Drusilla
The book in my hands is warm, almost breathing , as if it knows me already. I trace the title with a shaky finger, still trying to catch up with a world that refuses to sit still, and then glance up as more footsteps echo on the wooden floor.
A tall, striking man enters, dressed in a perfectly tailored shirt that hugs powerful shoulders.
His hair is pulled back from a chiseled face—except his hair is snakes , flicking their tongues curiously.
Beside him, a heavily pregnant woman practically radiates joy along with her healthy glow, as if she’s never known fear in her life.
“Sorry we’re late for lunch, Alice,” the woman says with a grin, one hand stroking her stomach protectively. “Gideon was wrestling with the stroller assembly. I told him to read the instructions, but you know what these gorgons are like.”
“Don’t slander me, sweetheart,” the snake-haired man teases, pressing a sweet kiss to her temple. “I conquered it, eventually.”
Alice laughs, shaking her head. “Verity, Gideon, meet Rapha and Drusilla. They’re new to town.”
Verity’s eyes light up. “Oh! It’s so nice to meet you!” She beams at me with such open kindness that it nearly breaks me. “You’re new? Welcome to Screaming Woods, the weirdest place you’ll ever love.”
I open my mouth, trying to form words, but my attention is momentarily hijacked by one of the snakes poking out from under Gideon’s collar. It blinks at me.
“Um,” I manage, “you have a snake on your shoulder.”
Gideon’s grin goes wide, a little wicked. “Ah, that’s Marius. Don’t mind him. He’s nosy. The others are asleep.”
Verity rolls her eyes fondly. “And snoring,” she adds, elbowing her husband gently.
At that moment, Gordy reaches up to adjust his beanie, and a small, green snake pops its head out, tongue darting with clear curiosity.
“Sheila,” Gordy sighs, “please behave.”
Sheila ignores him completely, locking eyes with me and giving a dramatic little hissss that sounds suspiciously like a greeting.
Verity chuckles, then eyes me with a playful spark. “You get used to it, trust me. Gorgon snakes are like moody cats. They want all your attention until they don’t.”
Rapha snorts softly, but I catch the relief in his eyes, as if he’s grateful I’m smiling instead of panicking.
Alice props one hip against the counter and smirks. “It’s nice to have another broody man around, Rapha. Gideon and Gordy were getting cocky, thinking they’d cornered the market on tragic supernatural brooding.”
Gideon clutches his chest dramatically. “Excuse me, tragic and broody is a classic look. Don’t shame the style.”
Verity pats her belly and grins at me. “Listen, we’re having a baby shower in a couple of weeks. Our first little half-human, half-gorgon miracle. You have to come. Please. I’d love more female energy in the room with all these scaly boys.”
My laugh surprises me. It’s light and real, the first since waking up in this strange place. “I’d love that,” I breathe. “Thank you.”
Rapha slides his hand around my waist, and I feel his tension ease. For the first time, I believe we might have a place here, strange as it is.
Alice leans forward, conspiratorial. “And if you ever need help adjusting, or you want to hex someone who annoys you, I’m your witch. Well, a witch with a dash of ancient gorgon-huntress DNA, but let’s not split hairs.”
“Ancient huntress?” I echo, eyes wide.
Alice shrugs, grinning. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say I’m good at handling guys with snakes for hair.”
Everyone laughs, even Rapha, low and warm, and the sound melts something frozen in my chest.
Maybe I could belong here.
Maybe we both could.
After we say goodbye to Alice, Gordy, Gideon, and Verity, Rapha leads me back out into the square, my fingers still tangled with his. The world outside the bookshop feels less terrifying now, less like a waking nightmare, and more like a place that might let us start again.
We wander past a fountain where fish leap through water that glows faintly blue, and Rapha’s attention snags on a sign across the street.
“Hungry?” he asks, one dark brow arched.
I laugh as my stomach tightens and growls. “Starving.”
I don’t tell him that food isn’t the only thing I’m starving for.
Rapha is larger than life in every way, and my body craves the intimate connection we once shared so long ago.
Although for me, the years passed in the blink of an eye.
They must have seemed endless for Rapha.
I’m still humbled by the truth of it, that he waited, that he sacrificed everything for me.
Rapha’s thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, like he can sense the tangled ache of my thoughts. His crimson eyes soften, warm enough to melt me where I stand.
“Come on,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-dark. “Let’s feed you before I’m tempted to carry you back to the inn and skip food entirely.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I laugh, breathless and wild, letting him guide me toward the bakery.
It’s tucked between a men’s fashion shop and a candle stall, its name painted in curling script: Conjure and Crumb.
The aroma drifting out the door is warm and sweet, with a note of something vaguely… dangerous.
Inside, the glass cases are filled with Soulspice Pies that sparkle faintly like they’ve been dusted with stardust, Dreamslip Eclairs that twitch as if dreaming, and Doom Donuts dripping violet glaze, pulsing faintly with something that might be forbidden magic.
Rapha orders a Hearthspell Croissant for me, and something dark and sticky for himself called a Sin Bun .
I bite into the golden, flaky croissant, which is still warm, and the moment it touches my tongue, time seems to slow . The bakery fades, the chatter softens. Flavors bloom in my mouth—butter and vanilla and some nameless warmth that tastes like a forgotten childhood dream.
Tears sting my eyes.
It’s not just food. It’s memory. Safety. Joy.
Gods, it’s been so long since I had anything this simple… or this perfect.
“You’re crying,” Rapha says, concerned.
I laugh through the tears. “It’s just…so good.”
He brushes my cheek with one knuckle, looking relieved. “Then have as many as you want.”
We take our pastries outside, sitting on a low stone wall in the sunlight that feels somehow less bright, less punishing than the sun I remember.
While we’re finishing up, two women approach. The first is tall and lean, her arms covered in tattoos that shimmer and shift under her skin, enchanted and alive. She wears ripped jeans and a tank top, hair tied up in a messy bun with beads woven into the strands.
“New faces!” she calls, bright and bold. “I’m Wren, of Ink and Intent.” She offers her hand. I hesitate before taking it. Her grip is strong but warm.
Next to her stands a softer figure, round and serene, with gentle hazel eyes and a cascade of curly hair that looks like spun honey. A faint herbal fragrance clings to her, comforting and earthy.
“And I’m Mags,” she says, smiling like sunshine. “I own Hearth & Hollow, the apothecary. If you ever need tea to calm your nerves or something a bit… stronger, you come and find me.”
“More bloody tourists,” a gravelly voice grumbles before I can answer.
I turn to see an older man in a long, moth-eaten coat, his cane carved to resemble the snarl of a wolf. A wide-brimmed hat shadows his sharp eyes, which are the exact color of ancient parchment.
“Mr. Penumbra,” Wren teases, “these aren’t tourists. They’re new to town.”
I’m not sure how Wren has concluded that we’re not tourists, but I’m quickly learning that the people in Screaming Woods seem to know things—perhaps it’s magical intuition.
He snorts. “That’s even worse.” His gaze pins me, and it’s so sharp that it makes my breath catch. “Don’t break anything,” he orders before stomping toward a narrow shop crammed with maps and globes.
“Don’t mind him,” Mags whispers conspiratorially. “He’s a sweetheart deep down. Way, way down.”
Wren laughs, her tattoos rippling like water. “If you ever want ink, come and see me. I’ll give you a proper welcome-to-town design.” She purses her lips thoughtfully, a knowing gleam in her eye. “Maybe a stake through a heart, or something softer if you like.”
Rapha bristles a little at the mention of a stake, and Wren notices, smirking. “Relax, demon boy. Just a joke. Some of us see beneath the facade.”
My lips twitch despite myself. “Thank you,” I manage, still absorbing the strangeness of it all as Wren and Mags wave and head on their way.
I savor the last buttery flakes of my croissant, letting it linger on my tongue. Everything feels so bright, so loud, so alive , but Rapha is here, steady and strong, grounding me in this impossible new world.
He watches me with that hungry gleam, crimson eyes soft and dangerous all at once. The sun catches on his horns, making them look like polished onyx. I shiver, but it’s not from fear.
“Was it good?” he murmurs, brushing a crumb from the corner of my mouth with a talon-tipped finger.
My heart flips, the intimacy of the gesture undoing me.
“It was perfect,” I breathe. “But…”
“But?”
My breath hitches as I meet his gaze. The world seems to fade around us—the strange shifting street, the flickering lights, the scent of cinnamon.
“I want more ,” I confess, my voice barely more than a whisper. “But…not food.”
His eyes flare, the color deepening to molten red.
“More?” he echoes, his voice a rough promise.
I nod, unable to look away. “I need you, Rapha. All of you. I need to feel you again. To remember us.”
His jaw tightens, his hands flexing like he’s fighting to stay calm.
“Drusilla,” he growls, low and reverent.
Before I can reply, he leans in and captures my lips in a kiss so fierce it steals my breath. The taste of him, dark and sweet, floods me with heat. I cling to him, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt, as though I could drag him inside me with sheer will alone.