Drusilla
Blood. I taste blood.
It lingers like smoke on my tongue.
And my body feels strange. As though it isn’t mine.
I keep my eyes closed, but the darkness is too much to bear. Everything is too much to bear. Too much sensation.
The rough press of linen against my skin, the cold bite of air, the dizzying pull in my veins like I’ve been unspooled and put back together all wrong. My heart thuds hard against my ribs—too hard, too human—and terror spikes through me.
I feel…fragile. Mortal. The word slices through me like a blade.
No. No, that can’t be.
I was changed. I remember fangs and shadows and freedom. I remember him.
Rapha.
Where is he?
I force my eyes open, bracing for the worst, and find only unfamiliar walls gilded by a faint light source and the soft whistle of a night breeze.
I’m alone. I’m afraid. Fear keeps me silent, trapping my breath as a dull ache blooms in my chest. The sensation is like the memory of pain. Of being stabbed in the heart.
My body jerks. My fingertips twitch as the phantom pain flickers through my ribs. A scream, raw and unfinished, lodges in my throat. A memory or a dream?
I’m not in immediate danger, but still the fear remains. Why?
The shadows press in around me, unfamiliar and too still. Am I in the home I so desperately wanted to share with Rapha? Where is he?
I move on the bed beneath me, which is far softer than anything I’ve ever lain on before, and sit up. I can hear things now, and my eyes are becoming accustomed to the faint glow of moonlight seeping through a window.
I walk toward it. The floor beneath my feet is cold and smooth, not stone, not earth—something artificial. I tread carefully, like prey sensing a predator. My hand slips on the transparent material covering the window. I brush it aside and look through the… glass? Yes, that’s the word for it.
Fresh fear grips me. What is that faint humming sound? And why am I thinking in odd words?
Lights flicker and blink at me from buildings.
More lights zoom past, illuminating the room.
I gasp as they reveal the luxurious bed linens, the orbs fixed to the ceiling, and the strange pictures hanging on the walls.
Words come easily as I scan the surrounding space: bed, chair, nightstand, closet.
Yet everything here is foreign—elegant, modern, and magical.
None of it makes sense. It feels like walking through someone else’s dream.
“What is going on?” I whisper to the universe, expecting to hear my own language. The words that leave my mouth are unfamiliar, yet I know them, just as I know the words for all the strange items around me.
They are…English?
What is that? It’s different from the words I knew.
The explanation comes to me as I hesitate in front of the gauzy fabric hanging from a rod over the window. I’m acquiring a new language. My old tongue was very different. Before I…died.
I blink, lost, as more comes to me. More language. More memories. I sink to the floor as the truth finally reveals itself. Those last days of love and splendor in Rapha’s arms, his beautiful gray eyes, his… bite.
He made me his lover, a vampire, but then my father… killed me.
The memory rushes in like a tide: my father’s face twisted in cold rage as he plunged the stake into my chest. The torment in Rapha’s eyes as he kneeled in my blood, holding me as I died.
My hand flutters to my chest, feeling the pain all over again, the betrayal, the devastation of those final moments with the man I loved
A sob starts, then becomes a wail of grief. Is this place heaven? Hell? I’m unsure, but I don’t care because tears flood my eyes and my breath lodges in my throat. I can’t see, I can’t breathe. Terror overwhelms me. I scream, but nobody is here to answer.
Where is my Rapha?
I move back to the bed. What is this place? Where am I?
“Rapha?” I call out, hoping he can explain all of this.
Is this another stage of being after death? Or has he used some kind of dark magic to transport me to a new world? Did he arrive in time to save me from my father, after all? Perhaps my memories of dying are false.
My mind races, and adrenaline courses through me in a flood that will not be contained.
“Rapha!” I call to him with my voice, mind, heart, and soul.
I collapse on the bed. I have no idea where I am, what this world is, or where Rapha is.
I tense as I hear the trickle of running water coming from behind a closed door.
I move toward it and push it open. A light flickers on overhead, revealing a white room with a trough of some kind.
A bathtub? Is that the right word? And a…
toilet? What could that possibly be for?
I stare at it, seeing water at the bottom, and realize that’s where the sound is coming from.
My gaze moves to the sink, which features two smooth silver taps.
Water rushes from one as I lift the lever.
I step back, surprised by the magic. What is this enchantment?
I depress the lever, and the water stops.
Why are there two? I lift the other one, and in seconds, steam emerges from the tap. It can’t be…
I dip my fingers in the stream of water, pulling them back quickly. This enchanted water is hot.
Lifting my gaze to the looking glass attached to the wall over the sink, I gaze at the face staring back at me. Familiar. But not.
My long, ebony hair falls in tangles around my shoulders. My deep brown eyes are wide with uncertainty. My skin still holds the warm olive tone I was born with. My full lips, high cheekbones, and rounded chin look the same.
But everything feels different.
I check my teeth, then my throat, searching for the echo of fang marks that should be there, of the power that briefly thrummed through my veins like a symphony. But now, there is no paranormal strength, no unnatural speed, no feral hunger.
Just a heartbeat, steady, human, and fragile, pounding in my ears.
My knees threaten to buckle, and I grip the edge of the sink to stay upright. I remember dying. I remember Rapha’s hands on my face, the taste of eternity, the way he made me his. I remember the freedom that came with that darkness.
But now…
Now I’m human again.
Mortal.
Terrified tears slide down my cheek, but this time, I dash them away angrily. I cannot afford fear. I survived Cassian. I survived death. I can survive this—whatever this is.
I take another steadying breath and stare into the mirror, into the dark depths of my eyes.
I will survive. I will find him.
Because somewhere out there, Rapha is waiting.
The Roman soldier and vampire I fell in love with would not abandon me.
But what if he takes too long? What if my father comes?
No sooner does the thought enter my mind than I hear the shuffle of feet in the bedchamber. Oh, Gods, he’s here! My father has found me again. He’s back to finish what he’d started, to make my nightmare a reality.
Panic seizes my spine, a cold lance of dread that buckles my knees. No, no, please, not again.
I scan the room with frantic eyes, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon. My gaze lands on a long-handled object leaning against a corner, white bristles flaring from its end. Not a sword or a dagger, but it will have to do.
I snatch it up, gripping the unfamiliar object like a spear. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat a frantic prayer.
The footsteps grow closer, slow and sure like a hunter.
I back against the wall, brandishing the odd stick, bristles aimed forward as though I could fend off an entire legion. The handle slips in my sweaty grip, and I choke back a sob.
Steady, Drusilla. Steady.
The door creaks open. A tall, dark shape fills the frame, horns crowning his head, eyes smoldering red like dying coals. The bristles of my stolen weapon tremble in front of me.
His voice is a low rumble, rolling through my bones like a storm.
“Drusilla.”
I freeze.
That voice.
He steps into the light, draped in black, familiar yet terrifying. He looks like my Rapha, but not.
My heart wrenches. “Rapha?”
He goes still, crimson eyes softening as a thousand emotions collide behind them. “It’s me.” His mouth twitches with the smile that never failed to seduce me. “Were you planning to beat me to death with a toilet brush, love?”
My makeshift weapon wobbles dangerously in my grasp. Heat flushes my cheeks as a raw, strangled sob breaks past my lips.
Of course. Of course, I’d greet my one true love with a brush used to clean a toilet.
“Drusilla,” he breathes again, softer this time.
My name on his lips is like a salve on an old wound. I want to run to him, to bury myself in his arms the way I once did.
But my body won’t move.
I can only stare, taking in the impossible sight of him.
Rapha. And yet…not.
He is taller somehow, broader, as if power is woven into his bones.
Black horns curve elegantly from his dark hair, catching the light like polished onyx.
His eyes, once a cool gray I could drown in, now burn an unholy crimson.
And his hands—Gods, those hands that worshiped me so tenderly—end in curved talons.
He is still Rapha.
But he is also something else.
My grip tightens on the ridiculous toilet brush, though the gesture feels foolish even to me.
“Look at you,” I whisper, my voice a wisp of smoke. “What…what have you done?”
His jaw clenches, and a flash of pain crosses his handsome features. “I did what I had to,” he says, the words weighted like chains. “To bring you back.”
I blink hard, swallowing a knot of emotion. “You…you did this for me?”
Rapha nods, stepping closer. His scent hits me, dark spice and earthy musk. It’s so achingly familiar that it almost buckles my knees.
“I made a deal with the devil,” he says roughly, his eyes searching my face like he’s starving for every tiny change. “I became the demon of greed, Drusilla. So I could bring you back.”
My heart twists, and a ragged sob climbs my throat. I lower the brush, which suddenly feels too heavy to hold. “You sold yourself for me.”
His crimson eyes burn, glistening with something that makes them almost human again. “There was never a choice,” he rasps. “It was always you.”
My resistance folds, and I throw myself at him, clinging to the strange, powerful shape of him. The horns, the talons, the heat rolling off his skin—I don’t care.
He wraps his demon-strong arms around me, crushing me to his chest, and for the first time since waking in this strange world, I feel safe.
“Rapha,” I breathe against his throat, the word breaking on a sob. “What have they done to us?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, burying his trembling lips in my hair. “I did what it took to get you back. To keep you.”
I close my eyes and let the scent of him anchor me.
He picks me up and carries me to the bedchamber, sitting on the edge of the bed with me in his lap. I curl into him, my body recognizing the man it loves, even if my mind is still struggling to catch up.
“I don’t know where I am. I have so many confusing memories,” I whisper against his neck.
His lips brush my forehead. “It will all make sense soon, love. Just let me hold you for a few minutes. I’ve waited so long to have you in my arms again.”
We’re both silent for several minutes, reveling in the heat of each other, in the impossibility of being together again. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek, a strange, slow rhythm that seems almost human. I suppose him having a functioning heart is another “benefit” of becoming a greed demon.
The world feels wrong, my memories like shattered glass, but in Rapha’s arms, I can breathe.
I tilt my head, catching a glimpse of those crimson eyes. There is so much pain there. So much hope.
And so much love.
“You kept it,” I murmur, touching the locket that rests against his chest.
“Of course. It was like carrying a piece of you against my heart.”
I smile, humbled by his admission. “Where am I?”
“This is the Blackbriar Inn. It’s on the edge of a small town called Screaming Woods. I’ll take you out when you’re ready, once we’ve talked. Show you this new world.”
“Okay,” I say simply, not sure how else to respond. My location means nothing to me apart from the word inn . At least that’s something I’m familiar with.
“So, you’re a demon now?” I ask, sensing the new darkness clinging to him, something more profound than simply his new demon persona.
His arms tighten around me. “Yes,” he admits as if he’s confessing to a sin. “A demon of greed. Lucifer’s personal collector.”
A shiver skates across my skin at the name, but I force myself to stay still, stay close. “What… what does that mean?”
His crimson gaze flickers, the glow dimming with regret.
“It means I trade in souls, Dru. I tempt them, reap them, deliver them to Hell. It means I wear these horns”—he taps the right one—“these talons, and these eyes.” He tries to smile, but it falters.
“But it also means I was able to bring you back.”
I rest my hand against his chest, feeling the slow, monstrous beat of his heart. “You weren’t jesting when you said you made a deal with the devil,” I whisper, unable to keep the ache from my voice.
“For you,” he says fiercely, unrepentantly. “Only you.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away. If Rapha can sacrifice his soul, I can bear this new world. I can bear anything.
“You shouldn’t have,” I murmur, though my traitorous heart swells at the truth of it.
His lips brush my temple reverently. “But I did.”
We sit in silence, the weight of the centuries between us pressing into our bones. He holds me like he might break if he lets go, and I hold him the same way.
Finally, I lift my head, brushing away a tear. “When we go outside, will it be…safe?”
His grin is sharp, a flash of his old arrogance mingled with demon confidence. “Not for anyone who tries to hurt you.”
I let out a shaky laugh, burying my face against his throat once more, breathing him in.
Safe. With Rapha, I will always be safe.
No matter what we’ve become.