Goodbye, eternity

**Ian Dimitri**

Sooner or later, it always came to this. Me and my father, Ian Wladimir, locked in the same old dance of betrayal and retribution. The king of vampires had finally caught me, his spies or minions dragging me back to face his wrath. I knew the routine: he’d haul me into the throne room, maybe let a few of his loyal followers gawk at my punishment—chains, lashes, whatever suited his mood—then we’d talk, circling each other like wolves until one of us struck.

I’d try to kill him, he’d try to kill me, and maybe one day one of us would succeed. I think I’d be the only one with the guts to really go for it, and he respected that, in his twisted way.

It’d be fair, at least. A son challenging the sire, a prince against a king.

We’d been here before, too many times to count. Sometimes my punishment was banishment. Other times, he’d lock me in a coffin for decades, letting me rot in the dark until he got bored. Once or twice, we’d even ended up laughing. We are two monsters that are too alike to stay enemies forever.

But this time felt different. The door swung open, heavy oak groaning on its hinges, and I stepped into the throne room, my boots echoing on the stone.

No audience today, just me and him, the way it should be. Better this way, no witnesses to muddy the truth.

Ian Wladimir sat atop his throne like always. A single ornate ring glinted on his hand, catching the torchlight. But I could sense that the king was furious, he had a rage I could feel in my bones.

“Dimitri! You betrayed me.”

“You’ve betrayed many people too,” I shot back, calm and dry, meeting his glare with my own. No point in groveling, we were past that.

“What do you gain from this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his hands gripping the throne’s arms. “Just the pleasure of annoying me?”

“No, Father,” I said, a smirk tugging at my lips. “This time, I gained something for myself.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Many things,” I replied, deliberately vague, savoring the flicker of unease in his expression. “Good things. She’s fine.”

“Where is she?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You should have brought her to me. I made it clear I wanted her.”

“But I wanted her too,” I said, stepping closer, my tone turning dark and deliberate. “As I imagined, she’d be my frumoasa moarte—beautiful death, as we say in Romanian. And she was.”

“Dimitri,” he growled, slamming a fist against the throne, “I wouldn’t use her as a sexual object! I don’t even have fantasies about her, for the love of the throne!”

“Yes, your fantasy, Father,” I countered, my voice rising now. “And it’ll be the beginning of your downfall—listen to what I say. It’s your fantasy, your obsession with walking in the sun. For what?” I gestured at him, at the shadowed grandeur of his domain. “You’d risk everything—your throne, your power, for a taste of daylight? Pathetic.”

Just to have everything? What fun would it be to spend eternity without any desire? And being made a fool of by a wizard, especially a wizard like Jean, who didn’t even come to power by force, only managed to be a great lover. It’s almost comical.

The throne room crackled with tension, my father’s fury a palpable force as he glared down at me from his perch. I’d struck a nerve, calling out his obsession with sunlight and he wasn’t taking it well. His silence stretched, then shattered as he leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “He could have made the potion! It happened once, many years ago, in the Middle Ages…”

“You’ve never been to a university, have you?” I cut in, my tone dripping with mockery. “A little study—”

“I’ll cut out your tongue if you disrespect me again,” he snarled, his hand slamming against the throne, the ring on his finger flashing like a warning.

“And I’ll continue to think, even if I don’t say it,” I shot back, unfazed, stepping closer to meet his glare. “It wasn’t a wizard’s potion that made vampires walk in daylight. It was a thick, long fog caused by an erupting volcano that blocked the sunlight for about eighteen months. If you’d spoken to me, you wouldn’t have made a fool of yourself and wouldn’t have been deceived by Jean.”

I let the words hang, sharp and deliberate, watching his face twist with realization and rage.

“I’ll kill her if he lied,” he said, his voice icy now, a promise edged with venom. “He knows that.”

“I don’t think I’ll let that happen,” I replied, my smirk fading into something harder. “Kill Jean.”

He laughed. “I can’t kill the wizard king."

"Why? You killed the queen, didn’t you?” I tilted my head.

“Me? Who said that?” he spat, rising from the throne now, his black hair swinging as he pointed at me.

“You idiot,” I teased, “You don’t see the obvious—”

“Shut up!” he barked, cutting me off.

“Let the council know your deals and they’ll laugh at you.” I stepped forward, closing the distance, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You, the great Ian Wladimir, groveling to a wizard who seduced his way to power, chasing a myth I could’ve debunked with a history lesson. They’ll mock you ‘til the end of time.”

The air in the throne room turned sharp, electric, as my father’s hiss cut through the silence.

A sound I knew too well, the prelude to violence. I’d pushed him too far, taunting him with Jean’s deception, stripping his pride bare until fury consumed him.

The metallic rasp of a blade being unsheathed echoed off the stone, and I braced myself, my smirk fading into a grim certainty.

This time, the game wouldn’t stretch out with banter or exile.

This time, he was done playing. His rage wasn’t just about me; it was Jean, the wizard who’d made a fool of him, unraveling his control until he lost his mind entirely.

It happened faster than I’d expected. No drawn-out duel, no chance to strike back. His shadow loomed, the blade flashed, and then a sickening crack split the air. Pain seared through me, hot and blinding, as I felt the cold steel bite into my throat. My hands flew up instinctively, clutching at the wound, but blood poured through my fingers, warm and relentless.

I staggered, my vision blurring, and I knew he’d slit my throat, a clean cut from a king who’d finally had enough. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, the stone cold against my palms.

In that fleeting moment, as life drained from me, my mind didn’t cling to the throne or the centuries I’d lived.

It went to her. Diana. My muse. My frumoasa moarte.

The memory of surprising her flickered across my fading thoughts, those seven nights, her fire, her surrender, the way she’d fit against me like no one ever had. I heard her voice again, clear and haunting, singing the song we’d shared at the piano, our voices weaving together in a harmony I hadn’t appreciated until now. It wasn’t until this moment, with my blood pooling beneath me, that I realized how much I loved her, beyond the game I’d played to defy my father.

Not just a conquest, not just a rebellion, but a love I’d never named until it was too late.

But it was no use. My strength ebbed, my hands fell limp, and I closed my eyes, the song fading into silence.

Goodbye, eternity.

…

**Vicky**

Valeska:

Dimitri is dead.

Vicky:

What? What happened?

Valeska:

Nosferatu

Vicky:

I'm really sorry.

The screen blurred as tears spilled over, tracing paths down my cheeks.

I sank onto the cot, the springs creaking under my weight, and let the sobs come.

Dimitri was dead, and it was because of me!

He’d helped me, risked himself to get me to Romania, and now he was gone. The guilt clawed at my chest, sharp and unrelenting. I knew he was a vampire, a monster by any definition.

He hadn’t been kind, not in the gentle way people imagined kindness. Our deal had been transactional, a bargain struck in the dark. I’d accepted it willingly, no coercion, just a cold exchange of needs.

But that didn’t erase the weight of his death, the knowledge that my choices had led him to this end.

It wasn’t just guilt, though. There was something deeper, something I couldn’t untangle. Dimitri wasn’t just a vampire who’d bartered for my safety; he was a fragment of my past, buried in the shadows of my subconscious.

I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to steady myself as memories flickered, vividly. Nights when I was small, alone in the orphanage’s cold dormitory, the walls echoing with the cries of other children. Nightmares that woke me gasping, my heart racing as I curled into a ball.

And then, there were his voice, cutting through the terror.

Later, at the nightclub, when I was older but still lost, dancing under neon lights to drown out the emptiness, I’d hear it again.

Dimitri.

He’d been there, somehow, calming me when I had no one else. I hadn’t known it was him, not consciously, but his voice was woven into my auditory memory, a thread of safety in a life that offered little.

He could’ve killed me. I knew that now, felt it in the marrow of my bones. I’d been vulnerable, a child with no defenses, and later a young woman adrift in a dangerous world.

He’d had every opportunity, maybe even considered it. But he hadn’t. Why?

The question gnawed at me, as unanswerable as the ache in my chest. What I felt for him wasn’t love, not the way I’d loved James. But it wasn’t indifference either.

Damn it!

It was something else, something involuntary, like a reflex I couldn’t control. A connection forged in survival, not choice.

The tears slowed, leaving my face damp and my throat raw. I swiped at my cheeks, anger rising like a tide to replace the grief.

Jean. My father.

The thought of him twisted the knife deeper.

My life was a tapestry of secrets, of people who’d played roles I never understood.

Affection in my life had always come veiled, doled out in whispers and half-truths, as if it were forbidden to simply love me.

I wanted to believe I’d had a father who cared, even if he couldn’t be there. But the question loomed: Did Jean love me, or had he kept me close to use me when the time came? Was I just a tool to him, to Nosferatu, to Dimitri? Had they all wanted me in their orbit, not for me, but for what I could one day do for them?

And Marcelo, my step-brother, what was he?

He seemed genuine, his talk of covens and soul bonds laced with a warmth I wanted to trust. But was I a pawn in his game too, another piece in his quest for justice against Jean?

The thought made my stomach churn. I couldn’t tell anymore who was real, who saw me as Vicky and not as a means to an end.

Then there was James. My heart stuttered at the thought of his overprotective gaze, his possessive love that sometimes felt like a cage but never like a lie.

James had never used me. He’d given me everything, his devotion suffocating at times, but always rooted in love.

Could we fix what had broken between us? Could we find a way back to each other, or was I alone again, just like I’d been as a child, with no one but my own fractured instincts to guide me?