Chapter 30 New Accommodations
Stella's POV
I wake up screaming.
For a moment, I don't know where I am. The room is too dark, too quiet, and my lungs won't work right. Then I remember—the man with the knife. Standing over my bed. Lyra's terrified face. And the vampire who appeared from nowhere, moving so fast he was just a blur.
The vampire who killed someone right in front of me.
My hands shake as I pull the blankets up to my chin. The apartment we shared is gone. Lyra said we had to leave immediately, that it wasn't safe anymore. She packed our things while I sat frozen on my bed, staring at the spot where the dead man had been before the vampire made the body disappear.
Now we're somewhere else. Somewhere that smells like old wood and expensive candles.
The safe house, Lyra called it.
But I don't feel safe.
"Stella?" Lyra's voice comes through the darkness. She's sitting in a chair beside my bed, exactly where she was when I fell asleep. "Another nightmare?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
She moves to sit on the edge of my bed, pulling me into a hug. I bury my face in her shoulder and try not to cry. I'm thirteen, not a baby. I should be braver.
"I'm scared," I whisper anyway.
"I know. Me too."
That makes me feel a little better. Lyra never admits she's scared. She's always the strong one, the one who takes care of everything. If she's scared too, at least I'm not being childish.
"Is he here?" I ask. "The vampire?"
"Lord Nightshade? Yes. This is his property."
Lord Nightshade. The name sounds like something from the books I read—dark and dangerous and impossibly old. I've read about vampires my whole life. In stories, they're either monsters who drink people dry or mysterious heroes who sparkle in the sun.
But the vampire I met tonight wasn't either of those things.
He was something much worse: he was real.
"Will he hurt us?"
Lyra hesitates. Through the darkness, I see something flash across her face—something complicated I don't understand. "No. He won't hurt us."
"But he killed that man."
"That man was trying to kill you." Lyra's voice goes hard. "Lord Nightshade saved your life."
I think about this. In my books, heroes save people. But heroes don't usually stand over dead bodies with blood on their hands, looking bored.
"He didn't seem like he cared," I say quietly. "He seemed... empty."
Lyra's arms tighten around me. "He's complicated. But you're safe here, I promise."
I want to believe her. But I heard what the vampire said before he left: I couldn't have you dying before the designated time. Like he was just protecting a thing, not a person.
"Lyra?" I pull back to look at her face. "Why does he have a mark that matches yours?"
I watched her try to hide it earlier, tugging her collar up. But I saw it anyway—the beautiful pattern of thorns and roses on her collarbone. And when the vampire's shirt shifted during the fight, I glimpsed the same mark over his heart.
In my books, marks like that mean something important. Something permanent.
"It's complicated," Lyra says again.
"Everything's complicated," I mutter. "I hate when grown-ups say that."
She almost smiles. "You're right. I'm sorry." She takes a deep breath. "The mark connects us. It means... it means we're bonded. Like—"
"Like mates?" My eyes go wide. I've read about this. "Like in the old vampire legends? The ones where vampires can only mark one person their whole life?"
"You read too much."
"You read to me! You're the one who gave me all those books!"
Now she does smile, but it's sad. "Fair point."
A knock on the door makes us both jump. Before either of us can answer, it opens. Lord Nightshade stands in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light. He's changed clothes—no more blood—but he still looks terrifying. Tall and pale with silver-white hair and eyes that catch the light like mirrors.
"The girl's screaming woke the entire house," he says flatly.
My cheeks burn. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to him," Lyra snaps, standing up. "She had a nightmare because someone tried to murder her. Because of your world."
"My world?" His voice gets colder. "You stumbled into that ritual chamber on your own. This mess is your creation, not mine."
They glare at each other. The air between them feels sharp, like it might cut me if I get too close. But underneath the anger, I sense something else. Something that makes my stomach twist.
They're connected by that mark. And it's hurting them both.
"I'm okay," I say quickly, before they can start fighting again. "Really. I just... I need some water."
Lord Nightshade's mercury eyes shift to me. For a second, I think he'll refuse or tell me to get it myself. But instead, he says, "Follow me."
Lyra starts to protest, but I'm already sliding out of bed. Maybe I'm stupid, but I'm also curious. This vampire saved my life. I want to understand why.
The hallway is beautiful in a cold way—dark wood and expensive paintings and carpet so soft my feet sink into it. Our old apartment had stained linoleum and walls so thin I could hear the neighbors fighting.
This place is like a castle from my books.
Lord Nightshade walks ahead of us, moving with inhuman grace. He doesn't make any sound when he steps. It's creepy and fascinating at the same time.
"You have a lovely home," I say, because Lyra taught me to be polite.
He glances back, looking surprised. "It's adequate."
"It's the nicest place I've ever been."
Something flickers across his face—something that might be discomfort. "Your standards must be remarkably low."
"Stella," Lyra warns.
But I'm not offended. I'm starting to understand something: the vampire doesn't know how to talk to people. He only knows how to be mean because being nice makes him uncomfortable.
We reach a kitchen that's bigger than our entire old apartment. Lord Nightshade opens a cabinet and pulls out a glass. His movements are careful, precise—like he's afraid he'll break something.
Or someone.
He fills the glass with water and hands it to me. Our fingers don't touch.
"Thank you," I say.
"You're welcome." The words sound strange in his mouth, like he hasn't said them in a very long time.
I drink the water slowly, watching him over the rim of the glass. He stands by the counter, not quite looking at me or Lyra. Just existing in the same space, radiating discomfort.
"Why did you save me?" I ask.
"Stella!" Lyra looks horrified.
But Lord Nightshade meets my eyes. "Because you're connected to Lyra. And Lyra is... complicated."
"That word again." I set down the empty glass. "Does the mark hurt?"
"Yes."
His honesty surprises me. "Will it stop hurting?"
"Eventually. One way or another."
I don't like how final that sounds. "In my books, marked vampires can't live without their mates. They go crazy or die or both."
"Your books are fiction."
"But they're based on truth, right?" I look between him and Lyra. "That's why you're both so scared. Because the mark is real, and it means something terrible is going to happen."
Silence falls. Lyra's face has gone pale. Lord Nightshade's expression doesn't change, but through the air between them, I feel something crack.
"You're observant," he finally says. "That's dangerous."
"Everything's dangerous now." I cross my arms. "I'm not stupid. I know we're in trouble. I know that man who tried to kill me wasn't the only one. And I know—"
The lights go out.
All of them, all at once. The entire house plunges into darkness so complete I can't see my own hands.
Lyra screams my name. Strong hands grab my shoulders—Lord Nightshade, pulling me behind him.
"Stay down," he orders.
Through the darkness, I hear it: breaking glass. Footsteps. Lots of them.
"How many?" Lyra whispers.
"Eight. Maybe more." Lord Nightshade's voice is perfectly calm, but I can feel the tension in his body. "They cut the power from outside. Professional."
"Who—"
"The Council." His fangs extend with a soft click that makes my blood run cold. "They're done waiting."
More glass breaks. Closer now. And then a voice—old and smooth and terrifying—echoes through the darkness:
"Lord Nightshade. Come out peacefully, and the human child won't have to watch her sister die."