Page 39 of Bloodstained
Her grandmother’s eyes softened, but her tone did not waver. “I believe.” She switched to English then, as if to leave no room for misunderstanding.
Her hand, thin and lined with age, reached out and cupped Clara’s cheek, her words soft but resonant. “Fii lumina lui.”Be his light.
“Always,” Clara whispered, her voice breaking.
The silence that followed was thick, a stillness pressing down over us. Even Clara’s parents seemed subdued, though they clearly dismissed her grandmother’s words as old superstition. For me, it was not superstition. It was recognition. A vow acknowledged.
Inside, the castle was filled with the sounds of luggage wheels over stone and the buzz of happiness and laughter. I stood back and smiled. It had been so long since I’d heard and felt the castle like this.
Yet even as they explored, voices echoing through the great hall, my thoughts remained in the courtyard. Clara’s grandmother’s words clung to me heavily.
For hours we ate, drank, and laughed. I listened to Clara’s family tell stories about when she was a child, and her mother showed me pictures. The photographs passed from hand to hand, laughter mingling with nostalgia, but I could not stop watching Clara’s face as she leaned in close, eyes bright withmemory. To see her like this, alive in both worlds, made me ache with a gratitude I couldn’t name.
After they were shownto their rooms and when the halls quieted, Clara led me to the garden. The moonlight powdered the frosty ground with silver shards of light.
She leaned against me, my arms circling her waist and holding her tightly.
“They’ll never really understand,” she murmured.
No, her parents wouldn’t. “Your grandmother knows. She doesn’t wholly accept right now, but she knows and sees you’re happy. She was watching me like a hawk the whole time and was ready to pounce if I stepped out of line.”
Clara chuckled. “Yeah, she’s tough as nails.”
“Your parents don’t have to understand,” I said, brushing my lips to her temple. “They never have to know the truth. They only need to see that you are happy.”
She tilted her head back against me, and I tightened my hold around her. I’d follow her into the fire. Into the shadows. But until then, every heartbeat she had was mine to guard.
Her sigh was soft, content.
Above us, the moon traced silver lines across the rooftops. The castle had been a tomb for so long, but now, it breathed again, because she was here, because her laughter carried down the halls and she’d been given back to me.
For centuries, I had clung to a fruitless hope I couldn’t name, a belief that darkness itself had been given to me not as punishment but as a promise.
Not death nor even immortality could destroy our destiny to be together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IVAN
For a week, Clara and her family had spent every waking moment together. By day, they traveled into town, shopped, ate, even returned to her grandparents’ village. For me, those hours were hell. The sun chained me inside, and worry gnawed at me she might not come back. But she always did. Her parents accepted the excuse that I worked during daylight easily enough, though her grandmother’s eyes lingered on me with sharp, knowing suspicion.
The night after their departure was hushed, emptied of voices and laughter. Their warmth faded down the halls, leaving silence behind. Clara had smiled for them, reassured them, but I saw the worry in her eyes.
I told her there would be as many visits as she wished, that these walls were hers and theirs as much as mine. And if she ever wanted them under this roof, I would yield without question.
Because I was bound body and soul to her desires.
And tomorrow, she would return to the gallery, back to the world of light and strangers and mortal obligations. Tonight was mine. Tonight, I would savor her as if I could keep time to myself.
So I took her back to the garden that had once been hers alone and now was ours. Where birds with fragile wings once fed from her hand. Where family ties tugged at her daylight hours and the night belonged only to us.
The courtyard garden was all darkness and ivy, old stone walls closing us in. I spread a blanket over the grass, and when Clara stretched out, her hair fanned around her like spilled ink.
All I could think about was how good she looked here.
“Ivan…” Her voice was thick with arousal.
I shifted my body, so I leaned over her, my mouth brushing her jaw, tracing lower, grazing the frantic flutter of her pulse right below her ear. I lingered there, teeth grazing lightly, enough to make her breath hitch. Her fingers twisted in the blanket, but she didn’t push me away.
