"Tristan's POV"
I met her in a garden at twilight, surrounded by herbs I couldn't name and flowers that glowed faintly in the fading light.
She didn't notice me at first. Too focused on the plants, murmuring something under her breath while her fingers traced patterns in the air above a wilting rose.
The flower perked up, petals brightening from brown to deep red. Magic. Subtle, gentle, nothing like the violent spells I'd seen other witches cast.
I should have walked away. Should have remembered what happened every time I let myself care about someone.
But I'd been walking for seven hundred years, and I was tired. So tired of being alone.
She looked up then, catching me watching. Most people flinched when they met my eyes.
Some primal instinct warned them I was predator, not prey. But she just smiled, soft and curious.
You can come closer, she said. The roses won't bite, and neither will I.
Her voice was like warm honey. I found myself moving forward before deciding to.
I'm Tristan.
Zhilara. She gestured to the garden surrounding us. Do you know much about plants?
Not really.
That's honest. She laughed, and the sound made something in my chest tighten. Most people lie and pretend they do. Then they kill everything they touch.
I'm good at that, I said before I could stop myself. Killing things.
She looked at me properly then, really looked, and I wondered what she saw.
A monster pretending to be a man? A predator barely contained in human skin? But her expression didn't change. Didn't harden or fill with fear.
We all have our talents, she said simply. Mine is making things grow.
She turned back to her plants. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing to nurture yet.
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that everything I'd ever tried to protect had died.
So I stayed quiet, watching her work until the stars came out.
I should go, I finally said.
You could come back tomorrow, she offered. If you'd like. I'm usually here in the evenings.
I shouldn't have said yes. Shouldn't have returned the next night, or the night after that. But I did.
Three weeks passed like that. Quiet evenings in her garden, watching her coax life from seeds and soil.
She talked about her magic, how it came from understanding the natural order rather than forcing it.
I talked about traveling, careful to keep my stories vague, my true nature hidden.
You're lonely, she said one night. It wasn't a question.
I've been alone a long time.
That's not the same thing. She set down the watering can she'd been holding.
You can be surrounded by people and still be lonely. Can be alone and not feel lonely at all.
Which are you?
The second one. She smiled. I like my own company. But I like yours too.
Something cracked in my chest. Some wall I'd built centuries ago. Why?
She tilted her head, considering. You're gentle with broken things.
I've watched you in the garden. You move carefully around the damaged plants, like you're afraid of hurting them more. Most people aren't that aware.
I've broken enough things to recognize them.
Then you know how to be careful. That's rare.
I wanted to tell her the truth then. Wanted to explain that I was the furthest thing from careful, that I was dangerous and cursed and everyone who got close to me died. But the words stuck in my throat.
Instead, I reached out and touched a dying lily she'd been trying to save. My finger brushed the brown petal.
Some things can't be saved, I said quietly.
She covered my hand with hers. Some things surprise you.
Her touch was warm. Living. I'd forgotten what that felt like, to be touched without fear or calculation or desire. Just simple human connection.
Except she wasn't human. And neither was I.
I pulled back. I should tell you something.
Okay.
I'm not what I seem.
She laughed softly. Neither am I. I'm a witch, Tristan. I know you're a vampire.
My entire body went still. How long have you known?
Since the first night. Her expression was calm, unbothered. I can sense these things. It's part of my magic.
And you're not afraid?
Should I be?
Yes. The word came out harsher than I intended. Everyone who gets close to me suffers for it. I'm not safe to be around.
You've been in my garden for three weeks. She gestured to the thriving plants around us.
Nothing's died. Nothing's suffered. Maybe you're not as dangerous as you think.
You don't understand.
Then explain it to me.
So I did. Told her about Elysia, about the women who'd died, about the centuries of isolation and fear.
I expected horror. Disgust. Instead, she just listened, face thoughtful in the moonlight.
That wasn't your fault, she said when I finished. What Elysia did, the people she killed, none of that was because of you. It was because of her obsession, her choices.
It felt like my fault.
I know. She touched my arm, and I didn't pull away this time.
But feeling guilty and being guilty aren't the same thing.
You can't control other people's actions, Tristan. You can only control your own.
I've killed people.
In self-defense?
Mostly.
Then you've survived. That's not a sin.
We fell into silence. The garden hummed with life around us, insects buzzing, night flowers blooming.
Why are you being kind to me? I asked.
Because you need it. She smiled. And because I like you. Is that so hard to believe?
Yes.
Well, believe it anyway. She stood, brushing dirt from her dress. Now come on. I want to show you the moonflowers. They only bloom at midnight.
I followed her deeper into the garden, and for the first time in seven hundred years, I let myself hope.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I could be careful enough, strong enough to keep someone safe. Maybe this time would be different.
The weeks turned into months. I visited her every evening, and slowly, carefully, something grew between us.
Not the violent obsession Elysia had felt. Something quieter. Steadier. Real.
She told me about her family, a long line of witches focused on healing and growth magic.
I told her about my human life, my lost family, the parts of my past I could bear to speak aloud.
We laughed together. Sat in comfortable silence. Existed in the same space without fear or pretense.
I was falling in love with her. Terrified and helpless and falling anyway.
Then the rumors started.
I heard them first in a tavern three towns over. Whispers about a bloodline, a curse, a prophecy.
The name Zhilara wasn't mentioned, but the description fit. Young witch, powerful in her own right, connected to an ancient line.
I dug deeper. Asked questions of witches I'd met over the centuries, called in favors from vampires who owed me.
The picture that emerged made my blood run cold.
Zhilara's bloodline was marked. Some ritual from generations back, some curse that followed the family line.
And there were witches who believed that bloodline needed to end.
That killing the last of the line would grant them power, would complete some spell their ancestors had started.
They were hunting her.
I found her in the garden that night, humming while she pruned roses.
She looked so peaceful, so unaware of the danger circling closer. I wanted to grab her, run, take her somewhere safe.
But there was nowhere safe from witches determined to complete a ritual.
Zhilara, I said, and she heard the fear in my voice.
What's wrong?
We need to talk.
I told her everything I'd learned. Watched her face go pale, watched her hands start shaking.
But she didn't cry. Didn't break down. Just listened with that same calm focus she brought to everything.
How long? she asked when I finished.
I don't know. Could be weeks. Could be days.
She nodded slowly. Then we'll be ready.
I'm not letting them touch you.
Tristan. She took my hands in hers. You can't fight an entire coven alone.
Watch me.
She smiled, sad and resigned. You really care about me, don't you?
More than I should.
There's no such thing. She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to mine. Whatever happens, I'm glad I met you. Glad we had this time.
We're going to have more time. I pulled her closer, desperate to believe my own words. I'll protect you. I swear it.
But even as I made the promise, even as she relaxed into my arms, I felt it.
That familiar dread, that certainty that had haunted me for centuries.
Everyone I loved died.
And no matter how powerful I'd become, no matter how many enemies I'd destroyed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to fail again.
The night air turned cold. Somewhere in the darkness, I could have sworn I heard laughter.
Elysia's laughter, sharp and mocking, reminding me that some curses don't end with death.
They just find new ways to break you.