Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Present Time. It Grins.

Unveiling Lacuna: A Descent into Shadows. Unpublished manuscript.

The human mind possesses a remarkable capacity for self-preservation. It can compartmentalize trauma, bury memories, and build walls to shield itself from the unbearable. But what if you had the chance to pick a chapter of your life to erase forever? Would you consciously wipe out of existence a memory that has relentlessly haunted you? Would you bargain your soul for it? Sacrifice your very principles?

To what lengths would you go to forget? To attain freedom of your mind.

As I sit here, finally penning down the questions that have consumed my thoughts day and night since the day of the interview. I am also reminded of the surreal journey I embarked all thanks to Lord Harry Styles, the last descendant of the ancient House of Boşluk, one of the mythical vampire lineages that once ruled over the West. Little did I know that this journey would unravel a web of darkness and deceit lurking beneath the facade of wellness and tranquility.

My encounter with Lord Styles was nothing short of enigmatic. Clad in garments that spoke of centuries past yet adorned with a modern elegance, he exuded a presence both commanding and haunting. His piercing gaze seemed to assess my worthiness to uncover the truths that lay buried within the shadows of The West.

For eons, The West had remained hidden in mystery, its existence known only to those who bore witness to its arcane secrets. The vampires, revered as gods by some and feared as demons by others, had maintained a delicate balance with humanity, their existence intertwined with the fabric of folklore and myth. Yet, behind closed doors, power struggles simmered, and ancient rivalries threatened to tear apart the very foundation upon which their civilization stood. 

Massacres.

Guided by Lord Styles’ cryptic revelations and guarded insights, I ventured deeper into the archives of not only The West but Lacuna's history. What I discovered was a chilling history—a paradoxical tale of orchestrated murders, clandestine experiments, and an insatiable thirst for dominion that defied conventional morality and mortal comprehension. 

What was meant to be a casual television interview—Or as casual as an interview with an eternal creature could get to be for a mortal like myself. Unveiled the allure of power and decadence, leaving behind a harrowing legacy of betrayal and bloodshed.

As Lord Styles reclined casually in his seat, casting a knowing smirk at the camera, the atmosphere crackled with an intensity that belied the ordinary. 

“Are you ready?”

"I was born ready," Lord Styles remarked with a hint of amusement. 

Attempting to maintain composure, I adjusted uneasily in my chair under the scrutinizing glare of the camera lights. 

"Are the lighting conditions suitable for you? We can adjust them if necessary," I offered, hoping to ease the palpable tension. 

Lord Styles tilted his head, regarding my question with a measured gaze. "Is this courtesy extended to all your interviewees," he mused, lifting a glass filled with a crimson liquid, "or is it reserved solely for vampires?"

Shame churned in the pit of my stomach, I was almost certain the vampire could smell every contrasting feeling swirling in me, my anxiety fighting with my curiosity, my fascination almost overpowering my dread. However, the sheer ambition of landing the first interview with him, not just for the North but for all kingdoms, eclipsed the humiliation of my fumbling performance.

“No, of course not. It was merely to ensure your comfort,” I stumbled over my words in a hasty attempt to clarify. 

Even now, seeing the footage that I l know will never see the light of the day, it’s hard to watch myself mumble and behave like a mere and unprepared amateur. 

"In other kingdoms," I added, trying to recover myself, to regain my professionalism, "people believe you cannot go out into the sun because it burns your skin. But I am aware the vampires of other kingdoms didn’t have the same liberties as you have here, so they only could feed at night. Hidden."

"My mate prefers softer lighting," he replied placidly, extending a metaphorical olive branch. "It’s a matter of preference." 

The mention of a mate—an unexpected deviation from traditional vampire myths—stunned me.

As noted in the book Beyond Predation: The Soulless Nature of Vampires , throughout history, vampires had been depicted as creatures driven by primal urges and an insatiable thirst for blood. Their interactions with mortals and other vampires—even those who happened to be their soulmates— were often characterized by predatory and manipulative behavior rather than genuine emotional bonds. Unlike dhampirs who formed long-term partnerships for social and reproductive reasons, vampires did not mate—not even with their soulmates. They viewed it as something beneath them, a ritual only mortals engaged in to maintain their fragile connections and tie each other together for their short existence. Vampire romantic relationships, if they could be called such, were described as alliances forged for convenience, power consolidation, or the satiation of their bloodlust.

Yet, in front of me, apparently sat the exception. An anomaly in the status quo.

"You are mated?” I ventured cautiously, navigating the delicate territory with a mix of fascination and apprehension.

I wasn’t there to ask about his love life or lack of it. I had a mission, a purpose.

"I am," he affirmed with a contemplative sip from his glass, his demeanor poised yet guarded. 

His admission hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications that resonated deeply within me. The notion of eternal commitment, of binding oneself to another for eternity, made a lump grow in my throat.

Constrictive. Restrictive. 

“Twice, in fact.” Lord Styles continued, voice void of any emotion, but thanks to the lighting I could later see in the footage the flash of something almost tender crossing his features. “The same amount of times I fell in love. The first was a tragedy. The second,” he smiled to himself, seemingly reminiscing on memories as ancient as time itself. “It was everything.”

.

1807. It Blooms. 

When Louis was a child, his grandmother would take him to a tree her father had planted for her. There, under its shade, she would weave tales of a fallen star on a quest to find stardust, so she could return to the vast, blue sky. To home. How between the lake, the fire, and the wood’s animals helped the star to swerve all obstacles as they protected each other. Kindness reciprocated with kindness. How despite all their efforts, the star began to fade away and lose her spark right before they could reach the castle and there, asked her friends to stop close to the end of the lake where she could rest hearing the lake singing sweet lullabies, the fire could keep them cozy and warm and the animals could held her close. And how, as the last spark left her small body, she smiled and whispered, ‘That’s how all stars should fade.’

Louis didn’t like that story, he couldn’t understand why the star gave up so soon and so close to the castle. That she never got to be home again. His grandmother used to hug him tightly and whisper against the top of his head, ‘But my baby, she was home. Surrounded by the family her kindness brought her. She decided to spend her last moments enjoying them. Loving them. She didn’t give up. It was her time.’

He didn’t understand back then, but he did now. She was saying goodbye when she still could. Teaching him that if he kept being kind like she taught him, he could find a family and a home, far away from the castle they lived in. Probably suspecting after she was long gone, Louis would be all alone there.

And despite her wisdom, she was gravely mistaken this time.

“It’s our only child.” Louis’ mother’s cries reverberated through the hallway, a mix of despair and pleading. “How could you give up on him?”

“Martha, I am not giving up on him.” His father held a strained resolve. “It’s our last option. It’s a good deal.”

“A good deal? It’s the life of our son!”

“He is going to marry Lord Styles and that’s final!” His father shouted, making Louis jolt in surprise, accidentally breaking a vase with his arm.

“What are you doing here?” His mother looked at him, narrowing her eyes, her gaze as cold as winter’s breath. “Don’t you have things to do?”

Louis tried to swallow the lump growing in his throat with no success. “Yes, mother. I’m sorry.”

His father let out a tired sigh. “Where is Connley?” 

“I—I don’t know.”

“Well, go find him,” he said, not even looking at Louis as he massaged his temple. “I ought to talk with him.” 

Louis froze in his place, confusion, and fear gripping him. When he was in front of his mother, he always felt a little terrified.

“Are you slow or your grandmother’s curse finally got you too? Go get him!” She spat the words with venom, each syllable a lash that struck deep into Louis’ soul. 

The omega wished to say it was used to it, because after all those years having to endure the same cruel treatment he should be, but her blatant scorn always cut the omega like the sharpest knife.

Louis had always sensed his mother’s loathing, though he never fully grasped its depth until he was old enough to learn she hadn’t birthed him. His true mother had passed bringing him into the world. So after that, and by Mukul’s law, Martha, his mother’s sister, had to marry his father. 

An omega for another. So utterly simple. So terribly cruel.

She resented Louis not only for surviving when her beloved sister had not, but also for tearing her away from her household before she could attend her debutante ball, her only chance to find her soulmate.

Louis had stolen the light of her sister, the promise of her soulmate, and the future she had woven in her dreams.

Over the years, this resentment turned into a cold, unyielding hatred towards the boy. Yet Louis, in his innocence, still tried to win her affection, to no avail. Her eyes, harsh and cold, always seemed to find fault in him, a new way to humiliate him despite all his efforts. Her cruelty growing fiercer as he grew older.

And things only worsened after his grandmother's passing. The castle, which should have been a haven of safety and comfort, became a prison where he was trapped with a woman who detested him, a father who ignored him, and a brother who viewed him as a rival. 

“Mother, what is going on?” Connley's voice broke the tense silence as soon as he entered the room, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh my child. My sweet child.” Martha’s voice trembled, her eyes filling with tears as she almost ran to hug her actual son.

“What happened?” Connley’s confusion deepened, his concern growing more palpable. “Am I grounded?”

“Of course you aren’t.” Martha cupped Connley’s face. “My perfect boy. Oh god, how we have failed you.”

“I’m scared.” Connley mumbled, his eyes darting between Martha and his father. “What’s going on?”

Martha’s chin wobbled before breaking down in a fit of tears. “Oh, my poor child.”

“You ought to marry Lord Styles.” Louis’ father finally spoke, with an impassive voice.

Connley's eyes sparkled with interest, a fleeting smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It lasted only a moment, but it didn't escape Louis' notice. “Oh, that's unfortunate. But I suppose I must fulfill my duty as your son.” His words carried a fake hint of resignation.

“Oh my sweet, perfect boy,” Martha cooed, her voice tinged with both affection and concern. Then, abruptly, she turned to his father with a fierce intensity. “I swear to all gods if you passed your curse to my baby.” 

Louis’ blood ran cold, breath coming to a halt at the mention of the ‘curse’.

“Are you ill, too, father?”

“He is presenting the same signals as your grandmother, and we all know how she ended.”

The first time his grandmother forgot who Louis was, he felt as if all his being was erased from the world. At first, he thought she was joking, but the fear in her eyes as Louis tried to hold her hand made him realize it wasn’t a joke, but a cruel nightmare turned reality. 

The healer said she had brain congestion and that there was no cure. That she would keep worsening, forgetting things and people until she could no longer remember how to eat or breathe. It could take years or months, but he suggested it was for the best to take her to an asylum so she would spend the rest of her days there. 

Louis had never asked for anything from his father. Always had kept to himself all his life, quiet and small. Well-behaved. 

In the beginning he did it because he thought in that way his parents would love him, perhaps his mother would even call him sweet boy like she did with Connley. But when he understood that would never happen, he did it to avoid fights between his father and his grandmother. Because when he acted like Connley or the other kids—crying when he fell, dirtying his clothes while playing—he faced punishments that ranged from harsh to downright brutal. And his grandmother fought for him each time, but those fights always took a toll on her health. 

She was everything to Louis. It was just the two of them against the world. So just like she fought for him all those years back, sixteen-year-old Louis fought for her. Because he had heard the stories from the asylum they wanted to take her; how they treated people, the things they did to them. How they weren’t allowed to even have visits. Louis couldn’t let that happen. 

She was a star and deserved to fade away as one.

The omega fought and pleaded, even kneeled in front of his father, promising he would take care of her. That they wouldn’t bother him. And when he reluctantly accepted, Louis devoted his teen years to her and didn’t regret a second of it, not even the days when the ghosts in her head turned her a little mean and erratic to the world, including Louis.

At the end, she faded like the star she was, being fiercely loved until her last breath. And Louis' only dream was to return to her when God finally called his name. 

It was the only way.

“Are you sure?” Louis asked cautiously. “Have you tried with other healers?”

“Use your brain for once,” Martha spat. “You think if we hadn’t tried all means to save your father from this curse.”

 “It’s not a curse,” Louis muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he clenched his trembling hands into fists. The room seemed to close in on him, the air thick with tension. 

“What did you say?” Martha hissed, her words slithering through the air like a serpent poised to strike.

“Nothing.” Louis replied, his voice a mere breath as he avoided the cold gaze that felt like it could unravel his very soul. 

“No. If you felt brave enough to whisper, be brave enough to say it to my face, you little coward!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Louis’ father bellowed Louis’ father, his voice booming across the room like thunder, cutting through the mounting tension. “I have no time for this,” he continued, his tone brooking no argument as he glanced at the ornate clock on the wall, its ticking a reminder of the pressing matters at hand. “Lord Styles is coming tonight to see Connley. Louis, help him to get ready.”

“Yes, father,” Louis responded, managing to keep his voice calm despite the turmoil churning within him.

Connley and him walked in silence, the tension from the argument still hanging heavy in the air. As they ascended the grand staircase towards Connley’s room, Louis noticed how giddy his brother was, despite the news of his father’s illness.

Louis could scent him, he was beyond excited. That same sweet and tarty scent that turned sour as soon as he opened his door.

“Who are you?” Connley demanded, annoyed at the tall girl standing beside his bed. 

“I’m Orion, sir. I started working here this week,” the stranger replied with a respectful bow.

Despite her new role within the household, her presence was as commanding as the ancient constellations she was named after. Her skin was a rich brown, eyes like pools of autumn twilight, deep and enigmatic. 

“Why are you bowing?” Connley sneered. “Didn’t they teach you about ranks in the maid school?” 

Orion’s smile remained unshaken. “There exists no such institution for maids, sir.”

“Regardless, I have no desire for your peasant hands to dirty my attire. Prepare my bath and make yourself scarce,” Connley commanded, his tone cold and imperious as he brushed past Orion, regarding her as little more than part of the scenery.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded before walking towards the bathroom, her posture poised and graceful, a silent yet powerful assertion of her dignity in the face of his brother’s rudeness.

“Are you nervous?” Louis asked Connley quietly.

“About marrying one of the most powerful vampires in the world?” he snorted. “No. I knew since very little I was born for greatness.”

Louis stood silently, a tumult of emotions churning within him. Envy, dark and insidious, crept through his veins, whispering of Connley’s destined greatness—a greatness the omega, wasn’t allowed to even dream for himself. Yet, entwined with the tendrils of jealousy was a thread of worry, silver and cold concern for his younger brother’s fate in a union with a being whose nature was as dangerous as it was alluring.

“Vampires are known for treating dhampirs very poorly,” Louis said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with the weight of unspoken fears.

Connley’s laugh cut through the air, sharp and mocking. “And how do you know that?” he asked, his tone dripping with scorn. “You, who only ever converse with silent walls and the ghost of your dead grandmother.”

“She was your grandmother too.” Louis retorted, his voice steady, but his heart aching with the reminder of their shared loss.

Connley crossed his arms, lifting his chin like a petulant child. “I refuse to have any connection with cursed people.”

“Didn’t you hear that father has the same illness?”

“I’m sure they’re confused. He looks healthy to me.” Connley scoff turned into another cruel laugh that boomed through the room. “Louis. I just thought about the funniest thing!”

Louis closed his eyes, letting out all the air filling his lungs. “What is it?” He asked quietly, bracing himself for another barb.

“What if your grand mama wasn’t cursed and just was tired of you so she decided to forget you altogether.” Connley said between laughter. 

“That’s not funny nor logical.” Louis replied coolly, refusing to rise to the bait.

The gleeful smirk on Connley's face vanished, his features twisting into a mask of scorn. “You are so boring. No wonder why you don’t have any friends. Not even the castle’s rats like you,” he spat out, his words dripping with contempt.

“Your bath is ready, sir.” Orion interjected smoothly, her voice a calm oasis in the midst of their heated exchange.

“It was about time.” Connley grumbled as he moved towards the bathroom.

“Thank you, Orion,” Louis murmured, genuinely grateful for her presence and the relief it brought after his brother’s cruelty.

Orion smiled at him before bowing, again. 

“Orion, there truly is no need for such formalities with either of us; we are not of royal blood,” Louis offered gently, hoping to ease the formality before she departed.

The woman tilted her head slightly, a knowing glint in her eye. “Not yet,” she replied, her words laced with a cryptic certainty that lingered in the air long after she had left the room.

A piercing scream coming from the bathroom made Louis’ heart leap into his throat. He rushed towards the bathroom.

“What happened?” Louis inquired, alarmed.

“The water is boiling! Where is that wretched maid?” Connley bellowed, his voice tinged with both pain and fury.

“She’s gone. It wasn’t her fault, either. You have to check with your hands before submerging your foot,” Louis said gently, though he knew it would likely fall on deaf ears.

“I oughtn’t do shit if the servant had but done her duty properly. What’s her name? I shall see to it that father fires her.”

A muscle on Louis’ jaw twitched. “I cannot recall,” he uttered, the lie sliding off his tongue with ease.

As he stood before his furious brother, Louis’ mind was already in the hushed confines of the church, rehearsing his confession for the sin. It had become a ritual, this unburdening of his soul, a constant in his life as predictable as the dawn. Each sin cataloged, each transgression to be laid bare before God, in the hope of absolution and the yearning to one day ascend to the heavens and reunite with his beloved grandmother.

“You are useless, too. Get out!” Connley spat out, his patience worn thin.

“I ought to dress you and help you with your hair.”

Connley’s lips tightened into a thin line.  “Then check the bath first. Show me you can be of some use.”

As Louis emerged from Connley’s room almost an hour later, he discovered Orion still lingering near the door. Her presence, unwavering and unyielding, held a certain intrigue.

“Am I fired?” Her voice was steady, devoid of fear or apprehension. Louis studied her features, searching for any sign of concern, but found nothing more than impassive calm.

“Change your hairstyle and don’t come near him for a week. He will forget your face by then.” 

Orion’s face broke into a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“But Orion,” Louis warned. “Don’t do that again. Please.”

“Yes, sir.” Orion repeated as she bowed at him, leaving Louis before he even had the time to correct her again.

꩜

Louis retreated to his room, the heavy wooden door closing behind him with a soft thud. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows on the walls.

He sank onto the velvet-covered chaise, the fabric cool against his skin. The room held memories—the laughter of childhood games, the whispered confessions shared with imaginary friends. Yet, on tonight’s like that one, like countless others since his grandmother’s passing, the room felt less like a refuge and more like a gilded cage.

Within those walls, the omega existed in a suspended state—a beautifully adorned mausoleum where time moved in languid circles, where he would remain until God called his name. His grandmother’s absence gnawed at his heart, leaving behind an ache that defied the passage of days. She had been the only person that had loved Louis in his entire life, and now, her departure weighed upon his soul like a dark and heavy veil.

The door creaked open, and Louis looked up to find his mother standing there, her presence both impassive and suffocating. Her eyes bore into his, assessing, calculating. She was a woman of sharp edges, from her words to the way she showed her “love” to Louis.

“Mother?”

“Louis. My son.” Her voice was a trembling murmur that shocked Louis to his core. She seemed weak, years older than she really was. “Come close to me.”

The omega obeyed, crossing the room until he stood before her. Her touch was cool against his cheek, unfamiliar.

“Everything is alright? Is father having a crisis? Is it my brother?”

“No. No,” she shook her head. “Connley is resting for tonight. As he should. Poor thing, this will break his heart.”

Louis’s heart clenched. Connley, the golden child, the favored son, the light of his parent’s lives. Connley who was everything Louis wasn’t. Connley who dreamed about greatness because he knew he could get it.

Connley, Connley, Connley. His family blessing, their hymn.

Connley. Louis’ curse.

The omega felt his jaw twitch again. “My brother is smart. He will find a way to be happy there.”

“Don’t say nonsense, child.” Martha’s hands left Louis’ face, her features as tender as they were a few seconds before, were cold now. “He could never be happy with that awful creature. This is the third time he has been married since I’m alive. Every omega ends up dead only a few years after he marries them. He will not survive this, and your father and I know this.”

Louis’ guilt gnawed at him. How could he feel envious about his younger brother’s faith? Cruel as Connley had been to him, he remained family, bound by blood and duty.

“I’m deeply sorry.”

Martha caressed the shape of his face with her knuckles. “Oh, my child,” she murmured. “I know you are. I know how big and selfless your soul is. I do notice you. I do see you as my child too. No matter if I didn’t birth you. Your mother was my sister, and I promised her to love you as my own. And I did it. Perhaps you feel I’m a tad harsh, but it’s because I love you. You know that, right? That I love you?”

Louis’ eyes stung. All his life, he had yearned to hear those words from her. Even prayed for them. But now, they felt like a noose tightening around his neck. 

“I love you too,” he said because as twisted as it was, it still was the truth. He loved his mother and craved to be loved by her, as much as he craved his own death. 

“Oh, darling. I know,” she cupped her face. “You are my family. We are family.”

Louis licked his dry lips. “Family,” he repeated, tasking the bittersweet of the bond in his mouth.

“Yes, dear, family.” Her smile turned sinister, eyes glassy, like a living doll. “And you know families sometimes have to make sacrifices, right?” She was trembling now, the dark under her eyes looked more harrowing as the sun began to set. “That’s how we show how strong our bond is. Our love.”

He nodded, torn between loyalty and fear. “Yes.”

“Then,” she said, her tone a blade honed in shadows. “Marry Lord Styles instead of your brother.”

For a moment, everything stilled. 

“What?” Louis breathed out, a hollow and broken whisper. 

“Marry him and free your brother from this tragic faith.”

“But mother—”

“Aren’t you his brother?” She unfairly reproached. “His own blood? Doesn’t he deserve to be saved?” Her eyes grew impossibly wide. “Or do you think he deserves to die so young?”

“Of course not but—”

“That's what family means, sacrifices. Aren’t we your family? Am I not your mother?” Her eyes bore into her as saliva pooled on the corner of her lips. “If you don’t see me as your mother, tell me now.”

“I do see you as my mother,” Louis whispered, his voice barely audible against the weight of her gaze. A lingering feeling akin to shame crept through his body. 

How could he still see her as that after everything she had done?  How could he still hope for love when the only thing she wanted from Louis was sacrifice?

“Then do it for me. I would not survive if he died. My death, his death, will be all your fault. Can you carry that to your grave?”

“No,” Louis replied, face and body feeling numb. “I cannot carry that to my grave.”

“Are you going to sacrifice yourself for your brother?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked, and he wondered if the mano walls absorbed the echoes of his decision.

“My sweet, sweet boy.” Her touch was gentle again, a fleeting caress.

“But,” Louis swallowed. “What if father won’t allow me?”

“Of course he will.” The room seemed to close in on him, the air thick with his despair. There was no way his mother wouldn’t scent it—his heart shattering. His hopes for being loved, destroyed one last time. “Besides, by law, it’s your right as the first omega son to marry first.”

One night, when he was only a child, Louis’ grandmother revealed the reason behind his mother’s perpetual indifference. She told her that Martha, burdened by her own sadness, yearned desperately to gift Louis a little brother, but fate derailed her intentions. And Louis, in his tender innocence, blindly believed her. So he vowed to be patient and kind, understanding the weight of her sorrow.

For her, he became an alchemist, concocting remedies to lift her spirits. He plucked wildflowers from dew-kissed meadows, their fragile petals a testament to his devotion. And in the moonlit solitude of their manor, he choreographed dances—clumsy movements that wove joy into the air. Yet, despite his efforts, her gaze remained elusive, veiled by shadows of what he thought was grief.

Then came the day when she whispered, “Connley.” Louis’ heart leaped; dancing with joy. Her mother finally had the son she always waited for and now she could love Louis free of guilt. 

However, Connley's arrival didn't warm Martha's icy attitude. In fact, Louis felt even more invisible, his lifelong yearning for his mother's attention a distant dream. All his life, Louis had craved for just a single tender glance from his mother. Now with her eyes filled with tears, finally piercing through him, Louis couldn’t bear to stand her stare.

꩜

Outside the castle, a commotion stirred the air. From the window of his room, Louis observed it keenly. He wasn’t allowed to come down but it didn’t feel like a loss, when the last thing he wanted was an encounter with Lord Styles—the man who would be his future executioner, should he accept Louis after meeting his brother, of course.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in.”

“I brought you some food, sir,” Orion said, holding a tray filled with food. “I noticed you didn’t eat. Here’s something to nourish you.”

“Thank you. Is everything all right outside?”

Orion’s eyes flickered with amusement. “If by alright, you mean your mother discovering the young master entangled with Lord Styles behind some bushes, then yes.”

Louis’ heart thundered. “What?”

“Your mother screamed as if she’d seen a ghost. Quite the scandal, I must say.”

“And Lord Styles? Is he gone now?”

“No, he’s still here. In your father’s office, to be precise. They’ll have to settle the marriage arrangements tonight, or else your brother’s reputation will be forever tarnished.”

Louis clenched his fists, abruptly standing up. “I have to—”

Orion's easy smile dropped from her face. “What are you doing, sir?”

“Going to my father’s office. I need to—”

“With all due respect,” Orion interrupted, she touched his arm, wary eyes looking at him. “I don’t think it’s the best moment to pay him a visit. Emotions are running high.”

Louis hesitated, torn between duty and fear. Always duty and fear. “No. I— I ought to talk with them. Now.”

“I think if you only wait a bit—” She said hurriedly. “If you—Let him endure this. It’s his fate, you have yours. Don’t you want to meet your fate?”

Confusion clouded Louis’ mind. How morbid it would be to say he thought dying young was his fate? But what if it wasn’t? What if he had the chance to feel something more than despair?

No. There was no reason to be alive. There was nothing for him in this realm. 

“I have to go, Orion. It’s my duty.”

Orion nodded, ruefully. “Very well, sir. But tread carefully.” Her lips formed a thin line—a silent testament to her concern. 

Louis puzzled over her attachment. Why did she care so deeply about him, a near-stranger? Still, gratitude welled within him nonetheless. To have someone worry on his behalf, even if it was a transactional duty, felt like a fragile lifeline in his existence.

꩜

The door to his father’s office loomed before Louis, its polished wood a barrier between his trembling resolve and the tempest within. He knocked, the sound echoing through the hallowed corridor.

“Not now!” The curt response came from his father, but Louis pressed on.

“Mother, it’s me, Louis.” Louis' voice cracked, part of him begging for his father to dismiss him again. 

One thing was to wait for death and another very different was to seek it. This was Louis seeking it.

“My child,” her mother clamored as she opened the door, left hand clutching a handkerchief—its delicate fabric crumpled by distress. “Come in, hurry, hurry.”

Louis stepped across the threshold, his gaze drawn to the room’s occupants. His father, stern and unyielding, sat behind a massive oak desk, anger so very clear in his face.

“What’s going on here?” His voice spat like a whip. “Martha, he cannot be here!”

“Louis has something to tell you all,” his mother interjected, her gaze flickering toward the imposing figure seated opposite.

The room held its breath, suspended in a fragile equilibrium. Louis’ pulse thrummed like a trapped bird, wings fluttering against the cage of his ribs. The air itself seemed to bend, charged with anticipation, as if the very walls leaned in to witness the unfolding tragedy.

“I—” Louis’s voice faltered, his gaze landing on Lord Styles. The predator. The man who would hold the power of life and death over Louis’ fate.

The vampire’s essence eclipsed the room, casting shadows upon Louis’ fragile resolve. His eerily crimson eyes bore into the omega, dissecting every inch of him, every vulnerability. Holding secrets—of blood spilled and broken promises—engraved into their dark pupils. As though they had witnessed empires rise and fall, knowing the very pulse of existence.

Long fingers adorned with multiple rings traced intricate patterns on the armrest, leaving imperceptible imprints on the ancient wood. Louis found himself pondering how often those same fingers had once tenderly traced the contours of a lover's skin, only to transform into a suffocating grip.

A deadly one.

As Louis approached the desk, a mixture of fear and dark curiosity stirred within him like a tempest brewing in the depths of his soul.

“Go on, darling. Tell them,” Lady Martha urged, her voice insistent and frantic.

“I want to be the one to marry Lord Styles, if you allow me,” Louis blurted out, his heart pounding against his ribs. The words hung in the air, a death sentence.

His father’s face contorted in disbelief. “Louis, what are you saying?”

“It’s my right as your first omega son,” Louis pressed on, desperation coloring his words. “It should be me and not Connley.”

“Louis,” his father said, confusion and concern warring in his expression. “Connley is my first omega son with my current mate.”

“Are you insinuating he isn’t your son?” Martha interjected sharply, eyes wide and terrified.

“Of course not, but—”

“He is a Tomlinson. Your firstborn. Let him marry Lord Styles.” 

His mother’s plea for her son’s life sent a wave of nausea rolling through Louis’ body. To be loved to the point of sacrificing another mortal being was something the omega’s brain struggled to comprehend.

“Martha…” His father’s voice wavered, caught between familial duty and personal feelings.

“I don’t want him,” Lord Styles drawled, his deep voice rolling through the room like a slow, ominous tide. The languid, almost lazy cadence of his words a contradiction with its sharpness, each syllable dripping with disdain. 

“Of course you don’t,” Martha countered. “But even you have to follow the law.”

“Let me remind you, you need my help,” Lord Styles said slowly, his eyes piercing. “No other way around.”

“And let me remind you, we still can find another suitor for my Connley or even Louis.” Martha’s resolve remained unwavering despite her scent giving away how scared she actually was.

“I know how to read and clean.” Louis’ voice emerged like a fragile whisper, a plea lost in the cavernous space. “You don’t have to see me if you don’t wish to. I know how to keep to myself. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

“So I will just have a hostage instead of a husband,” Lord Styles tilted his head, making the luscious curls framing his face move like a tide wave—an effortless, almost hypnotic motion that contrasted with the hardness in his eyes and features.

Louis flushed, stammering. “I—well, I just thought like you say you didn’t want me.” His voice wavered, a fragile thread in the tempest.

The vampire let out a humorless laugh. “Do you blame me? A… creature like you with someone like me… It’s preposterous.” Lord Styles’ words dripped like venom, each syllable a calculated strike. 

A moment of pure silence enveloped the room, where no soul stirred or spoke. All eyes fixed on Louis, awaiting his response. The omega sensed the gleam of amusement in the vampire's eyes, relishing in his discomfort.

“I pity you,” Louis whispered softly, his nails digging into his palms as a surge of frustration swept through him. “The way you see us, as mere vessels for your needs, interchangeable and disposable. Yet here you are,”  he uttered, his voice trembling with a mix of weariness and defiance. “turning to arranged marriages because no one genuinely desires you now. What a wretched existence.”

The vampire’s gaze bore into Louis, dissecting not just his words but the very marrow of his bones.

“Louis!” His father’s voice cracked, a fissure in the room’s fragile equilibrium. Shock and reproach warred on his face, and Louis’ heart clenched. He had dared to speak the truth, and the consequences loomed.

A glint of amusement danced in the vampire’s eyes—a predator toying with its prey. “Well, at least you know what you are and forever will be to me. Don’t have any stupid idea that I will fall for you. Maybe you could last a few years more than the rest.” 

“He does!” Martha interjected hastily, her loyalty torn between duty and compassion. “He is very self-aware. Has always known his place, right, darling?”

Louis nodded, his gaze downcast. He was a pawn in this game, a pawn with a heartbeat, a pawn that was borrowing time.

“When do you plan to marry, then?” Martha pressed, her voice a fragile thread laced with maternal concern, though not for Louis.

“I still haven’t said yes,” Lord Styles drawled, his words a sculptor molding the situation to his liking. “I need to taste my food. To know what I’m buying,” he shrugged nonchalantly, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips.

“You will not bite both my children.” Louis’ father’s voice held a note of finality, a line drawn in the sand, his concern more for his reputation in society than for the fates of Louis or Connley.

Lord Styles leaned back slightly in his ornate chair, his gaze focused on Louis with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the omega's resolve. With a languid grace, he reached for a crystal goblet resting on the edge of his father’s desk, the facets of the glass refracting the dim light of the room. As he spoke, his fingers traced intricate patterns along the stem of the goblet, his movements deliberate and almost hypnotic.

"Illnesses have peculiar tastes and scents," Lord Styles explained in his low, melodious voice. "Some smell like burnt chalk, others—specifically the ones located in the brain—smell like overripe fruit and honey. Sweet."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Lord Styles's lips as he continued to toy with the goblet, his gaze holding Louis captive. "You are desperate for me to take over,” he said slowly, still looking at the omega before turning to his father. “And you and I both know that no matter what your wife thinks, you don’t have a lot of options left. And much less in your current state."

Each tap of Lord Styles's fingers against the goblet echoed like a distant drumbeat, marking the tempo of a conversation that danced on the edge of power and submission.

“Let him, father. Please.” Louis’ plea was soft but earnest.

“Fine. You can come back this Friday if you wish to—” Louis’s father cleared his throat, the words a reluctant concession. “You can come back this Friday.”

"Make it a ball," the vampire said nonchalantly, his tone laced with mockery and playful disdain. His eyes glinted mischievously as he surveyed the room, savoring the tension he had stirred. "I will cover all the expenses, naturally."

As Lord Styles departed, the room exhaled—a collective breath held too long. Louis’ father finally turned to the omega, revealing his true anger—the anger of a man cornered, emasculated, a man who had gambled everything and lost.

“What in the hell do you think you are doing?” His father roared, the walls echoing his fury. “You made me look like a fool!”

"Louis did it for his brother!" Martha hissed indignantly. "That's more than can be said for you."

“When are you going to stop playing martyr?” His father hissed at him, the frustration simmering beneath his words palpable in the tightness of his jaw. “You are ridiculous! Get out of my office right this instant. I cannot stand seeing your face.” The finality in his father’s words hung heavy in the air—a guillotine blade poised to fall.

꩜

Louis walked through the echoing corridors of the manor, his footsteps measured yet heavy with the weight of the day. The dimly lit passageways seemed to stretch infinitely, shadows dancing on the walls as Louis navigated his way back to his room. His thoughts swirled with a tumultuous mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, and a lingering sense of something else he couldn’t quite describe yet. 

As he reached his chamber door, Louis paused, his hand hesitating on the wood. He leaned against the cool surface, closing his eyes briefly to steady his racing heartbeat. The encounter had left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

When he finally felt ready to move, he found Orion still in his room.

“Were you waiting for me?” Louis's voice carried a note of surprise.

Orion nodded softly. “I thought you would need company.”

“You didn’t have to bother,” Louis murmured, a flicker of gratitude growing warmer in his chest.

“I might have heard some things…” Orion began tentatively, her voice trailing off as she assessed Louis' reaction.

Understanding dawned on Louis, a weight settling on his shoulders. “Ah.”

The room filled with a heavy silence, the omega didn’t quite know what to say. Did she know Lord Styles rejected him? That Louis had to insist on being accepted? 

“I have a book of spells,” the girl said abruptly, changing the subject drastically.

Louis furrowed his brow in confusion, uncertain where the conversation was heading. “Spells…” he said slowly. “As in magic spells?”

“Yes. You don’t believe in magic?” Orion’s tone was laced with a hint of amusement.

“Not really,” Louis admitted with a wry smile,  “as you can see my life lack a bit of spark. But that doesn’t mean I don’t respect what you believe.”

“I’m not saying I’m a witch or that I have magical powers,” Orion waved off. “But my tarot maze almost never fails. Actually,” her voice lowered slightly, as if sharing a secret. “That’s what brought you to me.”

Louis blinked. “Your cards?”

“Mhm. It said I was going to meet a friend here. That should be open to it. You.” Orion’s voice held a quiet certainty, a belief in the unseen threads of fate.

“Is this why you said I had to wait a little more for my fate? You saw that in your cards?” Louis didn’t actually believe in any of that, he just wanted to understand the enigmatic girl before him. Perhaps he just wanted to bask a little more in her attention.

Orion shook her head, quickly. “I was just speaking nonsense. Sometimes I do that, yapping whatever it comes to my mind. But… If you—” she bit her lips. “If you really have to marry the Lord, I know how you can make yourself more enticing for him.”

“It’s not necessary.” Louis replied with a gentle smile. “But thank you, really, I appreciate your help.”

“He won’t choose you.” Orion said softly, “He’s just trying to humiliate you and your family. He is still going to choose your brother.”

The omega knew she was right, that the only reason Lord Styles accepted to drink from both of them was to make a spectacle out of it. Out of Louis. It was a familiar pattern in his life—to endure humiliation and pain. Yet, a weariness settled within him. He was desperate. For what? Perhaps for his mother’s love, his father’s respect, his brother’s well-being. A clear conscience. A clean path to reunite with his grandmother. 

But maybe, just maybe, Louis had endured enough.

The omega took a deep breath, “Okay. Tell me what I should do.”

꩜

The instructions seemed straightforward in theory: pour a few drops of his own blood into a beverage and offer it to Lord Styles. Yet, in practice, it felt dauntingly complex. First, Louis had to control the taste of his blood.

“When you get scared or excited, different chemicals pump through your bloodstream,” Orion explained patiently, her gaze briefly flickering over Louis, assessing his reaction. “Vampires are often drawn by that, because it mimics the physical reaction they get when they bite dhampirs.”

Louis blinked, processing her words. “Are you going to scare me?” he asked tentatively, a nervous flutter building in his stomach.

Orion shook her head, “No,” she replied softly, walking towards him. “Have you ever been kissed?”

The omega flushed at the question, licking his lips nervously before simply shaking his head, unable to form a reply.

“Can I have the honor to be your first?”

Louis’s jaw went slack, surprised by her boldness, yet he nodded hesitantly.

“Alright,” Orion whispered, finger lightly brushing his cheek before her lips met his. 

The kiss was tender, chaste, and filled with a warmth Louis hadn’t experienced before. It wasn’t about attraction; it was about the sensation of being touched, of feeling another’s presence in such an intimate way. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to lean into her touch, craving the tenderness she offered when suddenly, a quick and sharp sting in the side of his wrist made his eyes snap open.

Startled, Louis' gaze fell on the dagger Orion was holding close to his skin. Its blade glinted softly in the ambient light, a stark contrast to the gentle touch he had just experienced. Confusion momentarily clouded his expression as he watched Orion collect the droplets of his blood into a small vial. Her movements, fluid and efficient.

“It was just a small cut,” she reassured him, her voice barely above a whisper. “You will be fine, I promise.”

Then, she poured the blood into the dark tea pot where Orion had mixed a strand of Louis’ hair, jasmin and vervain earlier. “Before you give it to him, you need to mark a cross on your tongue with it.”

“You think he would actually want to drink it?” Louis asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Orion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If it were any other vampire, I’d say offering it out of courtesy would suffice. But with Lord Styles, I cannot be sure.”

Intrigue piqued inside Louis. He wanted to ask how she got to know so much about Lord Styles and all the other vampires, but wasn’t really sure if he would like the reply. 

“Just say you made it for him as a gesture of thanks for giving you the chance,” she suggested. “If that doesn’t work, at least you tried.”

Louis nodded, his eyes following her meticulous movements as she continued to mix everything together. He still didn’t understand why she was going to such lengths for him. It was late, and he knew her days began long before the first light of dawn, often under the pale glow of the lingering moon. 

“Why are you helping me?” He asked at last, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“I told you, the cards said we would be friends,” Orion replied serenely, her eyes focused on the beverage.

“How did you know it was me?”

“When I asked how I would recognize you, the cards showed me the Five of Cups and the Nine of Swords,” Orion explained as she continued to stir the teapot.

The omega swallowed. “And what does that mean?” 

“Sorrow, grief, a heavy heart.” Orion said after what felt like an eternity of heavy silence.  “The moment I looked into your eyes,” her gaze lifted to meet his, eyes dark and unreadable. “I knew it was you,” 

Louis felt his face heat in shame. “I’m not that sad,” the lie a quiet murmur in the cold room.

“Sometimes, you sound as if every word you speak hurts. That is taking everything in you to eat or even wake up. You look tired in a way I’ve never seen before. A tiredness that doesn’t go away with a good night of sleep. Like if living was a duty imposed to you.”

“Isn’t life imposed on everyone?” He tried to sound playful, but his voice insisted on cracking in the worst moments.

“Yes,” Orion agreed, gently. “but you don’t seem to find joy in any moment of yours,” 

Louis let out a shaky breath. “And you still want to be friends with someone like that?” 

“It’s the kind of friend I already have,” Orion said with a quiet resolve.

They would have to wait for three days and three nights for the brew to mature, a span of time that felt both fleeting and endless. It was the same amount of time Louis had to steel himself, to gather his resolve for the impending encounter with Lord Styles. Each passing hour carried with it a mix of anticipation and dread, like the calm before a storm.

On the third morning, a wet splash startled Louis awake from his restless sleep. Panic surged from his stomach to his chest, initially at the unexpected attack, and then at the thought that the liquid splashed on him might be the carefully aged brew. However, a quick glance down revealed it was just water.

“How dare you do this to me?” Connley’s voice thundered as Louis sat up in bed. “How dare you think you can take him away from me? You never even wanted him.”

“Connley—” Louis started to reply, but his brother cut him off with a menacing glare.

“And I had to find this today by the servants' mouths! Did you want to humiliate me?” Connley hissed. “To catch me off guard?” He threw the bucket at the bed, almost hitting Louis’ leg. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You are sorry?” Connley chuckled humorlessly. “If you were truly sorry, you would put an end to this foolishness. He doesn’t even like you! Aren’t you ashamed that your desperation has driven you to beg and humiliate yourself in front of my future husband?”

“It’s my right, too.”

“Your right? You are nothing to my family! My mother barely can stand you. If it wasn’t because papa made her raise you, she would have sent you away.”

“That’s not true,” Louis murmured quietly, unwilling to confront the painful truth that a part of him had always suspected.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re naive or plain stupid,” Connley sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. He took a step closer, a cruel smile curling his lips. "Louis, my mother does not see you as her son,” he said slowly, as if explaining to a toddler. “And I certainly do not see you as my brother. You are simply the bastard son of my father. And the only reason he kept you around was because he thought you’d become an alpha.”

“It’s ready!” Orion’s voice cut through the tension as she walked into Louis’ bedroom, holding a vial with the brew. “We only need to figure out how to—”

Connley’s eyes narrowed, gaze zeroing on the vial. “What is that?”

“Nothing!” Orion said quickly.

“Lies,” he snapped, his tone harsh. “Tell me now!” His hands balled into fists at his sides, his glare shifting between Orion and Louis.

Orion opened her mouth, perhaps to spin another lie, but Louis spoke up first.

“A love potion. It will make Lord Styles fall in love with anyone who gives it to him,” Louis said, his voice calm and measured.

Connley’s mouth fell open in shock before he burst into a mocking laugh. “Do you really believe this will work? How naive are you?”

Louis clenched his jaw. “Yes. Orion has given it to many people, and it has worked every time. Haven’t you, Orion?” He glanced nervously at her, silently urging her to confirm his statement.

Orion nodded vigorously, though her eyes darted anxiously between Connley and Louis, her fingers fidgeting with the vial. “Yes,” she licked her lips. “It always works.”

The room fell silent as the lie hung in the air, time stretching thin like a taut string, each tick of the clock echoing like a heartbeat of a bomb ready to detonate.

“Well…” Connley smirked, walking slowly towards Orion. “Now it’s mine to throw away.” He declared triumphantly, his fingers closing possessively around the vial.

Orion hesitated, glancing at Louis, who nodded subtly in approval.

“Not only did you go behind my back,” Connley’s said sharply, “but you dared to steal my future husband’s affection.” His fingers tightened around the vial’s rim. “You thought this potion would make him desire you. You should be ashamed,” his brother continued, eyes flashing. “Lucky for you, my heart is forgiving. I won’t tell him or mama about your treachery.” 

Louis pressed his lips together, forcing a weak smile.“Thank you, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

His brother shook his head, scoffing quietly. “You never do,” he muttered before leaving Louis and Orion alone in the room.

“Don’t worry,”Orion said gently, holding his hands with hers “We still have more of the brew hidden in my room.”

“It’s alright,” He replied calmly. “I don’t need it anymore. Let Connley use it.”

Orion furrowed her brow. “You know that’s not how it works, right? The potion will only draw Lord Styles to the person who made it, not to your brother, no matter who gives it to him.”

“I know. You explained that already.” Louis tilted his head. “But Connley doesn’t. And now I don’t have to worry about delivering the potion to Lord Styles.”

The girl blinked at him, surprise taking over her features. “Alright,” she smiled. “But what if he actually throws the vial like he said he would, and doesn’t give it to Lord Styles?”

Louis smiled slowly. “Don’t worry. He will.”

—

The vampire requested a ball, so his parents gave him a feast of somber grandeur. The grand hall shimmered with opulence, chandeliers like frozen tears of angels, dripped crystal light onto the polished marble floor. The murmur of conversation was merely a low, persistent hum, only breaking with the occasional out-of-place laughter that seemed to shatter the heavy, oppressive atmosphere. More than fifty guests gathered, their nicest silks rustling, their gazes as sharp as the guest of honor’s canines. They didn’t come to dine, but to enjoy the show.

They all were complicit in the cruel theater of power and control Lord Styles and his parents created for their entertainment. 

Louis was ready, though, early that day, following Orion’s instructions, he made a cross on his tongue with the brew she had saved for him, the taste clinging in his mouth hours later after he applied it. Now he only had to wait for his brother to give Lord Styles the beverage, like planned, so his fate could be finally sealed.

For the first hour, Louis stood still, invisible among the guests. His waistcoat strained against his chest, the embroidered fabric a cage for his racing heart. He followed Lord Styles with his gaze until the vampire vanished into the shadows. From the corner of his eye, Louis saw his brother Connley sneaking out of the hall, a furtive figure slipping through the dimly lit corridor after Lord Styles.

Minutes dragged by, each second charged with palpable tension, making the situation more obvious for the guests. Lord Styles so far had spent most of the night entertaining Connley in front of all of them or outside talking in private with the company of his brother’s chaperon. The vampire made it perfectly clear his choice way before the ceremony even started.

Louis could already imagine their whispered exchanges, the clandestine plans being woven away from prying eyes as the guests continued to reveal in the scandal of it all. 

Would they ridicule him, or would they spare him the humiliation and announce Lord Style’s decision as soon as they re-entered the room?

However, it seemed the omega wouldn’t have to wait long for his answers because the presence of the vampire filled the room again, dark and heady. Louis’ heart pounded, his senses heightened. Lord Styles felt close, so close the omega could feel it in the air surrounding him, despite vampires not emanating any perceptible scent for dahmpirs. 

“If I have to be honest I was sure you were going to regret your little outburst from last night, and you weren’t going to show up,” Lord Styles said behind him, his voice was a velvet blade, slicing through the luminous room. “But that would make your mother so disappointed with you, and you just cannot handle that, don’t you, yavrum?”

The words carried a taunting edge, each syllable meticulously chosen to provoke a reaction. But if he actually wanted that, he should do a lot more than make tame mocking remarks. 

“I wanted to look presentable for all the guests,”  Louis managed, his voice wavering slightly as he tried to maintain composure.

“So polite,” Lord Styles mused, his steps slow and deliberate as he circled Louis like a predator assessing its prey, catching the attention of the guests surrounding them. 

Louis felt the weight of their gazes, intense and scrutinizing, adding to the dark atmosphere that Lord Styles effortlessly wielded.

“I try to, my lord,” he stated, his fingers trembling against the embroidered fabric of his waistcoat.

“Who would have thought that someone as polite as you tried to deceive me with a cheap and juvenile trap?” His eyes bore into Louis, dissecting every inch of his face.

“What, no—I—” Louis stammered, his mind racing to find a response that could placate or deflect the accusation.

“I don’t know who helped you with that,” Lord Styles continued, his voice low and dangerous, “but the original recipe needed honey. Honey is very important, apparently. Well, at least it would be important if those types of things actually worked.”

Louis’ mind raced, the implication of Lord Styles. “I’m not entirely aware of what you’re referring to.”

“That your brother gave me a few minutes ago a glass of wine mixed with an Allure spell. An Allure spell with your blood in it.” Lord Styles’ lips curved into a dangerous smile. “What did you tell him to convince him to give it to me?”

Oh God, Louis was utterly doomed.

“How do you even know that’s my blood?” the omega asked, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the spiraling situation.

“Because I can taste the sickness in you.” Lord Styles replied, his voice lowering further, every word falling like a heavy stone in the silence that enveloped them.

“Sickness…” Louis managed to say, his voice trembling with a mixture of denial and fear.

The horrible man tilted his head, seemingly genuinely amused by Louis’ shock. “Indeed, the same as your father.” 

A chill ran down Louis’ spine, a visceral dread growing inside him. The air in the grand hall seemed to thicken, each breath becoming a struggle for Louis. 

The omega had witnessed first hand the slow descent of his grandmother into the labyrinths of her mind. He had seen her anguish, the torment that doubled in intensity during those fleeting moments of lucidity amidst the engulfing fog. In those moments her cries echoed in every wall of her room, a cry that sounded as if it came from the depths of her soul, deep inside her, broken, guttural. Louis hated those moments of clarity, as cruel as it may sound, he much preferred when she mistook the omega for her brother or even her father. That way he could weave tales of comfort and hope, to both her and himself, masking bitter truth with soothing lies of divine justice and eventual peace. 

But peace never arrived, instead it turned away like wisps of smoke until one day Louis was neither her brother nor her father. He was no longer family, just a mere stranger she feared. Only then he allowed himself to have his own moment of lucidity, screaming silently against his pillow until his throat burned, just like all his hope.

Yet, even then, when he had to earn her trust almost every day, recounting tales of her past until she relaxed and allowed him to feed her and even after when she eventually ceased eating altogether, and she was no longer more. Louis clung fiercely to the memory of her. They were his to keep. His solace, cherished relics of a bond now threatened by a cruel fate.

“Sorry, but can you uh— excuse me for a minute?” Louis stammered, his voice faltering. “Thank you.” He offered the vampire a strained smile, not giving him time to respond before he fled the room, his footsteps echoing like a desperate heartbeat against the polished marble floor as nausea churned within him.

The weight of Lord Styles's words pressed heavily on his shoulders, a suffocating realization settling deep in his gut. His head swam with dizziness as he sought refuge in the dimly lit corridor beyond. The coolness of the stone walls offered a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere he had just left behind. Fingers trembling, he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, the embroidered fabric suddenly feeling constricting against his skin.

Louis leaned against the cold stone, his forehead pressed to the surface as he closed his eyes. He drew a breath that shivered through him as he straightened his posture, the weight of his invisible fears pressing heavily upon him. 

In the solitude of the corridor, he surrendered to his darkest thoughts, allowing anger and fear to consume him. He no longer sought his mother’s love or his father’s attention, he asked for nothing, yet life continued to strip him of everything. Rage, a sickening and entirely new sensation, burned inside him for the first time in his life.

Louis was not afraid of losing himself in nothingness or dying alone and forgotten. What truly terrified him was the mere idea of forgetting her. And he was furious because he knew he inevitably would.

“Did it work?” Orion's voice, like a sudden beam of moonlight cutting through the heavy velvet drapes of a dark room, pierced the air as she stood beside him.

Louis turned to her, trying to control all the turmoil simmering in him. "I—no," he confessed with a somber tone, his voice echoing hollowly in the dim corridor.

"Are you sure? He looked very entertained when he was talking to you," Orion said, her gaze searching his face, probably trying to understand his demeanor.

“He was,” Louis admitted, his voice tired and rough. “He said I’m sick.”

Orion's eyes widened slightly. "Are you? Do you feel ill?" she pressed, her voice laced with worry.

Louis tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “No. But I will.”

“Okay,” she nodded solemnly. “So what do you have?”

“He smelled the same illness my grandma had,” Louis explained, his voice tinged with sorrowful acceptance.

“Was it serious?” Orion asked softly, her concern deepening.

“Lethal,” Louis whispered, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the ornate hallway.

“Is there a cure?” 

“There are some alternatives, but they’re too expensive and too dreadful. It’s not an option for me.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, then, her brows knitted together as her lips pressed into a thin line. “I know someone that could—”

“Please come along to the blue room, where Lord Styles will choose his betrothed.” A servant’s voice interrupted them abruptly, mechanical, devoid of empathy.

As he walked towards the ballroom, Louis felt like a wounded animal at an exhibition. Cheap, broken, a last option. Yet, at least Louis knew what he was. At least he was aware of what this was. 

Was Connley aware that he also was merely an option? Wasn’t that better? To live in blissful ignorance, thinking the predator who was choosing you could see something worthy in you and let you live as more than the meaningless things dhampirs were to them.

He sensed the scrutiny of the guests as soon he entered the room, felt their gazes like icy tendrils trailing over his body.  He knew his place in this elaborate dance of social hierarchy, understood the precarious balance he maintained as an omega dhampir—a being caught between two worlds, accepted by neither.

The memory of Lord Styles' chilling diagnosis lingered like a bitter taste in his mouth. "Sick," he had said, his voice a haunting echo cutting through the hushed opulence of the ballroom. He now wasn’t only an omega dhampir. He was a sick one.

Louis stood poised on the stage—a makeshift altar where choices would be stripped from both of them with just a nod from Lord Styles. His posture, a facade of composed resolve masking the turbulent emotions roiling beneath the surface. 

Silence fell like a dark veil over the room as Lord Styles, with deliberate grace, approached Connley. The vampire movements were fluid, unhurried, as he extended a strong hand at Louis’ brother, waiting patiently as Connley offered his wrist back. The dim light caught the gleam of fangs, sharpened to perfection—a reminder of his true nature concealed beneath a facade of sophistication.

In a mesmerizing display, Lord Styles bared his fangs and sank them into Connley's skin. The hushed whispers of the audience mingled with the soft sound of flesh yielding to the vampire's bite. A tremor of sensation rippled through the room as Louis's brother submitted to the intimate communion, his breath hitching in a mixture of what seemed pleasure and pain.

The scene unfolded with a surreal elegance, the act of feeding transformed into a macabre ballet of desire and submission. Louis watched, his heart a tumult of conflicting emotions—fear, anger, and a helpless fascination that captivated his attention.

While Lord Styles drank, his expression remained inscrutable, a mask of aristocratic detachment that concealed the raw intensity of the moment. The rhythmic pulse of blood echoed through the ballroom, a haunting drumbeat that highlighted the delicate balance between predator and prey.

With a final, languid draw, Lord Styles withdrew from Connley's wrist, leaving behind a mark that pulsed with the lingering potency of their exchange. The room held its breath in the wake of this visceral display. If they weren’t aware of their place before, they were now.

Lord Styles turned to face the guests, his gaze sweeping over them with an air of satisfaction that bordered on the sinister.

As he shifted his attention to Louis, the vampire’s lips, now stained faintly with the remnants of his brother's blood, curved into a subtle smile—a gesture that held both menace and an unsettling allure. His movement conveyed centuries of refinement and an unyielding power that transcended mortal boundaries. His eyes, alight with an inscrutable gleam, fixed upon Louis with a gaze that seemed to penetrate every corner of his soul.

Louis stood transfixed, caught in the gravitational pull of Lord Styles' presence. Fear and fascination intertwined within him, a heady mixture that rendered him both vulnerable and defiant in the face of the vampire's approach. The scent of blood lingered in the air, a visceral reminder of the ritual that had just unfolded.

As Lord Styles finally stood before him, a mere breath away, the tension between them crackled like electricity. “You look pale,” Lord Styles pointed out. “This will only make your blood taste bitter,” the vampire dared to pout.

As his brother’s blood still shimmered at the corner of his lips, and he regarded the crowd with the air of a player in a theatrical matinée, a revelation creeped upon Louis. He had been trying to apply the same moral lens to Lord Styles as he did to dhampirs. But he was a vampire, a predator. Now Louis could see with sickening clarity, Lord Styles didn’t perceive his actions as cruel. He was merely toying with his food.

“I have never stopped myself before killing an ant, not even for the ones that were aware they were about to die,” Louis confessed in an almost trance, looking at Lord Styles’ eyes for the first time. 

The vampire's brows knit for the briefest of moments before he resumed his amused demeanor. "Pardon?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity.

“It’s not even about power or feeling like a merciless God,” Louis continued, his tone measured. “They’re just ants. Insects so small you can crush them with just one digit.”

“Ah…” He said with a knowing tone as a smirk bloomed in his face. “Do you feel like that, Louis? Small and insignificant?”

Louis held the vampire's gaze, his own eyes reflecting a mixture of weariness and resignation. “Would that make you angry?” he tilted his head. “That I don’t see you like a God, just a bored mortal?”

"Insects don’t care what you feel before you crush them," Styles mused, his voice smooth as silk. "So what does that make you, then?"

"I have always wondered," Louis murmured, his voice sounding tired even in his own ears.

The smile that bloomed on Lord Styles’s face was a little terrifying, sending shivers all over Louis’ body. Holding his wrist, the vampire bit him, looking at him with pitch-black eyes, intense and all-consuming.

After the first sharp sting, a numbness spread through Louis’ veins. His vision blurred, and he swayed on his feet. The omega bit his trembling bottom lip, unsure why he wasn’t experiencing the same pleasure as Connley. Why did he just only feel the same coldness he felt before? 

“I will tell you right now,” Lord Styles murmured, his lips brushing against Louis’ skin. “It makes you less than. Even insects fight back,” Lord Styles sighed dramatically as he straightened up. “I cannot believe I’m going to have to marry you,” he drawled lowly. 

The omega’s eyes snapped up, his blurry vision trying to focus on the man in front of him. “Are you?”

“Didn’t you know what you were doing when you made that drink?”

“You said the spell didn’t work,” Louis frowned, genuinely confused.

“It’s not a spell,” the vampire retorted with a hint of annoyance, his drawl thickening slightly. “If you give any vampire blood laced with vervain, there will be a reaction. No magic, just drugs. Your brother’s blood tasted like chalk and will remain like that until I have my fill with you, and I cannot have that unless I marry you,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if discussing a mundane inconvenience. “There’s no magic in that, you just drugged me. Let’s see how you react to opium next.”

“I didn’t—” Louis began, only to be cut off by Lord Styles.

“Enough,” He dismissed the omega with the flick of his hand. “I honestly didn’t care which of you I married, as long as I gained your father’s properties.  I just thought I could have at least a little bit of fun in the process.” The vampire sighed theatrically as he cleaned his mouth. “The sacrifices one has to make…” He turned with deliberate grace to face the crowd. “I have made my decision,” he said, his voice carrying across the room, his tone lingering on the words like a spider waiting for its prey

Murmurs rippled through the guest, curiosity piqued by the silence that followed after the declaration. Louis could sense the vampire’s amusement as he savored the tension he had orchestrated.

“You are all cordially invited to our next nuptial ceremony.” He stated, barely touching Louis’ shoulder with his hand.

The room erupted into a flurry of shocked whispers, a tumult of confusion and disbelief. Instinctually, Louis turned to check on his brother. As Connley's eyes locked with his, the omega sensed both surprise and simmering anger emanating from him, his typically composed demeanor now crackling with betrayal and indignation.

Louis’ father hurriedly approached them. “Are you— sure, my lord?” he interjected cautiously.

“Didn’t I make myself clear enough?” Lord Styles replied, annoyance lacing his tone. “Am I speaking tongues?”

“Of course not–”

“Then, let’s proceed to your office to discuss the marital contract.” The vampire turned to face Louis, eyes cleaning with an indescribable intensity. “I guess I will see you around, husband.”

Present Day. It Grins.

Unveiling Lacuna: A Descent into Shadows. Unpublished manuscript.

As stoic as I looked on the screen in front of me, I still remember my bewilderment at his words. Traditional bonding rituals—the ones that create mates—are extremely rare among vampires. In fact, less than 2% of vampire alliances mated with their legal partners. And in the cases between dhampirs and vampires, they are practically nonexistent. Instead, their relationships are maintained through shared interests in territorial dominance and survival strategies. The territorial dominance was for the vampires and the survival strategies were for the omegas. Or at least that was how things worked in the West before the Ajal Baal.

“Is it possible for a dhampir to mate with a vampire?”

Lord Styles’s expression remained impassive as he responded, “As possible as a vampire craving for the gates of heaven,” he lifted a shoulder in a blasé manner. “Anything is.”

“Do you miss your first mate?” 

I shouldn’t have asked that question—just like I shouldn’t have asked many more after that one, but my curiosity was piqued and my urge to know more about these enigmatic creatures had no bounds. It was my only chance, and I was determined to use it. 

“No,” Lord Styles replied matter-of-factly, his tone flat and unyielding.

His nonchalant reply made me wonder about where the lie lay. Was it going against the statistics or about his feelings about one of his mates?

“But you said you were in love,” I pointed out, my skepticism evident.

The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows lengthening, as if the very house listened in on our conversation.

Lord Styles’ lip twitched—a subtle movement that caught my attention. “One thing does not cancel the other.”

Most people always have tells when they lie, you might not notice, but after years of interviewing politicians and some other vile characters I have learned to detect them. The lies. But there was no tell in Lord Styles’ words, so either he was being truthful or he was the most skillful liar I had ever encountered.  The way he spoke, with a measured cadence, was almost hypnotic, leaving little room to doubt him.

“A thing about your species is that you live for the indulgences, while our eternity is an indulgence.” Lord Style explained. “I had heard of some bloodthorns who felt existential dread and ended it all, but I never felt it. Eternity brought us many privileges, systematic ones. Mortals only have one chance to get it right. We saw you try and fail, lost it all. While from our mistakes, we made empires.”

“That before the Ajal Baal, right?”

It was a delicate subject, one that I knew I should tread with caution, with more tact. Lord Styles was one of the very few thoroughbred vampires left in the West after all, and the least I wanted was to upset him and lose my chance to get the truth out.

“I have always found fascinating how everything is about perspectives.” He said, looking at a stunning painting of a white stag drenched in blood hanging on the wall as he played with the ring on his fourth finger. “What someone would perceive as a massacre, others will see it as a purification.”

“What would you call it?”

An enigmatic smile bloomed in his face. “The sixties.”

1969. It Eats.

The heat was abrasive but did nothing to deter the beauty of Lycoris Hill, the most exclusive and at times controversial suburb of Muluk. Where the rich and wealthy thrived far away from the average population. Far away from any danger.

Lukas's breath hitched at the sight of the beautiful house his soon-to-be husband bought for both of them. Their new home. It left a bittersweet taste on the back of his mouth. The wrongness of feeling joy, to indulge in the sweet distraction when more focused he needed to be.

The vampire reached over, his fingers brushing Lukas' hand, sending a shiver down his spine. “Harry,” he whispered, half-faking the awe he felt at the sight of the lavish mansion as the car came to a full stop. “Is this really ours?”

Harry squeezed his hand gently. “I told you I was going to give you the best. Didn’t I?”

Lukas nodded. He did promise that, almost since he began to court him. It was the only thing he asked for, to live here in Lycoris Hill. 

“Well, this is it.”

“Thank you, it’s gorgeous.” Lukas leaned in, resting his head briefly on Harry’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body.

“Only what you deserve,” Harry wrapped an arm around  Lukas' waist, pulling him closer.

Harry Styles was the embodiment of a gentleman. Always kind and patient with Lukas since the first time they met. 

He would never forget that day, rain poured outside the warm bakery where he worked. He was behind the counter, wiping the counter down for the umpteenth time when he heard the door chime, signaling the arrival of a new customer.

The man who stepped in was unlike anyone Lukas had ever seen. Tall and elegant, he moved with a grace that was almost otherworldly. His brown hair was slicked back, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the piercing green of his eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that clung to his muscular frame, exuding an aura of effortless sophistication.

Lukas' breath caught in his throat as their eyes met. There was something magnetic about this stranger, something that drew him in despite himself. The man's gaze was intense, almost predatory, yet as if on command, all his features softened as soon as he uttered the first "Hi."

He told his mother it was love at first sight—not that she cared much—but the truth was that the first thoughts that crossed Lukas' mind when Harry showed interest in him were of escape and a pass. 

“It’s huge…” It wasn’t all a charade, there was a part of him who was actually enthralled by the house.

“I can hire some people to help you with the decoration and everything else.” Harry’s thumb traced circles on Lukas' lower back, grounding him.

“No,” Lukas turned to smile at Harry, their faces inches apart. “I want to do it alone. I want to turn this into our home.”

“Hello,” someone chirped from the open entrance. “Can we come in? I brought cookies.”

Two women stood at the door, their presence both captivating and unsettling, embodying a perfect blend of elegance and eerie beauty that bordered on the ethereal. One was the real estate agent who had sold Harry the house, the other, an omega carrying a basket of seemingly fresh homemade treats.

“Of course,” Harry said as polite as ever, “Please come in.”

Lukas grew up in a small apartment with his mother, where his only contact with most of his neighbors was through the screaming matches that echoed through the walls. He and Zadkiel—the best and only friend he made there—always dreamed of places where people were more than neighbors, where they formed a solid community that protected and cared for each other. Places like Lycoris Hills, where the grass was always green, and easy smiles didn’t have to be earned with sweat and tears.

“Welcome to Lycoris. I’m Noelle,” said the omega, her voice a melodic chime, as she extended a perfectly manicured hand. “We are so glad you are finally here.”

“Indeed,” the other woman added, her voice smooth and soothing, like a lullaby. “I hope you settle into the neighborhood without any hiccups. Agatha.” 

The air around them was filled with an unsettling sense of practiced hospitality, as if every gesture and smile had been meticulously rehearsed.

“Lukas,” he introduced himself, shaking Noelle's hand, his voice catching slightly as he took in their eerie beauty.

“Harry, nice to meet you.”

“This is such a lovely place.” Lukas said with a smile on his face, trying to mask his slight unease.

He couldn’t ruin this. No matter how eerie they seemed, he needed to become their friend.

“There are many activities here," Agatha replied, her voice lilting with a deceptive warmth. “You will never get bored.”

“I cannot wait to know everything about this place.” 

“Why don’t you ask them to help you with the house, darling?” Harry suggested, his hand gently resting on Lukas' lower back.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense!” Noelle said, her smile widening to reveal her perfect teeth. “Come with us to have brunch today so we can meet each other. I have a friend that is an expert in decoration.”

“Go, darling,” Harry said gently, his thumb rubbing small circles on Lukas' back. “I’d hate it if you stayed all alone on our first day here.”

“Do you really have to get back to work? It’s Saturday,” Lukas asked, leaning into Harry’s touch, despite himself couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

“I know. But I have an important meeting today about the new laboratory we will open," Harry explained, his expression apologetic.

 Lukas furrowed in confusion. “I thought you rescheduled for today.”

“I tried, but you know how these things are.”

“Yeah,” Lukas replied, feeling a little foolish for his inner reaction. “Are you leaving now or later?”

"I was just going to show you around. I have to be there in an hour."

"Don’t worry about anything. We will take care of your husband!" Noelle said, her tone almost too cheerful.

“Oh, I’m still his fi—” Lukas began, but was cut off by Harry.

“Thank you. It’s really appreciated. You know, with all the things that are happening. There’s nothing better than being surrounded by people who you can trust.” Harry pulled  Lukas' closer. “A community.”

Agatha’s smile grew wider. “You couldn’t have chosen a better place than Lycoris.”

“Oh, I know.” Checking his clock, Harry added, “Darling, I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

“It’s okay, go. Good luck at your meeting,” Lukas said, pulling Harry in for a quick, reassuring kiss.

Harry smiled against his lips. “Thank you. Take care, alright?”

Lukas nodded and watched his fiancé leave their new house for work. On a Saturday.

As Harry walked away, Noelle’s eyes followed him appreciatively. “I knew your husband was a stud, but nothing like seeing it in person.”

Agatha's stoic expression contorted in disgust. “Noelle.”

“I mean well. He knows I mean well.” Noelle touched Lukas' arm. “Besides, he must be used to it. That’s what people say about my Tonalli, and they’re right.” 

“You know Harry?” Lukas asked, intrigued.

He was aware that Harry must be a big deal in certain circles in the West. After all, he was paving the way for several scientific trials that were considered controversial among high-ranking alphas and even vampires. But he never thought the wives and omegas would know him as well.

“I know of him.” Noelle replied, her smile never wavering. “I have plenty of free time, so I like to keep informed about everyone that comes and goes in our little heaven.” 

The words ignited a spark deep within Lukas, a curiosity he knew he shouldn’t indulge. He recalled the rare occasions when Harry spoke of his past, always in vague, carefully chosen words that revealed very little. Lukas had never pressed for more, fearing Harry might turn the questions back on him and unearth his own guarded secrets. Yet, there was always a part of him that wondered…

“How much do you know about him?” Lukas asked despite himself, his voice betraying a mixture of intrigue and apprehension.

“Oh, I know that look,” she replied, amused. “And no, sweetie, I just know a few things I found in the newspapers here and there. But if I can give you any advice, it’s to not look too much into his past relationships, you will never be happy with the results. I know I wasn’t.”

“Did you…” Lukas hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully.

“Snooped around?” Noelle interjected playfully, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Of course,” she lifted her shoulder. “I’m nosy, and I love to set myself up.”

“But how did you do it?”

“Because I’m friends with someone who helped me with that,” Noelle replied casually, 

“Oh…”

“If you really want to know,” she offered, her voice lowering, “I can tell my friend about you and your husband.”

“Would you?”

"I don’t think that is a good idea," Agatha said carefully. Yet, there was an almost imperceptible taunt in her tone, a subtle hint that could have been a figment of Lukas' imagination, pushing him ever closer to the edge of curiosity.

Noelle cocked her head and smiled. “If it’s a good idea or not, it’s up to our new friend. And yes,” she said to Lukas. “I would.”

Something didn’t feel quite right, but nothing in that place really did. Perhaps it was because of the things happening there or what the particular place meant to Lukas, but he couldn’t let go of that feeling of uncertainty growing in the pit of his stomach. His curiosity was a forest fire, ignited and now running wild through his bloodstream, consuming him from the inside.

“I want to.” 

Noelle’s smile widened. “I will let my friend know. Now, what do you say about brunch?”

“Sure,”  Lukas agreed, eager to shift the conversation away from the swirling thoughts in his mind. “Just, do you—do you mind if I look around before leaving?”

“Of course, pet,” Noelle replied warmly. “You don’t even have to ask. I can write you the address, but it’s basically two houses from here.”

“Alright, thank you,” Lukas said gratefully, feeling a sense of relief that he would soon have some much-needed time alone. “I’ll see you both there, then.”

꩜

Lukas approached the address Noelle had given him with a mixture of admiration and intrigue. The facade was a symphony of clean lines and geometric precision, large windows, framed in sleek metal casings, gleaming under the morning sun.

"You must be Lukas,” a vampire greeted him after ringing the bell just once. His warm smile held a touch of reserved charm, his deep brown eyes glinted as he gestured him inside, revealing a softly illuminated foyer that welcomed the morning light filtering through the large windows behind him. “Please, come in, we're out back. I'm Zayn, by the way," 

Zayn’s presence held an odd allure. There was an air of quiet confidence about him, an almost tangible barrier that, despite his cordial demeanor, probably kept others at a respectful distance. They walked in silence until they reached the garden, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through large, elegantly draped windows. Zayn's presence commanded the space with a quiet confidence, his movements deliberate yet graceful, leaving an impression of someone who navigated life with a careful balance of openness and restraint.

"You have a beautiful house," Lukas remarked, genuinely impressed by the understated elegance that permeated every corner.

"Thank you. I heard Noelle offered to help with yours," Zayn replied, his voice low and measured, his gaze momentarily flickering with a hint of curiosity veiled behind his enigmatic aura.

"Yes, she's very kind," Lukas affirmed, noting the subtle shifts in Zayn's expression that hinted at deeper thoughts beneath the surface.

"It comes with the neighborhood," Zayn remarked cryptically, leading Lukas towards the garden at the back.

As they stepped into the meticulously landscaped garden, Lukas was struck by its tranquil beauty—a harmony of lush greenery and carefully cultivated blooms. Neatly trimmed hedges bordered vibrant flower beds, where irises and lilies bloomed alongside clusters of forget-me-nots and delicate wildflowers. 

Two heads turned around at the same time, one more stunning than the other. Timeless soft beauty, both the omega and the new vampire. Suddenly, Lukas felt underdressed for a simple brunch.

"Lu, you're here!" Noelle's voice rang out melodically, breaking the tranquil air. "Come, sit, sit," she motioned, patting the chair beside her. "This is the friend I was talking about. Ode, this is Lukas.  Lukas, this is my friend, Ode. She can help you with your little search."

 Lukas nodded politely, taking in the striking presence of Ode, whose gaze held an unsettling intensity, as if she could see right through him.

“Nice to meet you,” he said politely. 

“What a peculiar scent,” Ode said, her tone curt and clinical, as she moved her head, Lukas noticed the almost imperceptible scar that went from hercheekbone to her chin. “Are you taking the new blockers?”

A cold ran through Lukas' spine at the question. “Yes. My—my husband is helping in the development, so I can try the new ones before they come out in the market.”

Her smile, though polite, held a cruel edge that sent a shiver through Lukas. “So you are his guinea pig,” she observed sharply. “I suppose your husband sees you as a test subject.”

“No, I asked him. I needed it. This is important for omegas around the world. This could open many doors for them. Proper jobs," Lukas defended weakly, his words faltering under Ode's unrelenting scrutiny. “Wouldn’t you love to prove you have the same intrinsic capabilities as alphas?”

“Not really,” Ode replied. “I like my life as it is.”

“And that’s fine, but many other omegas want and deserve to have the same opportunities as alphas and betas.”

Ode chuckled silently. “So your husband's solution is to pump omegas with drugs until there’s no proof that they are omegas.” 

“No. He—”

“Don’t scare the new kid,” Zayn interjected smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension with a calm authority. “He just said we were kind.”

“Oh, but I’m not kind,” Ode countered smiling, her gaze narrowing on Lukas.

“You aren’t an omega, either,” Zayn teased him, trying to finally break the tension growing around them.

Noelle let out a melodic laugh. “He got you there.”

“How many omegas are working at your husband’s lab?” Ode's voice cut through the room again, her tone now laced with a pointed challenge. “I mean, if he is so adamant in helping omegas, is he hiring them? Is he giving them jobs?”

“He has secretaries that are omegas.”

Ode laughed cruelly. “Secretaries…” She nodded. “Now, tell me how many omegas are working on these miraculous formulas?”

Lukas shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Ode's questions pressing down on him. Zayn intervened diplomatically, yet again. “Okay, this is getting tedious,” he said with a bored tone. “If he hires omegas or not, that’s on him. And if the blockers are helping Lukas, that’s what matters.”

“Thank god.” Noelle visibly relaxed. “My left eye was starting to twitch,” she laughed before gasping. “Changing topics! I don’t know what to wear for Manducare. I've been trying to envision how Hysteria could look, but my mind's drawing a blank..."

“You could go dressed as yourself,” Ode suggested dryly.

Noelle rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, darling, you are hilarious. You should write down all your little jokes in a notebook.”

"Maybe I'll gift it to you someday," Ode replied with a smirk.

"Are you going too, Lukas?" Zayn asked smoothly, redirecting the conversation with a subtle finesse.

 Lukas furrowed his brows, puzzled. “Going where?”

“To Manducare.” Zayn clarified, 

“Is that a restaurant?”

Noelle smiled. “You don’t know Manducare?”

“I’m from the South, I know next to nothing about anything from here.”

“It’s a very exclusive club” Zayn offered. “The most exclusive in the city, some say in the country. You need a solid referral just to get in.”

“Lucky for you, the owners are our friends.” Noelle chimed cheerfully. “So if you want, we can get you and your husband invitations. Just let me know.”

“Harry doesn’t really like nightclubs.”

Noelle laughed lightly. “Manducare is more than just a nightclub. It’s a social club where Maluk’s elite gather to make more connections.”

 Lukas tensed up at that, interest suddenly piqued.  

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.” Zayn said. “Connections are important, but they aren’t everything.”

"I'll... I'll think about it," he replied cautiously, his mind already racing with possibilities.

꩜

After the unusual brunch with his enigmatic new neighbors, Lukas spent the entire afternoon in a feverish attempt to transform the house into a home. Every corner echoed with the sound of his meticulous cleaning, as if purging lingering doubts and unsettling conversations from the very walls. He meticulously arranged his and Harry's belongings, filling the pantries with provisions that spoke of comfort and familiarity.

Yet, despite the shelves now stocked with their preferred tastes and the rooms adorned with personal mementos, an unsettling aura lingered. The house, though physically saturated with their presence, resisted becoming a haven of intimacy and solace. Each adjustment of furniture or placement of cherished items felt like a plea to infuse the space with the essence of home—a place where their love could thrive.

Amid the meticulous choreography of cleaning and arranging their new home, Lukas found himself entangled in a web of conflicting emotions that stretched beyond mere curiosity about Harry's past. Noelle's offer of assistance to uncover more about his husband stirred within him a complex blend of guilt and self-awareness.

Lukas couldn't escape the irony in his own motivations. He harbored hidden agendas for being with Harry—motivations he guarded closely, just as Harry shielded memories of a former love. Yet, here he was, driven by an insatiable desire to unravel Harry's history, to peel back the layers of his past in search of truths that might illuminate the person who once held Harry's heart, the one whose ghost seemed to haunt his thoughts.

As he troughly dusted each shelf and carefully hung each photograph, an unsettling unease settled over Lukas. He questioned his own integrity, feeling conflicted about wanting to know more about Harry's past while keeping his own vulnerabilities tightly veiled. It felt hypocritical.

Their new home, now adorned with their few shared belongings, looked pristine yet lacked the warmth of lived-in comfort. It stood as a testament to their efforts to build a life together, yet the air within felt cool and distant, devoid of the cozy intimacy Lukas had hoped for.

As twilight deepened and shadows danced in the dimming light, Lukas stood alone in their living room, a solitary figure amidst the carefully curated space. The soft glow of the candles he lit flickered, casting fleeting illusions on the walls—a reflection of the turmoil within him. He knew that reconciling his own desires with his expectations of Harry—especially concerning the secrets of his past—would be pivotal in creating a genuine bond in their new life together.

Lukas heard the click of the key in the lock, signaling his fiancé’s return. He stood near the entrance, the weight of his conflicted thoughts momentarily eased by the anticipation of Harry's presence. In his hand, he held a glass of Harry's favorite liquor as he offered him a tentative smile, hoping to convey warmth despite how tense he actually felt.

"Welcome home," Lukas murmured, enveloping Harry in a tender embrace as he entered their meticulously arranged living room.

"Wow, this looks splendid," Harry remarked, his eyes scanning the room while he took a sip of his drink. "You did this all by yourself?"

"Of course," Lukas replied with a soft smile, though his brow furrowed slightly. "Who else would have helped me?"

"I thought your new friends were going to pitch in," Harry teased lightly, raising an eyebrow.

 Lukas rolled his eyes playfully. "Very funny. I did attend their brunch, though."

"How did things go?" Harry inquired, genuine curiosity in his voice.

Lukas despised lying to Harry. Even though their relationship was built on layers of deceit, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the vampire. Whether it was love or not, it  certainly evoked a striking resemblance.

"It went great," Lukas finally answered, choosing his words carefully. "They are wonderful people. They even invited me to an exclusive club."

Harry lifted an amused eyebrow. "Exclusive?"

"Elitist shenanigans, but I believe it could benefit the lab."

A placid silence settled between them, where Harry just smiled at one of the paintings  Lukas' unpacked that afternoon—the eerie drawing of a white deer bathed in dark, almost dark blood. Harry’s favorite. 

“Yeah?”

“For what I understood,” Lukas began, “many important people are part of it, and you need to rebuild your connections after all those years you lived in the South.”

Lukas needed to be careful, to make it seem it was Harry’s idea to assist the party instead of his own. He needed Harry to take the lead on this, ensuring no suspicion would arise.

"I suppose with the new hierarchies, and my lack of knowledge about who's pulling the strings in the kingdom now, it wouldn't hurt to attend a few of these events," Harry mused.

"The best part is," Lukas continued, idly toying with the hem of Harry's shirt, "they mentioned they could get both of us in, not just me."

"You're beyond wonderful," Harry replied warmly.

"I know you wouldn't want anyone to steal me away," Lukas said softly, cheeks flushing with warmth.

"You're absolutely correct about that," Harry affirmed. "The only way I'd ever let anyone take you from me is if they destroyed me."

Lukas blushed deeper at the declaration. "You sap. I'll speak with Noelle tomorrow and see what she can arrange. Apparently, they're planning a themed party. You'll probably have to dress as ‘Anguish’ or something.”

Harry's eyes glinted with intrigue. “That's a bit dark.”

“They're vampires, after all,” Lukas said with a teasing smile. “Aren't you all a bit dark?” He leaned in to kiss Harry softly.

“I suppose you're right about that,” Harry chuckled.

“Let's eat,” Lukas suggested, glancing at the chiming clock that marked another hour lost. Another day wasted, settling into a life of pretenses and constructing a Trojan horse without a clear aim. 

Another day closer to the unknown and further from him.

꩜

After dinner, Lukas stepped out into the cool, quiet night. He took a cigarette from his pocket, feeling its familiar weight between his fingers. With a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminated his face before settling into a steady, reassuring glow. He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs with a bitter comfort, then exhaled, watching a plume of smoke that mingled with the shadows.

He wondered, somewhat absently, why he hid the habit from Harry, specially when he smoked too. Maybe it was just easier this way, blending one small deception into the multitude of others. In the grand scheme of his secrets, what was one more?

"Mind if I join you?" 

Lukas glanced up, gaze meeting Zayn’s dark eyes. The vampire gestured towards his cigarette, movements fluid and graceful, his presence almost spectral in the dim lights of the suburb.

"May I have one?" Zayn asked, his voice low and smooth.

Lukas nodded, retrieving the pack and offering it to Zayn. The flame of the lighter flared briefly between them as Zayn lit his cigarette, casting fleeting shadows across his face. 

“So, how is the suburban life treating you so far?” Zayn asked, taking a deep drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing in the dark, letting the smoke rest in his lungs.

“It’s really nice. Calm. Well, at least calmer than where I used to live.”

“You are from the South, right?” he exhaled slowly, smoke slipping through his teeth like a veil. “Capital?”

 Lukas nodded. “Yes.”

“Ah,” Zayn mused. “So it must feel a little weird to be here after spending all your life there, huh?”

“It’s a fresh start. I’m still getting used to it.” Lukas admitted, drifting to the window of his bedroom, a light turning on.

“I used to spend some vacations there many centuries ago, when I was a child. It was definitely a very different… atmosphere.”

“Well…” he chuckled softly. “I think all the rest of the kingdoms have very different atmospheres compared to this one.”

“And are you okay with that?” Zayn's gaze was piercing, his question loaded with meaning.

Lukas arched his brows. “Am I okay that omegas here are treated poorly by alphas and even worse by vampires after living in a kingdom where they basically held all the power? Not really.”

“It is hard,” Zayn coincided, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Harder when you realize vampires still refuse converting omegas after all these years.”

“Were you one? An omega, I mean.” He asked, not really waiting for a truthful reply.

“I was,” Zayn replied easily. “Just like Ode and even Tonalli.”

“Tonalli as in Noelle’s wife?” Lukas asked, the name ringing a bell.

“Precisely,” Zayn shrugged. “This perhaps isn’t the South, but at least we try to be as accepting as we can.”

Lukas frowned, putting off his cigarette with his shoe, not really sure why Zayn was sharing something as private and dangerous as that to a barely a stranger. “Do people outside the community know this?”

Zayn snorted, an unrefined sound that made a striking contrast with the vampire’s whole demeanor. “Do people outside this community know your ‘husband’ isn’t married to you yet?” he arched his brow.

Lukas flushed, heartbeats speeding up, taken aback by the bluntness. He felt exposed and vulnerable. Mind racing with thousands of questions. Since when did Zayn know the truth? Was he going to tell someone else? And most importantly, what else did he know about him?

The vampire tilted his head. “That’s what I thought. Discretion, it’s of utmost importance for us.”

His words were meant to relax Lukas, but the tension that grew in his body those short seconds refused to leave his body.

“You pay for your safety,” Lukas whispered, still trying to calm himself down.

“We pay for exclusivity.” The vampire corrected him. “Because we can, and it gives us privileges and status. Power.” He leaned in, face close, eyes boring into Lukas'. “You think your husband paid for your safety or for his power?”

 Lukas felt a knot tighten in his stomach. “I think he thought this could be the only place in the West where I could make friends.”

“And is he correct?” 

“I think so,” Lukas' voice trembled slightly. “I hope so.” 

The dim light played mind games with Lukas' mind, making the warm smile Zayn was giving him look a little wicked. “I hope that, too,” 

Lukas shifted uneasily, eager to change the subject. “Talking about that. Is the offer for the uh–party still open?”

Zayn’s eyes glinted. “Of course. I have a single invitation, I can give it to you now.”

“A single? I cannot take my—Harry?”

“With this one, no. But if you ask me if you truly want to have connection with the omegas around here, single and married ones, it might be best to attend alone. Vampires tend to be a little possessive, so it could intimidate some omegas who try to approach you in a friendly way. I’m sure there will be more parties where he could assist.” Zayn reassured him. “In fact, I’m almost sure you will get an invitation specially for you and your husband for the next party.”

"Harry isn’t like that," Lukas started to explain, but the unimpressed look on Zayn's face halted his words. This was his chance, an opportunity to infiltrate their social circle, to become one of them. "But,” he cleared his throat. “I get what you’re saying, and I do want to get to know more people.”

“So is that a yes to the invitation?”

“Yes. I think Harry will be okay with that. He also wants me to be happy.”

 “I will go get it then.”

“Zayn,” Lukas hesitated, lowering his voice. “Can you please not tell anyone I’m not married to him?”

The vampire stared at him, his inscrutable smile lingering as he took a final drag from his cigarette. Exhaling slowly, he responded, “My lips are sealed.”

꩜

Lukas emerged from the bathroom, skin flushed and damp. The hot water had softened the edges of his anxiety, but couldn't fully wash away the lingering unease from his conversation with Zayn. He toweled off slowly, savoring the rough texture against his skin, a stark contrast to the silken sheets that awaited him.

Harry lay on their bed, bathed in the warm glow of a bedside lamp, the red spider lily on his chest a stark contrast with the rest of his unmarked body. The sight of him, completely relaxed, eyes fully focused on the folder in his hands, made something twist in Lukas' chest. It was the perfect picture of domesticity, yet it felt grotesquely out of place, a cruel parody of the life he'd once dreamt of building.

"Hey," Harry murmured, his voice a gentle caress, though his attention remained on the papers before him. “Ready for bed?”

Lukas forced a smile. "Mhm." He tossed the damp towel onto a chair, the sound a jarring intrusion in the otherwise quiet room. "I got the invitation," he said, standing near the bed, fully naked. 

“Did you?” Harry finally looked up at him, eyes briefly wandering over his body until they landed on his face. “That’s great.” He patted the bed once, inviting Lukas to hop on it.

Disappointment grew in Luka’s chest at the almost lackluster reaction, he felt like a dog begging for scraps of attention. But as soon as it came, he squashed the uncomfortable feeling, remembering that these boundaries they had, were something they had discussed and agreed upon.

“But I only got one invitation,” Lukas said as he climbed in bed.

Harry hummed, patiently waiting for Lukas to settle in. “Do you feel comfortable enough to go alone?”

“I guess so,” Lukas said, his voice barely a whisper. “I like Zayn and Noelle. I’m still making up my mind about the rest.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But I think this could be good for you.”

“For both of us.” Lukas moved closer to him, hand tentatively touching his chest. “They told me after this party, I will most probably get an invitation for you and me.”

Harry chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent shivers down Lukas' spine. “What a strategist.”

His fingers brushed against the small vial nestled against Harry’s collarbone. A glass pendant of the size of Lukas’ thumb, filled with a crimson liquid that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Lukas felt a flicker of envy, a ridiculous, possessive feeling he couldn't quite explain. He wanted to shatter that vial, spill its contents across the sheets, and taste the truth it held. “Harry,” he began, the word catching in his throat.

“Yes?” 

“Would you ever tell me about this?” Lukas fingers grasped the vial again. 

About the one who carved your soul enough to carry them with you after their departure, he didn't say, but the unspoken questions hung heavy in the air. Did they trace the same path across his skin, seeking answers in the pulse of his veins? Or did Harry share his secrets willingly with them? 

It was an intimacy Lukas craved, an invisible scar that seemed to bind Harry to someone else, someone long gone yet ever-present.

“When the time is right.” Harry's voice was calm and unyielding hand covering Lukas’, moving it to his heart.

“When will that be?” 

“You are smart. You will know.” Harry's hand moved to Lukas’ face, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Now, go to sleep,” he said, kissing his lips softly before focusing on the scattered papers on his lap once again.

A world of secrets separating them again, even when they lay next to each other. Lukas closed his eyes, trying to sleep. But the questions lingered, each one a weight pressing down on him, each one a reminder of the distance between them. Both their pasts were a fortress, impenetrable and shadowed, and Lukas stood at Harry’s gates, longing to be let in, knowing that until he opened his, Harry’s door would never be opened.

꩜

As the time for the infamous party approached, Lukas felt his nerves fraying with every passing minute. As he stood before the mirror, his reflection was a canvas of raw nerves. He had already changed his outfit multiple times, the discarded clothes on his bed were more than fabric - they were the remnants of identities tried on and cast aside, each one a failed attempt to become someone he wasn’t. Someone that could be accepted among the den of monsters he was about to step in.

His fingers trembled as he adjusted his tie, the black suit an armor against his insecurities. But beneath the polished exterior, Lukas' skin buzzed with an electric current of fear. Each breath was shallow, laden with the weight of anticipation.

The thought of mingling with creatures who could see through his facade, who might question his presence there, filled him with dread. He paced the room, glancing at the clock, mentally rehearsing polite conversation, and trying to remember the names of the people he was supposed to impress. Creating scenarios where he could get faster to them.

When Harry entered the room, Lukas felt the shift in the air. Harry's presence was magnetic, effortlessly commanding the space in a way Lukas could only dream of. His eyes traced the lines of Harry's body, noting the casual confidence in his stance.

He walked over to Lukas, a small smile playing on his lips. “You look remarkable.”

The praise felt like a balm, soothing Lukas’ nerves.

“Do you think I can impress them?”

“I’m sure you will stand out.” Harry said, his voice gentle, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Do you want me to scent you?”

Luka’s felt his heart halt. Vampires didn’t scent their companions, it was something only dhampirs did with their mates, still the idea ignited a heat through Luka’s body.

“Please,” he breathed out, eyes fluttering.

Harry’s face got closer to his neck as his big hands roamed up and down his torso. Lukas shivered as he felt the faintest scrape of Harry's fangs over his skin. Just as the pleasure began to build up within him, Harry stopped. "There," he said, not looking affected one bit. "Now everyone will know you have someone back at home."

Lukas licked his dry lips. “Will you miss me?”

“No,” he said calmly, then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Because I know you are coming back.”

“So sure of yourself, mister,” Lukas said, hiding his fears behind a nervous laugh. Because although he knew Harry was merely joking, there was a part of him that wondered if he actually saw him as a sure thing. Easy. 

The doorbell rang, Lukas glanced towards the sound. “That must be Zayn,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. “I guess I have to go now,” he tried his best to give Harry a warm smile. “Wish me luck?”

The vampire kissed his forehead. “Good luck.”

꩜

Lukas sat quietly beside Zayn during the ride, the car gliding through the city streets with an almost eerie smoothness. The cityscape gradually shifted from their quiet neighborhood to bustling streets, each turn bringing them closer to their destination.

Finally, they arrived at an imposing mansion nestled in the heart of the city. The building was dark and luxurious, its grandeur understated yet undeniable. 

The car came to a stop, and Lukas took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. Zayn exited the vehicle first, as a valet opened Lukas' door. 

They walked up the wide, marble steps to the front doors, which opened smoothly as they approached, revealing a grand foyer bathed in warm lights.

“I thought you said your husband wasn’t possessive. You reek of him.” Zayn commented as they left their coats with a woman dressed from head to toe like a man, fake mustache and all.

Lukas felt his face heat up. “Is it really noticeable?”

“Dhampirs’ noses aren’t as developed as vampires are. You might not smell it, him. But we do. It’s a very different type of pheromone than the alphas exude for their omegas. Ready?” Zayn said, looking at the dark doors that separated them from the actual party.

Lukas nodded and followed his new friend.

The interior was just as luxurious as the exterior but with a sinister edge—high ceilings loomed overhead, their vastness accentuated by deep shadows. Gleaming floors reflected the sporadic, flickering red lights that cast a blood-tinged glow on everything they touched.

The rich tapestries adorning the walls were barely visible in the dim lighting, their intricate patterns swallowed by the darkness. Elegant chandeliers hung overhead, their crystal facets capturing and distorting the red glows, creating a disorienting, almost surreal atmosphere. The air was filled with a low hum of conversation and laughter, underscored by a haunting melody that seemed to echo from the walls. 

“This place is… beautiful.” Lukas settled for, not finding another word to actually describe the place. 

“You ought to see their house. They have an exquisite taste,” Zayn mused, eyes wandering around the room as if looking for someone or something.  

It was only then when Lukas paid actual attention to the people surrounding them. The guests were a living image of gothic excess and unsettling absurdity, each costume darker and more enigmatic than the last. Lukas stood in the middle of it, his mouth slightly agape, eyes flitting from one macabre ensemble to another.

To his left, a woman walked past in a dress encrusted with black feathers that shimmered with an eerie iridescent gleam. Her mask was a mosaic of jet-black gemstones, creating a face that seemed both beautiful and sinister. Next to her, a man in a sharp suit wore a mask resembling a lion’s face, its mane cascading in exaggerated waves of dark fabric, giving him an almost demonic presence.

On the dance floor, a couple spun in circles—she in a gown seemingly constructed from living vines and flowers, now wilted and dark, her partner, another woman in a sleek, black leather ensemble that gleamed like oil in the dim light. 

Lukas felt a sharp sense of alienation, a raw blend of awe and discomfort. This wasn't the refined elegance he had anticipated but a chaotic carnival of the dark and fantastical. It was as if each guest had plucked their attire from the depths of a nightmare, where rules of taste and decorum held no power.

Adjusting his own outfit—a well-tailored suit that now seemed pathetically plain—Lukas scanned the room. The grotesque and the glamorous mixed freely, each person a testament to the peculiar world they inhabited. Lukas wondered if he could ever pretend to blend in. If they would ever allow him to even come near.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Zayn reassured him, as if sensing his growing discomfort. “Here no one cares about who or what you are. So relax.”

“Lu,” someone called him from behind. When he turned, he found Noelle giving him a warm and welcoming smile. “You came!”

“Hi.” Lukas smiled back. “I haven’t seen you around this week.”

“Oh,” she waved off. “I went on a little trip with my Tonalli.” Noelle perked up, grabbing his hand. “Talking about my lovely wife, come, let me introduce you to her and the rest.”

Lukas turned to see Zayn, whom simply smiled at him and nodded.

Lukas followed Noelle through the crowded room, feeling the press of bodies and the hum of conversations. She led him toward a table set slightly apart from the crowd, where her wife and their friends awaited. As they neared the table, Lukas couldn't help but notice the three vampires seated there.

These were no ordinary vampires; their high rank was evident in their commanding presence and the raw, ethereal beauty that radiated from them. Each one was a study in haunting perfection, their features sharp and flawless. 

Lukas compared them to his vampire neighbors, whom he had thought were striking in their own right. But these vampires were on a different level altogether, their beauty not just captivating but almost overwhelming. There was a dangerous allure to them, a predatory grace that made his heart beat a little faster.

“Is this your new friend?” A blonde woman drawled arms wrapped around one of the most stunning men Lukas have ever seen in his life.

“Yes,” both Noelle and Zayn said in unison, but with very different tones. “This is Lukas!” Noelle happily stated.

The blonde hummed, looking Lukas up and down, making him feel insignificant. “Gala,” she said, not offering her hand. “You stink.”

“Forgive her, She isn’t used to keeping any thought in her mind,” the man besides Gala said, his silky voice a stark contrast with the loud noises in the room. 

It wasn’t the first man in makeup or dress his saw that night, but was definitely the most striking. His face held an ethereal glow, as if moonlight had sculpted his features. His skin, porcelain smooth and flawless, accentuated the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jawline. Lukas wondered if he was real or a mirage conjured by the flickering candlelight.

His red eyes—intense and otherworldly—framed by a striking blue eyeshadow held Lukas captive. Had he just fed on dhampir blood? It was after all the only way a vampire’s eyes turn that color. The thought sent a shiver down Lukas’ spine. And for the first time he wondered what would be like. To hold that amount of power over someone.

“I’m Wilhelm,” he said, extending a slender hand. His touch was cool, electric. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s…” Lukas swallowed, hand holding the vampire’s, searching for a proper word to describe the place. “Wonderful,” he finally managed. “I don’t know if I could ever pull something like this, even if I had the resources.”

Wilhelm’s smile was unsettlingly serene. “Thank you. I try my best.”

Lukas felt his face numbed. “Oh, you—Is this your place?”

“Our place,” Gala replied, pulling the man closer to her. Her eyes bore into Lukas, assessing him with the precision of a predator.

Lukas’ breath caught in his throat, a sudden rush of fear paralyzing him momentarily. “You are the Sokolovs.”

“Indeed,” Wilhelm replied gracefully.

Lukas had never expected to encounter the infamous couple so soon and easily. Yet they there were before him, lethal works of art, carved to seduce and enthrall innocent people. To annihilate them.

“I… have heard many things about you.”

Wilhelm’s smile was mischievous, full of mirth. “I would ask if it's good or bad, but I don’t really care as long as they're still talking.”

“It was all good things,” Lukas murmured, his pulse racing as a wave of nausea grew in him.

The vampire gasped dramatically. “Even Zayn?”

“If I needed to say something bad about you, I’d much prefer to say it to your face,” Zayn replied, looking at the vampire, eyes glinting with something akin to hunger. “What is the point if I cannot make you squirm?”

Wilhelm licked his lips, and if it wasn’t because he was besides his wife, Lukas could swear his smirk was almost seductive. “Squirm is a very big word, darling.”

“Yet it’s perfect for you,” Zayn purred. “Besides, you squirm so very prettily.”

“Are you a beta?” Gala’s bluntness caught Lukas off guard. Her gaze intensely focused on Lukas, not caring about how Zayn and Wilhelm were behaving.

“No, I’m an omega.” Lukas’ response came too quickly, nerves dancing beneath his skin. 

“Huh…” It was barely a sound, like a breath turned chuckle escaping from her lips. But there was nothing to laugh about. Just danger.

“He got a thoroughbred at home, and he is full of the new blockers.” Zayn explained with a bored tone. “His husband makes them.”

For the first time since they said their last names, Lukas felt air finally reaching his lungs but not for long. Because despite Zayn’s help, there was no change in Gala’s demeanor.

The vampire lifted her brows, her smile turning predatory. “How… convenient.”

“It helps me a lot,” Lukas’ voice wavered.

Gala hummed. “I can only guess,” she said, finally breaking eye contact from Lukas, gaze shifting to the other people at the table. “Well, as riveting as this conversation was, I have to check on some other guests. Darling, are you coming?” 

“Of course, love.” Wilhelm replied with a tender smile on his face. “I hope to see you around the neighborhood, Lukas. And please have fun.”

“I thought you were from the South,” the other woman—Lukas assumed she was Tonalli—finally spoke, her dark eyes as intense as Gala’s pinning him down in his place.

“He is. I told you, baby,” Noelle said, rolling her eyes. “This is Tonalli, my wife.”

Like the rest of them, Tonalli was paradoxically beautiful, her sharp angles giving her an almost masculine elegance that commanded attention. The bridge of her nose was broad, its surface bearing faint freckles like constellations scattered across a desert sky. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, framing her face and emphasizing the sharpness of her features. There was no makeup or adornments covering the glow of her face, allowing the natural bronze of her skin to be the sole protagonist. 

“It just shocked me a little. How did you know about Wilhelm and Gala? Are they known in the South?”

“No—I—”

“I told him about them,” Zayn said to Tonalli, coming to Lukas rescue once more. “Am I not allowed now?”

Tonalli pursed her lips, eyes never wavering. “I was merely asking.”

“You are sometimes worse than alphas,” Noelle said in an annoyed tone. “Come on,” she grabbed Tonalli’s hand and pulled her up. “Let’s dance.”

As Lukas saw the couple walk away, his eyes wandered to the Sokolovs, talking placidly with a group of people.  He was aware he shouldn’t ask, that he was only putting a bigger target on his back. But Zayn seemed like a trustful person, and his intrigue was eating him up from the inside.

“The Sokolov lives in ‎Lycoris, too?” Lukas finally asked.

“They are one of the owners, yes. Not many know this, so be discreet.”

“You are the only people I know here who could care about this information.”

Zayn hummed. “I feel after this party you will become very popular around the neighborhood. So be careful whom you share your intel with, especially because Wilhelm liked you.” Zayn’s eyes also landed where the couple stood.

Gala and Wilhelm Sokolov's dominance as a couple was evident in the way they interacted with others. They commanded attention effortlessly, their presence alone enough to shift the dynamics of the room. 

They both made a striking image, two powerful beings sharing space, complementing each other instead of fighting for power. They were puzzling, the more Lukas studied them during the night, the more it seemed there was no clear… submissive between them. If they were dhampirs their relationship would equal at two married alphas. A deeply taboo thing in the West.

Still, Lukas doubted they cared about the laws and rules of the West, in the grand, because among the elite circles of Mukul, the Sokolov household was both feared and revered.

“Do you think Wilhelm really likes me?” Lukas asked Zayn during their ride home.

Zayn smiled, eyes scanning the empty road on their street. “Yeah. I think so.”

“How?” Lukas’ brows knitted in wonder. “He barely spoke to me.”

“He told you who he was.”

Lukas blinked, a little bewildered. “That’s it?”

“Mhm. Will is very careful with his words and with the people he gets close to. Not many have seen him up close. He’s a mystery among most people in this town,” He said, stopping the car in front of Lukas’ house. “It seems your husband is still waiting for you.” He gestured toward the figure sitting in one of the couches inside his house.

“Thank you for the lift.” Lukas said, genuine gratitude swirling in his chest. He knew he couldn’t trust Zayn, probably ever, but he still helped him every time he needed.

The vampire smiled at him. “No problem.”

Lukas entered his home quietly, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft click. The house was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls from the flickering light of the fireplace. The scent of burning wood filled the air, a comforting aroma that contrasted sharply with the night's earlier opulence and tension.

Harry looked up as Lukas approached, a serene smile touching his lips. Without a word, Lukas walked over and sat beside his fiancé on the couch, the fabric soft and yielding under his weight. 

“How’d things go?” Harry said with a calm voice.

Lukas exhaled, head resting on his fiancé’s shoulder. “Good. A little eccentric, but I expected that.”

“Did you meet new people?”

Lukas’ hand found Harry’s, their finger intertwining. “Yes. I met the Sokolovs.”

A silence fell in the room. “The Sokolovs?” Harry said eventually, with an odd tone in his voice.

“Yes, the owners of the club.”  Lukas glanced at Harry. “Do you know them?”

“The name rings familiar, but I left the West many centuries ago, and I never lived here, in the capital. Besides, during that time several new covens came and left. They could be a new one.”

“I think you would remember if you had met them. They look timeless. And a little scary.”

Harry chuckled. “Did you get along with them?” 

“Apparently I did.”

“Good. That’s good,” he caressed the back of his hand with his thumb. “Were they nice to you?” 

Lukas shrugged. “The husband was polite, the wife not so much.”

“But you said you got along with them.”

“I was as confused as you are when Zayn told me that. They’re so intriguing, you know? Both look so strong. Powerful. I don’t know how that even works.”

“There are plenty of people who are happy with that type of relationship. Also, there are plenty more who are in power but prefer to give it to someone else behind closed doors. There is power in giving in. Courage.” Harry's voice was thoughtful, his gaze distant, as if pondering his own words.

“Would you like that? Someone powerful in all aspects of the word giving in for you?” Lukas' question hung in the air, the firelight casting shifting patterns on their faces.

“I would want anything that my mate wanted if that meant their happiness. Pleasure comes in many different forms, happiness too. I seek that. That’s where I found my power.”

“And when are you showing that power you speak of?” Lukas teased, a small smile playing on his lips.

“As soon as I marry you, darling,” Harry smiled back at him.

“I want you now.” Lukas' voice was barely a whisper, his eyes locked on Harry's.

Harry’s gaze turned to the fireplace. “Our wedding is only a few months away,” he said, his voice sounding a little far away despite being besides Lukas. “I want to make things right this time.” 

“You are making it right.” Lukas' eyes softened, his care for Harry evident.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw tensed. “I know,” he said, his focus returning to Lukas. “That’s why I want to keep things as they are. I’m not gonna screw this up. I cannot afford that.” 

“You are such a sap, Harry Styles,” Lukas chuckled, his heart light.

“Only for the right reasons and person.” Harry leaned in, his lips brushing against Lukas’ temple. “Now, tell me more about your new friends, darling.”

And that was exactly what Lukas did, gushing as much as he could, making them ten times more interesting than they really were. Knowing Harry was looking for investors, the most logical solution could be them. So he made them an option, a very appealing one. 

He needed to get closer to the Sokolovs, he needed to infiltrate their nightclubs, their gatherings, their home. He needed to become a fixture in their lives until they trusted him enough to tell him what they did with Zadkiel, his friend, the only person who ever truly loved Lukas. Because no matter how many people tried to convince Lukas that his best friend died, he knew the ones behind his disappearance were them. The Sokolovs. And Lukas wasn’t going to rest until he destroyed everything they loved.