Chapter 42

Chapter 42
My whole life, I’ve spent hiding.
Wait—hiding isn’t the right word.
Confined. Trapped. Chained within the shadow cast by my father and his world. My whole life I’ve been scared—hiding from myself, hoping that one day something, anything, would change. That has been my whole life in a nutshell.
No pun intended.

And the one time I made a decision without being called into that sacred room to get instructions—the one time I bloomed out of that shell I’d been trapped in—the one time I escaped those confines just to feel myself again after years of trying and failing... everything began to crumble. Every meaning I thought I had, every control I thought I possessed, shattered within a day.
Who am I kidding—it started to fall apart the moment I left for that club.
The moment I met him.

I guess it’s no news that I was captured.
They could’ve at least waited till the rain stopped, but no one really cares about that. I didn’t struggle or scream for help. I just sat there with a black cloth over my face, soaked through by the rain. I couldn’t even cry. I’d used it all up at Lucian’s place—and maybe I was saving whatever was left for wherever they were taking me.

When we arrived, the rain had stopped. They pulled me out of the car, still blindfolded. The fabric stayed over my face until they took me inside—a small room, nearly empty. Just a bed, a table, and a lantern flickering on top.
There were new clothes folded beside it, probably so I wouldn’t freeze to death. Very generous of them.
Later that night, someone came with a plate of salad. I didn’t eat. I didn’t change. I just lay there, staring into the dark, breathing. I couldn’t tell what I felt—maybe nothing, maybe hurt, maybe fear—but of what exactly?
That I’d been kidnapped?
Or because of him?

Morning came with a soft sting of light through the window. It didn’t hit my face directly, but it still burned my eyes. I tried to stay under the sheets, but the noise outside wouldn’t let me. I got up, peeked through the window, and saw at least twenty armed men in tactical gear. A jeep had just parked, and out stepped a woman.

I fell back on the bed, wrapped myself tighter in the sheets.
They were coming here—I could feel it.
I wasn’t even sure if I cared.

Maybe they were Mafia.
Maybe mercenaries.
Wouldn’t be shocking. My father had pissed off too many people. The five families were now in chaos—because of me.
All because of me.

The metal door screeched open. The woman from outside stepped in.
She was tall—that was the first thing I noticed. Then the way she carried herself—shoulders back, chin high, like gravity didn’t apply to her. Her brown hair brushed just below her shoulders. Smooth skin, pointed nose—European, probably. I don’t even know why I felt that.

She wore a black leather jacket over a gray ribbed turtleneck, high-waisted black pants slightly loose around her legs, and high-heeled boots that echoed with each step. No bra, but it didn’t make her look careless. She looked... deliberate. Elegant. If things were different, I’d probably adore her.

She stopped at the end of my bed, scanned the room, then fixed her gaze on me.

“You should eat, darling. We didn’t bring you here to starve.”
Her voice carried a thick European accent—precise, smooth, dangerous.

“…”
I said nothing, just hid deeper under the blanket, peering through the gap.

“Suit yourself.” She scoffed, turning for the door. “Can’t believe Lucian went for a child.”

That made me sit up.
If I heard right—then I was wrong about why I was here.

“You’re not Mafia,” I said finally, my voice dry from silence.

“Huh.” She laughed softly, the sound sharp as glass. “No, I’m not. But the idea of running a whole complicit family does fascinate me.”
She dragged a metal chair from outside—the screech biting through the quiet—and sat across from me, one leg crossed over the other. The smirk on her face fit her like a weapon.
“You are pretty, I’ll give you that. No wonder he fell.”

“You know Lucian?” I asked, my throat tightening around his name. Somehow, she didn’t scare me. Maybe I’d run out of fear yesterday, or maybe she carried a strange calm that could turn dangerous at will.

“Oh, sure. We go way back.” She leaned back, smiling faintly. “He’s... unforgettable.”

“You know what he is?” My voice trembled as I asked, unsure if I even wanted the answer.

“Yes,” she said, eyes glinting. “Do you?”

“I’m not sure.” I glanced at the towel he’d wrapped around me, still draped over the chair. “Why am I here? Who are you?”

“Slow down, darling.” She smiled faintly. “Don’t get too comfortable—you’re still a hostage.”

We stared at each other—the room breathing between us. My hands were shaking.
Lucian’s face flashed in my mind—the blood, his teeth, his voice. The deadly look in his eyes.
“What is he?” I whispered.

“Lucian,” she said, voice steady, “is what you’d call a vampire.”

The word didn’t even sound ridiculous. It should have. But I didn’t doubt her.
Not after what I’d seen.

“You are bait,” she continued softly, “to lure him out.”

“Why me?”
My voice cracked, just slightly. I pulled myself together before it broke entirely.

“Oh, please,” she said, waving lazily. “You know why. I don’t have to spell it out.”

Because he liked me.
Sebastian said something like that once, but hearing it now—it hit differently.
Harder.

I looked down, unable to form words. It was obvious all along; I’d just refused to see it.

“What if he doesn’t take the bait?” I asked quietly. “What happens to me then?”

“He might be a monster,” she said, “but he’s still a soft one.”

“Who are you people?”

“We’re Red Watch,” she said with a sigh, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. “Don’t mind the name—you Americans love your drama. We work under the Church—Catholic, if you must know. Our task is to eradicate vampires that have made their way into the States.”

My lips parted. “The Church?”

“Yes, darling. The Catholic Church.”

“What?”
It slipped out more like a gasp than a question.

She smiled, seeing my confusion. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. I'm not supposed to tell you these, but you’ve seen what Lucian is—it’d be cruel to leave you in the dark.”

I didn’t reply. She continued.

“The Church has fought these things for centuries—since before Rome even rose. They’ve slaughtered men, women, children, and somehow remained in the shadows. The Church didn’t see them as much of a threat back then. The rules were simple: don’t stay out after dark, keep a cross close, and never invite strangers in.”
Her tone darkened. “That was before the daywalkers appeared.”

“Lucian,” I said under my breath. I remembered his words—I hate the sun.

“We call them purebloods,” she said, her voice lower now, quieter. “They’re born when a vampire touches the original source—or from the first child of a pureblood. Lucian belongs to the latter.”

I could feel the weight in her tone. She paused, watching me.
“You’ve probably heard of his father,” she added. “He’s been making waves in the media lately.”
Her smirk returned. “Count Dracula. The Impaler.”

The name hit the air like a blade through glass.
It shouldn’t have felt real—but it did.
My chest went still; I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing until her words faded.

He’d mentioned his father once, but… this?

“Lucian is a five-hundred-year-old creature,” she said quietly. “Nothing should live that long—especially a pureblood. He wasn’t always alive, though. His own father sealed him away for centuries. He’s only been free for two years.”

She stood, brushing her pants lightly, her tone losing all softness.
“I’m sorry, darling. Truly. But you’re the only way we can bring him in.”

The room fell silent.
And for the first time since that night, I felt the fear return—not of dying, but of being known by something that shouldn’t exist.