"You're dead—to her, to everyone. So you might as well stay that way."
Elias's jaw clenched. His thoughts raced.
How?
The ritual had been successful. He followed every instruction down to the final breath.
It shouldn't be possible. That soul—the soul of that man—should be gone.
"Not my soul," the voice said coolly.
Catherine sat calmly on the edge of the bed, picked up a petal between her fingers, and smiled.
"Flowers? Really?" the voice scoffed. "You think petals will win her over?"
"You need to leave that body," Elias growled, stepping in front of her. "Now."
Catherine shrugged. "Killing me wasn't enough? Now you want to take my bride too?"
"She was never yours," Elias snapped. His gaze darkened, voice low. The ritual had been forbidden for a reason. And to remove a soul like this one... he'd need another ritual—one only a witch could perform.
"You're already plotting," the voice mocked. She tossed the petal aside and rose, walking slowly toward him. "But it won't work. I'll rule in this body, and I'll make sure she never remembers you."
A deep fury surged through Elias. His blood boiled.
In a blink, his hand flew to her throat, and he slammed her against the wall.
The voice inside her laughed.
"Go on," it taunted. "Kill her too. Like you killed me."
Elias's breath caught.
His hand trembled.
And slowly… he let go.
Catherine's lips curved faintly. The voice inside her spoke, cold and smooth.
"You must remember, this body only carries my soul. Her soul, her body... they still live. Hurt this body, and you'll hurt her."
Elias clenched his jaw. He began pacing, mind racing. "There has to be a ritual... something to temporarily put your soul to sleep—until I find a permanent solution."
"Aww," the voice cooed, amused. "You can't get rid of me, I'm afraid. When you killed me and performed that ritual, you forgot one thing—"
It tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"You never found a vessel for my soul. But fate was kind. I found the perfect one."
Elias stopped. His eyes narrowed. "I will get you out of her—before you corrupt her."
"How romantic," the voice mocked.
It crossed her arms and leaned lazily against the wall.
"Maybe send more flowers. She seemed to like them," it smirked.
Then its voice dropped—low, thunderous.
"I will not let her soul win."
Elias's breath stilled.
"You can fight for her all you want," the voice continued, its tone darkening, "but as long as I live inside her... I'll do everything I can to keep her from remembering you."
Suddenly, Catherine swayed.
But Elias was already there. His hands caught her waist before she could fall.
The moment she slumped into his arms, her face softened—her breathing evened out. The voice was gone.
He stared at her now-sleeping form, his brows drawn tight with worry.
With a sigh, he carried her gently to the bed and laid her down.
Then he just stood there… watching.
Silent.
His mind drifted back—to that night. To the ritual.
What went wrong?
•••••••••
Hours passed before Catherine stirred.
The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the moon, its silver glow spilling across her bed.
A dull ache throbbed in her head. She winced, pressing her fingers to her temple.
"Here," a voice said gently.
A mug appeared before her.
"Drink."
"Thank you," she whispered. She reached for the mug, brought it to her lips—but then paused.
She turned her head slowly.
Elias sat beside her.
"You..." Her voice faltered. "What happened?"
He didn't answer at first. Just smiled softly and guided the mug back toward her lips. "Drink."
She hesitated… then obeyed. The cool water slid down her throat, easing the tightness in her chest and the pounding in her skull.
Elias took the empty mug and set it on the side table. Then, his fingers gently wrapped around hers.
"You're fine now," he said.
She blinked at him. "What happened?"
The memories were fragmented, shadows in her mind—Elias standing behind her, the sensation of falling… then nothing.
"I don't remember much, but I fainted, didn't I?"
"You don't have to worry about any of it," Elias said softly, still holding her hand. "You're safe now."
She gasped, turning quickly to look around the room.
Petals were scattered across the floor. The candles had all gone out.
She hadn't done any of that.
"Did something happen?" Her brows drew together. "Is that why I fainted?"
Elias shook his head. Gently, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.
"Sleep now, honey. I'll stay here. I won't let any danger come near you."
She blinked at him, confused. "What about you? Won't you go home?"
You are my home.
The words hovered on his tongue, but he didn't say them.
Instead, he shook his head. "I'll leave after you've fallen asleep."
She nodded slowly and lay back against the pillows.
Elias stood and walked over to the window, where the moonlight poured in. He sat there, eyes on her.
She watched him too.
Even in the dark, he looked painfully beautiful. Those amber-auburn eyes. That snowy hair. The sculpted lines of his face.
But her gaze lingered—on his pale skin, on the lean frame of his body.
What did he feed on? Was it really blood?
She wanted to ask. But a yawn escaped her lips, and slowly, sleep pulled her under.
Elias stayed for another hour. When he was certain Catherine was stable, he leapt from the window and vanished into the night—teleporting into the town of Vesteria.
The streets were silent, empty. The cold night air clung to the cobblestones.
He walked toward the heart of a four-way crossroad.
Overhead, the old clocktower struck midnight. The chime echoed like a warning through the still air.
A shadow emerged.
One of his Ravagers stepped forward.
"Lady Lenore has made a move," Lucien reported, his voice steady.
He appeared no older than eighteen, but his youthful face was a lie. Lucien had walked the earth for over a hundred years—and led the Ravagers with deadly precision.
Elias's lips curved faintly.
Just as he'd expected.
"Good job, Lucien," he said, patting the Ravager's shoulder.
Lucien nodded, his chest swelling slightly with pride. Earning Elias's approval was rare, and though he didn't show it, the praise meant more to him than he let on.
Still, his expression didn't ease. He had come with darker news.
"Go," Elias said, waving him off. "Watch her. Find out exactly what Lenore is planning."
Even though Lenore's movements were finally revealing themselves—finally giving him the chance to protect Nharion—his mind remained clouded.
The soul inside Catherine. The risk.
He turned to leave, choosing one of the four shadowed roads.
"Find the witch Elena," Elias added without looking back.
Lucien bowed low. "Very well."
No questions asked. No one sought out the witch Elena, no one dared—but Lucien trusted his master's will.
Elias took a step forward, but Lucien's voice stopped him.
"There's trouble, Master."
Elias turned slowly.
Lucien's eyes were dark with worry.
And that meant only one thing—the news was grave.
"Speak."
Lucien inhaled. "The vampire hunters... they've returned."