The manor was silent, drenched in moonlight and mystery. Elena sat on her bed, the candle on her nightstand flickering as she paced the room in frustration. No one would give her straight answers. Not Darius. Not Lucien. Not even the old steward. All they did was speak in riddles, eyes full of things they refused to say.
She had had enough.
Grabbing the candleholder, she slipped her feet into soft slippers and tiptoed toward the door. Her heart pounded as she stepped into the cold hallway, shadows stretching long along the marble walls. Each creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her echoed louder than it should have.
She didn't know where she was going, not really—but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. When she turned the corner and found herself in front of that silver door, her breath hitched.
The last time she came near it, Darius had appeared out of nowhere and warned her to stay away.
But tonight… she reached for the handle.
Click.
It opened. No resistance.
She blinked. "Seriously?"
Candle in hand, she stepped into the room and gasped.
A library.
Not just any library—one so massive it felt like a cathedral. Tall wooden shelves stretched up into darkness, lined with leather-bound books that smelled of dust, secrets, and time. A fireplace sat cold on the far side, and velvet drapes hung across arched windows.
"Why hide a library?" she muttered, walking deeper inside.
She wandered until one book in particular caught her eye. It sat high up, glowing faintly under the candlelight. She stretched, standing on tiptoes, trying to reach it.
Suddenly, a hand reached past her and plucked it from the shelf with ease.
"I'd say you've got quite the habit of sneaking around," came a deep, familiar voice from behind.
Elena spun around. "How—how did you even know I was here?"
Darius stood with the book in hand, looking completely unbothered. His dark shirt was unbuttoned at the top, collar loose. His silver eyes glinted with amusement.
"I have my ways," he said with a lazy smile.
She narrowed her eyes. "Seems you're good at avoiding questions but excellent at appearing at the worst possible moments."
"Or best," he teased, holding the book just out of her reach again. "Seems someone's desperate for answers."
"Wouldn't you be? Everyone around me talks like I'm cursed or some ticking bomb."
He chuckled, lowering the book. "Fair. Go on, then. I won't stop you. I promise not to bite."
Elena raised a brow. "Somehow, that doesn't sound reassuring coming from you."
He smirked. "Suit yourself."
She took the book cautiously, then tilted her head as she read the cover. "This looks like… a diary."
"Come," he said, motioning toward a large wooden table nearby. "Sit. I'll read it to you. My voice is much more charming."
Rolling her eyes, Elena sat down—though the corner of her lips twitched. He sat across from her, opening the diary with gentle fingers.
"It's 1923 again," he read. "The flowers are blooming. The air is fresh. I couldn't ask for a life more perfect."
Elena leaned in, curious.
"He was the reason why. Henry. Though he wasn't human. He was something… more. He could make things appear, shift shadows, even kill with a snap of his neck."
Darius glanced up. "Charming fellow, no?"
She gave him a look. "Keep reading."
"She loved him, even though her parents didn't approve. He wrote her poems… oh, here's one," he grinned and cleared his throat dramatically. "'Roses are red, violets are blue, I'd burn down the world if I couldn't have you.'"
Elena laughed. "That's so bad."
"Terrible, really," he agreed, but he smiled—genuinely this time, and Elena stared for a moment too long.
He looked… breathtaking like that.
She looked away quickly.
"But then things changed," he continued. "She began to dream of strange things—visions, emotions that weren't her own. Candles flickered when she was angry. Her parents grew scared. They forbade her from seeing Henry. One night, he came to her room… told her she was special."
Darius paused, his voice softer now. "They held hands. She closed her eyes… and what she saw couldn't be described."
He closed the book.
"Wait—why'd you stop?"
"That's enough story for tonight, love," he said, standing.
"You said you wouldn't get in the way!" she protested, arms folded.
He grinned. "Sometimes I break promises. Keeps things exciting."
She huffed and slid off the table—but her foot caught the leg and she slipped.
He caught her instantly, arms strong and secure as she crashed into his chest.
"I wasn't enjoying this before," he murmured, "but now I am."
Her breath caught as he leaned closer, nose brushing the crook of her neck. "You smell… lovely," he whispered.
She froze. She felt his breath. Then the faint sound of something—a sharp slide—his fangs.
But his eyes… were still silver gray. In control.
She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting—
"Get some sleep," he said suddenly, stepping back.
She blinked at him, confused.
"What's with the look?" he said with a mischievous grin. "Were you expecting something more?"
"N-No!" she stammered, pulling away.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll be returning to my room now," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
As she reached the door, he called out, "Elena."
She turned.
"If you ever have… other desires," he said, his grin turning wicked, "feel free to let me know. I'd be more than happy to oblige."
Her mouth fell open. "Goodnight!" she blurted, turning on her heel and practically sprinting out of the room, her cheeks flaming.
Darius smirked, watching her go. "Adorable."
Elena stormed back into her room, her face still burning.
"Why must he always say things like that?" she muttered, tapping her cheeks in a desperate attempt to cool the heat. Her heart was still fluttering from their encounter—his voice, the way his eyes lingered—it was infuriating.
Trying to shake it off, she climbed into bed. "Enough for one day," she whispered to herself. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept flickering back to the leather-bound journal and the unknown identity of its owner.
She brushed it off and turned on her side, willing herself to sleep.
---
The next morning, golden light streamed through the windows as she stirred. After bathing and dressing, Elena stood before her mirror, brushing out the final knots in her damp hair.
Today, she'd get answers. Even if she had to drag them out of Darius herself.
Stepping out into the corridor, she searched the manor and eventually wandered outside, following the soft whistle of wind and the occasional thwack of arrows hitting wood.
She found him in the fields.
Darius stood shirtless in the soft sunlight, bow in hand, muscles taut as he drew another arrow and released. It sliced through the air and landed perfectly in the center of the distant target.
His eyes shifted to her as he lowered the bow.
"Well, well," he said, smirking. "Lovely to know I'm the first thing on your mind after waking."
"Don't flatter yourself," Elena replied, folding her arms. "I came for answers."
His smirk widened. "And how do you plan to get those out of me?"
She looked at the bow in his hand, then at the lined-up targets in the distance. "If I beat you," she said, lifting her chin, "you answer one question. Honestly."
Darius raised a brow, amusement lighting his face. "Bold." He handed her the bow. "Fine. Three shots."
She hesitated. The bow was heavier than it looked, and her arms tensed as she gripped it. Could she really match his aim?
"You're free to back out, little flame," he teased.
She narrowed her eyes and took her stance. The first arrow soared—and missed.
He chuckled under his breath. "Not bad for a beginner."
"Shut up."
The second one flew. Another miss.
Frustration built in her chest. She wasn't going to lose. Not to him.
She took a deep breath, pulled the third arrow back, and aimed. Her fingers trembled as she released.
Thwack.
The arrow lodged into the outer ring of the target.
She blinked. "I hit it..."
"You did." Darius stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Impressive."
"Now answer my question."
He nodded, but his voice lowered. "One question. One answer. Choose wisely."
Elena thought for a moment. "Am I human?"
There was a flicker in his gaze. He turned to look at the horizon, the sunlight casting shadows across his face.
"Half of you is," he said quietly. "Half isn't."
Her heart skipped. "What does that mean?"
"I already answered," he replied, and there was a finality to his voice that made her stomach tighten.
"That's not fair," she said. "Then give me another challenge. Something harder. Name a rare flower, make me balance on that narrow stone over there—anything. If I win, you answer again."
He turned back to her, clearly amused. "I do love the Endusaium. Rare, radiant, and nearly impossible to find."
"Perfect. Then if I find it—"
"I'm afraid not, Miss Elena." He stepped toward her, lowering his voice. "You had your chance. You should've used it wisely."
She scowled. "You're insufferable."
"Yet strangely addictive, no?"
Before she could retort, a maid came rushing toward them, breathless.
"Lord Darius, my lord," she said, bowing. "Lord Caelum requests your presence."
Darius sighed. "Always something."
He turned back to Elena. "Don't do anything reckless while I'm gone."
She crossed her arms. "You say that like I do reckless things on purpose."
He smirked and began to walk away. "You intend to do that a lot."
She stared after him, watching the way he moved—like he always knew more than he let on. Her fists clenched at her sides.
He didn't even look back, but she swore he could feel her glare burning into his spine.