The Stepbrother

The Stepbrother
Vicky

I blinked, caught off guard.
What did he call me? Sister? And did he just say I looked great like this? My mind scrambled to catch up. He was far too composed for a random intruder.

“Est-ce que tu me parles?” I asked, testing him, my own French rusty but sharp enough to challenge. Are you talking to me?

“Yes,” he replied smoothly, switching to English with a faint accent that rolled off his tongue like silk. “Unless you prefer to speak in English.”

“Who are you, and why are you following me?” I demanded, stepping closer, my voice edged with suspicion. Veny stirred, alert but uncertain, mirroring my wariness.

“I’m Marcelo,” he said. “And I’m not necessarily following you. We’re just, who knows, maybe going to the same place?”

“And where would that be?”

“I thought maybe it could be Dracula’s castle?” he said, and that smile transformed his already handsome face into something captivating. Purple eyes sparkled with mischief. But I couldn’t think about that, not with James and Caspian inside, depending on me.

I shook it off, refocusing. “Is there a safe place where we can talk, just the two of us, Marcelo?”

“Yes and no,” he replied, tilting his head, his staff tapping lightly against the floor. “It depends on the type of conversation.”

“What do you mean?”

“How honest are you going to be,” he said, his voice lowering, those purple eyes locking onto mine, “and who will come to talk to me, the witch or the wolf?”

I stared at him, my breath hitching. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I said, but it was a weak dodge, and I knew it. He saw through me. How? Who was he to Jean, to Nosferatu, to this whole damn nightmare?

Marcelo

She stood there, framed by the balcony, all leather and defiance, her newly blackened hair a stark contrast to the confusion flickering in her green eyes.
“Yes, you do,” I replied, stepping closer, my voice low and certain. “You can’t lie to me.”
I reached out and ran my hand through her hair. It was soft and thick, cascading like midnight over my fingers. My step-sister was cuter than I’d imagined, a chubby little one beneath the tough exterior, her round cheeks flushed with frustration. The hybrid fire in her was unmistakable, witch and wolf warring in a frame that was both fierce and unexpectedly endearing.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice rising, fury sparking as she recoiled from my touch. She hated being vulnerable. I could see it It only made me want to know her more, to peel back the layers she guarded so fiercely.

“An ally, cherry,” I said with a smile. “I’ll let you talk to those two in your room, and I’ll wait for you in my room tonight. I’m above yours.”

“Don’t do anything against them,” she warned, her tone sharp, protective, a wolf baring her teeth for her pack.

“It all depends on whether or not you come to talk,” I said, my smile turning sly, a challenge tossed between us. “My room is 307.” I stepped back, giving her space, my staff tapping lightly against the floor as I turned to leave. Her gaze burned into my back, and I liked her already.

Vicky

When Marcelo left, I shook off the unease and grabbed the phone, dialing Dário with an urgency that steadied my nerves.
“I’m with Caspian and James,” I told him, my voice tight. “Can you get a shelter for six people?”
He paused, then asked for some time to get back to me. I didn’t wait idly—slipping downstairs, I bought a cheap cell phone and a handful of SIM cards from a corner shop, along with a few plain T-shirts for the boys to swap into.
Back in the room, I handed them to Caspian, his hands taking them with a nod.
“In case you need to contact someone,” I said, briefly meeting his eyes. They’d eaten and showered, and now it was time to talk.

Dário’s message buzzed through: an address. It’s safe. Get out of there.
I showed it to Caspian.
“Well,” he said, glancing between me and James, who sat silent on the bed, “I’ll tell the others. Can we meet at this address? I think you two should talk a little.”
"I..."
He didn’t wait for an answer, slipping out with a quiet purpose, leaving me alone with James.

I paced the room, my boots scuffing the carpet, struggling to meet his gaze. Those hazel eyes—once so fierce, now dulled by pain—watched me, or maybe through me, and I couldn’t bear it.
If I could take it all back, would I? The seven nights with Dimitri, the deal I’d struck out of anger, thinking James had rejected me, betrayed me, left me to rot in that dungeon.
I think I would. I’d hated him so much, the sting of that letter burning through me, but I’d done it for him, to be here, to stand by his side whether he lived or died. Maybe he couldn’t accept it, maybe he hated me now, but I loved him. I still love him. He’d made me swear we’d face everything together, and I wasn’t the kind of woman to sit back, waiting to be saved.
I’m the kind who fights alongside him, claws out, heart open.

And now, here he was, broken, thin, unshaven, suffering from what he’d felt through our bond, my nights with another man cutting him deeper than any blade. I’d been clueless, thinking he’d cast me aside, but Caspian was right. The mark still lingered, faint on my neck, a tie unbroken. He’d felt my betrayal, and it crushed him, just as his silence crushed me. We were both hurt, both shattered, two pieces of a whole splintered by misunderstanding and pain. Yet he’d said he wouldn’t leave without me, that he’d laugh it off if I went with him.
Did that mean he still loved me, beneath the wreckage?

Jame's silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until I couldn’t take it anymore. “James, we don’t need to say anything,” I said. “You can go.”

“There’s not much to say without hurting you, Vicky,” he replied, his hazel eyes finally meeting mine.

“You made me believe you’d rejected me.”

“You actually asked for a divorce and signed it,” he countered, his jaw tightening. “And you said you didn’t want to have a child with me.”

“I said I didn’t want children from the beginning,” I snapped, the old wound reopening. “You were pressuring me. You signed the divorce papers, left a letter rejecting me, and walked out without even saying goodbye. You took me to a place without me knowing I was a prisoner. You deceived me, accused me of being a traitor to the king, and made me sleep in a dungeon.”

“You cheated on me with another man,” he said, “and I don’t even want to know who he is.”

“You swore it would be us for everything,” I hurled back, stepping closer, my hands shaking. “No more individual selves. We should’ve come to Romania together.”

“We are together in Romania now,” he said, quieter, almost pleading.

“But at what cost, James?” I whispered, my throat tightening. “What cost?”

He looked away, and the silence answered for him. “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other, do we?”

I turned to my bag, yanking it open, and pulled out a stack of RON notes. “Here,” I said, thrusting them at him. “Buy food and clothes for the boys. Go to the shelter before nightfall.”

“And you?” he asked, taking the money but not moving, his eyes searching mine.

“I need to do something before I leave,” I said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m up to my neck in this shit. Now I need to finish what I started.”

“Then I’m staying,” he said, stepping closer, his voice firming.

“I don’t want anything to do with you anymore, James,” I snapped, my chest aching as I forced the words out. “Go away.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said, shaking his head. “I know we’re mad at each other. We both have reasons. I’ll keep you safe until you leave Romania, then we’ll go our separate ways.”

“No,” I pleaded, my resolve fraying. “Go with your friends, James, please. It’s complicated.”

“Really?” he said, a bitter laugh escaping him. “When was our life together not complicated?”

“You hurt me so much,” I whispered, tears prickling my eyes, “I don’t know if I want to live this anymore.”

“And what if I change, Vicky?” he said, his voice breaking, stepping closer still. “If I admit I was an idiot and was wrong? Because hurt—because of hurt—you don’t know what I went through, girl. Feeling every time someone else touched you. And I’m here, asking for us to try to fix things.”

“James, please don’t do this,” I begged, my voice cracking as I turned away, falling apart inside. I couldn’t handle this anymore. Veny whined, torn between loyalty to him and the mission driving me forward. I needed to talk to Marcelo, but I couldn’t let James know. I grabbed my bag, brushing past him toward the door, my heart splintering with every step.
“Go to the shelter,” I said over my shoulder, barely holding it together. “I’ll be fine.”