The night air clawed at her lungs as she ran. Her bare feet slapped against the frozen dirt road, every step jagged and every breath sharp enough to cut. She couldn't stop. If she stopped, he would find her.
Her heart thrashed wildly, far too fragile for this kind of flight, but still it kept her alive—beat, beat, beat, don't stop, don't stop.
The forest blurred past, skeletal branches reaching for her like the bars of a cage. She stumbled once, her knees scraping raw, but the terror drove her up again. The world through her vision tilted, turning dark around the edges, yet she clung to the thought that she had to keep moving.
He'll take me back. He'll lock me in again. I can't go back.
The cobbled streets of the province's capital were empty at this hour, only the pale moon spilled light on her bare feet as they slapped against stones. Behind her, in the shadows, she could still hear his voice.
You are mine. My Vessel.
No. Not anymore.
Her legs gave way as she rounded a corner, crashing to the ground. The taste of blood filled her mouth, metallic and bitter, but she pushed herself up again. She had to keep running. Just a little farther.
Lantern light caught her eyes, and for one heart-stopping second, she thought it was him—here to drag her back to the darkness she had barely escaped.
A procession stood at the edge of the square, carriages bearing the crest of another house and guards with polished steel glinting under torchlight. At their head was a tall figure, his presence undeniable even from the ground where she lay. He was pale as moonlight, red hair falling in waves to his shoulders, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark. A vampire noble.
The girl froze, body trembling so hard her bones ached. She had just fled from one monster—had she only thrown herself into the arms of another?
The man looked down at her, his expression carved from stone. "What is a child doing on the streets at this hour?" His voice carried across the square in a rich and dangerous tone, drawing the attention of his men.
She opened her mouth to speak but her throat burned until a whisper scraped free.
"M-my…My name is Vessel."
The noble's crimson eyes narrowed, a flicker of disdain—or perhaps anger—crossing his face. He crouched down, studying her face, the bruises mottling her thin arms and the wild terror in her eyes. His silence was heavy and unreadable.
"Please….don't leave me here." Her hands clutched at the hem of his cloak desperately, trembling. "Take me with you. I'll do anything. Just…don't let him find me again."
A murmur ran through the guards. One shifted uneasily. "Your Grace, this province belongs to Duke Roarke. If she is in his ward—"
"I don't care!" she cried, the sudden burst of her voice startling even herself. She pressed her forehead to the cold stone at his feet. "I'll be good, I swear. I won't cause you trouble. Please."
Dorian's crimson eyes lingered on her—studying not just the child, but the thread of will beneath her shaking frame.
He tilted his head, studying her. "Who is 'him'?"
Her throat worked, but no name came out. Her tiny fists clenched in the dirt.
"She's hiding something, Your Grace," the captain warned. "We should leave her."
Dorian crouched slightly, lowering himself to her level. His shadow fell over her, but his voice softened. "Girl. If you want me to believe you…give me a reason. Why should I not leave you here?"
Her eyes darted up to his—blue meeting red—and she found in them no mockery nor cruelty. Only measured calm.
Something inside her cracked as her voice trembled. "Because…if you leave me here, I'll die. Please…take me with you."
"Very well," he lifted her into his arms with surprising gentleness. She was feather-light, frighteningly so.
"You'll come with me for now." he said at last, turning toward his carriage. Her head rolled against his shoulder, exhaustion dragging her under. And as the dark claimed her, the tiniest seed of something dangerous stirred in her chest.
Hope.
The first thing she felt was the softness beneath her. Not the cold stone of the orphanage floor nor the damp straw of the Duke's dungeons but a bed—warm and soft.
Her eyes fluttered open to light seeping through embroidered curtains. For a moment, panic seized her. She jerked upright, but her body betrayed her; her limbs trembled like brittle twigs and her chest burning as though she had swallowed smoke.
"…malnourished, underweight, and signs of prolonged stress."
The voice was not unkind, but clinical in a matter-of-fact tone.
"She hasn't eaten properly in months, perhaps longer," the physician continued. "Survival, frankly, is a miracle. Though…" He hesitated, adjusting his spectacles. "There are strange readings in her pulse. I cannot explain them."
Another voice answered. Deep, steady, and sharper than the doctor's. "Strange how?"
Dorian.
The name hadn't formed in her mind yet, but the memory of him—the man from the road—did. His gaze, his calm, his refusal to strike her.
The physician cleared his throat. "It feels… unclean. Almost as though something lingers in her blood. Not sickness or poison. But unnatural."
The silence that followed pressed on her ears.
Then Dorian spoke again. "And her chances of recovery?"
"If she rests, eats, and is not agitated—she may yet thrive."
"She will recover," Dorian said, not as a hope, but a command.
The girl's lips parted. No one had ever spoken of her survival like that—not as if it were possible, but inevitable.
Her stomach growled, betraying her.
Both men turned. Dorian's cool and assessing eyes met hers as she lay tangled in sheets far too fine for her.
"Awake, are you?" His tone was unreadable, but his gaze lingered. He did not speak as one addressing a child.
The physician stepped forward. "You mustn't move—"
But she had already shrunk back against the pillows, her fists clutching the linen as though it might shield her.
Dorian dismissed the physician with a gesture. "Leave us."
The door closed and silence stretched across the room.
"You've slept for a week," he said. "You are in my estate now. No harm will come to you as long as you're under my roof." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You said your name is Vessel. Do you know? That's not a proper name but a label. So, who are you truly?"
Her lips trembled. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to beg him not to send her back. But the words that left her were the only truth she dared speak.
"I…don't know"