Chapter 88 Ch. 58
"You asked to see me," Ethan said as he stepped into his father's office. He had come back from school only a few minutes ago, and now he was being dragged here. He wondered if he had done something wrong.
He paused, his eyes flicking around the men who were standing in the room which smelt oddly like sweat and too much perfume. "What's going on?"
"We're attacking tonight," his father said dryly. "The Russo family attacked us and I think it's high time we show them we are not to be messed with."
"Attacked us? How? Did they... kill anyone?"
"Yes," his father answered. "But it's more than just killing someone. Four of our shipments have been intercepted twice, killing some of the humans who work for us."
"Oh... That's... Sad."
"Yes, and we have been too lenient. They think they can just... take over from us, and I won't have it that way," responded his father. Lorenzo adjusted his hair away from his face and pursed his lips. "I've already assessed their hideouts and know the layout. We attack them, kill a lot of them, and steal what we can. Tomorrow night."
"That's going to be... dangerous," Ethan muttered, averting his gaze. He looked at the other men in the room, expecting them to agree with him. To talk his father out of this madness. "The consequences could be..."
"Taking from us was dangerous and they knew." His father stood up and placed his hands firmly on the desk. "Are you scared, Ethan?"
"Why should I be?"
"Well for one, you are doing this mission with us and you're leading a team. You'll be briefed."
"You're involving me?"
"You are heir to the clan. Yes."
"I'm heir to the clan— our clan. And not the next in line for your criminal empire."
His father chuckled, then made a gesture to the men in the room. They left immediately.
"Ethan, are you questioning my authority? As your father? As your clan leader?"
"As clan leader? No. As my father, yes— look, I have no business with whatever you've got your fingers tangled up in. I am heir to the clan and not your criminal empire."
"This clan progresses with what I do. You'll be clan leader one day, and in turn heir to this mafia."
"Then I don't want to be clan leader."
"You are my only son. It is your responsibility."
"Well maybe I wouldn't be your only son if you didn't kill Giulio years ago," Ethan spat bitterly. "And maybe you would have had another child if my mother wasn't locked up in a box with wood in her heart for years."
"She's punished for her wrongdoings. And I do not need another son. Thomas will brief you on the plans. Screw this up, it means you die in battle— it means your girlfriend dies too."
"She's not... You know what, screw it. I'll get briefed."
+++++++
Ivanna felt like she was going crazy.
All she wanted was for the bloodthirstiness to stop, but it never did— no matter how hard she tried. She had no control of herself anymore. Even when there was no blood around her, there was this primal urge to just find something or someone to drink from. And of course, when there was blood, she would drink every last drop, and be thirsty for more.
She hated herself for needing it.
She stood up and walked to the mirror, looking at a self who she didn't even recognize anymore. Her skin was way paler than it used to be. Once, she had prided herself in being sexily tan, but now she was... very white. Her eyes were darker in color too, contrasting her skin color. The candlelight flickered on her face, casting shadows.
Her lips were brighter than they used to be. Once it was this plush pink color, but now it was closer to red. It looked too alive for someone who was supposed to be dead.
After the day she woke up, she stayed in the lab-looking room for another twenty-four hours— Imogen poking and prodding every inch of her body. There was always one test or another that she had to take to be sure she was alive.
But she didn't feel alive. Even now.
Ivanna was always cold, but strangely enough, that cold was comforting.
The room she stayed in now was bigger and warmer than the one she first woke up in. A black bed stood in the center, the cloth hanging around it like thin curtains. The stone walls were old and grey, and thin vines had found their way up the corners. Across from the bed was a tall window with colored glass, red and purple. The rain hitting it made the colors shift across the floor.
On the table near her bed sat silver cups, each half-filled with blood.
Imogen said it was needed.
Ivanna wasn’t sure she believed that anymore.
Couldn't she just find a way to stop needing it?
She stepped away from the mirror and sat on the bed and gripped the sheet tight. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she tried to stay calm. Her body was trembling, and her throat burned even though she had already finished one cup not long ago. She could still taste it.
“Damn it,” she whispered, pressing her hands to her temples.
The craving came back stronger. She tried to resist, but every time it just made it harder. Sometimes she thought she could hear the hearts of people outside, and it made her want to scream.
Her eyes drifted toward the table again. One cup was still full.
“No,” she said under her breath, standing up fast. “No, don’t.”
But her body was already moving.
Her hand shook as she picked up the cup. The smell filled her head, making it hard to think. Before she realized it, the rim was against her lips. The taste flooded her mouth, running down her throat until the cup was empty.
She looked down at it, and it slipped from her hand, hitting the floor and breaking apart.
She took a step back and put a hand to her chest. “Oh fuck, what have you done to me…”
Her voice broke. She turned toward the window, blinking hard.
“How are you getting this blood?” she whispered. “Whose is it, Imogen? Who are you taking it from?”
The door opened slowly. Ivanna turned and saw Imogen in the doorway, dressed in black as always, her silver hair catching the candlelight.
“I see you’ve been drinking well,” Imogen said softly, walking into the room.
“You never answer me,” Ivanna said. “Where do you get it?”
Imogen tilted her head slightly. “That’s not something you need to worry about, dear.”
“It is when it’s blood,” Ivanna snapped. “When it’s human.”
Imogen’s calm face twitched for a second. “Does it matter now? You’re no longer one of them.”
“That doesn’t make it right!” Ivanna yelled. Her voice rang through the room, and the candles flickered as if they heard her.
Imogen studied her quietly, then stepped closer and stopped at the end of the bed. “It takes time,” she said gently. “The thirst will always be there, but you’ll learn to handle it.”
“I don’t want to handle it,” Ivanna said. “I want my life back.”
Imogen smiled faintly, like she pitied her. “That life is gone. You died.”
Ivanna turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted to feel warm again, but all she felt was emptiness.
After a moment, Imogen spoke again. “You have a visitor. That's why I came here... To tell you that."
Ivanna’s head shot up. “A visitor?”
“Yes,” Imogen said. “He’s been waiting for a while.”
Ivanna’s heart, or rather what was left of it tightened.
“Dylan?” she asked quietly. She had been waiting for him for days and finally, he was here.
Imogen nodded.
The door opened wider, and Dylan stood there, soaked from the rain. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes looked tired but kind.
They stared at each other for a long moment before either of them moved.
Then they both did.
She ran toward him, and he met her halfway. She threw her arms around him, and he held her tight. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the smell of rain and his cologne. For a second, everything felt almost normal again.
But then she felt strange as the slow beat of his heart seemed to sync with hers.
Her body tensed.
She remembered when she used to joke with him that he always felt cold.
There was a night that she'd woken up and panicked because he seemed dead. And they had laughed about it, and he teased her for a long time.
It was cute.
But all he really was doing, was lying to her.
She pushed him away fast. “Stay away from me,” she said.
Dylan froze, confused. “Ivanna, what—”
“I said stay away!” she shouted, stepping back. “You lied to me! You turned me! You should have just let me die!”
“Don’t say that,” he said quietly.
“Why not? It’s true!” she cried. “You didn’t save me, Dylan. You cursed me.”
He took a step forward. “I did what I had to do.”
“No,” she said. “You did what you wanted to do. You didn’t think about what I’d have to live with.”
He looked at her, pain showing in his eyes. “I thought about losing you. That’s all I thought about.”
"You lost me when you lied to me and sabotaged my career."
"Ivanna..."
Ivanna shook her head. “You don’t get it. I can’t go back to work, or my friends, or my life. How do I walk into a room without wanting to hurt someone? Can I even be in the sun? You should have let me go.”
Dylan ran a hand through his wet hair, his jaw tight. “You were dead, Ivanna. There was no saving you any other way. You think I could stand there and watch them bury you? And there's a daylight ring, you can enjoy as much sunlight as you want."
She glared at him. “And this is better? Me hiding because I'm supposed to be dead and I can't just walk into a normal place like a normal human being... And then what? I live off you?”
“It’s still a life,” he said softly.
“No,” she said. “It’s not. It’s just what’s left.”
He stepped closer. “We can make it work. We can leave all this behind. Go somewhere far, start again.”
“I don’t want to start again,” she said sharply. “I want what I had. My job, my friends, the person I used to be.”
“You can’t have both,” Dylan said quietly.
Finally, Ivanna turned away. “I need time,” she said quietly. “Away from you. Away from all this.”
Dylan swallowed hard. “Ivanna—”
She wasn’t just angry at Dylan. She was angry at everything—the world, the fate that made her live when she should have been dead.
Angry that her heart still beat for someone who turned her into something she never wanted to be.
And worst of all, angry that even now, she still loved him.
She looked back at him, her eyes bright with tears she refused to shed. “Please, Dylan. Just go.”
He nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want.”
She didn’t answer.
He turned toward the door and paused when he saw Imogen standing there. “Take care of her,” he said softly. “Please.”
Imogen inclined her head. “I always do. I want to talk to you though."
"Oh?" Dylan said as they stepped further down the hallway."
“The girl you got the blood from,” she said quietly. “Where can I find her?”
Dylan raised a brow. “Why?”
“I just want to see her."
“You’re putting her in danger, Imogen. The Veiled might still be watching.”
Imogen’s eyes flicked toward the door. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’ll be careful.”
"Let it go, Imogen."