Page 79 of Stolen Star

“Step back,” Aerix says, pressing his palm against the stone.

Ice blooms from his hand, spreading in elegant, crystalline patterns across the wall. The lines of frost trace ancient-looking symbols, and then the wall slides open with a sound like breaking ice, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward, illuminated by floating orbs of cold light.

“The Tower,” he explains. “Where you’ll enter ahuman and leave a vampire. I’ve already had your things sent up.”

“It’s happening now?” I swallow, unprepared for it to happen thisquickly.I thought I’d be able to go back and prepare…

“Are you scared?” He watches me closely, his body frozen as he waits for my answer.

“No.” I straighten, relieved that unlike fae, I can lie. “I’m ready.”

He nods in satisfaction, and we descend for what feels like an eternity, the air growing colder with each step. The walls glisten with ice crystals, and my breath forms small clouds in front of me.

“The halls that lead to the Tower predate the palace,” Aerix explains as we reach the bottom of the stairs and face a door made of seamlessly fitted stone. He places both hands on the door, and it swings inward, revealing a staircase that spirals up into darkness. “Now, we climb.”

The Tower’s staircase is narrow, forcing us to ascend single file. Eventually, we reach a door at the top, made of the same black stone as the hidden entrance below.

Aerix presses his palm against it, and once again, frost spreads in intricate patterns, unlocking whatever ancient magic seals it.

The door swings open to reveal a circular chamberwith high, narrow windows that offer glimpses of the night sky.

Unlike the stark stone stairwell, the Tower’s chamber is a perfect blend of elegance and comfort. The circular space is dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped in midnight blue silk. A spiral staircase in the corner of the room leads somewhere overhead.

Bookshelves line one curved wall, filled with volumes whose spines gleam in the soft light. A writing desk sits beneath one of the narrow windows, and I spot my blood pen resting on its polished surface, along with fresh parchment and my sketchbook. There’s my harpsichord in the corner, the chess set Isla taught me how to play with, and canvases and paints arranged near another window where the light falls just right.

Every detail is deliberate. Every item is placed with care. It’s not just comfort—it’s control. It’s a shrine built in my name.

“You really did have everything brought here,” I say, looking around in amazement.

“Everything you might need for the month ahead,” he says, his wings folding against his back as the door swings shut behind us.

“A month,” I repeat, the reality of my isolation beginning to settle. “I’ll be locked in here for that long?”

Aerix comes to stand beside me, his magic cooling the air around us. “The adjustment to being a vampirecan prove... difficult,” he explains, his voice low. “The bloodlust is overwhelming at first. Uncontrollable.” His fingers trace along my jaw, tilting my face up to his. “But you’ll have it easier than the night fae. You don’t have to grow wings.”

“Yougrewyour wings? Through your back?” My eyes flick to his dark feathers, which are rustling with his movement.

Obviously, I knew winter fae don’t have wings, and that night fae do, but I never stopped to think about the mechanics of it all.

“For fae who become vampire, wings must tear through flesh and bone.” His expression darkens with what might be remembered pain. “It takes a month—hence the isolation period. The process is excruciating.”

I try to imagine it—the agony of feathers splitting skin—and shudder involuntarily. “But I won’t?—“

“No,” he confirms. “I would never allow that pain anywhere near you.”

“Good. That’s good,” I say, and my gaze drifts to the writing desk, where my blood pen catches the light. “You brought that, too.”

“It’s the last piece of your humanity that will be preserved.” He moves to the desk, picking up the pen with careful fingers, his eyes intense and searching when they find mine. “Whenever you use it, it will remind you of what you used to be. And then, when itruns out of ink, the last traces of who you once were will be gone.”

The realization hits me with unexpected force. His gift to me was... me. A piece of myself, preserved in crystal and metal, to be slowly used up until nothing remains of the human I once was.

It’s haunting. It’s holy. It’s so perfectlyAerixthat it makes my heart ache.

He holds the pen out to me, and I take it, feeling its weight—heavier now, thick with meaning.

“Will I be alone the entire month?” I ask, gripping the pen tighter.

“As your sire, I’ll bring your human to you once a day at midnight,” he says, his wings shifting behind him. “We’ll have some... private time together after your meal. But yes—other than that, you’ll be alone until your adjustment period is complete.”

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