In the shadowed sanctuary of his study, Primus sat alone, a crystal tumbler of hot whiskey cradled in his pale hand. The amber liquid steamed faintly, its sharp scent cutting through the musty aroma of ancient books and flickering candlelight. He stared into the fire, lost in thought, the events of the hallway replaying in his mind—the intoxicating sweetness of her blood, the sudden jolt of recognition.
"My lord, what did you notice?" Lazarus asked softly as he entered, closing the heavy oak door behind him.
Primus did not respond at first, taking a slow sip.
"My lord," Lazarus called again, stepping closer.
"I still feel the corruption in my veins," Primus finally said, his voice thoughtful, distant. "But when I was close to her, I felt nothing—like the corruption in my heart simply… vanished. And her blood… it tastes like Ruelle's."
Lazarus froze, shock widening his eyes. "Lady Hazel is the descendant of Lady Ruelle. Obviously, their blood might taste the same."
"What if she is her reincarnation?" Primus asked, turning to meet his faithful servant's gaze.
Lazarus hesitated, unable to hold his master's stare. "Then, my lord, you shouldn't fall in love with her. She will bring doom to you."
Primus's expression darkened. He gulped down the remaining whiskey in one burning swallow. "You are dismissed, Lazarus."
With a deep bow, Lazarus withdrew, leaving Primus to the silence and his swirling doubts.
Hazel bolted upright in bed, her chest heaving, sweat clinging to her skin. The dream clung to her like cobwebs—vivid, accusing.
"You killed my family! Why did you kill them? You lied—you said you loved me!"
It had been her own voice, yet not. Furious, heartbroken.
In the dream, a man with crimson eyes had approached, hands raised in plea. "I can never hurt your family, Ruelle. Please calm down."
Lightning crackled from her fingertips, arcs of wild electricity dancing around her body. "Don't come close," she had warned, but he stepped forward anyway. In desperation, she had plunged a cursed knife into his chest. Blood poured out, yet he did not fall. He only gazed at her with unwavering love.
"I don't want to kill you," she had whispered through tears, "but I curse you to sleep for eternity."
Hazel clutched the sheets, heart pounding. What is this dream? The man's face had been blurred, but his features—tall, dark-haired, commanding—felt achingly familiar. Why did he call me Ruelle?
"Nightmare?"
She flinched and jumped, whirling toward the voice. Primus stood at the foot of her bed, the dim moonlight outlining his silhouette.
"What are you doing in my room at this time of night?" she demanded, pulling the covers higher.
"To check on my bride-to-be," he replied calmly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "You had a bad dream. Go back to sleep."
He gently guided her to lie down again, then—to her astonishment—stretched out beside her. They faced each other in the faint glow of the bedside candle, close enough that she could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.
"I'm sorry for the way I left you earlier," he said quietly, sincerity softening his usually imperious tone.
"What happened? Why did you walk out without saying a word to me?" she pressed, needing answers.
He fell silent, the tension thickening between them. In the quiet, Hazel studied his face—the sharp lines, the crimson eyes that looked almost tender in the low light. Her gaze drifted to his lips, tempting, inviting touch.
Primus watched her watching him, a faint smile ghosting across his mouth. Slowly, he closed the distance and kissed her—soft, deliberate, tasting of whiskey and midnight.
Hazel froze in shock, lips unmoving beneath his.
He pulled back just enough to whisper against her mouth, "Sleep."
A wave of unnatural drowsiness washed over her, and her eyes fluttered shut.
When Hazel awoke the next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, but the bed beside her was empty and cold. She touched her lips, remembering the kiss. "Hmm, strange," she murmured, a flush creeping up her neck.
At breakfast in the grand dining hall, Hazel arrived first, taking her seat with quiet poise. Tobias and Morwen entered soon after, offering stiff nods before settling across from her. Moments later, a striking vampiress swept in—tall, with lustrous black hair falling straight as a raven's wing, a coldly beautiful face, pointed nose, and lips painted blood-red. Her gown plunged scandalously low, cleavage bordering on indecent. She ignored Hazel entirely and claimed the chair opposite her, directly beside Primus's empty seat at the head of the table.
Hazel's curiosity sparked. Who is she?
Primus entered last, his presence commanding instant respect. Everyone rose and bowed until he was seated, then resumed their places.
"Hi, Primus," the vampiress purred casually, leaning toward him.
Primus did not look up from his plate. "You must have lost your senses beneath that heavy makeup. It is Lord Primus to you."
Color flooded Vera's cheeks; embarrassment swiftly turned to a venomous glare aimed at Hazel.
"My lord," Vera pressed, undeterred, "I have missed you. I waited centuries for your return. I'm so glad you're back. I missed our… time together before you fell into sleep." She stole a triumphant glance at Hazel.
Primus continued cutting his steak lamb with precise, unhurried motions, offering no response.
Morwen, seated beside her daughter, tapped Vera's lap sharply under the table—a warning. But Vera ignored it.
"Hazel," she said with false sweetness, "I'm surprised you have that ginger-colored hair. Lord Primus has always preferred women with black hair. And you're human. Aren't you frightened to be here? Or are you simply so hungry for wealth that you abandoned your own kind to bed another?"
Before Vera could spew more venom, a sharp crack echoed through the hall. Morwen's hand had flown across her daughter's face in a stinging slap.
Vera's mouth fell open in shock.
"Lazarus," Primus said calmly, still focused on his meal, "please escort Lady Vera to her chambers. And ensure she never again dines with Lady Hazel or myself. Vera, I might kill you if you repeat this. Now leave."
His voice was quiet, but the threat hung like a blade.
Hazel continued eating serenely, paying Vera no mind.
Vera stormed from the room, heels stomping furiously.
"Forgive Vera, my lord," Morwen said quickly, her tone placating.
"Forgive?" Primus replied coldly. "You know there is no such thing to me. You are all dismissed. I wish to finish breakfast alone with my bride-to-be."
Tobias and Morwen rose at once, leaving their half-eaten plates behind without protest.
When the doors closed, Primus finally looked at Hazel.