🪶Disclaimer: 🪶 This is a fictional narrative. All characters, events, and settings are entirely imagined—though loosely inspired by a heavily modded save in The Sims 4, extensively customized to behave and appear as realistically as feasible, with enhanced visuals, nuanced social dynamics, and detailed world-building that mirror real human complexity.

If you’re a Simmer, you might recognize the location names and emotional beats. If you’re not, you’ll still find your way—no prior knowledge required. Everything you need to know lives inside this blog.

This story is for anyone who’s ever rebuilt their life from the ashes and dared to write new chapters. For those who crave storylines that think outside the usual boxes—and for anyone who knows that sometimes, the most powerful myths are the ones we make ourselves.

Main Character Biographies

Victoria Sinclair– Author. Painter. Survivor. Mother-to-be. Fifty, born in Windenburg, lived most of her live in Oasis Springs, now residing in Unit 3B of the Montfort Court Rowhouses in Henfordshire. Formerly Anna V. Thompson—shed her married name and original first name in court, reclaiming her maiden name and middle name as a sovereign rebirth. Curates legacy through oil and ink. Known for emotionally intelligent portraiture and mythic storytelling. Light eyes that shift between blue, gray, and green.

Alder Davenport– Poet. Roommate. Legacy in hiding. Father-to-be. Mysterious. Early forties, Henfordshire-born, sharing Unit 3B with Victoria Sinclair. Gentle, emotionally fluent, and quietly observant. Writes in fragments and silence. The only person Victoria trusts to read her raw entries. Chocolate brown eyes, steady and warm.

Cesare Vannucci – The Master. Keeper. Sovereign of silence. The power behind the Hollow—and above it. Ageless and archaic, with a presence that bends time and memory alike. His voice carries weight; his silences, decree. Known for restraint, precision, and unnerving calm. When he speaks, even truth feels curated. He does not rule with spectacle. He does not need to. His authority is the kind that others feel before they understand.

Riordan Hargrave – Steward. Cipher. The man beside the throne. Handsome and charming but bears the gravity of someone who’s seen too much. Trusted by Cesare to handle delicate matters. Moves like silk through shadow. His loyalty is quiet, his wisdom louder.

Branwen Vannucci – Matriarch. Watcher. Shadow stitched in silk. Ageless beauty. Wife to Cesare, mother of Scarlett and Caelan. Ocean-blue eyes, voice like velvet restraint. Speaks rarely, but when she does, the room listens. Her silence is never empty.

Caelan Vannucci – Hunter. Provocateur. Dangerous presence. Longsword in a tailored coat, with a voice like a growl and eyes that never soften. Known for his volatility and flair for violence. Tracks what others can’t find. Leaves fear in his wake and never apologizes. Stillness is his weapon. Most have never seen him smile.

Connell O’Cavanaugh – Hunter. – Shield. Son. Looks like his mother, moves like his father. Inherited Rhiannon’s grace, her nearly violet eyes, her quiet strength. Though grown and a grandfather himself, he wears youth like armor—ageless, composed, and unreadable. Born of Rhiannon and Caelan, raised between silence and storm. When the marriage fractured, he and his family stood with her, shedding the Vannucci name as a public act of loyalty. Protector by instinct, diplomat by necessity. Loyal to Cesare, but shaped by his mother’s survival. Carries the weight of lineage without the arrogance. Watches Caelan with wary reverence, knowing both the man and the monster. Trained in discipline, fluent in tension. Known for his calm, his clarity, and the quiet way he defuses chaos before it ignites.

Rhiannon Vannucci – Flame. Fugitive. Wife twice chosen. Stunning, ethereal, and quietly formidable. Her beauty is light and airy, almost otherworldly—nearly violet eyes and a presence that seems to glow against the vampire dark. Once the warmth in Caelan’s cold world, now the woman who survived him. Mother to Connell. Married, divorced, and remarried to the Hunter himself. Her love was once met with violence, her departure with threats. She vanished into protection under Cesare’s watch, guarded by her son. Caelan resurrected an old flame to replace her—only to execute that darkness when it turned on him. Years later, Rhiannon returned. They spoke. They healed. They chose again. She is not fragile. She is forged. Her voice is quiet, her resolve volcanic. She does not forget—but she forgives with fire.

The Back Steps

The trash had reached critical mass.

I stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, staring down the bin like it might back down if I glared hard enough. It didn’t. A slick of coffee grounds had begun to creep toward the rim, threatening to burst like a slow, caffeinated volcano.

Alder usually handled it. Quietly. Efficiently. Without ever being asked. But Alder was still missing—his absence stretching longer than I liked to admit. And now the bin was my problem.

I sighed, knotted the bag with a grunt, and hoisted it with both hands. It was heavier than expected—dense with the weight of days I hadn’t wanted to deal with. I nudged open the back door with my hip and stepped into the evening.

Henfordshire dusk was soft, lavender-hued, and deceptively quiet. The tiny backyard behind Unit 3B was barely a yard at all—just a patch of mossy stone, a crooked stair, and the trash can tucked beneath it like a secret.

I made it down the steps, the bag swinging awkwardly against my leg, and heaved the lid open with a clatter. Just as I was about to hoist the bag inside—

I froze.

The air shifted.

A prickle ran down my spine, ancient and instinctive. I turned slowly, heart thudding, and saw them: a pair of light eyes glowing in the dark. Not reflecting. Glowing. Preternatural. Unblinking.

I shrieked.

The bag flew from my hands and smacked against the back wall of the house with a wet, catastrophic thud. Something inside burst. I didn’t care.

“Victoria,” came the voice—low, velveted, unmistakable.

Cesare.

He stepped forward from the shadows, coat catching the breeze like a cloak, eyes still too bright for the fading light.

“Forgive me,” he said, bowing slightly. “I did not mean to startle you. I should have announced myself.”

“You think?” I snapped, breath catching. “Ever heard of a front door? A bell? Knocking like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, bemused. “Would you truly prefer that? With your neighbors so… observant? I daresay you’d be the talk of the town before I’d crossed the threshold.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You mean nosy.”

“I mean vigilant,” he said, smiling faintly. “And fond of stories. I would hate to contribute to one. I am rather self-aware and know I am not easily explained to the good people of Henford-on-Bagley to whom my kind is but a myth, and I’d rather not disabuse them of the notion.”

I exhaled, shoulders dropping. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by the familiar ache of resignation. “What do you want?”

“I’d like you to come with me,” he said simply.

I glanced at the trash bag, now oozing something unidentifiable against the siding. “I can’t,” I said, gesturing toward the mess. “If I leave that like this, I’ll not only be the talk of the town by morning, I’ll have Baroness Montfort-Yates up my rear about defiling her precious rental rowhouse. She already thinks I’m one broken teacup away from absolute ruin.”

Cesare didn’t even look at the mess. “It will be taken care of,” he said, calm as ever. “By the time you return, it will be as if it never happened.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How long are we talking?”

He smiled—slow, amused, and just a little theatrical. “You’ll be back before dawn.”

I looked at the mess again. Then at him.

“…okay.”

At the Castle

The shift was instant.

One blink and I was no longer in Henfordshire.

The air changed—cooler, older, scented faintly with stone and smoke. My boots landed on stone floors, the kind that echoed with history, and belonged to the castle lobby I recognized from my last visit here. We were back at Castello di Vannucci, and it was just as I remembered: cavernous, candlelit, and unapologetically dramatic. The kind of place that didn’t care if you were impressed—it knew you were.

Cesare stood beside me, perfectly composed, as if teleporting across continents was no more disruptive than crossing a room.

“This way,” he said, offering his arm like we were about to attend a ball.

I didn’t want to take it, but did anyway. There was no reason for me to be rude or antagonize someone of his caliber, especially not far from home. Come to think of it, I still hadn’t looked up on a map where Forgotten Hollow even was, but most definitely not anywhere in Henfordshire.

We passed through archways and corridors, each one older than the last. Tapestries lined the walls—scenes of battles, coronations, and one that looked suspiciously like a blood ritual disguised as a wedding. I didn’t ask.

He stopped before a heavy wooden door carved with vines and wolves. “Someone would like to speak with you,” he said, voice low and gallant.

I raised an eyebrow, but he was already pushing the door open.

Inside was a room I hadn’t seen before. Not the study. Not the library. This was something older—what a living room might’ve been called centuries ago. A receiving chamber, maybe. A parlour for the undead. It was warm, surprisingly so, with a fire crackling in the hearth and velvet chairs arranged like a council of ghosts.

By the fireplace stood a figure with his back to me. Familiar. Still.

He turned.

My breath caught.

Alder.

He stepped forward once, slow and deliberate.

“Victoria.”

I took a tentative step, then turned to Cesare, unsure.

He nodded, gestured gently.

I turned back to Alder.

Then I walked. Faster. Faster. Until I stopped just in front of him.

I looked at him.

Then I slapped him. Hard.

The sound echoed—sharp, clean, final.

Alder didn’t flinch. His cheek reddened instantly, but he stood there, absorbing it like he deserved it. Maybe he did.

I stared at him, breath shallow, heart thudding in my ears. Six weeks. Six weeks of silence, of unanswered texts, of wondering if he was dead or just cruel. Six weeks of taking out the trash myself, of sleeping with the lights on, of pretending I didn’t care. Even then, in my rant I realized the absurdity of my worry. Of course he was dead, technically, because he was a – gulp – vampire. He still didn’t look like one to me. Then again, neither did Cesare.

“You absolute bastard,” I said, voice low and shaking. “You just left me.”

“I know,” he said.

“You didn’t call. You didn’t write. You didn’t even—” My throat tightened. “You left me with a letter and a bottle of iron supplements.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So this is where you’ve been all this time?” I gestured to the firelit room, the velvet chairs, the ancient stone.

“No,” he said. “I was brought here today. Against my will.”

I blinked. “What? How? How did they know where you are and I didn’t?!”

He looked at me like I should already know. “This is what Caelan does. He is a hunter. He tracks down anyone Cesare wants him to. You can’t hide from him. He will find anyone, mortal or otherwise. I figured you knew, since you met him.”

“Oh, I met him,” I said, bitter. “Your daddy dearest. But we didn’t exactly sit down over a nice cuppa and trade origin stories and work history.”

Alder winced. “I wasn’t ready to return. But Cesare thought I should.”

“Well, smart man,” I snapped. “You’re a louse. And an ass. How could you think being gone—leaving me to figure out this situation we both put me in—was the right move? You had fifty percent involvement, but left me to deal with a hundred percent of it. That’s not fair. So you are, hands down, an ass.”

“I can see how you’d look at it that way,” he said quietly. “But as you know now, I’m not… normal. All my life I’ve kept to myself, tried to contain myself to avoid any sort of slip-ups. I’ve kept away from others of my kind, and from yours, for reasons that are probably obvious now. And I most certainly don’t know how to raise a child who might be like me. I was a child nobody knew how to handle. It wasn’t pretty. It was traumatic. And it’s not something I’m proud of.”

“So you ran off to dwell on that?” I asked. “How is that helpful? If you wanted to learn, why didn’t you come here and have Cesare teach you?”

“Because I … had reasons.”

I folded my arms. “Reasons. Cute. I have nothing to do with your family squabbles and complicated background, there are many people who never met their dad or don’t get along. And you thought ghosting me was a better option?”

“I thought disappearing would protect you.”

I laughed—sharp, humorless. “Exactly what an ass would say.”

He didn’t argue. Just stood there, letting the silence stretch between us like a fault line.

“I read your letter,” I said finally. “Every word. I know you meant it. I know you were scared. But the problem with a balmy letter is that it doesn’t give the one reading it a chance to respond. So here is my response now: your fears and anxieties are acknowledged, but I have them too, so you don’t get to vanish and then act like showing up fixes it.”

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he said. “I’m trying to face it.”

I looked at him—really looked. He looked unwell. Paler. His eyes had that haunted sheen I’d seen once before, the morning after the night we spent together. He wasn’t just exhausted. He was changed.

“Then start talking,” I said. “Because I’m not doing this halfway.”

He nodded, stepped closer. “Ask me anything.”

I didn’t hesitate. “What happened after you left? Where did you go?”

He exhaled. “I went north. Tried to disappear. Stayed in places that don’t ask questions. But Caelan found me. Dragged me here. Said Cesare wanted me to stop pretending I wasn’t part of this.”

“And you just… agreed? Cos that sounds like something you know I would have said, yet, you ran. Guess you needed it mansplained to you.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You always have a choice.”

He looked down. “Not when it comes to Caelan.”

I felt the fire behind me, the weight of the castle pressing in from all sides. Cesare had brought me here for this. For this confrontation. For this reckoning.

And I wasn’t done yet.

The Truth

Alder shifted his weight, eyes flicking toward the fire. “Cesare insisted I stay here. Said I needed tutoring—by him. On all things a vampire should know, according to Cesare.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Including child-rearing?”

He nodded. “Especially that. He said that I was going to be part of this child’s life, as he is holding me accountable, I needed to understand what that meant. Not just biologically. Culturally. Historically. Emotionally.”

I snorted. “Sounds like Cesare.”

“He also lectured me on blending into society. Said living among mortals requires finesse. That being a hermit doesn’t make you invisible—it makes you stand out. Like an oddball.”

“Well,” I said, dryly. “I could’ve told you that.”

“I know.” He looked at me then, really looked. “Sometimes you need to hear it from someone in the same boat. Not mansplained. Maybe … fangsplained.”

Our eyes met. I ignored his attempt at being funny. Something shifted.

“And Victoria…” His voice dropped. “I truly am sorry.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry too. For the slap. I shouldn’t have.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

I hesitated. “For the moment.”

He gave a tentative smile. “Then it was worth it.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension cracked. I stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him into a hug.

He folded his arms around me instantly—no hesitation, no flinch. Just warmth. Familiar. Solid.

And then he spoke, voice low against my hair.

“I missed you. Every day. Even when I tried not to.”

I closed my eyes. “You’re still an ass.”

“I know.”

“But you’re my ass.”

He laughed softly. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

We stood there, wrapped in each other, the fire crackling behind us and centuries of silence pressing in from the stone walls. But for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

Cesare didn’t speak right away.

He stood by the hearth, hands clasped behind his back, gaze flicking between me and Alder like he was studying a painting—one he’d commissioned but hadn’t quite finished. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Alder hadn’t let go of me, but I could feel the shift in his posture. Subtle. Guarded.

“I must say,” Cesare began, voice smooth as silk, “it is gratifying to see the two of you reunited. There is something… restorative about proximity. About presence. Especially when it has been earned. I am still in awe to have had another grandson out there I have never heard of.”

I blinked. “Is that your way of saying you’re glad we hugged?”

He smiled faintly. “I am glad you remembered how.”

Alder’s arms loosened around me. I stepped back, just enough to see his face. He was watching Cesare with the kind of wariness reserved for chess masters and old enemies.

“There are moments,” Cesare continued, “when history offers us a choice. Not a demand. Not a decree. But a chance to shape what comes next. To take what was accidental and make it intentional.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Cesare turned toward the fire, adjusting a log that didn’t need adjusting. “You are both part of something now. Something that cannot be undone. A legacy, yes—but also a lineage. MY lineage, which involves me directly, and as more than Alder’s grandfather. I am his sovereign. By blood, by bond, by law. And lineage, my dear, is not simply a matter of blood. It is a matter of bond.”

The Pact

Alder stiffened beside me.

“You can’t ask that,” he said quietly.

Cesare didn’t turn. “I am not asking.”

I looked between them. “Okay, someone needs to start using nouns. What can’t he ask?”

Cesare finally turned, his expression unreadable. “There are traditions, Victoria. Old ones. Ones that predate even me. When a child is conceived between blood and breath—between mortal and immortal—it is not merely a biological event. It is a convergence. And convergence demands structure.”

I blinked. “Structure?”

Alder’s voice was low. “He means marriage.”

I stared at him. “What?”

Cesare stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “No. Not marriage. That was once the tradition, yes—but sentiment has no place in this. What I require is a pact. A formal agreement. If the child shows signs of vampiric inheritance—if the transformation begins at puberty—I will assume guardianship. I will oversee their training. Their discipline. Their integration.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Guardianship?”

“I am not merely a vampire,” Cesare said. “I am the Grand Master Elder. Among mortals, my station might resemble that of a king. Or a Pope. I serve not only in governance, but in spiritual guidance. And I cannot allow blood of my blood to be born into scandal, secrecy, or instability.”

Alder was silent. His jaw clenched.

“I hold power because I am trusted,” Cesare continued. “Because I am consistent. If my family begins to fracture—odd entanglements with mortals, children born and unleashed onto society without proper structure—then our name begins to rot. And with it, our credibility. That is dangerous. For all of us.”

I laughed—sharp, disbelieving. “I get all that. But a legal pact? Guardianship? This baby is a result from a one-night-stand neither of us even really remembers.”

Cesare raised a hand, silencing the room with ease. “I’m not suggesting you hand the child over the moment it’s born. What I’m proposing is protection—should they turn out like us. And only once the transformation begins. For your safety. And everyone else’s.”

He stepped closer, voice calm but edged with something colder. “You cannot begin to grasp how dangerous an untrained vampire can be. The hunger. The strength. The lack of control. Without guidance, they become exactly what the world fears.”

His gaze swept between us. “I can teach them restraint. Discipline. Belonging. You seem fairly comfortable among us, all things considered. This is what vampire can be if properly in charge of themselves and their primal urges. This isn’t about possession—it’s about safety. Legitimacy. A shield against scrutiny. I am not taking from you, I am giving you and your unborn child a proper future.”

Then his tone shifted, just slightly. “And to lay all cards on the table… I do believe at least one of you remembers that night.”

I turned to Alder, slowly. He didn’t meet my eyes. The truth was as obvious as it was unspoken.

“You remember?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “You weren’t wasted?”

He flinched. Just slightly. Then nodded. Once.

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, fury and disbelief colliding in my chest. “You slept with me on purpose and then pretended not to recall? Why?”

Alder’s voice was hoarse. “I didn’t mean to—”

Crack. My hand met his cheek before I could stop myself. He didn’t react. Didn’t move. Just stood there, jaw clenched, eyes still averted.

“You didn’t mean to what?” I snapped. “Get me pregnant? Betray me? What exactly wasn’t on purpose?”

Cesare stepped forward, calm as ever. “There is a misunderstanding here,” he said, voice like silk over stone. “One I believe Alder is too ashamed to clarify.”

He turned to Alder. “Would you like to speak?”

Alder opened his mouth. Closed it. Nothing came.

Cesare sighed, not unkindly. “Very well.”

He turned to me. “Alcohol affects us differently. What would leave you unable to recall your name would barely make him light-headed. He was not impaired. He was not confused. He made a choice.”

I stared at Alder, heart pounding. “Why?”

Cesare’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because he desires you. As more than a friend. Dare I call it love, even.”

Alder finally looked up. His eyes were glassy, haunted. “I didn’t know how to say it,” he murmured. “I’ve lived alone for eighty-seven years. I don’t know how to want something without ruining it.”

BAM. I couldn’t process it. My knees buckled. Alder reached for me instinctively, but I swatted at him, yelling not to touch me. I was falling—inside and out—but Riordan was suddenly there, catching me, guiding me to a chair with that effortless grace vampires always seemed to have.

The room spun. My thoughts buzzed like static. I heard Cesare say something—nervous breakdown—but it felt distant, like a radio in another room.

Someone handed me a glass. I shook my head, but they pressed a pill into my palm. “It will help,” they said.

I didn’t want help. I wanted silence. I wanted time. But I swallowed it anyway, just to make them stop talking.

Eventually, the spinning slowed. The buzzing dulled. I was back in the room. Four pairs of eyes on me. Branwen was here now—elegant, unreadable, like a painting that refused interpretation.

Riordan crouched beside me, taking my hands. His smile was soft, fangless. His voice, a balm.

“I know it’s a lot. But it’s not all bad, is it? I think you feel more for him than you’ve admitted. Am I wrong?”

“I… don’t know. What the hell?” My voice cracked. “Alder!”

Just saying his name made him flinch. He looked at me like I’d struck him. Riordan waved him over. Alder hesitated, then approached. Riordan took my hand—still trembling—and placed it into Alder’s.

“This should be your job,” he said gently. “Calm her. Speak to her. Explain.”

“She said not to touch her.”

Riordan sighed, stood, and clapped Alder on the back. “Oh boy. You’ve got much to learn. And we didn’t need a paternity test to know you’re Caelan’s son.” He winked at me, then stepped back.

“Not my son!” Caelan roared.

Alder crouched, mirroring Riordan’s posture. His hands were cold, but steady.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“You wanted Gavin,” he said, voice barely audible.

“What? But you slept with me. You made me drunk and… pregnant. That’s—” I choked on the word. “That could be called rape.”

He recoiled like I’d slapped him again. His eyes darted to Cesare, who stepped in, voice calm but firm.

“I’m certain that wasn’t his intention. And while one could argue the technicalities, I believe you know better. It wasn’t malicious. And it wasn’t entirely unwelcome, was it?”

“That’s not the point,” I snapped. “I didn’t consent. Not really.”

Cesare nodded slowly. “I understand your view. But you must remember—among vampires, consent is not always defined as it is among mortals. Many of my kind believe themselves superior. Some call humans ‘cattle,’ meant for libation and pleasure. There would be no judge to hear your case. Mortals cannot contain him. And I will not punish him further than I already have. All that aside, regardless of the circumstances, you both have created a child and therefore it involves me directly, due to the fact it’s my bloodline too.”

“You’re insane,” I said, voice rising. “I didn’t even know it happened. Yes, I was sleeping with someone at the time, someone else, and no, I wasn’t always strict about birth control because—let’s face it—at my age, pregnancy wasn’t even on the radar. But now I’m pregnant by someone I don’t even remember sleeping with, and you want me to listen to your great-grandpa moments here? You’ve lost your mind!”

Alder’s voice broke through, soft and raw. “Is that how you see it? That I… violated you?”

I turned to him, ready to unleash everything. But I stopped.

Could I really say that?

The truth was messier than the outrage. I hadn’t been as blacked out as I claimed. I remembered the kiss. I remembered leaning into him, holding his hand when he tried to pull away. I remembered the way he wiped my tears, the way I clung to him like he was the only solid thing in my life.

And I suddenly remembered bits and pieces from that night. I remembered wanting him.

I recalled the first kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. Honest. I remembered straddling him, tearing at his shirt, feeling the heat rise in me like a tide. He hadn’t pushed me away. He hadn’t resisted. He’d let me in. This wasn’t him doing something to me, this was mutual. Even if I couldn’t recall how we got there or many details.

It wasn’t a night of love. But it wasn’t a night of violence either. It was what it was. Sex.

And if I was honest—brutally honest—I’d had thoughts about him before. Naughty ones. He was cute. Dorky. Sweet. Not stunningly handsome, but definitely not ugly. The kind of man who didn’t know how to flirt but knew how to listen. And maybe that was what I’d needed most after all that Gavin mess.

Even Gavin, if we’re being honest, wasn’t exactly Mr. Machismo. He had a vintage video game collection, for Christ’s sake.

“I’m not having this sort of discussion with a man I don’t even know, Cesare. No disrespect but all that is a bit too personal!” I said, voice trembling. “Speaking of, who are you, Alder? I need truth. Real truth. Someone? Anyone?”

The silence was thick. Alder looked like he might speak, but didn’t. His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes dropped to the floor.

It was Cesare who stepped forward.

“I will tell it,” Cesare said. “Once we found out about him, we naturally did our due diligence. There are still holes in the story, but there is enough.”

He didn’t sit. He didn’t pace. He simply stood, hands clasped behind his back like a judge preparing to deliver a sentence.

Bloodlines and Burials

“Alder was born in the year of the Lord 1938,” Cesare began. “In a convent near the northern cliffs of Innisgreen.”

The name hit like a bell. Innisgreen. Fogbound, myth-soaked, and steeped in silence.

“His mother, Caitríona Ní Fhloinn, was a mortal woman—Innisgreen-born, raised among orchard-keepers and archivists. Chocolate-brown eyes. A mind like flint. She was clever, raven-haired, and far too brave for the world she lived in. A translator of ancient texts. A keeper of secrets. And she had the misfortune of crossing paths with Caelan during the earliest years of his training.”

I glanced at Alder. He didn’t move, but something in his jaw tightened.

“She was not a fling,” Cesare continued, voice steady but weighted. “Caelan was barely eighteen by our reckoning—young, impulsive, and still learning to master his hungers. And I do not speak solely of bloodlust, but also the ache of connection, the joys of the flesh.”

He paused, eyes distant.

“Caelan was no stranger to women, even then. But Caitríona was the first to challenge him. Sharp as frost. Unafraid of anything with teeth. She defied him. Debated him. Made him feel something other than thirst. She was mortal, yes—but unforgettable.”

Alder’s shoulders stiffened. His gaze dropped—not in shame, but in memory of things that preceded him.

“She could quote scripture and swear like a sailor in the same breath,” Cesare said, quieter now. “She wore her intellect like armor and her silence like a blade. Caelan didn’t know what to do with her. So, once he realized this fling was everything but, that it was grasping his heart, mind and body alike, he did what young men do when they’re overwhelmed—he left.”

He looked at me then, not unkindly. “And she didn’t chase him. She disappeared. Into a convent. Into secrecy. And as we obviously found out – into motherhood.”

His voice dropped, heavy with memory.

“There was no war in Innisgreen that year, but unrest simmered. Autonomy movements. Assassinations. Vanishings. Caitríona entered the convent under a false name—Mary Davenport. She told no one. Not even her family. Too great would have been the shame of being an unwed mother in those days. She gave birth in silence and died in silence. Complications. No records. No witnesses. Just a grave simply marked ‘M.D.’ and a child left behind. Like so many others during that time. One of many.”

Cesare paused, then continued. “Alder was named after a letter his mother left, and grew up in shame, carrying a last name that wasn’t even his never knew his own kin on his mother’s side unless they were all long gone, taken by unrest and diseases. The letter was tucked inside the folds of her blanket. Written in her hand. Just a few lines. No greeting. No farewell. Just a name.”

He looked at me, then at Alder. “She wrote: ‘Let him be called Alder. For the tree that bleeds and does not break. Let him thrive where I could not.’ You see, Victoria, the alder tree is sacred in old Innisgreen lore—associated with protection, resurrection, and hidden strength. It bleeds red when cut, like flesh. It thrives in waterlogged soil, where other trees rot. It was her way of saying: ‘You may bury me, but he will grow.’”

He paused, letting the silence settle.

“She didn’t name him after a saint or a scholar. She named him after something that survives.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was reverent.

“The convent gave him Davenport as surname, pulled from her false name. But Alder was hers. A final act of defiance. Of love.”

Alder’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to.

“The nuns raised him. Or tried to. Vampiric children are mortal until puberty. But when the change comes, it comes violently. Strength. Hunger. Sensitivity to light. Alder was thirteen when it began. They thought he was cursed.”

His hands curled into fists.

“They locked him in a cellar. Starved him. Beat him. Prayed over him. Told him he was a monster. That his mother had sinned. That he was the punishment.”

“That’s—” I started.

“Cruel,” Cesare said. “Yes. And preventable. Had we known, we would have taken him. Raised him. Taught him. But Caelan was young. Caitríona hid everything. And Alder paid the price.”

He turned to Alder, who looked hollow. “He escaped at sixteen. Lived in shadows. That is where our trace ends. We can only guess from here.”

I looked at Alder, my anger softening into something else. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how,” Alder whispered. “I didn’t know how to be wanted without being feared. If I told you anything, I would’ve had to tell you everything. I couldn’t look you in the eye and tell you I am a monster beneath. I just … couldn’t.”

“Alder, you’re not a monster! I would never think that about you. I know you better.”

“Do you though?”

Cesare stepped closer. “That is why I require guardianship. Not for sentiment. Not for control. But for protection. The child you carry is a Vannucci. By any name. Blood of my blood. And that means something.”

He looked at me, eyes sharp with conviction.

“We cannot repeat the mistakes of Alder’s origin. This child will not be hidden. Not born into chaos. Not shamed. Not left to suffer like its father had been. If they show signs of vampyric inheritance—if the transformation begins—I will assume custody. I will oversee their training. Their discipline. Their integration. You may not yet understand what it means to be part of this lineage. But you will.”

I rose, heart pounding, still trying to unpack everything that had just been laid on me. “No. Cesare, no. Maybe that kind of control worked in your time, but not today. I had a husband, whom I trusted blindly and who made the worst decisions, then killed himself when the going got rough leaving me with the fallout. I am used to rough. I am not just going to sign over my child because you think you know best. It’s 2025, not 1938! People don’t do that anymore. Because it doesn’t work!”

Cesare didn’t flinch. “Alder,” he said, voice low but commanding. “You’ve been silent long enough. Speak.”

Alder looked up slowly. His eyes moved from Cesare to me—stoic, unreadable—and then to him again.

“I won’t sign it,” he said.

The room stilled.

“I won’t hand over our child like a political asset. I won’t let you turn this into a legacy maneuver. She deserves more than that. So does the child.”

Cesare’s gaze narrowed. “You would defy me?”

“I would protect her,” Alder said, voice steady now. “And I would protect our child. But not like this. Not with a contract that strips us of choice.”

Caelan shifted, but said nothing. Connell’s expression didn’t change.

I felt my breath catch. Alder had never looked more like himself.

Cesare studied him for a long moment. Then turned to me.

“Well then,” he said, voice calm as ever, “I will have accommodations prepared for you. As neither of you is leaving this castle until we reach an agreement.”

“WHAT!?” I shouted, the word echoing off the stone walls.

Cesare’s gaze sharpened, the air around him seeming to still.

Two figures stepped forward from the shadows behind him. I hadn’t even seen them enter.

“I’m sure you remember my son Caelan,” Cesare said, without turning. “This is his son, Connell, another grandson of mine and also Alder’s brother. Both are among my finest Coven Enforcers. They are here to maintain order.”

“Not my son, not Connell’s brother!” insisted Caelan.

He looked exactly as I remembered—tall, grim, his long black hair tied back like he’d just come from a battlefield. His expression was carved from stone.

Connell, by contrast, was younger, paler, and unsettlingly composed. His hair was a cascade of pale blond, braided intricately on one side and falling loose on the other, framing a face that was both elegant and unreadable. He looked like one of those Elves from Lord of the Rings, and for a moment I was distracted, trying to understand how he could possibly have sprung from Caelan’s loins—until I remembered the ethereal Rhiannon.

Connell took after her in everything but physical size. He was tall and built like his father, but the rest—his bearing, his silence, his gaze—was pure Rhiannon. A well-groomed beard and mustache gave him a regal edge, and his dark, textured coat looked more ceremonial than tactical.

I hated to admit it, but he was… handsome. Striking, even. Not at all what you’d expect a vampire to look like. Nobody would expect fangs on that man. There was no menace about him, he looked almost … angelic. Just quiet power and unsettling grace.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Cesare gestured. “Caelan, escort Victoria to her quarters. Connell, see to Alder. The usual precautions will suffice.”

Alder stirred beside me, still pale, still silent. Connell stepped forward, expression unreadable, and gestured for him to follow. Alder didn’t resist. He glanced at me once—just once—then turned and disappeared down a side corridor with Connell at his heels.

I felt the absence like a pulled thread.

Caelan jerked his head toward the stairs. “Move.”

I didn’t. “This is your fault, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mine?”

“You made him and then abandoned him. I get you couldn’t have known his mother was pregnant, but just leaving her because you were getting attached?”

Caelan snorted. “He’s not my son. And you dare judge things you do not understand.”

“I understand you’re his father. Deny all you want, it’s already been refuted.”

“And you’re loud.”

He gave me a shove—not violent, just firm enough to say don’t test me. I walked. The castle was all stone and shadow, sconces flickering against damp walls. I kept pace beside him, refusing to trail behind.

“You knew this would happen,” I said. “You let it.”

He didn’t respond. Just grunted and shoved open a heavy wooden door. The hinges groaned. Inside: a high-canopied bed dressed in velvet, a marble hearth, and a tall armoire carved with thistle and crow motifs. The walls were paneled in dark oak, the floor covered in a faded but intricate rug. A silver candelabra flickered on the mantle. The window—tall but narrow—was barred in wrought iron, its glass warped with age.

He shoved me in. I stumbled, caught myself.

“Caelan—”

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall. Slow. Unbothered.

I banged on the door. “Coward!”

I kicked it. “Bastard!”

Silence.

I turned to the window. Outside: Forgotten Hollow, cloaked in mist and moonlight. The village looked distant, unreachable. The bars were thick, the stone unforgiving. No balcony. No escape.

I paced. I cursed. I kicked the bedpost hard enough to bruise. I simmered—surrounded by velvet and firelight, and still no closer to freedom.

About two hours passed. Maybe more. Or less. I didn’t know. Time felt elastic in this place.

Then came a knock. The door opened—not by my hand, but theirs. Branwen stepped in, Cesare’s wife, quiet as snowfall.

“I thought you might want tea and cookies,” she said.

Cookies?! I thought. Was this woman serious!? “I want out.”

She placed the tray on the table. “I know.”

I didn’t touch it. “This is kidnapping.”

Branwen sat across from me, hands folded. “It’s protection. For you. For the child. For Alder.”

I scoffed. “He’s a grown man. And a vampire. He doesn’t need protection.”

Branwen tilted her head. “Doesn’t he?”

I didn’t answer.

She studied me for a moment, then asked—softly, but without hesitation: “Alder is vulnerable, which isn’t good thing with my kind. A vampire who feels cornered can be deadly. Do you love him? Was this child really an accident? Or is it a sign? Maybe it is fate. Maybe you needed to meet him, and to have this child. Maybe you are whom he needed to meet to finally forgive his anger and resentment and become one of us, fully. There are many who wish my kind harm, and there is safety in numbers. Maybe you are saving him.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. A few times. Like a goldfish in a water bowl. She didn’t wait for a reply. She stood, smoothed her skirt, and left me alone.

I sat there, staring at the untouched tea. And the memories came.

The way he’d let me in. The way he’d never asked for more than I was willing to give. The way I told him things I had not told another soul.

Talk

I stood. Tried the door again, for some reason I can’t even name. Surprisingly, or maybe I should say not surprisingly, this time it opened.

I blinked. Of course it did. You don’t outrun vampires. You don’t outsmart them. You just wait until they let you go. Any mortal at any point will only ever be the mouse the cat is playing with around vampires.

The hallway beyond was dim, lit only by flickering sconces that cast long shadows across the stone. The air smelled faintly of parchment and lavender oil—old magic, old memory. I wandered, searching for Cesare, hoping if I could catch him one on one maybe I could reason with him.

But I found Alder instead.

He was in the library, curled into a wingback chair like he was trying to disappear into the leather. One arm hung limp over the side, the other clutched a book he clearly wasn’t reading. His head was bowed, hair falling forward in loose strands that veiled his face.

When I stepped inside, he looked up. Didn’t speak.

I crossed the room and sat across from him. The silence stretched, taut and fragile.

“You got out too?” I asked, voice low.

Alder’s voice was quiet, almost resigned. “We both got out because they want us out. Probably to speak, like we are now. Everything is calculated with them.”

I leaned forward, brushing the hair from his face. His breath hitched—just slightly—but the way his eyes closed, the way his cheek leaned into my hand, it was like watching a man in a desert take his first sip of water. Not relief. Reverence.

“Okay, then we’ll speak,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I was angry.”

“I know.”

“I still am.”

“I deserve that.”

I looked at him. Really looked. He was pale, tired, eyes rimmed with something that wasn’t quite red but wasn’t quite gone either. Hollowed out, but still holding.

“I remembered things from that night,” I said softly. “More than I admitted.”

He nodded, voice rough. “Good.”

“I kissed you. I initiated it all, didn’t I?”

“You did initiate, I knew you were intoxicated, but I didn’t stop it. I took it and reciprocated … I felt it was mutual.”

“I wanted you.” I admitted.

“I wanted you too. Which is why I did nothing to stop it, knowing it wasn’t right considering the state you were in. That is my blame.”

We sat in it. The truth. The ache. The fear.

Alder’s voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t know how to tell you about all this. I’ve never… I’ve never had someone like you. Someone who sees me and doesn’t flinch.”

“I flinched,” I admitted, barely above a whisper.

“But you recovered. And you are still here.”

I swallowed hard. “Well, not much choice there, but I get what you are saying and yes, I am still here and I will be. I don’t give up quickly in the face of adversity. But I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

“You? I didn’t think there was anything that could scare a vamp, except a crucifix, garlic and holy water. Is any of that even true?”

“I grew up in a convent among nuns. Give it your best guess.”

 “So just myth. Got it. So, if you have no natural enemies and the usual gimmicks do nothing, then what would YOU have to be scared of?”

“Of us. Of ruining it. Of being too much. Or not enough.”

I reached for his hand. He let me. His fingers were cold, but they curled around mine like they’d been waiting.

“I think I love you,” I whispered.

Alder’s voice was steady now. “I know I love you.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You really had to one-up me here? When we are finally having a crescendo-worthy moment of sappy?” I mumbled.

He didn’t speak. Just leaned forward, forehead resting against mine. His face moved slightly and I felt his lips on mine—soft, tentative, then sure. When I reciprocated, he pulled me into his lap and we kissed. Really kissed.

And I couldn’t help noticing the fangs. I could feel them without even trying too hard. I swear he didn’t have those last time, but since I’d already learned they weren’t retractable, it had to be another case of when you know, you know.

His mouth was cool, but not lifeless. His hands, firm but trembling. We held each other like the world had narrowed to this one moment.

After a long silence, I sniffled. “You know what?”

“What?” Alder asked, voice muffled against my shoulder.

“All this time I was so bothered that you were younger than me. I hated feeling like a cradle-robber.”

He blinked, confused. “You’re not—”

“Well,” I said, pulling back with a giggle, “turns out you’re the cradle-robber, grandpa. 1938? Damn. I’m graverobbing here. You’re basically a mummy, dude.”

Alder laughed—really laughed—for the first time since I’d met him. And I laughed too. And for the first time in days, it didn’t hurt.

Alder shifted in his chair, rose up, held out his hand to me. Then, softly:

“Would you like to take some air with me?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Take air. Bit ironic phrasing from someone who doesn’t even breathe.”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Fine. Let me rephrase. Would you like to walk with me?”

I hesitated. “Would they let us?”

“In the castle gardens, yes. We just can’t leave the property.”

“Sure,” I said, rising.

With a quiet gallantry, held out his arm. I linked mine through his, and together we stepped into the corridor, past the flickering sconces and heavy tapestries, toward the garden doors.

The castle gardens were a misnomer and nothing like I expected. No roses. No hedges. Just ungroomed vegetation, winding stone paths, moss-covered statues, and trees that looked older than memory. The air was damp and fragrant—earth, iron, and something faintly sweet.

We walked in silence for a while, our footsteps soft against the gravel. Then I saw it.

A tree, gnarled and silver-barked, with red fruits hanging low from its branches. One of several. They weren’t just red—they pulsed, faintly, like something alive. Like they were breathing.

I stepped closer, drawn in despite myself.

The fruit looked smooth, almost lacquered, but the surface shimmered oddly—like it was absorbing light to use it to glow somehow. Everything that shouldn’t seemed to glow here. Their eyes, their trees. I reached out, hesitated, then touched it with the back of my fingers.

Warm.
Not soft. Not firm. Just… wrong.
I poked it, testing the give. It twitched. I swear to you it did.

I jerked my hand back, heart skipping. The sensation was subtle, but unmistakable—like touching something that shouldn’t be alive.

I turned to Alder, unsettled. “I’ve never seen a tree like this.”

He joined me, hands behind his back. “I’d be concerned if you had. It’s called Sanguis arborum. Plasma tree, in common tongue. They’re cultivated for vampires to consume who can’t—or won’t—hunt people.”

I blinked. “Wait. You eat these?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then reached up, plucked one gently, and held it out. “They’re grown in nutrient-enriched soil. Fed with synthetic plasma. Not pleasant, but… effective.”

I stared at the fruit, tentatively poking it with my index finger. “It’s moving.”

“It’s metabolizing. That’s how it stays viable.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Alder gave a small, sad smile. “Most things that keep us alive are. One of the countless reasons I didn’t want to tell you what I am.”

Then, without ceremony, he bit into it.

The smell hit me instantly—metallic, sour, with a hint of rot. Kinda like … blood. I gagged, just slightly, but didn’t step back. Alder chewed slowly, jaw tense, and when he swallowed, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

A smear of dark red lingered at the corner of his lips.

I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb.

He froze. Just for a moment. Then leaned into the touch, eyes searching mine. Finding acceptance and I could see his entire body relax.

I leaned in slightly, eyes on the fruit still cradled in Alder’s hand. The bite mark glistened—dark, wet, almost bruised-looking. It pulsed faintly, like it was still metabolizing, still reacting to being consumed.

I reached out, hesitated, then poked the exposed flesh with my fingertip.

It was warm. Slick. The texture gave slightly, then twitched—like muscle memory in something that shouldn’t have any.

I jerked back again, heart skipping.

“It’s still… moving,” I murmured, my voice caught somewhere between fascination and disgust. “How in the world is that even possible?”

Alder didn’t flinch. “It metabolizes until it’s fully spent. That’s how it stays viable. It’s not dead until we finish it.”

I swallowed, unsettled. “Ah. I see. Well, to each their own, but I’ll tell you what—if an apple I’m eating starts pulsing and twitching, I’m throwing that sucker straight out.”

I paused, watching the fruit still glisten in his hand. “So… how does it feel? Consuming blood and… that stuff, I mean.”

Alder considered for a moment, eyes still on the fruit. “Like warmth. Like memory. Like hunger being silenced, but not satisfied.” He looked up at me. “Vampires are always hungry for something. Blood, intimacy, violence, attention.”

I nodded slowly, the weight of that truth settling in.

“And the taste?”

“Depends, and hard to describe.” He turned the fruit slowly. “Plasmafruit tastes awkward. They’re not popular. Blood packs are okay—like the equivalent of a TV dinner, really. Animal blood is dull. Just tastes… wrong. Synthetic is worse. Human blood…” He paused. “It’s layered. Like wine. It carries emotion. Fear, joy, rage. You taste the moment they were in. It ranges from delicious to revolting.”

I swallowed. “Have you ever hunted a person?”

He looked away. “Yes. When I was younger for many decades, there were no alternatives. I fed because I had to, and only when I had to and couldn’t make it any longer, until I figured out that was part of my problem. The longer you drag it out, the worse the cravings get until they are nearly impossible to control, even for a seasoned vamp, which I really wasn’t. That is when terrible things can happen. I was a hack, at best, and I remember how it felt, which is why I understand Cesare’s request. I don’t particularly enjoy the hunt, like some vampires do. They get a… rush. I only got guilt. There are even people out there who seek out vampires, something about being bitten during the act of lovemaking, but I honestly never had the nerve to test that theory so I can’t speak to it. Most vampires are at ease with what they are and just deal with it. I never really managed that nonchalance. Guess that’s the difference between being raised by nuns for sixteen years and being raised by vampires.”

“Did they survive? The ones you… hunted?”

“Yes. I don’t think I killed anyone, though I can’t say that with certainty, but I will admit I came very close way too many times. I had to learn how to stop. The first attempts were bad. Almost deadly.” He glanced at me, then back at the tree. “It’s hard to explain. I think it’s close to addiction. A rush you crave until the craving gets too strong and you need it so bad it is driving you mad. If you wait too long, you could easily overconsume. I hate to admit it, but Cesare’s request isn’t without merit. It makes a lot of sense. I wish I’d had proper training back when I was a young vamp. I am not sure I can properly train another.”

“Then why did you say no to signing the guardianship?”

“Because you did. My loyalty lies with you, not Cesare.” he said without hesitation.

We stood there, the plasma tree pulsing beside us, the garden quiet around us.

“Do you miss it?” I asked. “Hunting. Or do you still…?”

He turned back to me. “I try not to. I use alternatives mostly, unless left with no choice. I’ve learned control. It’s merely an inconvenience to my victims now. We take less blood than mortals give during donation drives, just for reference, I know movies like to make it look as if we sucked people dry like raisins each time, which is simply not true, and I am not even sure it’s possible. It would be foolish to kill those who sustain us.”

I nodded, unsure what to say. The wind stirred the branches above us, and one of the fruits dropped, landing with a soft, wet thud.

“Would you ever … hunt me?” I asked.

His eyes darkened. “Hunt? I know what you are asking. You wonder if I would feed on you. The answer is a resounding no. Never without your consent. Never without control. Never unless you asked.”

I nodded again. Then, softly: “What does it feel like? I mean, from the receiving end?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I wasn’t turned, but born like this. But I would like to think it’s not so bad, but I can’t say for sure. I assume there’s some discomfort when the skin breaks, but our saliva has special properties. It prevents infection. Closes the wound. Stops bleeding.”

“Handy,” I said. “Next time I cut myself in the kitchen, I’ll have you spit on it.”

He smirked. “Happy to put my special condition at your service. I would literally kiss your injuries better.”

I ran my hand across his cheek, then looked at him.

“Do it.”

His brow lifted. “Do what?”

“Bite me. Not in the collegial way. I mean literally. I want to feel it. And I kinda want to know what I taste like.” I paused, grimaced. “Wow. That sounded all sorts of kinky. I don’t mean it like that.”

Alder grinned. “You sure? Because that was alarmingly specific.”

“I’m just curious!”

“Curious is how toddlers end up with glitter glue in their ears. This is… a bit more involved than just curiosity of the unknown.”

“I’m giving permission.”

“I still can’t.” His voice shifted—firmer now, less amused. “It’s illegal to feed off the pregnant, the infirm, or the underaged.”

I blinked.

“There are actual laws about this? That wasn’t in any book or movie. Who enforces that? The bite-police? Are they a branch of the fashion police?”

Alder snorted. “Not quite. Caelan isn’t exactly famous for being on the pulse of fashion at any given moment.” He straightened his back, more serious now. “There are many laws. Feeding, turning, territory, courtship rituals—yes, even those. And enforcement isn’t a joke. Caelan, Connell, and others operate under Cesare’s watchful eye. It’s literally their job.”

“So… what? They write tickets?”

“No. They track. They hunt. They contain. It’s impossible to hide from them. Once one of them has you, you’re not getting out until they allow it, as we are both experiencing firsthand right now. Even if I knew how to port, I couldn’t now. Cesare’s powers. I cannot use my vampire speed right now either. If we walked out of the castle gates, nothing would happen until we get to the edge of the castle grounds and then the guards and Cesare’s hounds, literal hound dogs, big, black and dangerous, would have us before we reached the bottom of the hill this castle sits on. As for other lawbreakers, depending on the severity, offenders are dragged here to the castle for judgment—which could be anything from incarceration, exile, or worse. And sometimes, for certain offenses, they’re executed on the spot the moment they’re found. No trial. No ceremony.”

I stared at him. “Are you telling me I’ve been mouthing off to a guy who’s literally killed people?”

Alder didn’t blink. “I thought you knew that about Caelan. And Connell. There’s another—Connell’s son, Damon. You haven’t met him yet.”

I swallowed. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

Alder reached for my hand, voice gentler now. “Caelan won’t hurt you. He’s dark, yes—and he and I definitely have issues—but he follows the rules. Unless Cesare orders one of us dead, which I think you know he wouldn’t do, we have nothing to fear. Just glares. Grim commentary. And the occasional snarky remark.”

“Aha. So, we already established garlic and crucifixes do nothing… how does one kill a vampire?”

Alder hesitated, smirking. “As often as I annoy you, I’m not sure I want to answer that.” He sighed. “We’re called immortal, but we aren’t. We don’t die naturally, but we can be killed. There are ways to weaken us—drain us, poison us, starve us—until even Daywalkers, which most of us are, will burn in the sun. Fire works too, if we’re weak enough. And yes, there are certain poisons.”

“So how do I picture Caelan doing it? Does he use his personality to make people off themselves? I just can’t see him standing around patiently while someone slowly weakens enough to crisp in daylight. Come to think of it, that whole falling to dust part is lore too, isn’t it?”

“That part’s true—but only for older vampires, someone my age or older would turn to dust if killed. More recent turns just… turn into corpses. No dust. No drama.” He paused. “As for Caelan and the other Coven Enforcers, they use weapons. Caelan’s famous for his preferred blade—an old English longsword he calls ‘Lady Threnody’, which basically means lament, and she’s made of special steel. Deadly to vampires. Connell favors archery, his arrows are laced with something and kill one of us in minutes if not seconds. Damon… I have no idea how he does what he does. You rarely see him.”

“So basically, vampire assassins with a weakness for medieval weaponry. Got it.”

I nodded, processing. The rules. The restraint. The strange, quiet ethics of a world I was only beginning to understand. But I really was uber-curious now. Yes, I got it—vampires were dangerous. But I couldn’t be afraid of Alder if I tried. I may not have known his history, but I knew him.

A smirk crept across my face, raising an eyebrow in Alder. I raised my chin. “Open your mouth.”

He was taken aback but obliged, showing me his fangs. It was clear I wasn’t looking for plaque or trying to check on his tonsils.

I looked, then lifted my finger, touching. They were sharp. Very sharp. Which gave me an idea. I moved fast, scraping my finger hard against his fang. A brief pain, and blood welled up on my fingertip.

Our eyes met. I held out my finger.

“Oops,” I said, voice low, teasing, holding up my finger under his nose.

Alder didn’t move at first. He knew I’d done it on purpose. Just stared at me, gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, the plasma fruit’s faint red light casting a soft glow across his face.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured.

“I’m playing with my baby daddy’s fangs,” I replied.

He took my wrist gently, reverently, and brought my hand toward his mouth. His lips parted—not hungrily, not violently, but with something quieter. Something deliberate.

He didn’t suck. Just tasted. His lips folded around my finger softly, almost seductively. A quick flick of his tongue, almost sensual and seductive. I saw a different side of him. There was nothing nerdy about him right here, right now in this light and context.

His tongue brushed the blood, slow and careful, and his eyes fluttered shut. I felt the coolness of his lips, the tension in his shoulders as he held himself back.

When he pulled away, he looked at me like I’d undone something in him.

“So?” I asked, breath catching. “What do I taste like?”

Alder smiled faintly. Then leaned in, lips grazing the shell of my ear, voice a breath against my skin.

“Beautiful. Agitating. Maddening.”

And then he kissed me.

Not tentative. Not apologetic. His hands found my waist, firm and trembling, and he pulled me close. His mouth was cool, but not lifeless. His kiss was slow, deliberate—like he was memorizing me. Like he was tasting the truth of me in every way.

I melted into him, the garden spinning away, the plasma tree pulsing behind us like a second heartbeat.

And though we weren’t a couple, and though the world around us was full of rules and bloodlines and things we hadn’t chosen—we were something. Something real. Something becoming.

The kiss lingered. When we finally parted, I didn’t step back. Neither did he.

I looked at him, heart thudding. “So, what does all this make us now? Are we a couple?”

Alder’s eyes searched mine. “Do you want to be?”

“Can you not just answer a simple question?” I snapped. “Yes or no?”

He hesitated. Then, softly: “Simple? And if you have to ask…”

I pulled back, the moment cracking like glass. “Way to ruin it,” I muttered. “Couldn’t just say yes or something?”

“No.”

That single word landed like a slap. I turned to leave, angry and humiliated, but before I could take a full step, his hand caught my wrist.

And then I was pulled back—effortlessly, like gravity had shifted—and my body crashed into his chest. I gasped, not from pain, but from the sheer force of him. It was the first time I truly felt how strong he was. How inhuman.

His arms wrapped around me, firm and unyielding. His mouth found my ear.

“You didn’t let me finish. No … I cannot just say yes or something. We are too layered for me to just put a label on it. You drive me mad,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “You make me forget decades of restraint.”

He kissed the edge of my jaw, then moved to my other ear.

“You make me want things I swore I’d never want again. Make me want to be reckless.”

Another kiss. A soft nibble. My breath hitched.

“You make me feel alive. Not undead. Not surviving. Alive.”

He switched sides again, lips brushing my skin like a promise.

“I didn’t want to answer because I didn’t want to lie. And I knew you wouldn’t like my truth. But the truth is that I don’t want to call you my friend, or my partner. Or my girlfriend. Or my lover.”

His mouth hovered near my ear, breath warm, voice trembling.

“I want to call you my wife.”

I froze.

The garden spun away. The plasma tree pulsed behind us like a second heartbeat. And in his arms, I felt everything shift.

“What?!” I croaked, too loud, too raw. My voice didn’t match the moment—it cracked like glass under pressure.

Okay. Look. Listen.

Yes, I had just told him I loved him. And I meant it. But marriage?

My last one didn’t end—it imploded. No, it drowned. My husband left me a widow in everything but paperwork, and I was still clawing my way out of the wreckage. Financially. Emotionally. Psychologically.

And now this?

I’d fallen for one man, slept with another, and gotten pregnant while other women my age were becoming grandmothers. I was still trying to figure out how to parent a child who might grow fangs before they would have their first kiss.

And Alder—this quiet, poetic, maddening man—was part of that world. A world I’d spent my whole life dismissing as fiction. Vampires were lore. Movie monsters. Book fodder. Not real.

Except now they were.

And the man I had unexpected, unplanned feelings for was standing in front of me, telling me what he would like would be to call me something sacred. Something terrifying. Something permanent. Something I never wanted again. And Alder never seemed the type to say such things.

I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t run.
But – somehow, I couldn’t stop wanting him. Not just in the smutty sense. In my life I mean.

There was something about Alder that pulled me in deeper than fear could push me out. His restraint. His sadness. His quiet reverence. I knew the smart thing would be to walk away. To protect myself. To keep my heart out of reach.

But I’d missed the exit the moment I got pregnant.

And if I was in this—really in this—I needed answers. I needed truth. I needed to understand the world I was now tethered to by blood and consequence.

Each answer brought more wonder. More questions. More ache.

My thoughts spiraled until Alder’s voice cut through, soft and concerned.

“You see, this is why I choose to say nothing. If I do dare, it might be too much. This was too much.”

I blinked, looked at him. His face was open, vulnerable. I’d hurt him.

“No,” I said quietly. “It was… sweet. Just surprised me.”

He nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

“I’m not suggesting a timeline,” he said. “I didn’t mean right away. I know we both have much yet to learn about each other. I know you have questions, and I’ll answer what I can. But please understand—there are things I can’t speak about.”

I studied him—the man who moved like silence, who kissed like memory, who tasted my blood like it was a secret he’d waited an eternity to hear.

And I knew I’d hurt him. With my shocked face. My recoil. My fear.

Speaking of shocked faces—one thing I still hadn’t adjusted to about vampires was how quietly they moved. No footsteps. No rustle. Just presence.

Which is why I hadn’t noticed the figure in the garden, a distance away, fishing in a little pond.

Alder followed my gaze, then looked back at me. Our eyes met.

I turned back toward the pond, watching the figure cast his line with slow, deliberate grace. The water rippled. A frog croaked. The man didn’t flinch.

“I never would’ve pegged your daddy dearest as a passionate fisherman.”

Alder chuckled, low and dry. “He’s not. I’ll spare you the details, but they make blood packs from the catch. Frogs too. Most small animals work. Emergency rations, if you will.”

I blinked. “So that’s not leisure. That’s harvesting.”

“Exactly.”

I watched Caelan a moment longer. His movements were precise, almost elegant—but there was no softness in them. Just control. Just calculation.

“He doesn’t look that old,” I murmured.

“He’s not. Just over a century. But he’s lived like someone twice that.”

I nodded, then turned back to Alder. “So… vampires can have kids. I mean, obviously. But how does that work? I thought the whole point was being undead.”

Alder’s expression shifted—not discomfort, but caution. “It’s rare. Most vampires are turned, not born. And the probability of conception between two vampires is low—decreasing with each decade lived. It’s somewhat higher if one partner is mortal or a recent turn. But those born into it—like me—are different. We age slowly. We inherit traits. We’re not undead. We’re… altered. And among my kind, we usually rank higher than turns. More powerful. There are exceptions, one obvious one would be Cesare himself. He was turned, centuries ago, but there isn’t a vampire alive today that could take him on. A century or two ago he eliminated the previous Grand Master Elder, who was a tyrant a long time ago and has since lead with a firm, but just and kind hand. He’s admired and feared to equal parts.”

I shivered—not from cold, but from the weight of it all. The legacy. The bloodlines. The quiet rules I hadn’t even begun to understand.

“So what happens if our baby is born like you?” I asked. “What does that mean for me?”

Alder looked at me, eyes steady. “That’s the part that worries me. If our child has inherited the spark, the birth might be dangerous. As you know, my mother didn’t survive it. But I’ll be there. I’ll keep you safe.”

I nodded slowly, heart thudding. “And if they’re not like you?”

“Then we raise a mortal child. With a very strange family tree. And an even stranger father.”

I exhaled, the weight of it pressing down. “Alder, what are we going to do? I don’t want to stay here, but I can’t sign my child over to… them.”

“We’re not.” His voice was calm, but firm. “I should’ve explained better. The guardianship is protective. Cesare isn’t a monster. I was upset too, but if I’m honest—it’s what’s best. Technically, it’s a sort of boarding school. We’d still see the child, visit often. But they’d learn how to manage their instincts. These urges that come with my condition… they’re no joke. They can get stronger than the person themselves. And if you don’t learn control, you become the monster everyone fears.”

“You really know how to calm my nerves,” I muttered, sarcasm thick in my voice. Lovely outlook. We’ve all heard of moody, raging teens. Sounds like if my baby took after its father, I’d skipped straight to expert mode. And I didn’t even know how to change a diaper yet.

“So, what do you suggest?”

“I think we should sign the guardianship agreement. If the child is mortal, it’s null and void. And if they’re not, we have thirteen years to prepare.”

“You trust him?”

“Cesare? Yes. He’s a man of honor. His word is his currency. My beef with him and this entire family is on a personal level and has nothing to do with his character.”

I sighed deeply. “Fine. Let’s go find him and sign so we can get out of here. This place gives me the creeps, and I need a very strong cup of coffee right about now.”

“You mean a very mild decaffeinated one?” Alder teased, gently brushing his hand across my bump.

With a groan, I turned from him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him back inside with me.

Signing the Deal

We stepped back inside the castle, and even though it hadn’t been bright outside, the shift in light made me blink. My eyes needed a moment to adjust to the gloom. The air felt heavier here, like it had opinions.

I paused, realizing I had no idea which way Cesare’s office was.

“I don’t remember where his study is,” I muttered.

Alder didn’t let go of my hand. “This way.”

He led me down a corridor that looked like it belonged in a gothic novel—arched ceilings, stone walls lined with flickering sconces, tapestries that probably hadn’t been dusted since the invention of dust. The air smelled like old paper and colder secrets. My footsteps echoed. His didn’t.

We reached a tall, dark door veined with silver. Alder knocked twice.

A voice called out from inside—in Tartosian, smooth and commanding. “Avanti.”

He opened the door.

Cesare was standing near the hearth, Riordan beside him, both looking like they’d just finished discussing something far more important than us.

“Oh, it’s you two,” Cesare said, his tone dry but not unkind. “Come in, come in.”

I stepped forward, still holding Alder’s hand. “We’ve decided.”

Cesare raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, have we decided?”

“We’ll sign.”

“Fantastic.” He waved a casual hand toward Riordan, who turned and began rustling through a stack of documents. He pulled out a parchment, laid it on the desk, and dipped a quill into ink with the kind of grace that made me suspicious.

Alder sat first, taking the chair in front of the parchment. Riordan handed him the quill. He signed without hesitation.

Then it was my turn.

I sat slowly, staring at the quill Riordan offered me. It was heavier than I expected. Colder. The metal tip gleamed, and the ink shimmered like liquid nighttime.

I took it. Hesitated. Then signed.

The ink dried fast, seeping into the parchment like it had been waiting for me.

Riordan relieved me of the quill with a quiet nod.

Cesare stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. “I had faith you’d make the right decision. You’ve chosen wisely. I’ll do my best to guide you both—and the child—along the way.”

I didn’t respond. My chest felt tight. My stomach unsettled. I’d just signed away the guardianship of my unborn child to a man who spoke like a monarch and moved like a shadow.

“Can we just go home now?” I asked, voice low, defeated.

Cesare nodded once. “Of course.”

Alder didn’t know how to port—what they called that teleportation trick—so Riordan and Caelan brought us back. No lingering. No ceremony. Just a brief nod, a flicker of presence, and they were gone.

We stood at the foot of the stairs to our townhouse, the night pressing in around us. It had to be close to 2 AM. No nosy neighbors. No headlights. Just quiet.

Alder unlocked the door, and as we stepped inside, the cold hit me like a slap. Two days away, no heater running. The air was sharp, the silence familiar, and I could see my breath in the hallway light.

Alder pushed the door shut behind us.

I turned to him, arms crossed, eyes tired but still burning. “You will turn up every heater in this place, then make coffee. Real coffee. I earned that. I will take a very hot shower. Then I will drink that coffee and go to bed… and you better be in it to warm my night up.”

Alder smirked, unbothered. “I’d love to assist, but I’m naturally cold, remember? No body heat.”

I was already halfway up the stairs when I paused. Looked back over my shoulder.

My voice dropped—slower, silkier. “Then think of something to heat things up.”

His smile faded into something darker. Hungrier. He didn’t even really look like the nerd I knew. Not with that smirk. Always the silent waters.

And I kept walking, knowing full well he would.

And he did. He let me get halfway through my coffee before he started on what I can only call foreplay. It was polite and clean, kissing, but it was the way he did it and the context. Yeah, this silent water here had a lot of depths.

It became a night of passion—finally, we did the deed that got us into this mess to begin with, only this time it was deliberate. Memorable. Charged with everything we hadn’t said and everything we couldn’t stop feeling.

Later, curled against him, waiting for sleep to take me, I let myself wonder.

Maybe—just maybe—this strange, tangled thing between us had wings.
Maybe it could take flight after all.

The Pulse Beneath It All

The next morning, I was in my studio, sorting painting supplies, when the knock came.

My bump wasn’t huge, but heavy enough to make me curse living in a townhome—top floor, no less—forcing me up and down several flights of narrow stairs every day. Alder would normally answer the door, but he’d gone out to meet with a publisher.

And there was Gavin.

I wasn’t ready to see him. Not after everything. Not after the way we’d left things—sharp words, broken trust, and silence that felt like punishment. So when he showed up at my door asking for a commission, I nearly laughed in his face.

“Another one?” I asked, arms crossed.

He shrugged. “Is there a limit?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Come in.”

I led him upstairs to my studio. The light was soft, the air smelled like turpentine and lavender, and Alder’s jacket was still draped over the back of my chair. I didn’t move it.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, flipping open my sketchpad. “Portrait? Abstract? Something to hang over your guilt?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he wandered the room, touching things. A ceramic bowl. A book. A photo. His fingers lingered on the frame.

“You’re not here for a commission,” I said flatly.

He turned. Shook his head. “No.”

I sighed. “Of course not.”

He gestured to the chairs. “Can we talk?”

I hesitated. “Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice with me.”

I sat, arms still folded, heart still guarded.

“I know about the guardianship,” he said.

I blinked. “How? Do you have me bugged?”

He smiled. “You do remember Cesare is also my grandfather?”

I stared at him. “No… no, I certainly did not remember that. But I do now. Okay, so what is this? A lecture? Just like Grandpa likes to do?”

“Cesare does like to lecture, doesn’t he?” Gavin chuckled. “In his defense, he’s a walking encyclopedia on nearly every subject imaginable.”

I leaned back. “What do you want, Gavin? Showboat your genius grandpa with fangs? Relay an I-told-you-so? Or are you here to call me a hoe for sleeping with you and letting Alder give me this bump at nearly the same time? Just get it out already.”

He winced. “Is that the impression I left you with? Yikes. No. I’m here to try and explain why Cesare is asking this. From a mortal perspective. Because I understand it can’t be easy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And how would you have more insight than I do at this point? What do you know about vampires that I don’t by now? Ever been pregnant by one?”

He looked at me. Calm. Steady. “Can’t claim I have, but I still would say I know a lot,” he said. “I used to be one of them.”

I froze. “What?!” I whispered. “Okay. That’s new.”

He nodded. “All of us—my siblings, I mean—except two were born with the spark. Cesare’s bloodline runs deep, and it carries weight. But Cesare isn’t just a patriarch. He’s a scientist. Always looking to improve life for vampires. He’s the one who found a way to endure the sun. Not tan, obviously, but survive it. No more burning to death. Huge improvement. As was the cure to tolerate human food. Consumption used to make vampires violently ill. Without it, blending in with mortals was nearly impossible.”

I blinked. “Okay, I get it. Cesare is a freaking genius. Great. So?”

“I’m getting to that,” Gavin said, patient. “Some decades ago—maybe just one, I don’t recall exactly—he found a cure for vampyrism. There was a high demand. All my siblings did it. I did it. Our vampiric children. Many others. It was a lot. The vampire community shrunk by more than half, if not more.”

I sat up straighter. “There’s a cure? Why didn’t Alder—”

“There was a cure,” Gavin interrupted. His voice dropped. “It wasn’t perfect. There hadn’t been long-term studies. We all knew the obvious side effect—we’d die of old age or mortal diseases eventually. But it was worse. The drug was unstable. It cost lives. In the most gruesome ways. And that’s all I can say about that.”

I swallowed. “You lucked out.”

He nodded. “I did. A lot of my family did. But many weren’t so lucky. So, it was forbidden. There are no more unturns.”

I stared at him. “Got it. You really do know both sides. Why do I keep finding out shocking truths about people I thought I knew?”

“Such is life,” he said. “And while I know you don’t hold me in the highest regard, I’m here for two reasons. First, to tell you to trust Cesare. He may seem strict, even cruel, but this—this pact, this protection—it’s in your and your child’s best interest.”

I didn’t speak.

“And second,” Gavin said, softer now, “I still care for you. Deeply. Just the context has shifted. I can’t be with you, and frankly, I do not want to. Not after everything. But I can be there for you. And I will be. Anything you need. I can explain things from both sides. I’ve lived it. Stay here, I’ll see myself out.”

I looked at him. Really looked. He had surprised me. Positively.

He turned to leave, then paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Victoria. I know firsthand—expecting a child is terrifying. But it’s also transformative. It changes a man. Cesare’s hopeful it’ll help heal some deep wounds in Alder. Meeting you already started that.”

He stepped halfway into the hall, then lingered.

“Every vampire in our community is governed by Cesare’s laws. They’re expected to attend meetings, contribute, stay visible. Those who don’t are called rogues. Watched closely. Usually the ones who disagree with the system—and eventually end up on Caelan’s list.”

He looked at me, eyes softer now.

“Alder’s been a rogue his entire life. But he showed up to the last meeting. Voluntarily. That may not mean much to you, but it’s a big deal. A step in the right direction. Cesare’s hopeful. So am I.”

He turned fully now, voice quieter.

“And if you have questions—non-medical, firsthand ones—you know where to find me. I’ll be there.”

I didn’t think. I just moved. I ran after him, grabbed his arm, turned him, pulled him back into my room  and hugged him. He didn’t hesitate. He hugged me back, firm and warm and real. And I realized how different it felt to hug a mortal man versus a vampire. The weight. The warmth. The breath.

A Shattered Frame, a Steady Hand

That’s when Alder walked in.

He paused in the doorway, silent as ever, but I felt it—his discomfort. His eyes flicked to Gavin’s arms around me, and something shifted in his face. Not pain. Not confusion.

Jealousy. Deep, dark and unbridled.

Gavin seemed to pick up on it too. He gently released me and turned toward him. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh?” Alder’s voice was cold. Unfamiliar. “You read minds now?”

“Alder…” I stepped forward, trying to defuse whatever this was.

His eyes met mine, but they weren’t soft. They were sharp. Guarded. Burning.

“You being here. You. You always had everything handed to you,” Alder said, stepping toward Gavin. “The name. The legacy. The guidance. Vampirism and now mortality. You got to choose your life. I had to survive mine. I never once got to choose anything.”

Gavin didn’t flinch. “You think I asked for any of this? It wasn’t as easy as you make it sound. Not to mention that I just got divorced from my wife of thirty-some years. You think that’s easy?”

“I don’t care about that! At least you had a wife. And a real life. You got out,” Alder snapped. “You got to be normal. You got to walk in the sun and experience love and a family and a career and belong. And now you want her. You can’t have her!”

“I was trying to help.”

“She doesn’t need your help,” Alder said, voice cracking.

And then it happened.

Alder moved—too fast for Gavin to react. One second they were standing apart, the next Gavin was slammed against the wall, Alder’s forearm pressed to his chest, not choking but close. The plaster cracked behind him. A picture frame fell and shattered. Gavin’s feet dangled in the air.

I gasped. “Alder!”

He couldn’t hear me. His eyes were wild, fangs barely hidden, breath sharp. “You don’t get to take her from me.”

Gavin’s face was pale, stunned. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“She’s all I have,” Alder growled.

I stepped in, grabbed Alder’s arm. “Stop. Please.”

He froze. His grip loosened. Gavin’s feet touched back onto the ground with a thud. Alder’s eyes flicked to mine, and something broke in him.

“I love her,” he said, voice raw, intended for Gavin but looking at me. “I love her too much to lose her. I’m begging you, Gavin—don’t take her from me.”

Gavin stared at him, breath shallow. “I wasn’t.”

I touched Alder’s cheek, gently. “I love you too, you dumbass. Enough to even consider doing this whole weird thing with no name with you, as insane as all that is.”

He blinked. Like the words short-circuited him.

“I love you,” I said again, quieter. “I do. You hear me?”

Alder stepped back, releasing Gavin fully. His hands trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Gavin nodded, rubbing his chest, then sighed and clapped Alder on the back. “Yeah. Sounds like you two have things to discuss. Oh, and Alder—it’s never too late for the training. After your little outburst here, I’d suggest you take Cesare up on it. Trust me, we’ve all been there. Me included. I’ve done almost exactly what you just did when I was a young man with fangs. It doesn’t feel good—not for the one on the receiving end, and not for you either. It’s going to haunt you. Especially when you realize it was fully undeserved.”

He paused, gaze steady. “We’re first cousins. And she’s expecting your child. I told her what I’ll tell you now—I can’t be part of that anymore. Not romantically. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be her friend. You, more than anyone, should know friends are hard to come by.”

Alder gave a tight nod, still shaken, still raw. Gavin turned and headed for the stairs, his footsteps slow, deliberate, echoing down the hall like punctuation.

The silence he left behind was thick.

I looked at Alder. He looked at me.

His eyes were still stormy, but the rage had drained out, leaving something quieter. Vulnerable. Human.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” I replied. “You scared him. And maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

Alder exhaled, a shaky breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his ribs for years. “I didn’t know I could still lose control like that.”

I stepped closer. “You didn’t lose control. You just finally showed what you’ve been holding back.”

He looked at me, eyes searching. “You still love me?”

“I never stopped,” I said. “Even when I wanted to.”

He reached for my hand, tentative. I let him take it.

“I don’t know how to be what you need,” he whispered.

“You already are,” I said. “Just need a little finetuning.”

We stood there, hand in hand, surrounded by broken plaster and scattered glass. And somehow, it felt like the safest place in the world.

Outside, the light shifted. Afternoon melting into evening. The air smelled like lavender and turpentine and something new—something alive.

I pulled away, searching Alder’s eyes.

“I need you to do something for me. It will be hard, but if you really feel guilty about the situation you put us both in, you’ll do it. And then I need you to do something else that won’t be easy.”

There was the faintest flinch, a question in his eyes. “What is that?”

“Tell me everything. All you remember. Every detail. I already told you my story. I want to know all about you.”

He nodded, like he’d been waiting for that demand his whole life.

“And the other thing?”

“In due time. First things first. Let’s make some coffee and tea. And we’ll get comfy, because I am not accepting any Cliff’s Notes versions here.”

“Fair enough. There are things that are hard to put into words, Victoria.”

“Oh, I have faith in you. You’re an author. You smithen words for a living.”

He smiled, genuinely. “All right. Oh, wait.”

He moved—and before I knew it, I lost my footing and found myself in his arms. Then everything blurred. Suddenly, we were in the kitchen and he was gently setting me down.

“Oh, you can teleport now?”

“I cannot. I haven’t learned how. From what I understand, it requires extensive training—or you might misjudge a destination and end up lodged in a rock, the ground or a wall or something. It also demands focused power, which you can drain off. And I’d rather not become a decorative fossil. What I can do is vampiric speed.”

“Is that something humans can learn?”

“I am human. You mean mortals. And no, unfortunately not. Fangs are a perquisite for it, sorry.”

“Damn. That would’ve been more than handy. Alright, we’re off to a good start. I may need to have you do that more often. The bigger I get, the longer the stairs seem to stretch.”

“I offered you my room. One less flight of stairs and not one, but two bathrooms.”

“And smaller. And no balcony. And… just no.”

Alder ended up making my coffee and I his tea. While waiting for both to finish, he gestured to a few bottles of wine on the shelf in the dining nook, wiggling his eyebrows.

Smirking, knowing he was joking, I shook my head. “First of all, I’m pregnant. Second of all, that’s what got us into this mess. Well, got me into this mess. As I’ve now learned, you were fully lucid. Were you actually?”

He looked down, then back at me, nodding.

“I wish I could thank you for it. I never felt like that before. It was… it made me feel truly alive. I didn’t think you were so out of it. Tipsy maybe. You were speaking to me, coherently. Well, mostly. There was a lot of… umm… grunting and… moaning.”

I wanted to be embarrassed and appalled, but it was too funny—in the situational comedy kind of way. He was being honest. In his own special way.

“I do not grunt. That was you.”

“Alright. It probably was. But you were saying my name. You were… urging me on. I thought you… meant it.”

“You know, I probably did. The way you presented yourself to me made me think if I ever as much as touched you in a certain way, you’d lose your mind and run away. Turns out I wasn’t so wrong.”

“It wasn’t that which made me run. It was the… result. If there weren’t a child, I would’ve asked for seconds. And thirds.”

The coffee and tea were done, mercifully rescuing us from continuing that odd conversation. We moved to the couch and spoke. He didn’t hold back. I learned about his life.

I’ll spare you the details. Eighty-plus years of resentment and rejection and being told you’re a creep aren’t something I care to recount. His early attempts at trust always ended badly. That’s how he became the way he was. It made sense.

I asked follow-up questions here and there. He answered every one. And in some cases, I wish I hadn’t asked.

When silence fell—him emptied of age-old secrets, me trying to digest all I’d learned—we let it.

Until finally, he refilled our cups, then looked at me.

“I’ve done my part. Now you. What’s the other thing?”

I looked at him. It took me a while to get the words out, but I did. And they sounded like someone else was saying them to me.

“I need you to tell me who and what we are to each other now. I know you don’t like labels, but I need a label now.” I said, clearly waiting for words like ‘girlfriend’, ‘life partner’, etc. knowing that Alder was quite the poet and would definitely put his spin to it. And he did not disappoint.

Alder didn’t answer right away.

He set his cup down with deliberate care, like the weight of the question had shifted gravity itself. His gaze didn’t waver, but something in it deepened—like he was searching for the right word in a language he hadn’t spoken in decades.

Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was holding something fragile between them.

“You’re not a label to me,” he said quietly. “Not a station in my life, not a level from which to go up or down. You’re a turning point.”

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him right.

“You’re the moment everything stopped being survival and started being choice. The moment distrust and hatred gave way to something warmer. Deeper. Better. You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to be better for—not because I had to. Not because someone told me to. Not because of a label I or we chose. But because I want to deserve you.”

My throat tightened.

“You’re the only person who’s ever looked at me and seen more than the monster. More than the myth. You saw the man. And you stayed.”

He reached for my hand again, this time with reverence.

“So if you need a label, I’ll give you one. You’re my future. You’re my redemption. You’re the reason I believe I can be more than what I was made to be.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The words had landed like a spell—binding, aching, true.

He smiled, soft and wrecked. “And me? I’m yours. Whatever that means. However you want it. I’m yours. By any name you want to call it.”

I leaned in, resting my forehead against his. “That’s the only label I needed.”

Outside, the wind shifted. A branch tapped the window like a quiet reminder that the world was still turning.

Inside, we stayed still—two souls tangled in the aftermath of chaos, choosing each other anyway.

And somewhere deep inside me, beneath the fear and the fatigue and the fractured plans, I felt it.

The beginning.

Of something vast.

Of something worth surviving for.

🪶Disclaimer: 🪶 This is a fictional narrative. All characters, events, and settings are entirely imagined—though loosely inspired by a heavily modded save in The Sims 4, extensively customized to behave and appear as realistically as feasible, with enhanced visuals, nuanced social dynamics, and detailed world-building that mirror real human complexity.

If you’re a Simmer, you might recognize the location names and emotional beats. If you’re not, you’ll still find your way—no prior knowledge required. Everything you need to know lives inside this blog.

This story is for anyone who’s ever rebuilt their life from the ashes and dared to write new chapters. For those who crave storylines that think outside the usual boxes—and for anyone who knows that sometimes, the most powerful myths are the ones we make ourselves.