Page 2

TWENTY YEARS LATER

SEBASTIAN

“ H ow’s it feel?” I ask. I lean against a granite statue of myself, watching breath turn to fog.

This courtyard was once forgotten and neglected, but in the years since the witches’ curse, I’ve brought it back to life.

Thick vines now curl over the manor’s stone walls and brush against the uneven cobblestone.

Fruit trees and floral bushes frame the main square, and a massive stone table claims the western corner.

This damned statue stands proudly at the center.

It’s undoubtedly arrogant to have a statue of myself in the yard, but I knew it was only a matter of time before a snot-nosed human destroyed it out of spite.

I’d stolen it from the neutral territory years ago, dragging it from the public square in the dead of night and planting it here.

I thought it might have a comforting presence, a promise of the power I’d had once, and would again.

Instead, it’s mocking me. Standing twice my height, it maintains an air of confidence I haven’t held in over a decade. Now, I stand at its base, shivering in this ridiculously heavy coat .

Vampires aren’t meant to shiver. We’re dead, for fuck’s sake.

Magic always comes at a cost though, and this sunwalker spell is proof. It allows me to stand in the direct sunlight, to feel the gentle warmth of day without the skin-blistering heat. But I’m different too. Weak. Horridly mortal, with soft flesh and a beating heart.

A flimsy knife would puncture my skin. It would likely kill me.

“It’s strange,” Theo says. It takes me a moment to remember what I asked.

While Oskar and I lounge in the middle of the courtyard, Theo lingers near the manor’s entrance. The double doors remain open, as if arms ready for an embrace, and I imagine Theo left them this way on purpose. He could reach the safety of shadows in two steps if need be.

“Good strange?” Oskar asks. He lights a cigarette and pops it between his lips. The stench of smoke devours the fresh air, until it’s all I can taste.

“Very good,” is Theo’s reply. Despite the frigid air, he removes his sweater and smiles as the morning light touches his bare skin. He bows his head toward me. “Thank you, Master.”

“It was earned,” I say.

It’s true. Of the five hundred and some followers who live here or in the surrounding settlements, only the best are awarded sunwalker spells. They’ve been with me the longest or proven the worthiest, and after twenty years, only five have claimed the honor.

Oskar. Milas. Beatrice. Amelia. And now, Theo.

Within minutes, the others arrive, all wearing black leather and bloodied smiles. Beatrice attempts to wipe her face, but the others wear their breakfast proudly, eyes dark with satisfaction.

Theo tugs his shirt back in place, scowling when Milas whistles at him.

“Don’t get dressed on our account,” Milas calls. He stretches an arm around Amelia’s shoulder, tugging her against his side. “Personally, I think we should all get naked. Why don’t you start, Amelia?”

Amelia smacks him playfully on the back of his head, but Beatrice smirks at me, like maybe there should be a new dress code.

“Another time,” I say, winking at her. Then, glancing between all of them, I add, “I hope you were subtle. That’s not exactly the best example for our newcomer.”

“Wait, was that…is that fresh ?” Theo asks. He starts across the yard, movements staggered and awkward. He frowns as he jogs, adjusting to his drastically weakened muscles, and I hold back a laugh.

“Always,” Milas drawls. He strokes Amelia’s arm, and she quickly shoves him off, glaring. Unbothered, Milas continues, “We came across a fisherman by the river. Completely alone. Too good to pass up.”

Fresh blood is always too good for them to pass up, especially when hunting is involved. There’s something inexplicably different about drinking in the wild, rather than from the wrist of an occupational bloodletter.

“Don’t worry,” Beatrice says. “We were discreet. I cleaned up after us.”

“I know,” I say. It’s the truth. Beatrice is my most level-headed follower, and she’s quick to shoot me a reassuring smile now.

She steps closer, surrounding me with the intoxicating scent of fresh blood and her sugary perfume. I trail my fingers over her ribcage, down to the flare of her hips. Her dress ends several inches above her knees, and I tease the hemline.

“Hells, I’d love to fuck you in this,” I tell her.

Oskar clears his throat beside me, but the others barely react. The old man is the only one easily offended. The rest of us? We’re always ready to feast, flirt, and fuck. Typically in that order.

“You probably will,” she says breezily. Then, she saunters across the courtyard, swaying her hips as she walks. Amelia meets her partway, linking their elbows together.

“You deserve better. Both of you,” Oskar says. He drops his cigarette butt on the cobblestone and smashes it with his heel. “Games like this don’t end well.”

“I disagree,” I say. “I think this will end with Beatrice bent over my desk and my cum between her legs. A perfect ending, if you ask me.”

“Or perhaps it will end with your severed cock on her desk,” he argues. With slanted brows he leans closer. “Truly, Sebastian. Love has driven people to madness.”

“What’s love got to do with fucking?” I ask, unable to keep the smile off my face.

Oskar doesn’t reply. He only sighs, as if I have simultaneously disappointed and exhausted him.

I laugh and slap him on the shoulder.

It’s been twenty years since Freja died, but Oskar still pines for her. It’s a sentiment I don’t understand and don’t particularly care to. His affection for her has left him lonely and sore, and yet, he’s convinced I need that sort of debilitating love for myself.

No. Thanks.

“You have the brain of a witch and the instinct of a vampire,” I say. “But that heart of yours is bloody human.”

Two hours later, the courtyard’s table is covered in parchment.

Only glimpses of stone are visible between faded maps, torn grimoire pages, and more than one stolen letter.

We’ve spent most of this session getting Theo up to speed.

Even though he’s been a follower for twelve years, he’s never had access to information like this.

As we near a close, he has a hand on either temple, massaging slowly. I can’t decide if he’s trying to rub the information into his brain or if we’ve given him a terrible headache. Either way, it’s clear we’ve covered enough for today.

“We’ll pick back up next week” I announce. I stack the papers nearest to me, and Milas does the same on his end. Looking to Theo, I add, “Plan to meet with Amelia before you go into daylight alone. She’ll walk you through everything you need to know.”

Theo nods, his fingers still pressed against his forehead.

“And for now?—”

I don’t get the chance to finish. A hideous burning sensation bursts through my chest. It’s fast and harsh, fluctuating in intensity.

It feels like bubbles of scalding heat are popping beneath my rib cage.

I hunch forward, but it doesn’t help. There is nothing to do but feel the shocks of heat and heave uselessly for breath.

“What the fuck…” Beatrice groans and slumps against the table, her head thumping as it meets stone. She’s passed out, and Milas isn’t far behind her. He moans incomprehensibly, hands wildly clutching his chest and stomach.

Whatever is happening, we’re all feeling it.

“Do you…” I say. It takes every ounce of my conscious effort to get those two simple words out. I want to know if th e others recognize this blistering heat. I am certain I’ve only felt it once before, twenty years ago. I was sure I’d never feel it again.

As with the first time, the pain stops suddenly, moments after I decide I’d rather die than feel it.

We are all left choking for breath, and by the time I’ve straightened, Theo is already fleeing for the doors.

He thinks this pain comes from the sun. He wasn’t yet turned when the witches attacked twenty years ago. He doesn’t understand…

“The curse,” I spit, still gasping. I look at Oskar, who has one hand to his throat and the other tight on the table’s ledge. “Oskar, has it ended?”

“I don’t think so,” he whispers. He rubs his chest, eyebrows dipping low. “But something happened. Something big .”

Hours later, long after the burning sensation has faded, I remain alone at the courtyard’s stone table.

I dismissed the others and sent most of the parchments with Oskar.

Now, I have only curse-related texts spread before me.

Years’ worth of symptom tracking and a variety of theories and failed attempts at freedom.

It’s pathetically little information, most of which I memorized long ago.

I read it again anyway, searching for answers while I wait for Cora to arrive.

I smell her long before she appears in the courtyard. Witches reak. It’s a defense mechanism, and a damned effective one. Their blood is magicked to smell of death: rancid and foul, like they’ve gone rotten. They taste even worse.

“Sebastian,” Cora says. She sashays across the cobblestone, rolling her eyes as she passes my statue .

She’s a scrawny little thing, but her features are big. Large eyes, thick brows, puffy lips. Her black hair is slicked into its typical high ponytail, fastened so tight it pulls at her forehead. Her brown eyes survey me as she approaches. She looks unimpressed, as usual.

“Cora.” I rise from the table. She’s written a few of these texts herself, and she’s read the others nearly as many times as I have.

“Your followers are nervous,” she tells me.

“I know,” I say. “Any chance you know what this means?”

Cora is the only witch willing to be in my presence. She’s somewhere around thirty now, but she was fifteen when we met. She’d been sentenced to death for practicing dark magic, and only a chance encounter with me (of all things) saved her life. Unlike her own kin, I do not fear her darkness.

Cora has lived here ever since. She’s given six sunwalker spells and invaluable insight to her people’s ruthless curse. She pretends it’s to repay me. I pretend to believe her. We both know it’s because she hates her people as much as we do, because her heart is as black as ours.

“It could be many things,” she says. She reaches the table and sits opposite me, crossing her skinny legs. She’s wearing a simple black frock, buttoned to her throat, and thick tights. Like all her clothing, this ensemble is loose and ill-fitting.

I lean against the ivy-covered stone behind me, mostly to escape her pungent scent. Once again, Cora knowingly rolls her eyes.

Despite her small size, she exudes confidence and ease. I could kill her before she realized I moved, but she doesn’t show an ounce of fear. Probably because she knows I’d be a fool to kill our best—and only—witch ally .

“The witches cursed you to burn in the sun,” she says after a long pause. “It’s a difficult spell. Hard to conjure, harder to break. As some of your followers can attest, the curse remains true.”

Cora pulls the stack of parchments toward herself, skimming until she finds the one she wants.

It’s the first piece she wrote for me: a breakdown of the curse, as much as her childhood self understood it.

And it was… heavy . It required power from multiple familial lines, human and animal organs, and the very life of their beloved leader.

Walter Pruce gave his life—willing or unwilling, depending on who tells the tale—to seal the sun curse.

He was the last of the formidable Pruce line, and according to Cora, only his blood can undo what’s been done.

“It has to be something with the seal,” I say. Without meaning to, I press a hand to my chest. “The only other time we felt that burn was when they sacrificed the leader. He died, the curse sealed, and we all felt it. Now we’ve all felt it again…”

“I wonder…” Cora says. Her words fade as she starts to read, thick brows scrunching toward her nose.

She reads the text once. Twice.

Eleven times.

So many times that the sun sets, darkness falls, and the manor awakens.

My followers call to each other as they leave in droves, laughing and scheming.

Soon enough, the Echo will be crawling with vampires, out for a long night of fucking and (likely failed) feasting.

Unfortunately, the Echo has long learned to stay indoors once the sun falls.

“Cora,” I say finally. It’s been hours of silence, and I can’t bear to read these texts a single time more. “I am a patient man, but you have to give me something .”

“Walter Pruce,” she says without looking up .

“What about him?”

“They sealed the curse with his blood and then killed him. Right? Without his blood, the curse cannot be fully broken,” she says. She’s told me this many times, but I’ve yet to fully accept it. There has to be another way.

Cora scratches her brow, glancing at me, then back down.

“What if he wasn’t the last of his line? What if…what if there is another?”

“Impossible,” I say. It takes every ounce of control not to scoff.

That is the grand explanation she’s been cooking up these past six hours?

When Cora doesn’t respond, I continue, “They picked him because he never took a lover, Cora. Never had children. He’s been dead twenty years, so I imagine that hasn’t changed. ”

“What if they were wrong though?” she argues. Her voice hushes, and she leans close. “What if he had a child, all those years ago, and they just didn’t know it?”

“Impossible,” I repeat. “The witches would have known. And they would have murdered his child too.”

“But what if…” she looks at the text again. “What if the child was born, not here, but on the outside? What if there is a Pruce child in the human world?”

Chills skate up my arms, no longer from the cold. With night over us, I have returned to my natural form: deadly and invincible. Yet I feel more unsteady than ever.

“We would have known by now,” I say. “Even on the other side, the magic would have sensed it. The seal would have failed.”

“Maybe,” Cora says. “Or maybe the child was so far away, the Echo couldn’t sense it.

Walter Pruce was known to travel in the human world.

It is possible he impregnated a human without knowing—or at least without telling.

The child could have been raised elsewhere. Perhaps now…that same child is near.”

“Unlikely,” I say. Because I can’t risk believing— hoping .

Cora’s throat tenses as she swallows.

“Unlikely,” she finally agrees. “But not impossible.”