The sun was already high over the Del Sol Valley Hills when Blaine pulled into the driveway of the Cameron Mansion. The air shimmered with heat, the pool glittered, the palm trees swayed lazily — the exact opposite of Brindleton Bay’s rain‑soaked melancholy.
But Blaine felt none of it.
He slammed the car door harder than necessary, stormed through the courtyard, and didn’t even greet the staff. He went straight inside, straight through the foyer, straight toward the living room where Channing was sprawled on the couch with a protein shake and a script.
Channing looked up.
Stopped mid‑sip.
“…Dude. What happened to you? Did you get kicked off set for being too … Blaine?”
Blaine didn’t answer. He paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged animal.
Channing blinked. “Okay. So. Not living your best life then? Talk to me man.”
Blaine stopped pacing long enough to throw his hands up. “I need my parents at my wedding.”
“Well, yours are supposedly dead, mine are dead for realz, looks like neight of us is getting that. Best get over it.”
“Shut up! I am sorry yours are dead, but mine aren’t, not really, so they need to get their heads out of their asses and be there. But in order to be there, they need to know about it first. I don’t have a date, but it will likely be in the next few years so … they need to arrange their immortal schedules to fit. Just, how do I let me know? I can’t exactly pick up a phone and call them, cos Cesare meant it when he wanted them ‘dead’. They might as well be.”
“Isn’t that what they are? I mean, aren’t’ all vampires technically … you know … dead?”
“You are not helping!” Blaine snapped. “I am thinking big picture here. Wedding. I need input, help, advice, not dumbass snark!”
Channing froze. “Oh. Oh shit. We’re really doing this. A wedding, huh?”
“Yes, we’re doing this!” Blaine snapped. “I am engaged, what do you think that means? It means there will be a wedding and I am so over this long-distance shit. I want the damn wedding, I want this to be firm and I want my parents there. I want them to meet Lauren. I mean, really meet her, the woman she is now, not the girl I was dating before the breakup, back when we were dumb kids. I want them to see me get married. I want—” His voice cracked. “I want my family. Honestly, fuck family. Just the parents.”
“Umm, thanks. Good thing we are not family, even though both of us are Camerons then, I guess. Never mind that my grandpa was technically your brother, but okaaaaay … “
“Oh shut up! Present company of course excluded. You can be there. Bring Katia. But my siblings were kinda never really there anyway. When’s the last time any of them bitches called me? You remember? No? Neither do I, and I can tell you why, cos it never happened. So fuck them. They are all old anyway and with one foot in the grave. Knowing my luck one of them would kick the bucket at my wedding and ruin everything. No thanks! They haven’t been there for me, so they don’t need to be at my wedding.”
Channing set the shake down slowly. “Okay. Okay. So what’s the plan?”
Blaine’s jaw clenched. “I’m going to find Forgotten Hollow.”
Channing stared. “Blaine. You can’t even find your keys half the time, and that is only annoying and fun to watch. Forgotten Hollow is crawling with Fangs. They might kill you. No—correction—they will kill you.”
“No, they will not. I am part vampire too, you know. I just don’t have fangs or any cool abilities. They would never dare bend a hair on me. I am Cesare’s grandson. Don’t need fangs, I have DNA!”
“No, what you have is Cameron chaos. And you think those vamps run a DNA test before off’ing you?”
“You know nothing about vampires!”
Channing opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “True. But I do know one thing: dude… you can’t just walk into a vampire enclave.”
“I’m not walking,” Blaine said, grabbing his jacket. “I’m driving. Well—flying, because while nobody knows where that town is they all scurried into to hide from the world, I do know it’s somewhere on the East Coast, in the mountains. That’s the only place anyone could hide out these days. The rest is too developed. So I fly to San Myshuno, and then I’ll be driving there.”
“That’s stupid! You think they have a highway exit that reads ‘Forgotten Hollow,’ right next to Smurf Village, and you ride unicorns there? They’re occult. If they don’t want to be found, you won’t. And if you do find them, you won’t live to tell the tale.”
Blaine looked at Channing, shrugged. “Well, sounds like that would work out well for you, since you’d get this mansion by default. Wish me luck!”
Blaine was already heading for the door.
Channing scrambled after him. “Blaine! BRO. LISTEN. You can’t just—”
Blaine spun around, eyes blazing. “I’m doing it. I’m finding them. I don’t care what Cesare says. I don’t care what the Hollow says. I don’t care what the rules are. I’m getting my parents at my wedding. And I need to know when they can be there so I can grab Lauren and plan that shit!”
Channing stared at him — really stared — and realized nothing he said would stop him.
“…Okay,” he said finally. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Blaine said. “You’re not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have not an ounce of vamp in you and because Katia will kill you if they don’t. And then she will kill me.”
Channing considered that. “…Fair.”
Blaine turned, stormed out, and the front door slammed behind him.
Channing stood there, rubbing his face. “God help the Hollow,” he muttered.
Quest for Forgotten Hollow
The Del Sol Valley airport was already buzzing when Blaine stormed through the automatic doors, jaw tight. He didn’t bother with the kiosks. He went straight to the counter.
“One ticket to San Myshuno,” he said. “Earliest flight.”
The attendant blinked at his tone, typed quickly, and handed him a boarding pass. He didn’t sit. He didn’t breathe. He paced until boarding.
The flight was a blur — coffee, turbulence, impatience. San Myshuno was worse — crowds, noise, humidity. He grabbed a rental car, tossed his bag in the back, and floored it.
Northeast.
Straight out of the city.
Past the skyline.
Past the suburbs.
Past the last gas station.
He drove for hours.
The highway thinned. The exits grew sparse. The trees grew thicker.
He passed a sign that made him chuckle.
MOONWOOD MILL — NEXT RIGHT
CAUTION: NO STOPPING, DO NOT LEAVE VEHICLES
FERAL WOLF PACKS ACTIVE IN AREA
A stylized wolf head snarled on the sign.
Blaine snorted. “Yeah, sure. The two‑legged kind. Cute signage BS. Let’s hope I can find one just like it but with bats on it, that would be super-helpful.”
He kept driving.
The road narrowed. Cracked. Crumbling at the edges.
Then it simply… ended.
A wall of overgrowth swallowed the asphalt like the forest had decided it was done pretending to be civilized.
“Perfect,” Blaine muttered. “Fantastic. Great planning, genius.”
He pulled over, grabbed his phone, and opened GPS.
It spun. And spun. And spun.
Then: NO SERVICE.
“Of course,” he snapped. “Of course it’s your doing, Cesare. Can’t have mortals wandering in, right? Even the half‑vampire ones.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and pushed into the thicket.
Branches clawed at him. Roots caught his boots. Fog curled low to the ground.
He kept going.
He didn’t know where he was going. But something in him — some faint, diluted instinct — tugged him forward.
He followed it.
For maybe twenty minutes.
Then the forest changed.
The air grew still. The light dimmed. The silence thickened.
And then—
A shadow moved.
Then another.
Then three.
Before he could turn, Sentinels materialized out of the fog — tall, armored, silent, eyes faintly glowing.
One stepped forward.
“Blaine Cameron. You are trespassing.”
“I’m looking for my parents!” Blaine snapped. “Let me through!”
Two Sentinels seized him by the arms before he could blink.
“HEY—HEY! LET GO! I’m not— I’m not doing anything! I just want to see them!”
They didn’t respond.
They lifted him clean off the ground.
The world blurred — air vibrating, buzzing, pressure crushing his ears — and then—
They were outside the castle.
Fog. Stone. Iron gates. Forgotten Hollow.
They dragged him inside, boots echoing on ancient floors, down a corridor he’d only seen once before.
A Sentinel knocked on Cesare’s study door.
“Your Eternal Eminence,” he said, “we captured this one outside the perimeter. What are your orders?”
Cesare looked up from his desk, Riordan beside him — both annoyed, both amused.
Cesare sighed. “Release him, please. I will handle him.”
The Sentinel stiffened. “Your Eternal Eminence…?”
Riordan stepped forward, voice smooth. “Thank you, soldier, for your diligence. But you heard our Grand Master Elder. He will handle his grandson himself.”
The Sentinel’s eyes widened. “G‑grandson?!”
“That will be all,” Cesare said sharply. “Thank you.”
The Sentinel stumbled out.
The door closed.
Cesare leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. “I would lecture you now on all this, but I will save us both the effort. Pray tell, young Blaine, why might you go out of your way to grace me with a visit?”
Blaine glared. “No offense, not here for you. I’m looking for Mom and Dad. Where did you put them? Just point and I’ll be out of your hair. And my cell reception’s shit here — assume that’s your doing?”
“Of course it is,” Cesare said. “And I did not ‘put’ Scarlett and Blaine Sr. anywhere. But Riordan will show you to their home.”
“Hang on,” Blaine snapped. “Wait. While I’ve got you — don’t you think enough grass has grown over the whole ‘make vampires disappear from memory’ travesty that they can come see me again?”
“Blaine!” Riordan barked. “Remember whom you are speaking to!”
“I do,” Blaine shot back. “My grandpa. Listen — I’m planning to get married and I need my parents there.”
Cesare’s expression softened — but only slightly.
“My dear boy,” he said, “I am afraid that will not be possible. I follow your logic. Time has passed. Mortals forget easily. Were your parents average residents of Del Sol Valley, I would even agree with you.”
He paused.
“But they were never that.”
Blaine’s jaw clenched.
“Your father,” Cesare continued, “is still every bit as famous as he ever was. And it has been ten years since his and my daughter’s untimely ‘deaths.’ The moment they set foot in public, everyone will know it was a ruse. Everyone knew they were vampires. I cannot risk it.”
He folded his hands.
“Things with the mortal government have finally calmed. They seem to have other problems and have forgotten all about us — which is precisely what I wanted. A decade and several regime changes worked well in my favor. I will not risk it.”
Silence.
Then Blaine exploded.
He shot to his feet, chair scraping violently across the stone floor.
“You’re ruining my life!” he shouted. “You’re ruining everything! I want my parents at my wedding! I want them there! I want—”
His voice cracked.
He swallowed hard.
Cesare watched him — not coldly, not cruelly, but with the weary patience of someone who had lived too long and seen too much.
Riordan stepped forward, ready to intervene.
But Cesare lifted a hand.
“Let him speak.”
Blaine’s fists shook. His eyes burned. His breath came ragged.
He wasn’t angry.
He was heartbroken.
“Unbelievable,” he snapped. “Absolutely unbelievable. You’re telling me I can’t have my own parents at my wedding because you’re worried about some government idiots who can’t even keep track of their own scandals?!”
“Blaine,” Riordan warned, voice sharp.
“No!” Blaine barked. “No, I’m done being polite. I’m done being patient. I’m done pretending this is normal. I want my parents there. I want my mom to see me get married. I want my dad to help me get ready to become a married man, wanna hear his stupid jokes about all that. I want—”
His voice cracked.
He swallowed hard, chest heaving.
Cesare didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t raise his voice.
He simply watched him — hands steepled, expression unreadable, the weight of centuries behind his eyes.
“Are you quite finished?” Cesare asked quietly.
“No!” Blaine snapped. “I’m not finished! I’m just getting started! You don’t get to decide this for me! You don’t get to—”
“Sit,” Cesare said.
The word wasn’t loud. It wasn’t forceful. But it hit like a command carved into the bones of the world.
Blaine froze.
Riordan’s eyes flicked to him — sympathetic, but firm. “Blaine. Sit.”
He sat.
Hard.
Cesare leaned back, folding his hands again.
“My dear boy,” he said, voice calm, “you are asking me to risk the safety of every vampire under my protection. Not for a war. Not for a crisis. Not for survival. But for a wedding.”
“It’s not just a wedding,” Blaine whispered. “It’s my life.”
“And their lives,” Cesare replied. “Your parents’ lives. The lives of every immortal in this Hollow. You ask me to risk all of that for sentiment.”
“It’s not sentiment,” Blaine said, voice shaking. “It’s family.”
Cesare’s expression softened — barely, but enough for Riordan to notice.
“Family,” Cesare repeated quietly. “Yes. I understand that word better than you think, considering I have over five centuries of more experience with that than you, young man.”
Blaine looked away, jaw tight, eyes burning.
Cesare continued, “But you must understand something in return. Your parents are not forgotten. They are not obscure. They are not anonymous. They were — and remain — icons. Legends. Their ‘deaths’ were international news. Their funerals were televised. Their disappearance was investigated by multiple governments. And their existence as vampires was known.”
He paused.
“Mortals forget many things. But they do not forget legends.”
Blaine’s hands curled into fists.
Cesare’s voice gentled — just a fraction.
“Now what exactly do you think would happen if two dead vampire legends suddenly rise from death to attend their son’s wedding? Hm? A wedding to the daughter from another legendary family, the Cunninghams no less. Yes, I know whom you are seeing. Neither the Cunninghams nor the Camerons ever fly under any radar. I know this hurts you. I know you feel robbed. I know you want them there. I understand that wish with my greatest compassion. But I cannot allow it. Not now. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.”
Blaine’s breath hitched.
Riordan stepped forward, softer now. “Blaine… your parents would never forgive themselves if something happened to you because of them. Even if they vanish again, the press and mob would never leave you and your family alone after that. You know that. They’d be relentless.”
“That’s not fair,” Blaine whispered.
“No,” Riordan agreed. “It isn’t.”
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Suffocating.
Cesare finally stood, moving around the desk with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who had lived long enough to see empires rise and fall.
He placed a hand on Blaine’s shoulder.
“You will see them,” he said. “You will have time with them. You will not leave this Hollow without that. But they cannot attend your wedding. And that is final.”
Blaine’s jaw trembled.
He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Riordan stepped closer. “Come. I’ll take you to them.”
Blaine didn’t move.
Cesare squeezed his shoulder once — firm, grounding, almost paternal.
“Go, my boy,” he said softly. “They will be so happy to see you.”
Blaine swallowed hard.
Then he stood.
Riordan placed a steadying hand on his arm.
They walked.
Out of Cesare’s study. Down the long vaulted hallway. Past ancient portraits and flickering sconces. Past vampires who paused mid‑conversation to stare at Blaine like he was a stray puppy who’d wandered into a lion sanctuary.
Riordan didn’t slow. Blaine tried to keep up.
They passed guards in dark armor, staff hauling crates, denizens whispering behind gloved hands. Blaine couldn’t help noticing the bizarre fashion mash‑up in town — some looked modern, dressed like him, while others looked like they were on their way to a LARP event. Every pair of eyes followed him, curious, confused, amused.
“Do they all know who I am?” Blaine muttered.
Riordan smirked. “Of course. Your reputation precedes you here. Hard not to know your father. He was well known before Cesare made them move here and since then your father has had several outbursts to voice his thoughts and opinions on all that, your name came up a lot. Your mom and dad are still very cross with Cesare and it’s been many years.”
“Great,” Blaine grumbled. “Love that for me.”
They stepped out through the front gate, iron bars creaking open. Fog rolled across the path in thick, lazy waves, curling around their ankles like something alive.
The road wound downward in a long, serpentine curve — old stone, moss‑covered edges, lanterns glowing faintly through the mist.
“Does it always look like a horror movie?” Blaine asked.
Riordan shrugged. “Only on days ending in ‘y.’”
They walked for several minutes until the fog thinned and the path opened into a plaza.
Blaine stopped.
It looked like someone had ripped a page out of a historical documentary — Gothic and Victorian houses arranged in a perfect crescent, each with ornate trim, steep roofs, wrought‑iron fences, and lanterns glowing warm against the perpetual twilight.
And there, in front of one of the houses, was a stone sign engraved with
CAMERON CRESCENDO
Blaine snorted. “Of course.”
Riordan chimed in immediately. “It’s mostly a warning, I believe. Or a promise. Also a fact. I suggested adding ‘chaos,’ but Cesare didn’t find it amusing.”
Blaine shook his head. “Ri, you’re a reasonable man. You love family. You cannot be on the same page with him about this.”
Riordan sighed — deeply, heavily, centuries‑old. “I am not, but I also am. Meaning: I know what the heart wants. But the mind must be stronger here.”
They reached the front steps.
Riordan continued, voice low. “I missed weddings and funerals of loved ones — mortals — because of this. I know the pain. Trust me, Blaine, Cesare does not cast such decisions lightly. He hates it as much as you do. After all, your mother is his daughter. Everyone knows she is the apple of his eye. He abhors denying her any wish. But he has to.
There was a time — probably before you were born — when Cesare, Branwen and all of us attended events. I remember gigantic feasts at the Cameron Mansion, and of course Chase and Hailey’s legendary parties. But those times are long past. Cesare learned to detach himself from the idea of keeping up with the mortal branches of his family tree, and so did the rest of us.
We are not the same, you and I. We may look and sound similar, but my kind is simply too different from yours. Your mortal government is relentless about forgetting truces and edicts, no matter how many Cesare strikes with them. Even I must admit it is as pointless as it is frustrating. They have smiled to our faces and poisoned our supplies. They have promised peace and sent vampire hunters after us. And that cycle repeats every four years when the governments change again.
So Cesare and I — with the help of the Enforcers — orchestrated our return into mythology and fiction. It took decades and a lot of planning and deceit, but it finally worked. It is sad for everyone, even for Cesare and me, he is a family man if I have ever seen one, and he would love to see his family tree grow and be part of it, even – or maybe especially the mortal branches – but he understands there will never be a world where this is safe for all. Separating you from your parents does not feel fair… but it is the only way. You want them safe, don’t you?”
Blaine swallowed.
Riordan’s tone darkened. “There were many attempts by mortal governments to develop ways to eradicate us. Smiling to our faces while planning our extinction. Modern technology is a powerful tool — even for hunting what should not exist. They came close. Too close. We destroyed all research this time, but there would be more. So instead… we became myths again. Safer that way. Nobody fights what they don’t believe exists. There simply cannot be any vampires. The only way to keep it that way is to do what has to be done. Which is precisely what Cesare is doing. Please, at least try to understand our side.”
By now they stood at the door.
Riordan knocked.
Nothing.
“Maybe they are not home? Or out back and didn’t hear us?” Blaine offered.
“They are home. Cesare blocked them from leaving the Hollow, and look around, the only thing you could do is go for a walk. Tell me, Blaine, does that sound like your parents? And vampires have excellent hearing – but it only works if they WANT to hear you.”
“Got it.”
Riordan knocked again. And again. And again. Louder and louder until both he and Blaine banged on the door.
Then suddenly from inside:
“WHAT AND WHO?! AND WHY?! Take a fucking hint, moron! Busy in here.”
Riordan didn’t flinch. “It’s me, Riordan. Open up.”
A beat.
Then Blaine Sr.’s unmistakable voice:
“Fuck off, Ri. I am balls deep in my wife, is it brand‑urgent? If not, piss off, I’ll find you later.”
Blaine Jr. slapped a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”
Riordan sighed. “Blaine, get some pants on and open the door. Your son is here to see you — and he can hear you.”
There was a loud thud. Scrambling. Muffled swearing. Something crashed.
Scarlett’s voice: “Blaine! Where is my damn lipstick?!”
Blaine Sr.: “I don’t know, welcome to use mine — well, use your imagination, I am circumcised—”
Scarlett: “BLAINE, SHUT UP!”
Riordan patted Blaine Jr. on the back. “You got this from here. One of them will take you back to your car later. Oh — and good seeing you, kiddo. Been too long. You look great, grown into a man. And congratulations on the wedding plans. Happy for you.”
He turned and walked away, already halfway across the plaza by the time the door cracked open.
Blaine Sr.’s head popped out — hair wild, shirt disheveled, eyes wide.
“HOLY SHIT, he wasn’t fucking with us! Letty! Junior is here!”
Scarlett’s voice floated from inside. “Oh crap! Give me a second to fix my face!”
Blaine Sr. grinned at his son — the same grin Blaine Jr. had inherited, chaotic and bright and full of trouble.
“Kiddo,” he said, voice thick with emotion he’d never admit to. “Get in here.”
The door swung open wider.
Scarlett appeared beside him — hair tousled, lipstick half‑applied, blouse slightly crooked, eyes shining.
“Baby,” she whispered. “Come here.”
And Blaine stepped inside.
After the breathtaking hugs and suffocating maternal smooching Blaine followed his parents into what was probably meant to be a living room.
He stopped.
Stared.
Tried to process.
He couldn’t.
The furnishings were historical. Antique. Heavy. Dark wood, carved trim, brocade upholstery, oil lamps, a fireplace mantle that looked like it had been stolen from a Victorian museum. The layout was formal, rigid, symmetrical — the opposite of the modern, airy, open‑concept mansion he’d grown up in.
His parents’ home in Del Sol Valley hadn’t been renovated in a decade, but it was still sleek, stylish, and contemporary.
This?
This was… not that.
It looked so wrong.
Scarlett caught the look on his face instantly — of course she did.
“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, settling onto a stiff antique sofa. “It’s not really our taste. Papa finally said he would consider allowing us a remodel, but hasn’t agreed so far. I don’t mind it so much — I was born and raised at the castle — but your dad is having a rough time. ”
“This entire town is a rough time. I would be around a fucking hundred years old or something like that, who even cares at this point, and here I am on house arrest, having to ask daddy-in-law to do anything like a bratty toddler. Fuck that shit!” Blaine grumbled from the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a whiskey. He raised the bottle toward his son.
Blaine nodded. After everything he’d been through, he needed something strong. He accepted the glass, while Scarlett poured herself wine and curled up beside him on the couch — which was, indeed, as uncomfortable as it looked.
Blaine shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t feel like sitting on a decorative torture device. His father, meanwhile, lounged like a man on a recliner, legs spread, drink in hand, utterly unbothered. He still looked like the rock musician he always was, ready to head on stage.
“Ah, yeah,” Blaine said, clearing his throat. “Well… the reason I’m here is… I’m getting married. To Lauren.”
Scarlett squealed — actually squealed — and launched herself at him again, hugged and smooching.
“Awww, you made up! I love it! Blainey, I always knew it!”
“Mom—” he wheezed, trying to survive the onslaught of kisses. “Mom, I love your enthusiasm, but… I’m twenty‑six, not six. Please curb the enthusiasm a little.”
Scarlett sat back, beaming, wiping at her eyes.
“Like I said,” Blaine continued, “I’m getting married. I already tried talking to Cesare, but he won’t allow it. So, Mom… you have to work your magic on your father. I need you there.”
Scarlett’s beautiful face fell.
She took a long sip of wine, swirling it, avoiding his eyes.
“Blaine, baby… your daddy and I will be there in spirit, but…”
“MOM!”
“Blaine,” she said softly, “we can’t. I’m sorry. There are a million reasons why. I wish we could. Honest.”
He turned to his father.
Blaine Sr. shrugged, frowning. “She’s right, kiddo. Even if we were to say fuck it and just go anyway, we can’t. We did that, Cesare made a huge deal of it and now we are stuck here. It’s been a fucking dream come true. This town is shit and we are stuck in it. You think I haven’t tried talking sense into old Cesare? Like talking to a wall. Just forget it kid. Mom and I will be there in spirit. And congrats.”
“Wow,” Blaine said, voice flat. “So just… no. That’s it? You won’t even try again? Just roll with it because Cesare said no. You both made it to all my siblings’ weddings, but of course I get the shaft again, as usual. Got it. Why did you even have me? I honestly wish you had done all of us the favor and aborted me. Fuck all of this!”
He downed the whiskey in one swallow, slammed the glass onto the table, and stood.
He looked at both of them — disappointment, hurt, anger all tangled together — then turned and headed for the door.
They called after him.
He ignored them.
He was already in the plaza, fog curling around his ankles, when he stopped and looked around, trying to decide which direction to stomp off in.
His father caught up easily.
“That way,” Blaine Sr. said, nodding down a side path. “Hey kid, I get it. You have every right to be mad. So much shit happened around your birth, it’s just been off kilter for all of us. Your mom and I tried to be mortal, but I lost her, then I copped out and they brought us back with fangs and you were caught in the middle. Nobody wanted that for you. Or for us. Letty and I wanted to age and go out gracefully but even that didn’t fricking work for us. This suck, for all of us, but is what it is. Please don’t think we didn’t try. We did. Which is why we are on lock down now. Look around, there is nothing to do in this town. It sucks for us too but the only way to get it to not suck is to play by the rules for a while and hope Cesare has mercy. I am proud of you kid. You’ll be very happy and Lauren is a lucky girl.”
They walked.
“Smells like… shit here,” Blaine Jr. muttered, wrinkling his nose.
His dad barked a laugh. “Riordan’s place.”
“What happened, sewer system aged out of working?”
“Nah, it’s the horses.”
“Horses?!”
“Yeah. He and his wife Lavinia keep the horses for the Enforcers. Look.”
They passed a wrought‑iron gate. Beyond it, a courtyard opened into stables and a paddock where a herd of massive, all‑black horses grazed, neighed, and shoved each other around like oversized toddlers.
“Horses,” Blaine repeated. “Okaaaaay. And what the hell are Enforcers?”
“Ask yourself. There is one of them,” Blaine Sr. said, pointing at a blonde man about Blaine Jr.’s age who was walking in the plaza and about to pass them, now nodded at them.
“Hey, Damon,” Blaine Sr. called. “Come over here and explain to my son what you are.”
The blonde approached, eyes flicking between them with mild suspicion.
“He’s mortal,” Damon said.
“Yup,” Blaine Sr. replied. “He sure is. And he’s getting married soon.”
“Congrats,” Damon said. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Not a damn thing, kid,” Blaine Sr. said. “Unless you finally put a ring on it too? He’s doing what you did with Lauren, Blaine. Failure to launch into a relationship.”
Damon’s expression shifted — something between annoyance and embarrassment — and Blaine Jr. recognized the look instantly. He chuckled.
Before Damon could retort, Scarlett’s voice rang out from across the plaza.
“Blaine! We have to go to the castle! Cesare wants us!”
Blaine Sr. groaned. “Duty calls.”
He hugged his son tightly — one more squeeze, one more silent apology — then jogged off toward Scarlett.
Damon watched him go, then jerked his head. “I can take you back to your car.”
“How do you know about my car?”
“We know things. Nobody here drives a car. And you don’t belong here. And you are a Cameron. Not hard to guess.”
“Right. Hey, you know what Cesare wants with my parents?”
“How would I? I am not his secretary.”
“You think he is allowing them to come to my wedding?”
“No. Not in a million years. If that is why you are here, forget it. That’s not gonna happen. Only the Enforcers leave and interact with the mortals at this point. Off the books.”
“Ah. So, if my parents became Enforcers …”
“Blaine, quit. It’s not gonna happen. They cannot be Enforcers, never ever gonna happen. Just live with it. We all have to adjust to rules we do not like.”
Blaine fell into step beside him.
“Hint: if you ever toyed with the idea of a career change, strike motiviational speaking from the list. You suck at it, man.”
“Noted.” Damon deadpanned.
“So, who are you again? Obviously you know who I am. Blaine and Scarlett’s son, Cesare’s grandson.”
“Damon O’Cavanaugh,” Damon said. “Cesare is my great‑grandfather.”
“Ah, no way. So, you’re… no. Caelan’s grandson?”
Damon grimaced. “Wasn’t my choice. This way.”
They walked.
“So,” Blaine said, “you’re getting married too?”
“No. Not yet. There is someone, but it’s… complicated.”
“I get that. Same. I have to convince mine to pull up her roots and move across the country for me, because I am in acting and I have this mansion and … well … I just really don’t wanna live in Brindleton Bay.”
“Shouldn’t be that hard. Aren’t you famous and rich?”
“Yeah, but she’s from a famous family too. And also rich. So, that argument kinda falls flat here.”
“Ah. Well. Not a bad problem to have. Mine is a medic. Like… a doctor among our kind.”
“No shit, bruh! Mine too!” Blaine perked up.
Damon snorted. “Really?”
“Yeah. Stubborn, feisty, strong, determined… but also sweet and soft.”
“Wait,” Damon laughed. “We’re not dating the same chick, right?”
Blaine laughed. “Sure hope not. Joking aside — what’s her name?”
“Cerys,” Damon said. “Long wavy dark hair, olive green eyes, softest lips you’ve ever felt. Yours?”
“Lauren. Blonde curls, sky‑blue eyes you can get lost in. And yeah — honorable mention to her lips. So why aren’t you proposing?” Blaine asked.
“I choked,” Damon admitted. “We had a bit of a conflict of interest for a while, then something happened and … argh, too long to explain. Plus more something on a need to know basis, so if I told you, I would have to kill you and I really do not want to deal with all that.”
Blaine sighed. “Well, funny guy, here is a piece of unsolicited advice from someone who learned this the hard way: unchoke yourself and get to it if you are sure she’s the one. I almost lost mine by choking out on BS that doesn’t even matter in the big picture. Actually, I did lose her. We met as teens, dated for many years till life happened and we realized we were on different paths, at different sides of the country, with different dreams and ideals. So, we broke up, was a nasty breakup too, I was young and cocky and thought the world and Lauren owed me. In other words, I was a total dick about it. So, we lost touch for years. But I never stopped thinking about her. Dating after her was trash. I just compared every girl to her and none lived up to the standard. Then fate did me a solid and had me break my damn wrist while filming in San Myshuno. I got lucky—”
Damon grimaced. “Yeah, congrats on the broken bones. Way to go.”
“No, not like that. I’m not a weirdo and not into pain,” Blaine said. “What I meant was I am from Del Sol Valley, all the way out west. I was filming in San Myshuno, all the way on the East Coast, which is where she is from. And she’s a doctor. And what do doctors do? Connect the dots.”
Damon snickered. “Yeah, I get it. That’s how Cerys and I keep reconnecting too. I got injured badly. Almost kicked the bucket, that’s how it started. Then, every time we couldn’t connect, I made sure I was bleeding so I could see her.”
“Did that happen while… ‘enforcing’? What the hell is that even?”
Damon smirked. “Exactly what it sounds like. Connect the dots, Blaine Junior.”
“Got it. Enforce Cesare’s awesome laws and rules. So, like the police. Or military or something. Got it. Sounds like a dream job.”
“It sure is, and one you are born into and get no vote on. I didn’t pick this for myself. And before you try — I can’t help you with your issue. Nobody can. Don’t blame your parents. Take it from me — there is real merit there. It wouldn’t be safe for them to come.”
“News travels fast here, huh?”
“Part of my job. You and your dad are known to be … instigators. So, I need to keep an eye on both of you to make sure you don’t get silly ideas.”
Blaine sighed. “Oh cool, threats now too.”
“If I threatened you, Junior, you’d know. I am just telling you how it is. As long as you stay chill, so will I.” Damon grinned.
“You want me to chill and do the right thing. Cool advice, coming from a guy who chokes on asking his girl to be his forever…”
“Well,” Damon said, “forever takes on a different meaning for my kind.”
“But it boils down to the same,” Blaine said. “My forever is all the time I have on this earth. Might be the greater commitment. You can still get divorced and start over a million times.”
Damon looked at him — really looked — and nodded. “You know… that isn’t the dumbest thing I ever heard. Actually, you make a pretty solid point there. Definitely some food for thought. You’re very different from your old man, Blaine Junior.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And can you quit with the Junior now that we agree I’m not my old man? I am twentysix, bro.”
“That supposed to impress me? I am technically in my forties. And aren’t we touchy… Junior.”
“Well, are we, Caelan’s grandson…?”
Damon’s head snapped toward him, and a devilish grin spread across his face. He pointed at Blaine like good one.
They reached a bend in the path.
Damon stopped.
“This is the uncomfortable part.” he said.
“The tight bro‑hug thing to port?”
“Exactly.”
“All right,” Blaine said. “Nothing better than you go up close and personal with a dude I just met.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, I could think of a million things I’d rather do than breathe in your fancy perfume”
“It’s body wash. Gucci, by the way. You know personal hygiene, you should try it sometimes. Helps in the love department, chicks dig it.”
“I’ll make a mental note, bigmouth. Come here, Junior.”
“Just get it over with, Caelan‑Junior. And keep your hands to yourself, dude. You’re not my type.”
“Keep that up,” Damon warned, “and we’ll be down to one Blaine again. And it won’t be you.”
“Can’t wait for Cesare to find out you off’ed his grandson,” Blaine said. “I’m sure your Cerys will find a new man after the appropriate mourning period cos you will be joining me in death, Caelan 2.0.”
“Call me Caelan one more time and I will put my boot so for up your rear you will taste it for weeks, Junior!”
Grinning, Damon grabbed him.
The world buzzed — loud, electric, disorienting — and folded.
They landed beside Blaine’s car.
Drives and Decisions
Blaine drove through the dark for hours, replaying every conversation, every warning, every heartbreak.
But when he reached the outskirts of San Myshuno and saw the exit for Brindleton Bay…
He didn’t think.
He just turned the wheel.
He parked in the Cunningham driveway, far enough from the motion sensor to avoid lighting up the entire estate like a runway. The engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound in the quiet coastal night. Blaine sat there, hands on the wheel, staring up the winding road toward the manor.
It was too late for a visit.
Too late to ring doorbells.
Too late to talk through intercoms without a life‑or‑death excuse.
And yet… he was here.
He didn’t even know why he’d driven this far. Or why he hadn’t turned back. Or why the thought of going home felt impossible.
Eventually, he exhaled, shoved the door open, and stepped out into the cold night air.
The ocean roared in the distance — a deep, rhythmic crash that vibrated through the sand and into his bones. He followed the narrow path down from the driveway, the one he remembered from years ago, when he’d spent a semester here and fallen stupidly, irrevocably in love with a girl who lived on the other side of the country.
The path opened onto the beach — dark, windswept, endless. The moon was a thin silver blade above the water. The waves slammed against the shore in violent bursts, spraying cold mist across his face.
He walked.
Barefoot now, shoes dangling from his fingers, he let the sand swallow his steps. The night was thick with salt and memory. He walked until the wind stung his eyes and the cold numbed his toes. He walked until the roar of the ocean drowned out the Hollow, Cesare, the Sentinels, the impossible rules, the impossible choices.
He stopped only when he reached the old dunes.
The ones he and Lauren used to sneak through in high school — when they were young and stupid and thought the world would bend for them. When they’d slip out after curfew, meet halfway between the guesthouse and the beach, and kiss under the stars like they were the only two people alive.
He stared up at the footpath.
The same one. Still narrow. Still half‑hidden. Still lined with that strange beach grass — tall, dry, yellowish even in summer, whispering in the wind like brittle paper.
He smirked despite himself.
“Guess we’re doing this,” he muttered.
He climbed.
The sand shifted under his feet, soft and treacherous. The grass brushed against his legs, rustling like a thousand tiny secrets. The path wound upward between the dunes, then dipped behind a cluster of bushes — the same bushes they used to slip through, laughing, breathless, terrified of getting caught.
He pushed through the foliage.
The guesthouse appeared, tucked into the hill like a secret. Warm light glowed faintly behind the curtains. The porch light was off. The door… unlocked.
Of course it was. This was Brindleton Bay. The property was fenced, and nobody knew about the hidden path through the shrubbery. People here weren’t exactly the type to crawl through hedges and topiaries.
He set down his shoes at the threshold, walked over to the large pool filling the air with chorine scent and dipped one foot after the other in to wash off the sand, then stepped inside quietly, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet. The house smelled faintly of detergent, designer perfume and ocean air — Lauren’s scent, always.
He approached the bed in the center of the room, heart pounding harder with each step.
There she was — long blonde curls spilling across the pillow, breathing softly, the moonlight painting her in silver. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. Breakable.
He swallowed hard.
Then he stripped off his shirt, peeled down his jeans, and slid into bed beside her.
She moaned softly, instinctively snuggling into him — until her eyes fluttered open, widened, and she stiffened.
Her scream was muffled by his kiss.
When she relaxed, he whispered against her ear:
“Surprise…”
“Blaine—what are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“I’m sneaky,” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers. “Baby… let’s talk wedding.”
Her breath hitched.
“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he whispered. “Let’s get serious about this. Let’s set a date. Soon. As soon as you can get all those things done that girls need to get done. I need you in my life permanently, Lauren. We can get married here or do a destination wedding. I’d even move here. Fuck Del Sol Valley if this is where you’re happiest. We’ll buy a cottage or a cabana or whatever the hell is available for purchase and start a family, baby.”
Lauren burst into tears.
“What did I say?” he panicked. “I’m sorry if I—”
“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “You didn’t say anything wrong. What you just said is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. I feel like you really heard me. Like you really know me. Like you really see me. You’ve changed, Blaine. You’ve matured. Yes. Yes, Blaine — let’s get married. Soon.”
He exhaled, relief flooding him.
“I don’t care about planning,” she said. “I am not the girl for big weddings, though my parents might disagree. All I need is a dress and my groom. I’ll call my mom in the morning to see if she wants take me dress shopping. And I always wanted to get married in the little old chapel in town, where my dad and Bri got married, but I figured you’d want something big and fancy. Can we do that?”
“Of course. I don’t need flashy. I need you. Chapel it is.”
“Awesome! My dad knows the priest — he donates a lot — I’m sure he can slide us in soon. And because of everything you just said… because of what you’re willing to give up for me… I’ll talk to Dad about arranging a transfer to his medical facility in Del Sol Valley. Let’s do this, baby. I love you so much.”
They fell asleep tangled together, the ocean roaring outside like applause.
Next Morning
Golden rays tickled them awake.
They kissed lazily, whispered good morning, and were just about to start making out again when—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Lauren jolted upright, grabbed her robe, and hurried to the door.
Brad stood there, fully dressed in a designer suit and crisp periwinkle shirt and dark tie, arms crossed, expression unimpressed and entirely too awake for the hour.
“Dad— is everything all right?”
“Fine,” he said, pushing the door open farther. His eyes landed on the unmistakable lump in her bed — a Blaine‑shaped lump — trying and failing to hide under the blankets. “Good morning, Blaine. Kindly move your car. It’s blocking my driveway. Annoying for most people — dangerous when two doctors live here. What if Lauren or I got called to an emergency, huh?”
Blaine poked his head out, hair wild, voice sheepish. “Morning, Dr. Cunningham. And… sorry. It was a bit of an ad hoc decision last night.”
“I figured as much,” Brad said. “Get dressed, move the car, then come have breakfast with the family. I moved my meeting to ten. See that my driveway is clear by then. Oh, and next time, kindly use the front door. I don’t know how you managed to get in, but let’s shelf that from now on. Act civilized, please.”
He turned to leave.
Lauren grabbed his arm, hugging him tightly.
“Dad — can you talk to Father Joseph? See how soon we can get the chapel—”
Brad’s eyes flicked to Blaine, who shrugged, then nodded.
“Sure,” Brad said. “I’ll drive past this afternoon after work. How soon are we thinking? Is this a sort of emergency kind of thing?”
“No,” Lauren said softly. “Oh my God, no, not THAT daddy! I am not pregnant. Blaine and I are just two people who are tired of an entire country between them. Oh— and can you get me transferred to Del Sol Valley like we discussed a few times? I know I said I wasn’t sure, but I am now. I want this, Daddy. I only stayed because of… Graham. I didn’t want you to lose two kids…”
Brad’s expression softened. He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead.
“The death of your brother should not affect your future, angel. My job as a father is to clear any road you wish to take to find happiness, not be part of the obstruction. You denying yourself what you really want won’t bring Graham back. And while I appreciate your help with the grandbabies, that is not your job. I’d rather you start preparing for your own babies. Eventually.”
He shot Blaine a pointed look.
“You hear me, Blaine?”
“Copy that, sir,” Blaine said, saluting.
Brad huffed. “Right. But just bear this in mind, Blaine: you know how to make God laugh really hard? By making plans.”
“Ha – ain’t that the fucking truth! Sorry, but yeah, I know.” Blaine retorted.
He stepped back. “I’ll see you both at breakfast. I’ll go prepare Bri and the rest of the family for Blaine being here again.”
Lauren closed the door, turned, and beamed at Blaine.
“God, Blaine, this is really happening. I can’t believe it. I need a shower.”
She headed toward the bathroom.
Blaine scrambled out of bed after her. “On my way…”
Breakfast of Champions
Everyone was already gathered at the long dining table when Blaine and Lauren walked in from the guesthouse, holding hands, both smiling like idiots.
Heads turned. Greetings were exchanged. They took their seats under the watchful eyes of Brad and Briar Rose, who traded knowing glances — the kind only parents of grown children could master.
Nathaniel — at seventeen the oldest of Brad’s kids with Bri, curly‑haired like his father but with his mother’s soft features and unfairly pretty face — looked up from his plate.
“So… this is happening then, right?”
Lauren nodded. “Yes, Nate. It looks that way.”
“Cool. Do we have a timeline?” he asked.
“Soon. Why?” Lauren’s eyes narrowed, confused about the sudden interest by her brother.
“Just wondering.” he shrugged, casually.
Briar Rose narrowed her eyes. “What are you wondering about, baby?”
Nate dedicated himself to his breakfast with suspicious intensity. “Well… when Lauren is married and moves to Del Sol Valley, the guesthouse is up for grabs. Wondering when I can start moving my things down. More privacy and all.”
Caroline and Charlotte’s heads snapped up in perfect sibling synchronization.
“Excuse you?” Charlotte said with the typical attitude of a sixteen-year-old.
“Yeah, seriously,” Caroline added. “It’s styled for a female. So, I would get first dibs, not you.”
“Says who? I’m older than you, Caro. I get first dibs.”
“Those few weeks? Are you serious now, Charley? And you already have another room at your mom’s house. I only have one, in this home. So I am more deserving.” Caroline shot back with her teen logic.
“And I’m older than both of you. I get the guest house,” Nathaniel countered.
Brad set down his coffee cup with the authority of a man who had raised five children and survived it.
“And you are off to college in less than a year, son. Nobody is moving. That is a guesthouse, and the answer to the riddle is in the name. It was intended for guests and it will be for guests again. End of discussion. You all have very nice and spacious rooms and you will stay in them until you move into your own houses.”
Silence.
Then Briar Rose lifted the coffee pot. “Coffee?” Her way to change the topic and mood.
Nathaniel wasn’t done. “What if I don’t want to go to college right after high school?”
Brad froze.
“I beg your pardon?” he snapped. “You are the male heir to the Cunningham Medical legacy. Your sister will take the West Coast facilities, and you will take the East Coast and International. When Caroline and Charley are old enough to decide and stick with a decision for a change, we may divide it up further. We talked about this. You came to me and said that after Graham died. And now suddenly you do not want to study medicine anymore? Your applications are long sent, kid! Along with my recommendations!”
“Dad! Chill!” Nate protested. “I didn’t say I don’t want to study. I want to take a year off and travel. Like backpacking through some countries and such. I want adventure, like see something before life has me in a firm grip until retirement.”
Brad — usually calm, composed, unshakeable — dropped his fork with a loud clank.
“Absolutely not!” he roared. “That is what your brother said and look what happened to him! Had Graham listened to reason and taken my advice, he would still be alive today! I told him spelunking through a damn jungle was a terrible idea! And guess what!? I was right! And I hate that I was right, but he died thinking he needed adventure in his life! Now he has no life, and his two sons have to grow up without their father! I am not losing another son, Nathaniel!”
He tore the napkin off his lap, stood abruptly, and stormed out. Briar Rose hurried after him.
Nathaniel sat frozen, guilt washing over him.
“I just said I wanted to travel…” he muttered. “I didn’t say the jungle. Just beach and shit…”
“You are an idiot,” Caroline snapped, standing. “Speak first and think later, typical boy.”
She stormed out. Charlotte followed.
“Yeah, typical boy,” Charlotte said over her shoulder. “Emotional‑intelligence void. Touch some grass, Nate.”
Nathaniel looked absolutely miserable. He glanced at Lauren, then at Blaine.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s have it. Just unleash on me too.”
Lauren stood, walked over, and reached for him. Nate flinched, expecting a slap or pinch — Cunningham sisters were known for both — but instead she pulled him into a hug.
He stiffened. Then melted.
“I’m sorry I upset him,” he mumbled into her shoulder.
“It happens,” Lauren said softly. “Just give him a minute and apologize. He knows you didn’t mean it. He just loves us so much and hates letting go, because he can’t protect us like he can now.”
Nate huffed. “I get that. I’ll just go to uni. Forget that year off. Dumb idea anyway.”
“You don’t need to stop dreaming,” Lauren said gently. “Just… be sensitive about how you tell Dad, that’s all. Losing Graham hurt all of us, but especially him and my mom.”
Nate looked between Lauren and Blaine, eyes narrowing. “Speaking of sensitive… so we’re sneaking people into the house in the middle of the night and just showing up to breakfast with them?”
Blaine lifted a hand. “Hey, look at the bright side, Nate. At least me sneaking into your sister’s room doesn’t result in losing a family member — but potentially gaining one. Me. I’ll be your big brother soon.”
Nate blinked. “Oh no.”
“And who knows,” Blaine continued, absolutely undeterred, “maybe you’ll come visit us in Del Sol Valley. My mansion’s huge. You’d have space, privacy, a change of scenery—”
“Oh my God!” Nate yelped. “You are deranged!”
He bolted from the room.
Lauren groaned into her hands. “Blaine…”
“What?” Blaine asked, genuinely baffled. “We’ll have a family one day. We both want that. Isn’t that implied when people get married? Especially with two dynasties like ours? And giving your little brother a place to escape to? That’s just being supportive.”
Echoes Of Legacy 