Page 42 of Bloodstained

“You make it sound easy.”

“With you, it is. We’ll make it so.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head, though warmth spread through me. He meant it. For all his darkness, Ivan wanted me to have light. He wanted me to have and experience normal things, and he wanted to be there with me through it all.

When the plates were cleared, we lingered, talking about the world. I told him about my favorite exhibitions I’d seen and about art I still longed to see in person. He listened with quiet intensity. He told me places he had seen when he was young, places that were all but ruins now.

Later, he drove us home through the darkened streets and the towering forests. I let the hum of the engine, his big, warm hand enclosing mine, and the steady presence of the love of my life beside me fill me with a peace I had never known.

There were things I had to adjust to. He’d always have a hunger that would never fade. The sun would keep us apart by day, and the shadows would always cling to him like a second skin. But none of it mattered in the end.

This was our life.

I wasn’t between two worlds. I was living the only one I was ever meant to have.

EPILOGUE

IVAN

The years slipped by, but the only thing that never changed was how fiercely I loved Clara.

Her laughter filled the castle, softening corners that hadn’t known warmth in centuries. She scattered her life everywhere—art books piled on tables, shoes by the hearth or tumbled carelessly by the door. And I cherished every trace she left behind.

Sometimes, I closed my eyes just to breathe her in, wanting her scent to saturate the air.

Our life wasn’t ordinary and never simple, but it was ours. And it was perfect.

Her parents visited when they could, staying longer with every trip, even speaking of moving nearby. When her grandmother passed, grief tore at Clara. She laid herbunito rest in the village of her childhood, and we returned each month to honor her memory, weaving stories of the life we were building together.

Clara poured herself into the manor. Under her hand, gardens bloomed again, forgotten rooms stirred with light and art, and the house became not just a fortress but a home.

The world outside kept changing. Darkness stayed inside me as it always had, and feral hunger, bloodlust, and immortality threaded through my veins.

Yet with Clara beside me, even that darkness felt gentled.

Children came up only in wistful smiles and quiet “what ifs.” We didn’t know whether it was possible. But if Clara dreamed of little ones, I would move the heavens to give them to her. I would make sure she always had what she wanted.

When the nights were warm, we sprawled on a blanket in the gardens, her head on my chest as she read aloud or simply stared at the stars and moon.

In the colder months, we curled beside the fire, sometimes with her books, sometimes with my old, macabre war stories. She listened as though they fascinated her.

There were nights when we spoke of the past, of the life we’d once shared before this one. And there were other nights when words weren’t needed, when I worshipped her with my mouth, fangs, and body, then lay awake memorizing every line of her face while she slept.

Nevertheless, time marched on. The seasons turned. The world aged. But inside, Clara kept me anchored in something that felt timeless.

Still, on the quietest nights, thoughts of the inevitable crept in. The vision of her final breath warming my lips, her hand slipping from mine… it was a torment I couldn’t escape.

Yet, I no longer feared the end. I had been given the rarest of gifts… to love her until her last breath and then to follow. Not into darkness. Not submitting to a curse. But finally allowing myself peace.

So I lived in the moment with her. I dreamed of marrying her again before friends and family, to speak vows I had carried across centuries.

One night, after I had worshipped her like the goddess she was, we lay before the hearth, the fire painting her skin in liquid gold. I traced the bridge of her nose, the curve of her lips, and knew this was the closest I would ever come to heaven and salvation.

Clara gave everything meaning.

Our story was never meant to last forever. I had always known that. But for as long as she lived, I would make her years the happiest she’d ever known. Because she was mine. And when it stopped, I would follow.

This wasn’t a romantic tragedy. It wasn’t a curse.

It was a romance that followed the natural flow of life.

It was our love story.

The End.