I had just come back from a perimeter patrol, halfway through unlacing my boots, kicking them off, when something outside my window froze me in place.
Movement in the distance. A silhouette.
I looked up — and my whole body locked.
Caelan.
Alone.
That was wrong. Caelan didn’t take solitary moonlit strolls. He wasn’t the mindful midnight‑wanderer type — unless you counted stalking prey or storming off to break something. And Lucrezia was nowhere in sight to suggest a romantic newlywed walk under the stars.
He was up to something. Knowing him, likely nothing good.
And he was moving fast — long, purposeful strides that devoured the ground like he was marching toward a battlefield only he could see.
The boots went back on.
I crossed the hall and knocked on my sister Jaymie’s old room — now Rhiannon’s. No answer. I opened the door.
Empty.
I don’t think anyone — mortal or vampire — has ever moved as fast as I did getting out that door.
I reached the lake and thought I was hallucinating.
Caelan and Rhiannon. Together. At the water’s edge.
He was holding her hands. Speaking softly. Not yelling.
She was nodding, crying quietly.
Then they hugged.
I doubted my own eyes.
Before I could process any of it — before I could even think — the air shifted.
A ripple. A shimmer. A presence.
And then Leeora stepped out of the treeline.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
My aunt — well, half‑aunt, if that’s a thing — the witch. The necromancer.
Her red hair caught the moonlight like flame. Her eyes glowed with that witch‑born sharpness that always made me feel like she could see straight through my bones. She moved with the kind of confidence that said she feared nothing — not Caelan, not Rhiannon, not the gods themselves.
And Caelan… Caelan didn’t flinch.
He turned toward her like he’d been expecting her.
Rhiannon stiffened, wiping her face, instinctively stepping back — not out of fear, but out of old, bitter history.
Leeora’s gaze flicked between them, assessing, calculating, amused.
“Well,” she said lightly, “isn’t this cozy.”
My heart sank. I was too far to hear clearly, but close enough to see everything.
Caelan stepped forward, jaw tight, voice low — the kind of low that carried even across water. He nodded toward Rhiannon without taking his eyes off Leeora.
“Do it.”
Leeora arched a brow. “You’re certain?”
Rhiannon’s breath hitched. “Caelan…?”
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone.
He just nodded once.
Leeora sighed — dramatically, because she lived for theatrics — and folded her arms.
“One day,” she said. “And one night. That’s all I can give you.”
Rhiannon’s hand flew to her mouth. Caelan finally looked at her — really looked — and something inside him cracked.
“I want you to have a choice,” he said, voice rough, breaking. “A real one.”
Rhiannon sobbed.
Leeora rolled her eyes. “Good grief, you two are exhausting. I feel like I stumbled into a Lifetime movie.”
But she stepped closer anyway, magic humming around her like a storm waiting to break.
Rhiannon whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
Caelan swallowed hard.
“Because I thought I knew what love was, but I never did until I met you,” he said. “You are my one true love, and I shall never love again after you, but I cannot accept what you are. The longer you are around me, the more my love grows cold and turns to hate. You cannot stay here; you must not stay here. I cannot have it. I did not want you to see all I had to do, who I have to become to save my lineage, but there is no other way, or we will all be doomed. So you must leave — and I want it to be for something better. My final token of love for you. My heart will grow cold and incapable of love without you, but so it must be.”
“No, Caelan. I understand why you want me gone, and I agree — it’s for the best for everyone — but you can still love. You have to still love. Our son, our grandchildren, and their children. Promise you’ll try.”
“Connell will never be able to accept, let alone love, the man I have to become to save my family. It is a price I have to pay for those years we had together. We all have to pay the price for them. But it was worth it. You were the first and the last woman I ever loved.”
“I love you too, Caelan. I always will.”
Rhiannon’s knees buckled.
Leeora caught her with one hand, annoyed but gentle.
“Honestly,” she muttered, “you two are so saccharine I’m getting diabetes over here.”
Caelan’s voice cracked again. “Make your choice, Rhiannon.”
Rhiannon looked at him — at the man who had been her whole world, and the man she could no longer stay with — and whispered:
“I want… the day. And the night. I will accept your gift, Caelan.”
Leeora nodded once. “Then let’s begin. Dad, step back. A lot. Actually? Say your goodbyes now and then leave.”
Caelan closed his eyes, swallowed hard, nodded.
He turned to Rhiannon, who looked terrified, and pulled her in. He held her so tight it was disorienting — considering their brutal divorce and the fact that he was remarried to another and expecting a child.
He pulled back, cupped her chin, and kissed her. Rhiannon wrapped her arms around his neck again. Leeora rolled her eyes out loud.
And I stood there trying to make sense of whatever the hell this was supposed to be.
Then Caelan — the strongest vampire I had ever known — turned away, shoulders shaking, striding fast into the trees like a man fleeing his own heart. Just before he disappeared into the forest, he turned around again.
“Farewell, my one true love. May your future be everything you deserve.”
Then he was gone, leaving behind a heart‑wrenchingly sobbing Rhiannon.
I stood in the shadows, confused, stunned, terrified, watching the three of them — the witch, the fae‑blooded ex, and the man who loved her enough to let her go. But go where? I still didn’t understand.
And I realized everything was about to change. I didn’t know how, but something was coming. For them. For me. For all of us.
A bright flash blinded me.
I threw my arm up to block the light, then twisted hard, covering my ears as a distorted, otherworldly scream tore through the air. The brightness surged — hotter, sharper — white as a nuclear blast.
Then — sudden and absolute silence and darkness.
When my eyes adjusted, I saw Rhiannon collapsed on the ground. Moving. Alone.
I ran to her and helped her up. Took her home.
Discovery
Mom and Dad were startled, but assisted me immediately.
I was shaking, trying to explain what I’d witnessed, while Mom wrapped Rhiannon in a blanket, fed her hot tea, murmured soothing things. Dad and I debated, argued, panicked — and then came the lecture for not getting him sooner. Well, had I known what I was about to watch I would have. Hindsight is always 20:20.
That was when Mom joined us again, her expression alarming.
“Boys… we have a problem.”
Dad and I stopped talking and looked at her.
“Is my mother alright?” Dad asked, worried.
“Yes, she will be okay. Well… I think so. Once she warms up a bit and stops shivering like an Aspen tree and calms down. Her heart is still beating like a scared rabbit.”
“Well, we’ll just give her some time—”
“Connell,” Mom cut in sharply, “you didn’t hear me. She is shivering because she is in shock and chilly. And her heart is racing.”
Dad paled.
His eyes met mine — both huge as saucers.
In case it takes you a moment too, remember this:
Vampires do not have heartbeats.
And we don’t get cold.
At least… not physically. We are not affected by temperatures.
Only those who are mortal are. And they have beating hearts.
Mortal.
My grandmother, Rhiannon, was mortal.
THAT was Caelan’s final gift to her.
A chill ran down my spine so hard it felt like ice water.
Everything had changed.
Race Against Time
Mom rose first, shock snapping her upright.
“Connell, we have to take her to that brother of hers. She isn’t very coherent, but she keeps asking for him. Do you know where he is?”
“I’ll take her,” Dad said immediately. “You and Damon stay here.”
“No way, Dad. I’m coming. That’s enemy territory.”
Mom was just about to argue when a voice — thin, trembling — cut through the room.
“He won’t hurt you.”
We all turned.
Rhiannon, pale and shaking, lifted her head.
“My brother would never hurt you. The fae still treat him like their king, even though he shed the title. No one will harm you.” She swallowed hard. “And please… take me. I can feel the aging. I don’t have much time. I don’t know if he knows what to do or if he has to research, and that could take hours. I wasn’t given much warning. No one is prepared. Please… take me to him.”
Mom couldn’t port, so I had the dubious choice of porting her or my grandmother. I left the choice to Dad, he grabbed his mother so I ported with mine.
Luckily, we already knew where to go. The temporary lifting of the vampire curse had weakened her — made her mortal — and even though she didn’t look older yet, something was happening beneath the surface. She was weak. Unsteady. We had to hold her upright.
We stepped onto the stone walkway leading to the former fae palace — and saw him.
A man peeking through the window.
The man we’d seen her meet before we learned the truth that shattered all our lives.
He stepped outside within seconds, staring at us.
“It’s fine, it’s safe — they’re with me,” Rhiannon called out.
Moments later, an entire group of fae emerged: the man we’d shadowed her with, a woman, a young man, and a young woman. All watching us with open curiosity.
As they approached, Mom, Dad, and I probably looked like we’d forgotten how to close our mouths.
The long, silvery‑blond hair. The violet eyes. The luminous skin.
“Dad,” I whispered, “that guy looks just like you.”
Dad nudged me sharply. “No, he does not.”
But he did.
They all did.
All except the woman, whose eyes were the deep green of summer grass.
They stared at us too — but the man smiled first.
“What a surprise. Welcome. I take it you are my… nephew?”
Dad swallowed hard, staring at the outstretched hand. It was an inner battle I could see happening in real time.
“Connell,” Rhiannon murmured, nudging him.
He swallowed again, straightened, took the offered hand, and shook it.
“Yes. I am Connell O’Cavanaugh. This is my wife, Emmy, and our son, Damon.”
“How nice to finally meet you,” the man said warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you. My name is Rhydian O’Rhiain. This is my wife, Elowen, our son Emrys, and our daughter Elara. Among the fae, children traditionally take the first letter of their mother’s name, a custom that honors the maternal bloodline.”
That man had no idea what he’d just unleashed. Dad and I cringed in sync — we both knew this was one of Mom’s favorite conversational rabbit holes. And she did not disappoint.
“Oh, what a lovely idea… had we known that, all three of ours would have names starting with E too! Connell and I just chose names we liked. Our firstborn daughter, Jaymie, was named after my stepfather, Jay, a very kind man. Our second born, Fiona, was named after the old Gaelic word for ‘fair’ or ‘pure.’ It just felt right the moment I saw her. She looks just like your Elara here. They could be twins! And our Damon here is the baby of our family. He was named simply because we loved the name — strong, warm, and a little dramatic, just like he turned out to be.”
“Mom,” I muttered, “seriously?!”
Elara snorted. Emrys smirked. Rhydian looked delighted. Elowen winked at me. Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
Mom smiled, but she couldn’t stop staring. Truth be told, neither could I. Only I was in too much shock to be smiling.
“Yes, the fae are a truly emancipated society,” Elowen said with a gentle smile. “Men and women are equal in all things. We take the man’s last name, but the woman’s first name determines the children’s names.”
She smiled at Mom, then Dad, then me — warm, open, effortlessly gracious.
Rhydian’s wife reminded me of my mom — not in looks, but in presence. In the way she filled a space without trying. Maybe taste really was inherited. I almost wanted to ask Emrys if he was dating the fae equivalent of a coven medic — dark‑haired and spicy — but I decided this visit had been cringeworthy enough already.
I don’t know how to explain what it feels like to meet perfect strangers who look so much like you and your immediate family that it’s like staring into a mirror you didn’t know existed. Elara looked eerily like my sister Fiona — even the defiant tilt of her chin. Emrys and I sized each other up. Thankfully, we didn’t look alike. Not even a little. We were both blond, sure, but different shades, different everything. It was a relief I didn’t know I needed.
“Would you join us for some moon‑infused tea… or perhaps a cup of dew‑wine?” Rhydian offered, gesturing toward their door.
I’ll admit — I was curious. I had no idea what either of those were, but I would’ve tried them. How do you infuse tea with moonlight, and how much dew does one have to collect to turn it into wine? And how? Would it still give you a buzz? Vampires loved their wine as much as they enjoyed a good buzz. Unless you were Cesare, who preferred some special bourbon strong enough to strip paint and probably dissolve rust. I tried it once and never will again.
Dad shut it down instantly.
“No, thank you. Not to be impolite, but we’re in a rush.”
He explained what had happened.
And then — despite the rush — we ended up going inside anyway, because Rhiannon’s strength was fading fast.
Mom and I looked around like tourists who’d accidentally wandered into a forbidden wing of a museum. Everything seemed to… glow. Not brightly, not obnoxiously — just a soft, impossible radiance that clung to surfaces the way moonlight clings to water.
There was a purplish sheen to so many things, as if the air itself carried a tint. And where it wasn’t purple, it was white and luminous, like light reflected off frost or bone. Nothing sparkled. Nothing glittered. It simply was — ancient, quiet, otherworldly.
The kind of beauty that made you lower your voice without knowing why.
Rhydian assured us he knew what to do. He would be quick. He promised to find a way to send word in a few days or a week.
We didn’t linger.
We hugged her — and it felt so strange to feel body heat, to feel blood pulsing beneath her skin — and then we left.
Rhydian and Dad lingered for a moment, speaking quietly. Rhydian patted his shoulder. Dad nodded.
And then we ported home.
Research
For a vampire, your state is usually permanent. Just a fact. There had been countless quests for cures — even during my lifetime — and for a rare few, they worked.
Scarlett and Blaine’s five vampire‑born children had taken the cure and lived long, prosperous mortal lives, which were all coming to an end now. Their first two children had been born mortal anyway and were long gone, lost to old age decades ago. Their last child, Blaine Jr., was also born mortal — long story — and he was thriving, even after having to learn to live without his parents at eighteen.
Because they were taken from him.
Not by death — but by Cesare.
He’d had enough of the drama surrounding them and staged an elaborate ruse about their deaths, so Blaine’s fans and all their mortal friends and neighbors wouldn’t wonder where they had gone, a huge public funeral was orchestrated where they all could say their farewells, and soon enough would move on and forget, as mortals did. In reality Cesare had ordered them into a quiet life far from the public eye and spotlights in Forgotten Hollow.
If it sounds like a choice, it wasn’t. And both were still furious about it. Their children knew the truth, but that didn’t help. Blaine and Scarlett couldn’t attend mortal parties, weddings, anything where they might be recognized. Blaine took that especially hard — he came from a long line of entertainers and loved the limelight as much as it loved him. Scarlett hated seeing him without his calling and was very sore with her father for it. For years they visited their youngest son in secret — but Blaine Jr. grew into a man who now had a fiancée who could never know his parents were still alive.
Which meant that Blaine and Scarlett would miss their final child’s wedding.
So if you ever envied me for eternal youth and life, this right here is the price. This — and a thousand things like it. Everything is a double‑edged sword. Everything comes at a cost. The only real question is whether you’re willing to pay it.
Take their case. Blaine and Scarlett had lived both sides of the coin. After losing children to age, they chose mortality too. Cesare was furious. But no one anticipated the havoc unturning would cause.
Scarlett got pregnant again.
As vampires, she and Blaine had reached the point where that no longer happened. But restored to mortality, it did. And then she died in childbirth. Her dying wish was to name the baby after Blaine, to continue the name after his death, since he was now mortal.
Blaine was unrecognizable after that. He tried — for the baby — but eventually died of a broken heart.
Everyone knew Caelan might be Cesare’s heir because the coven’s ancient succession laws favored male primogeniture. Cesare had tried more than once to change them, but the old charter required unanimous approval from all Houses — and tradition‑bound elders blocked him every time. If he could have named Scarlett his true heir, he would have. Her death nearly destroyed him.
So when Branwen begged him to let Leeora bring them back from death, he agreed to something he would normally never sanction. They were restored to vampirism.
And now they will have front‑row seats to watch their beloved children die. And their children. And the children after that. Exactly what they didn’t want.
But neither complains.
No one knows what death is like, but both were grateful to have each other again — even if it meant returning to immortality.
But the cure… the cure was forbidden now.
Because while it worked beautifully for some — like Blaine and Scarlett’s kids, and a handful of others — it ended horrifically for most.
Some aged decades in hours. Some dissolved into ash. Some imploded — bones collapsing inward like their bodies forgot how to hold shape. Some exploded — blood and marrow and dust. Some simply withered, dying in days.
And then there was what happened to Blaine and Scarlett. Cesare never wanted to go through anything like that again.
See, when you’re a vampire and you love a mortal, you know from day one you will lose them. And from day one, you start saying goodbye. Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty years for mortals is an eternity. To us, it’s just numbers. A timeline.
We lost nearly eighty percent of our vampiric population in the first three months after the cure was announced. First to mortality — then to death. Riordan could barely keep up with the records. Most didn’t even get to enjoy mortality; they perished immediately. Enforcers were deployed for cleanup. Even for us, it was scarring. And we’ve seen things that would make your stomach turn.
Cesare went to several sites with Riordan to see the aftermath himself. After that, he outlawed the cure, destroyed every remaining vial, and forbade any future attempts to find one.
Now, that only applies to vampires — not witches. And normally witches can’t cure vampirism. But Leeora isn’t a normal witch. She has vampire blood, making her dark. And considering witches are mortal and she hasn’t aged a day, I’d say she has far more immortality in her than hybrids normally receive.
And clearly, Leeora can lift the vampire curse. If only temporarily, but hey, many of us born into this life would pay a steep price to just test it out for a day. Then again, she warned that your body would catch up to its correct age in less than 24 hours, so… while I was still fairly young even by mortal standards, I wasn’t that curious.
But if that doesn’t tell you how powerful Leeora is, nothing will.
I’d bet money Eirwen’s father, Gwydion, could come up with a way to at least temporarily lift it too if he wanted. Maybe even Alder Davenport — after all, he managed to pose as a vampire among vampires for years, a mage who had spent decades studying us like lab rats. Very long story. Ancient history. Forgiven, not forgotten.
But as it stands, unturning is not an option for any of us. Not for coven members. I suppose if you wanted to go rogue, you could do whatever you wanted until someone reported you and you ended up on our list.
So yes — many vampires wished for a different life. But everyone knew the truth:
Vampirism was permanent. And now my own grandmother had disproved it.
I was curious. Worried. Not as much as Dad — she was his mother, and she’d always been a loving one, they were close, and now she was gone from his life — but enough that I couldn’t ignore it.
I refused to let it break me.
I wasn’t looking for a cure. I was perfectly happy this way; I’d never known anything else. But I needed to understand what she was facing — her odds, her risks. And if vampirism could be… what? Maybe not cured, but subdued, even temporarily, then maybe reverse logic would dictate that there was something that could remove whatever remnants of fae I had inside me. Or at least subdue it. Even if only long enough that it wouldn’t play a role when fathering a child one day. One without this blemish.
I did want children. I was in my forties by mortal count, even though I looked in my twenties. But what counted was reality, and that gave me around fifty‑ish years to become a father. And not just one child. At least two. Or maybe three, like my sisters and I. As much as I like to complain about two older sisters, I was a very happy and well‑doted‑on boy growing up. My father loved family life.
He met my mother by chance, injured badly during a dispatch, unable to port home. My mom came home from school — only fifteen years old — found him, and despite him trying to scare her away, she stayed. She happened to know Vivien, Blaine and Scarlett’s oldest child, long dead now, but while living, Caelan’s best friend. She called her, Vivien called Caelan, and Mom ended up saving Dad’s life.
He couldn’t forget the pretty blonde and went to thank her, but ended up falling in love with her softness, gentleness, and curiosity. She fell for the tall, blond, handsome vamp with the unusual eyes, but he wouldn’t touch her until she turned eighteen. It frustrated her, but on her eighteenth birthday they did everything all at once — kissing, the other things she’d been impatiently waiting for — and he proposed. Mom was barely nineteen when they got married.
And then came the heartbreak: Mom wanted kids right away. But it took almost three years to conceive Jaymie. Dad turned Mom, she had to go through all the training and adjustments, and Jaymie was barely two when Fiona came around, and then about two years later, me. After that they decided they were done and took certain measures.
My sister Jaymie got pregnant at seventeen — obviously unplanned — when her secret affair with Nathan, son of Dad’s werewolf friend Michael, came to light. Trust me, not a great time of our lives. I had just started my Enforcer training when all that went down, so Caelan took his frustration out on me there. Maybe that’s why speed became my thing, as I was definitely not stronger than him at thirteen.
Well, Jaymie had Vincent, married Nathan, and moved to Moonwood Mill. For a long time, she was mortal — since she was conceived before Mom was turned, there was still a 50:50 chance for that. Fiona and I came after, so we were always going to be vamps.
Maybe that sounds stupid to you. It didn’t to me.
And the first thing — the only thing — you need to know about any occult is that it never follows mortal logic.
The occult wasn’t something you could Google. Vampirism didn’t have a Wikipedia page. The only reliable information was very much gatekept by those who were occult themselves. Everything out there for mortals to find was nonsense. Either made up by their own storytelling or fake breadcrumbs strewn about by the occult to throw them off track.
So I dug through Cesare’s tomes.
I wasn’t an archivist. I wasn’t a scholar. I was an Enforcer squinting at archaic Latin, trying to decipher whether a passage was an answer or another dead end. The pages smelled like dust and old ink; the candles hissed every time I turned a page.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone tapped my shoulder.
Cerys.
Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge beneath it — the kind that came from weeks of hurt.
“Jumpy, aren’t we?” she said, stepping around me. “And that for an Enforcer. Not very comforting as a denizen.”
“What are you doing here?” I snapped — too fast, too sharp, too defensive.
She lifted three thick tomes. “Medics are allowed to research here. Cesare knows I’m here. What about you?”
“I’m… researching too.”
“Researching what? A million ways to kill a vampire?”
She glanced at the pile of books, my scribbled notes. I tried to hide them, but she was faster — always faster. She snatched them, flipping through with that sharp medic’s eye that missed nothing.
“Fae lineage?” she read aloud.
I lunged for the page, but she turned, keeping the rest out of reach.
“Blood anomalies? Kids?” She raised a brow. “Damon — you move fast. Do I know her? When’s the wedding?”
“Ha‑ha,” I muttered. “I could ask you the same thing. How are things going with oooh‑aaaah‑Valentino?”
She didn’t hand the notes back.
She just looked at me.
“‘Is there someone new?’” she echoed softly.
I met her eyes.
And she saw it — the truth I’d been trying to bury under duty and fear and every terrible decision I’d made.
Nobody but you.
Her expression softened. Something in her shoulders loosened. She stepped closer, voice gentler now.
“Damon… you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
She gave me the medic stare — the one that saw straight through bone and bravado.
Then, because she was Cerys, she deadpanned:
“…Damon… tell me the truth. Level with me… Are you pregnant?”
I choked. Actually choked.
She snorted, covering her mouth, and the sound cracked something open in me. The tension snapped. The fear loosened. The room felt warmer.
I didn’t think. I just moved.
I pulled her into a hug — tight, desperate, grounding. She froze, then melted into me, her forehead resting against my shoulder like it belonged there.
“Cerys… not him. Not Valentino. Please don’t…”
“Why not?” she murmured. “He is very charming, available, unattached, gives me lots of attention…”
“He does it to get back at me.”
She pulled away from my embrace and stepped backwards, glaring at me.
“Wow. Thanks. Nice way to make everything about you. Of course it couldn’t be that I would be worth the attention.”
“Of course you are!” I said, too loud. “But not HIM!”
“Then whom, Damon!?” Her voice cracked — not loud, but sharp. “We’re vampires. Every vampire starts out playing the field because we can. Then it gets old and we want someone forever. That’s where I am. And where you should be.”
“I am,” I said. “I am, Cerys, I swear I am, but… I can’t…”
“That is the dumbest version of commitment issues I have ever seen.”
“I have no commitment issues!” I insisted. “I want to commit! I want nothing more than to commit!”
“THEN DO IT, you goddamn idiot — or I will go out with Valentino. God knows he’s been asking enough! Did I mention how handsome and charming he is? Oh, and present. I also don’t think he has commitment issues. He mentioned something about wishing to settle down and start a family.”
For the first time in weeks, my brain went quiet.
“Cerys…” I breathed. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“Then don’t,” she whispered. “Just tell me what is wrong with me.”
“You? Nothing! Everything is so right about you! I would marry you tomorrow and have dozens of babies with you! But… I… can’t.”
“What does that mean? Are you… infertile? Is that what you think?”
“No… yes… maybe… I… uh.” I swallowed hard. I thought about agreeing — maybe it would explain away my odd behavior — but it wouldn’t change a thing. On the contrary. If she thought I couldn’t put babies in her, she’d go no‑holds‑barred, and it would be impossible to explain her getting pregnant, as I was pretty certain I was fertile.
“No, I am… I… just… don’t want any children.” The lie scraped my throat raw. “So… that’s why we can’t have any. Or even sleep with each other. Because I really do not like kids.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to grab them out of the air and shove them back in. They were falling out of me like loose bricks, forming a wall I didn’t even want.
“What?” she said, blinking. “You literally just got through saying you want kids with me. Dozens of them. After marrying me tomorrow!”
Oh. Right. That. This was why I didn’t lie much. I was terrible at it.
“I said I would do that,” I stammered, “if I wanted to. But I do not want to. Because I… I… hate kids. That’s exactly why. But if I didn’t hate kids, I would have dozens… with you. After marrying you. But I can’t do that either. Because of the kids issue.”
I heard myself. I actually heard myself. And still couldn’t stop.
“Huh!?” she snapped. “What are you even talking about?”
“I— I don’t know!” I blurted. “I’m trying to explain but the explaining is making it worse and I can’t tell you the thing I can’t tell you and—”
She held up a hand.
“You are insane, Damon,” she whispered. “I don’t know what is with you these days. This isn’t you. I don’t recognize you at all. And honestly, I don’t think I like you like this. Sort yourself out.”
She turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
The candles flickered.
My notes fluttered to the floor.
And I stood there, choking on everything I couldn’t say.
Nothing was resolved.
Not even close.
Ravenwood at Dawn
I was walking through Ravenwood with my niece, Eirwen. Vincent couldn’t join us at the diner again, so we decided to dance off our frustrations in some San Myshuno nightclubs — and while she could tire, somehow she always found ways to stretch her energy. At some point we’d had enough of loud music and a flood of bodies bumping into us from all sides, so I took her home.
Day had long broken, and the sunrise washed the old buildings and cobblestone streets in gold, like a painting come alive. We wandered toward the fields to watch it properly. While neither of us was feeling the clubbing anymore, neither of us was ready to go home just yet.
This part of Ravenwood was safe for both of us — half magical, half vampire. Cesare’s sister Caterina ruled these lands, and nobody would dare touch me without risking a war. Leeora lived here with her vampire husband — same story. And then there was Eirwen’s family: her mother Fiona, my sister, a vampire; her father, one of the most powerful mages alive.
We sat on a fallen tree. Eirwen talked about Vincent — how she pitied him, how she envied him, how she sensed something was happening with our lineage and Rhiannon. She wasn’t a tattletale. I could have told her. She wouldn’t have cared if she had fae blood. Looking at her — silvery‑blonde hair, violet eyes — she definitely inherited it too. But I was bound by an order.
Movement flickered at the edge of my vision.
I jerked upright. Eirwen mirrored me instantly, hands raised in that spell‑ready posture mages used when they were about to bind something. Or set it on fire. With Eirwen, it was always a coin toss.
“No — don’t!” I hissed, pushing her hands down the second I recognized the figure stepping into the light.
She smiled at us. Not afraid. Not even cautious.
Which, as an Enforcer, meant one of two things: either she was so naïve she didn’t realize the danger… or she knew something we didn’t.
A mental note formed, sharp and immediate: research what fae abilities actually include.
“Hello, Damon,” she said warmly, then nodded at Eirwen.
“D, who am I looking at?” Eirwen asked, alarmed, already shifting into spell‑ready posture again.
“Uh… um…” I stuttered. Yeah. Who exactly was I supposed to say she was?
“I’m Elara,” she said smoothly.
“Yes, this is Elara. Elara, meet Eirwen.” I smoothed my shock over as best I could.
“Hello, Eirwen. Nice to meet you,” Elara said with a warm smile.
“Yah, same. Cool. So, who is Elara?” Eirwen asked suspiciously.
“Damon and I go way back. A very long time, actually,” Elara answered for me. That was one way to put it. We did, even though we only just met. “I was hoping to speak to you privately, Damon.”
“Oh – privately! I see.” Eirwen smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at me, instantly switching into chaos‑mode. “Interesting. Sounds like we need to have a talk later, D. A very stern one. On the topic of Cerys and my take on side‑chicks. But lucky for you I’m not his mommy and I’m seriously wiped. I need to go home and crash. Enjoy the… talk.”
She pointed at Elara. “Oh, and did my sweet uncle Don Juan de Forgotten Hollow here ever tell you that you look a lot like my mom?”
“It came up,” Elara said, smiling at her with a quick side‑glance at me.
“Okay. I’m not gonna comment on what my personal opinion is on all this, but you do you.” I could practically hear her thinking that Elara was some sort of past — or worse, present — love interest and now suspected I enjoyed banging women who looked like my sisters. Argh. In case I need to say this: no!
She nudged me, smiled sweetly at Elara, and started walking away.
Eirwen started off down the path, then halfway through her second step she spun around and began walking backward, finger pointed at me like a loaded accusation.
“Hey, D — don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she called, still retreating, still glaring, still somehow not tripping over a single rock.
She snorted, shook her head, and added, louder, “Actually — absolutely do not do what I usually do!”
Then she laughed, turned back around like nothing happened, and strolled off as if she hadn’t just delivered a full moral warning while moonwalking away from us.
I exhaled, long and slow. “Thank you for … the assist,” I told Elara. “Eirwen can be like a bulldog with a bone sometimes. She’s my niece,” I said. “Which makes her… uh… your niece twice removed? Or something removed. I don’t know. Our family tree is a pretzel.”
“I think she would be my first cousin twice removed, but that’s a mouthful,” Elara said, amused nodding her chin towards where Eirwen disappeared from view. “A witch?”
“Only call her that if you want to piss her off,” I warned. “She’s a mage. Very particular about it.”
Elara laughed — a bright, pearly sound that hit me right in the chest, painfully reminiscent of Rhiannon. “Is there really a difference? Other than the letters?”
“Oh, thank God,” I muttered. “Finally someone who gets it. Vincent – another nephew of mine – and I have been yelled at for years. We still have no idea what the difference is.” I couldn’t help laughing. “Ask her. She’s explained it a million times and I still don’t know. Maybe you’re quicker on the uptake.”
We talked. She told me she’d been sent to find us — but she couldn’t enter Forgotten Hollow, so she had to wait until one of us wandered out. I was the lucky winner.
And she brought news.
Rhiannon survived. She was well. No — the word Elara used was ‘thriving‘.
Evidently, Rhydian had restored Rhiannon to fae, which stopped the quick aging from the spell Leeora had placed to lift the vampirism temporarily, and now the fae had taking its place. Elara and her family were helping her adjust.
Evidently the first thing she did after shedding the vampiric curse was … suntan.
I’d never been able to do that.
As I mentioned previously, those born into it are mortal until puberty hit, but not all the way. Tanning is never a thing for us. One of the many subtle signs that differentiate us, even before the spark takes hold fully.
Sunlight didn’t hurt me, but it didn’t do anything for my mood either.
All vampires always preferred the night.
But my mother had been mortal once — she’d understand.
It felt good to know Rhiannon was safe.
We’d all been worried.
But now I had a grandmother who was a faerie.
Oh god.
Elara was surprisingly easy to talk to — not whimsical or clueless like the faeires from the stories. Vampires never had actual conflict with fae, except for them getting defensive when my kind realized their blood healed grave injuries in us, but they never waged war. Just defended their strongholds and it just wasn’t worth the effort. We didn’t like them, too bright, to whimsy, too kitschy.
But they weren’t the type of creatures that went into war with other occult, so we were never taught much about them. My entire knowledge came from children’s books and TV shows. If those were as accurate as mortal vampire stories, then I knew nothing.
“So… what do you actually do?” I asked.
She smiled. “Same as you, I think.”
“No, I meant not right now.”
“Neither did I.”
I stared. She stared back.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“My father is no longer a king, but we still uphold the duties of the royal fae. Lead and protect. My father and brother lead. I protect.”
Protect?
This little delicate chick?
Wow, those fae really must not fear anything.
“You’re a… you mean…”
“A warrior. Yes. Why is that shocking? Because I’m a girl? In our society, the sexes are equal like we told you. The firstborn leads. The second born protects. Gender doesn’t matter.”
“Are you allowed to have kids? I assume your brother is supposed to?”
“The royal family always has two children. Always a boy and a girl. Only the birth order changes. My brother will and one day, I will too. Twins do not happen among us.”
“On purpose? Spell? Or just luck?”
She smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Look, Damon — I am as curious about your kind as you seem to be about mine. I will answer your questions, but you have to share too. I show you mine if you show me yours.”
“I can’t show you mine.”
“Then mine remains a mystery as well.”
We talked more.
When we parted, she hugged me and kissed my cheek.
Add that to the list of things I never thought I’d say: A kiss from a fairy.
The Plaza Incident
When I got home, I told my parents everything.
“Are you going to tell Caelan?” Mom asked Dad.
Dad’s face twisted like she’d asked him to kiss a cockroach.
“No. Fuck him.” He spun on his heel and stormed off.
Mom gave me that look — the one that meant men, sigh or that’s your father for you. She followed him. “Connell…”
I exhaled, long and slow, and noticed the bottle of wine on the table. I walked over, grabbed a glass, poured a drink, stepped to the window—
And nearly choked.
Cerys. With Valentino.
Her arm linked through his. Laughing at something he said.
A cold, electric shock shot through me.
Oh hell no.
The glass hit the counter. I didn’t even hear it land. I was already out the door, down the steps, and at the gate before my brain caught up with my body.
“Cerys!”
They turned — she with a daring smile, he with a smug one that made my fists itch.
“Oh, the young Enforcer,” Valentino said, syrupy sweet. “Anything the matter?”
“Cerys,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “can I speak to you in private?”
“No, thank you.” She gave me a death glare sharp enough to cut bone.
WHAT?!
“Cerys—” I stepped forward to take her hand off his arm, but Valentino puffed up like a peacock.
“I don’t think the lady wishes to talk,” he said. “She is busy.”
“What the hell are you doing?!” I snapped at her.
“Let’s go,” she told Valentino, turning away.
“HELL no!” I moved in front of them, blocking their path.
Valentino sighed dramatically. “Listen, Darren—”
“DAMON.”
“Very well. Damon, then. You are not reading this scene correctly. The lady is not interested. Please let us pass, unless you wish to create a scene.”
I grabbed Cerys’s hand off his arm and pulled her away.
He shoved me.
And that was it.
The world narrowed to red and instinct. We went full street brawl — fists, elbows, snarls — right there in the plaza for everyone to see.
My father ran out of the house.
Riordan from his stables across the square.
Blaine and Scarlett from their home.
They dragged us apart — barely — and hauled us straight into Cesare’s study, still kicking, spitting, and swinging at each other.
The tension didn’t break.
It detonated.
Before the Elder Seat
We were dumped into the two chairs before Cesare’s desk. He gave us that look — the one that could silence a battlefield.
“I did not imagine,” he said, voice smooth as old marble, “that I would need to remind two young men of your esteemed bloodlines how to conduct yourselves in my town. Have you anything to say for yourselves?”
“He attacked me and the young lady I was walking with without provocation,” Valentino said.
“I had plenty of provocation!” I snapped. “You ARE a provocation!”
“Damon,” Riordan warned.
Cesare lifted a brow. “What provocation? You are so eager to speak, young Damon — please, enlighten me.”
I glared at all of them. “He knows very well that Cerys and I—” I stopped. What were we? “That we… belong.”
“Does Cerys know that?” Valentino asked pointedly.
I lunged out of my chair, grabbing his collar. Caelan seized me, shoving me back into the seat, restraining me with a glare that promised violence.
“Move again,” he hissed, “and it will be the last thing you do until you wake from the coma I beat you into.”
“Do not threaten my son!” Dad snapped — and then they were fighting.
Next thing I knew, all four of us were lined up in chairs before a furious Cesare, Riordan standing beside him like a dark avenger.
“I have HAD it with all of you.” Cesare’s voice thundered, shaking the shelves. “Your conduct has been abysmal — and humiliating to the Vannucci name.”
Caelan opened his mouth.
“Nothing out of you,” Cesare snapped. “One word, Caelan, and it shall be your last for a long while.”
He turned to Valentino.
“Signore Belaspina,” Cesare said, tone suddenly polite in the way a blade is polished before it cuts, “you are welcome here as long as you remember how to be a courteous guest. Your relationship to my new daughter‑in‑law does not free you from that expectation. This city, and this castle, are the Elder Seat — not a brothel, nor a tavern.”
Valentino swallowed.
“Court young ladies as you see fit if you seek a partner,” Cesare continued, “but kindly ascertain they are, indeed, unattached. And if you seek temporary release, do so elsewhere. Considering the trauma you have endured, I turned a blind eye to the many reports of unfit behavior in these halls with my servants. But my patience wanes.”
He leaned forward, eyes like winter steel.
“You will always have a home here — as long as you remain a pleasant guest. Have I made myself abundantly clear?”
“Yes, Your Eternal Eminence.”
“Splendid. You may leave.”
Valentino practically fled.
Cesare turned to us.
“Connell. Damon. Caelan.” His voice softened — which was somehow worse. “I understand things have been difficult. But I cannot allow my Enforcers to behave like adolescent bulls. You represent the Vannucci name.”
“Too late for that, don’t you think?” Dad snarled. “My father poured manure over your good name and set it on fire!”
Cesare stiffened. “I will let that slide, my boy. Just as I have extended patience to young Valentino, I extend it to you. But remember to whom you speak.”
“Letting things slide seems to be your thing lately, Grandfather,” Dad said bitterly — glaring at Caelan. “So why stop now?”
Cesare’s expression darkened.
“You will apologize.”
“The moment HE apologizes to my mother and to all of us!” Dad shouted, pointing at Caelan.
Caelan shot to his feet and slammed Dad into a bookshelf. Tomes crashed to the floor.
Cesare flicked his hands — and both men were ripped apart, pinned to opposite walls like insects.
“WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?” His voice was no longer warm. It was ancient. Terrible. The kind of voice that once commanded armies and made kings kneel.
“Father—” Caelan groaned.
“I did not ask to speak!” Cesare roared. “But since you are so eager — enlighten me. How dare you attack your own kin in my study? Your own son. Your flesh and blood!”
“I have no son!” Caelan spat.
Silence. Cold. Absolute.
Cesare released them. They crashed to the floor.
Caelan rose — and Cesare slapped him. Hard. Caelan stumbled into another shelf, catching himself, hand to his cheek, staring at his father in disbelief.
“Apologize,” Cesare said, voice low and lethal. “Kneel before your son and apologize for it.”
“I will NOT kneel to HIM!” Caelan snarled.
“No need,” Dad said quietly. “I don’t want his apologies. He’s not a father to me. He hates me. Ask him.”
Cesare turned. “Is that true?”
Caelan said nothing.
“Answer my question,” Cesare pressed.
Caelan broke.
“He’s tainted. So is that one.” He pointed at me. “Connell even looks like a faerie — they all do! And what kind of heirs has he produced? One married a werewolf, one a mage, and that one—” he jabbed a finger at me “—a fairy who doesn’t even know what to do with a woman, like a dog who caught the car and is too stunned to do anything but drool! They are all a disgrace. I am fixing it for you, Father. But I cannot fix THEM.”
The room froze.
Cesare stepped forward and slapped him again.
“I see only one disgrace here,” he said softly, “and it is not them.”
He turned to Riordan.
“Sit. Record a decree.”
Riordan nodded once, moved to the desk, opened the ink well, dipped his quill.
The air itself held its breath.
The Division of Bloodlines
Cesare’s voice shifted — ceremonial, ancient, the cadence of a man who had once spoken edicts to kings.
“Write this precisely as I speak it, Riordan.
By authority of the Elder Seat, and by right of the Vannucci blood, I hereby establish a division within our House — not of loyalty, but of purpose.
The line of Connell O’Cavanaugh, descended of my son yet marked by fae inheritance, shall henceforth be recognized as the O’Cavanaugh Sentinel Line.
Their blood is not impure. It is adapted. It carries within it the old resilience of the fae — a resistance to venom, to hex, to poison, and to the subtle deaths other occult may devise. What others call blemish, I call fortification. Such blood serves us rather than stains us. They are not heirs — they are shields.
From this day forth, Coven Enforcers shall spring only from their loins. Their charge is the defense of this coven, the safeguarding of our borders, and mastery of all arts of war. The Hollow Sentinel are now under their command—”
Cesare lifted a hand.
“Stop the record for a moment.”
Riordan froze, quill suspended.
Cesare turned his gaze to Connell — not unkind, but with the weight of a patriarch who had heard every whispered plea across decades.
“Let me say, before we continue, that the next part is to show I have heard your many petitions on this matter across the years, Connell. I am not deaf to the burdens you have carried, nor blind to the injustices carved into tradition.”
He nodded once.
“Riordan, resume the record.”
The quill touched parchment again.
“And please add,” Cesare continued, voice deepening into that ancient, ceremonial cadence, “that the Sentinel soldiers are freed from the millennia‑old bar against marriage and children. They may choose family if they so wish, provided such bonds do not impair their duties. But they will understand that we do not negotiate should their families fall prey to threats.”
He let the words settle like iron.
“The new generation of Coven Enforcers is a different layer of defense for the coven. Rather than attempt to hide what we once believed a blemish, we shall now proclaim it openly and without shame. Their blood — strengthened by fae inheritance — is resistant to venom, to hex, to poison, and to the subtle deaths other occult may devise. Such resilience is no stain upon our House, but a boon bestowed by fate itself. They are the bulwark against the shadows that would see us undone.”
He continued:
“From here on forth, Connell O’Cavanaugh will be the Commander of the Coven Enforcers and the army of the Hollow Sentinel. Damon O’Cavanaugh will be his second in command. Their future descendants will join the Coven Enforcers.”
His gaze shifted, colder now.
“The Vannucci line, unbroken since antiquity, shall remain the Vannucci Pureblood Line. They will bear the mantle of succession, the stewardship of our laws, and the preservation of our ancient name. Only those of vampire blood may join them in marriage; mortals must be turned upon union after undergoing a thorough vetting process to avoid any contamination of even traces by other occult. Any descendants created outside sanctioned union will remain illegitimate and unrecognized.”
“This division is not exile. It is order. Strength aligned with purpose. Purpose aligned with destiny.
Write the final line clearly:
Two branches, one House. One to endure. One to defend.”
Caelan finally spoke. “Father — what about me? You can’t just give my title away!”
Cesare’s gaze slid to him — slow, regal, devastating.
“Ah yes,” he said, voice like velvet drawn over steel. “Record this as well.
Caelan Vannucci, my son, the Dark Prince, shall henceforth hold the title of High Warden of the Vannucci Bastion, personal protector of the Elder Seat and the First Family. My son is still my blade. But the army must follow a shield. Caelan now commands the Coven Guard. This will keep you close to home, my son, for all those pure heirs you are speaking about creating.”
We all stared.
Riordan sealed the decree. Cesare signed it with a flourish older than the ink itself.
While Riordan pressed the blotter across it, Cesare looked at us, and with a wave of his hand spoke — soft, imperious, final:
“You are all dismissed.”
Fractures
Caelan rushed out first — no doubt straight to the armory to destroy something until he felt alive again.
Dad left in a daze, walking home like a man who’d been hollowed out. I started to follow him… then stopped.
There was someone I needed to see.
I headed to the medic ward.
Luck — or fate — had Cerys in her chamber.
She opened the door and immediately blocked the entrance.
“What do you want?”
“Can I come in?”
“No.” she demonstratively blocked the door, arms crossed.
“Fine,” I snapped. “We’ll do it out here then. I’m sure your colleagues will love the show. What the hell are you doing with that slimy, arrogant bastard?!”
“I don’t know,” she deadpanned. “He just showed up at my door. Just now.”
She turned my insult back on me like a knife.
“I’m not in a joking mood! Why Valentino?!”
“Why not?”
“What about us?”
“What about us, Damon?” Her voice was ice. “Or better: what us exactly? According to you, there is no us. Only platonic. And platonic doesn’t give you any right to question who I spend my time with.”
“Cerys, you know I didn’t want to break us up. There’s something I have to tell you — now that I finally can. Let me in. It’s not for public ears. At least not yet. Not until Cesare calls a coven meeting to publicly—”
“I don’t care about your secrets anymore,” she cut in.
“Since when? A few days ago you told me—”
“A few days ago,” she snapped, “I hadn’t seen you sneaking around with that blond chick.”
“What blond chick? The only blond women in my life are family.”
“I know your family. And no — she wasn’t any of them, but nice try. You must really think I’m stupid and gullible. I saw you with my own eyes and you were awfully cozy with her. Hugging. Kissing. Who knows what else. I wasn’t going to stick around to watch that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Ravenwood, you liar! I think you forgot that’s my old home and I go back frequently. Next time you sneak around, try to remember such details! Hope she’s still interested, because I’m not.”
She slammed the door in my face.
No amount of knocking, begging, or threatening to break it down changed her mind. And I got close — too close — but breaking down doors would land me in the dungeon, and I wasn’t that far gone. The old warrior adage of live today, fight tomorrow came to mind.
I walked home in a fog, replaying her words.
Ravenwood. Blond. Hugging. Kissing.
And then it hit me.
Cerys had family in Ravenwood. She must have gone for a visit. She must have seen me there with Elara, who was blond — unaware she was my aunt — and assumed the worst. Elara and I did kiss, on the cheeks, and we did hug. She must have misread it.
So that was why she went out with Valentino, knowing it would be an instant anger‑riser for me.
She thought I was sneaking around with a secret lover and picked him to get back at me for it.
Good god.
Everything was falling apart faster than I could fix it. Even if I went back to Cerys now that I could explain everything, it would be my word against what her mind had turned that harmless scene into.
And I knew exactly how that went — because nobody understood why her arm linked through Valentino’s sent me off the edge. Harmless, right? Just a walk in the plaza.
But that’s not what my mind saw.
In my head, I saw them naked in his bed.
Not arm‑in‑arm in the town square.
Assuming that’s what she saw, I understood why she was angry and hurt.
And I had no idea how to stop the bleeding.
Echoes Of Legacy 