Dawn bled through the forest—pale, uncertain.
Azael paced through the mist, searching madly. His bats scattered in all directions, their eyes feeding him fragments of what they saw.
Then he heard it—her scream.
It tore through the silence like a wound.
Finally, he found her.
Elana crouched, helpless, surrounded by enemy soldiers, the intentions they had for her clear on their disgusting faces.
Azael's jaw tightened. His eyes blazed red with fury as he appeared among them.
Some soldiers froze, some ran. The fools who stayed reeked of fear, and he savored it.
They aimed at him. Azael smiled, fangs flashing.
Elana whimpered behind him. "He's just a boy; You wouldn't kill a child."
His eyes caught the body of a boy on the cold forest floor. How naive she was.
He turned back to the soldiers. A fight would have been nice, but Elana needed safety—especially in her state.
"Lehava,"
Flames engulfed them. Their screams were music to his undead heart.
Elana managed to stand, arms stretched. "Christian, come to me."
She bumped into his chest, her fragile fists striking him despite her bleeding hands and knees. "Let him go!"
Her sightless eyes filled with tears as the screaming around them faded.
"Elana."
She froze at his voice, eyes closing as she passed out into his arms.
Relief washed over him — unwelcome, human. He hated it.
He took off toward his castle, Elana in his arms.
**
Naina and Israel were already at the castle. Israel's face was puffy from crying.
Naina smirked. Her plan had worked. The life of the most beautiful girl in the room suited her perfectly.
And the lord seemed to like her—of course, he did.
The rich always attract the rich.
A wendigo led them through the tall, dark castle with its grayish environs.
Israel had refused to hold her hand—not her problem.
Even Naina wasn't ready to play baby sitter.
They reached the throne room, where they had first seen the lord.
Her heart fluttered. Maybe this time, she'd ask his name. Elana had called him, Azael.
A love story unfolding, she dreamed.
"Wait here," the wendigo said, disappearing.
"You left Lana on purpose," Israel accused.
"No I didn't," Naina said.
"If you told her, she'd be here. You're mean."
"Call it whatever you want," she scoffed, "but we could have…"
A jet black mist swept in.
The lord appeared, silent, imposing—Elana in his arms, battered and bleeding.
Naina froze under his gaze. Israel hid behind her.
The display scared him.
Without a word, he turned, carrying Elana down the hall. His black robe flowing behind him..
Naina clenched her fists. Why won't she die? Was the lord…interested in that blind slave instead?
The wendigo returned and led them to the same room they had stayed in on their first night.
**
Azael heard her groans. Elana was stirring awake where he'd laid her on his bed.
Trisha had cleaned her wounds and changed her into a plain pink dress.
Luckily, she was fine—at least physically.
Her mind, however, he wasn't so sure of.
She'd murmured 'Christian' in her sleep.
Likely the boy he'd found dead on the forest floor.
She still struggled to save others in war, the delusion angered him.
One can be self-sacrificial to a point.
"W-where am I?" she asked softly.
"In my castle," he replied.
"Az- Azael," she muttered, thinking he wouldn't hear.
"There were two of us. A little boy named—"
"Christian."
"Yes," she turned toward his voice. "Dear lord. Is he safe?"
Azael clenched his jaw and stepped closer.
Her eyes widened as he leaned over her, his mouth near her neck.
He could hear the rush of her blood, the tremor of her breath—her soft, fragile feminine form beneath him.
The temptation burned—to feed, to savor.
"I don't appreciate the height of your naivety, Elana." Her pulse quickened, but she didn't resist.
Was she affected by his closeness?
"He's just a boy, master Azael," she whispered.
"It isn't wrong to be selfish about your life." he said. "You shouldn't trust so easily. You shouldn't even trust me."
He inhaled her scent—stuck between hunger and restraint.
"But you saved me," she whispered. "Even when you barely knew me."
He lifted his head, meeting her sightless eyes. Her lips were parted, a small scratch glinting beside them.
She was still—too still, as if she could see his soul.
Her hands found his face, warm and trembling. He didn't resist this time.
She traced every inch of his face, her touches intensifying his desire.
When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he let her. No human could move him, except her, pulling his face to hers.
The kiss she left on his cheek stirred something inside him—more than anything, he wanted to claim those lips instead.
Elana gasped, remembering. "I'm so sorry. I forgot," she whispered.
Azael stepped away.
He could have easily moved before the kiss, but he didn't.
It was the most affection he'd known in ages.
"Food will be brought to you, then you can reunite with your siblings."
A pause.
"Christian is dead."
The sheets rustled as she turned away. Her soft sobs filled the silence.
He vanished before her tears could weaken him further—he hated it when Trisha was right.
**
Elana sobbed into Israel's arms as he clung to her.
"I'm so glad you both are safe," she said.
"Lanaaaa—we didn't mean to leave you," he cried.
"Oh no. It wasn't your fault at all. The place was chaos." She smoothed his hair gently.
He sniffled against her shoulders. She smiled faintly.
Then she spoke, aware of Naina's presence at the dining table.
"Naina, thank you for taking care of him."
No response.
"Just shut up," Naina muttered. The sound of a chair scraped sharply across the floor, followed by hurried footsteps leaving the room.
Elana sighed. Maybe cruelty was Naina's way of coping.
Poor girl had lost her parents, too.
"Lana?" Israel whispered, letting go.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Since your hands are hurt… can I feed you instead?"
Elana chuckled softly. "But that's too much trouble for those little hands."
"I don't mind." Metal clinked on the plate. "Open up—aah"
Her heart melted. She obeyed, letting him feed her. His little hands were clumsy, but his care soothed her grief.
Poor Christian.
Now, she prayed she'd never face losing Israel, too.
"Well, isn't this the cutest thing?"
A soft, lifting voice drifted into the room, carrying the scent of dandelions. The soothing feeling calmed her nerves.
"Trisha." Elana gasped in delight. Israel stiffened beside her, clutching her hand.
"It's alright, Israel," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.
"She's the fairy I told you about. She means no harm."
"But Lana," he said, trembling. "There's nobody there. Only a scary voice."
"Really?" Elana said.
Trisha's laughter chimed like silver bells. "My bad. I should have revealed myself before speaking."
Israel clutched Elana tighter, almost entering her dress. "It's a lady…a grandma."
Trisha scoffed lightly. "Grandma? You have a funny way of naming people. Child."
Elana chuckled, "I'm so glad you're here, Trisha."
"Sorry, Trisha," Israel mumbled.
"It's fine, little one," Trisha said. "I'll take the feeding from here."
**
Azael sat in his throne room, forcing his thoughts from Elana—likely asleep in his bed by now.
He had ordered that she remain in his chambers until she fully recovered, allowing Israel to stay by her side but not Naina.
He didn't trust that one around her for now.
"Zel!" came Trisha's voice from the shadows.
"Trisha," he replied without turning.
She appeared—her face expression solemn, eyes shimmering with unease.
He smirked faintly, "What's with the face?"
Trisha exhaled. "Azael, there is danger. Impending doom."
He groaned, "Try not to exaggerate. Trisha."
"The girl," she said. "Elana. She is two sides of a coin—redemption and destruction."
This time, his composure faltered. "Why? and for whom?" he asked.
"For you, Azael." Her tone deepened.
"Redemption always walks hand in hand with destruction. If you cannot resist the pull to claim her, the future will devour you."
He scoffed, though his jaw tightened. "I'm not drawn to Elana. I only pity her…because of her blindness."
Trisha's lips curved faintly. "Keep lying to yourself, my sweet Zel. But I can feel it—the urge to care, to protect, to possess, burns wildly alive."
"Then I'll send her on her way once she's healed," he muttered.
Trisha stepped closer, voice turning grave.
"I'm not warning you of misfortune, Azael. I'm telling you of fate.
You can delay it, deny it — but it will always find you."
He arched his brow. "Unless I can resist the pull?"
"The pull of fate," she murmured, "is stronger than any mortal or immortal can fight. She didn't stumble into this castle by accident."
Azael heard his own heartbeat for the first time in ages.
The memory of her touch, her kiss on his cheek, flickered through his mind.
"You're already fighting, Zel," Trisha whispered, fading into the dark.
Her voice echoed from the shadows.
"Fighting the urge to claim."