thank God! Thank God you're human! You have to help me get out of here. They're monsters. Actual monsters! The tall one... Dante or whatever the fuck he calls himself, he was drinking blood! Blood!"
I was shaking, rambling, hysterical. But she just smiled. That same weird, gentle smile.
Why the hell was she smiling?
Was she brainwashed too?
I tightened my grip, ready to shake her out of whatever spell she was under, when a man stepped forward and pried my hands off her.
He looked to be in his 40s. Ageless, pale... just like the others.
"Are you okay, babe? Is she hurting you?" he murmured, brushing her graying hair behind her ear.
She smiled up at him with a tenderness that made my skin crawl. "I'm fine, babe. I'll talk to her a little, alright?"
She kissed his lips softly.
And I just stood there, blinking.
What in the sugar mommy Twilight shit was this?
She looked like she was pushing eighty. He looked forty, max.
I was already questioning reality, but this? This just broke it.
"Come with me," she said kindly, reaching for my hand again.
This time, I didn't flinch. I just let her pull a breathless me away.
"Dorian and I have been together for 55 years in this life. He's always been the sweetest," she beamed as we walked out of the castle, her fingers lightly wrapped around my wrist like she didn't want me to run off.
"How old is he?" I asked cautiously, eyeing her wrinkled hands.
"Seven hundred and fifty-eight," she said without a flinch. "He's Dante's uncle. I met him in my first life. I didn't want to turn vampire, so they did the ritual with my body so I could be reborn. I came back with a mark so he could find me easily... and when he did, it was bliss. We're soulmates. I don't believe the myths about vampires not having souls."
She said it like she was telling me her favorite love story. Like this was normal. Like she wasn't completely out of her mind.
By the time she finished her little speech of madness, we'd reached a smaller house tucked away from the castle. It looked too cozy for a place crawling with monsters.
Inside, she settled into a floral couch and I placed my hand gently on her shoulder.
"I think you might be crazy," I said quietly, pity in my voice.
She only chuckled, her old bones shifting as she crossed one leg over the other. "I believed I was too, when I first met Dorian. I was convinced. But there was something he ignited in me, something ancient and... comforting. Since then, I've been the happiest I've ever been."
I stared at her like she had grown another head. "Lady, they drink blood."
"We also drink wine," she shrugged.
"Wine doesn't come from someone's Vein!"
Another giggle. A fucking giggle.
"The truth is, vampires move a lot in the real world among us... and we still don't know," she said, her voice turning wistful.
My hands curled into fists. "Vampires don't exist. This is a cult. You've all been brainwashed into this weird-ass fantasy."
Still smiling, she stood and picked up a small box on the table. "Dante told me he brought you here. I didn't approve of his methods, but after talking to you... I see why. You're feisty. You remind me of myself."
She looked sadly at the box. "He asked me to give you the speech."
I laughed bitterly, pacing. "Of course he did. Piece of cowardly, crazy, bloodsucking shit!"
"I'm glad Dante found love," she said softly, her fingers wrapping gently around mine. "He fucks around a lot, and even though he's older than me in vampire years, I still see him as my boy. But trust me, Dante might look ruthless and mean, but he genuinely is sweet."
Her voice trembled slightly, and I noticed the shimmer of proud motherly unshed tears in her eyes.
I stared at her like she'd just told me the sky was green and gravity was optional.
At this point, I was ready to lie down and just die.
"There's no escaping," she continued, her tone now low and firm. "You can't find your way out on foot unless you're in a car. Trust me. And I'd ask you not to fight this, let yourself be loved by Dante, and you'll be glad you did."
It sounded like a soap commercial. I shook my head and stood.
"Ma'am, respectfully, you need help," I said, brushing her hand off. "I'm going to find my way out of here. I'm not about to let a bloodsucking fucker turn me into his house pet."
I stalked to the door and threw it open, but her voice made me stop dead in my tracks.
"You've been here before."
I froze.
"In your past life," she added slowly. "Dante killed you. He might kill you again if you try to leave."
I turned my head slightly, but I couldn't move any further.
"You're pregnant. If you won't stay for yourself," she said, her voice cracking, "do it for the baby. Please. I'm barren. You don't even have to raise it. I will."
A sick, heavy silence pressed into the room.
I swallowed. "What are you talking about?" I whispered.
She walked over with the box in her hand and pulled it open.
From it, she pulled photographs. Faded photos, edges curled with time. She placed them in my hands carefully.
My breath caught.
It was me.
My face. My eyes. My hair, just a bit shorter. The clothes were clearly from the 1970s, and I looked about twenty-three.
Just like I was now.
I looked up at her slowly, my hands shaking.
"This has to be some kind of joke," I croaked.
But she didn't laugh.
She just said, "History always repeats itself… unless you rewrite it."
"Dante killed you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He brought your body home on his shoulders… crying. He said he killed you."
My stomach twisted.
"He never explained why," she went on. "But they performed the ritual on you… so you could return. On your neck, there's a mark. A tiny star. You cannot let Dante know I told you this."
I slapped my hand to my neck instinctively.
It was there.
A small, barely visible star-shaped birthmark, one I'd always brushed off as nothing. But how the hell did she know it was there?
I looked up at her, my mouth agape.
I stumbled out of the house with wobbly legs. My throat was tight, and I couldn't breathe.
I had to get away from here.