Two days. Each hour had stretched like a rack, pulling her nerves taut. Fionn Rutherford had sent the letter. Aisling had watched his hand tremble as he wrote, confirming Baron Hawkrige's offer and, unbelievably, extending an invitation to Rutherford Manor. Now, the air in the old house felt thick with a dread she couldn't shake.
The morning room, usually a place of quiet comfort, felt suffocating. Aisling paced the worn rug, her own footsteps loud in the heavy silence. "He wouldn't," she whispered, though the words were for herself. Liam watched her from his chair, his eyes wide with worry. "Father wouldn't invite him here. Not for this."
Liam smoothed a pale lock of hair from his forehead. "Maybe it's just a formal thing, Aisling? A way to… to turn him down face-to-face?" His voice was thin, a frail thread of hope.
"Politely decline?" Aisling spun around, her voice rising like a trapped bird. "Liam, this is Kylian Hawkrige! He doesn't do polite! He probably thinks saying 'please' is a sign you're weak! Father knows this! What was he thinking? FATHER!" Her shout ripped through the quiet manor, a desperate cry against the coming storm.
Heavy, measured footsteps approached. Fionn Rutherford stood in the doorway, his face a mask of forced calm. "Aisling. Your voice carries. There's no need for dramatics."
"No need?" she cried, her hands clenching. "You invited a monster into our home! You're trying to sell me off like cattle! What kind of father does this to his own daughter? To him?"
Fionn's jaw tightened. "You are past the usual age for marriage, Aisling. This agreement helps the family. It will save us. It's a small price to pay for everyone's safety. Why must you always be so difficult, so selfish?"
"Selfish?" The word stung. "You call wanting a life of my own selfish? Wanting not to be tied to someone whose idea of romance is probably a signed paper and a blood sample? This isn't a sacrifice, Father, it's madness!" She wanted to scream, but just then, the ancient brass knocker on the main door echoed with three sharp, loud knocks.
The main door groaned open. Two figures stood there. The first was Kylian Hawkrige, tall and impossible to ignore. His dark hair looked carelessly messy, as if he'd just survived a thrilling adventure. He wore a sharp, dark coat, but his boots were surprisingly scuffed, hinting at a wilder side. A charming smile played on his lips, but his bright blue eyes held a chillingly old look.
Beside him was an older gentleman, elegant and calm. His silver-gray hair was pulled back neatly. He held a slim book under his arm, his dark eyes watching everything with a quiet, sharp awareness. This was Cedric Mornell.
"Rutherford Manor, I assume?" Kylian announced, his voice full of amusement as he looked around the old house. "Still standing! Impressive. I do love a house with… character. And maybe a bit of a draft?" He winked.
Cedric gave a slight nod. "The Baron wishes to express his… admiration for historical buildings, Master Rutherford." His tone was perfectly polite, but Aisling heard the faint, dry mockery in his words.
Fionn stepped forward, looking completely flustered. "Baron Hawkrige. Master Mornell. Welcome. We… we received your letter, Baron."
Kylian's smile grew wider, but his eyes didn't share the humor. "Ah, yes! The letter. Took its sweet time, didn't it? For a moment, I wondered if you were trying to reply with a interpretive dance. Which, while fun, is terrible for business. I was this close," he held up two fingers, showing a tiny gap, "to sending a much… clearer message."
Before Fionn could answer, Aisling stepped forward, her chin held high. "You have no right to come into our home and speak to my father that way!"
Kylian's eyes landed on her, and his smile softened into genuine admiration. "Well, hello. And what have we here? Such fire! Such spirit!" His blue eyes sparkled. "You must be Aisling. The old paintings are close, but they don't do you justice, my dear. They certainly don't show that lovely look of rebellion." He took a step closer, his gaze lingering. "Truly beautiful." He reached out, lightly, playfully, touching a loose curl of her red hair.
Aisling flinched back. "Don't touch me! And my father's letters are none of your business if you plan to do something as awful as I think!"
Kylian chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. "Awful plans? My dear girl, you wound me. Here I am, like a shining, if slightly scuffed, knight, offering to save your noble family from the dragons of debt. All for the very reasonable price of your hand in marriage. A classic fairytale, don't you think?"
"We didn't ask for your kind of help!" Aisling shot back. "You can't just show up and demand my life to pay off debts! Even if you tried to 'court' me, which I expect involves more threats than love poems, I would never marry a vampire! A charming monster is still a monster!"
Kylian put a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. "Ouch. 'Charming monster.' That really stings. Cedric, write this down: less charm, more dark staring. The lady likes her monsters simple."
Cedric, who had been watching with the quiet patience of someone studying strange insects, simply said, "As you wish, my Lord. Though I believe the current approach has its… good points."
Kylian turned back to Aisling, his smile less playful now. "You seem to think your father's agreement was up for debate, Aisling. He understands the seriousness of your family's position. And frankly, so do I. The arrangement is made."
"An arrangement that steals my life!" she cried, her gaze jumping between Kylian's amused face and her father's pale one. "You think you can just walk in here with your smooth words and your old power, and we'll all just fall at your feet? You clearly don't know this family. Or me!"
Kylian leaned in slightly, his blue eyes intense. "Oh, I think I'm starting to get a rather lovely picture, Aisling. The fire, the sharp words… it's quite… captivating. But fire, my dear, needs a steady hand, or it will burn everything down. Including itself."
"Better to burn brightly than be put out by your kind of darkness!"
Fionn, looking completely overwhelmed, finally stepped in. "Aisling! That is enough! Show some respect! Go to your room! I will… I will speak with the Baron and Master Mornell."
She whirled on him. "Go to my room? While you sign away my future? While you hand me over to this… this devil with a silver tongue? Absolutely not!"
"You will do as I say!" Fionn's voice, usually so controlled, broke with fear and anger. "If you disobey me again, Aisling, I promise you, I will make sure this marriage happens if it's the last thing I do! Do not test me!"
Aisling stared at her father, then at Kylian, whose charming smile was now gone, replaced by a watchful, judging look. A dangerous calm settled over her. "Test you, Father?" she asked, her voice soft but strong. "Consider me tested." With a proud lift of her head, she turned and stormed from the room, her footsteps a drumbeat of her defiance.
Cedric let out a sigh so quiet it was almost missed. "Well," he murmured, adjusting the book under his arm. "That went about as planned." Kylian simply watched Aisling go, a thoughtful, almost hungry look in his eyes.
Aisling ran into her father's study, slamming the door shut behind her. She leaned against it, breathing hard, her heart pounding like a drum. "The nerve!" she hissed to the empty room.
"Mine, or yours?"
She jumped, spinning around. Kylian was lounging in her father's large leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, looking completely at ease. He must have moved like smoke. He had a half-eaten apple in his hand.
"How—" she started, completely shocked. "Weren't you just downstairs?"
He took a bite of the apple, chewing slowly. "A little trick of the trade, my dear. And you looked like you needed a dramatic exit. I thought I'd get a front-row seat for the show. Did you really think you could run from me? Especially after leaving things on such a dramatic note?"
She stood straighter, ignoring the apple, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands. "I didn't run. I made a clever move. And you, Baron, are the most annoying, arrogant—"
"Ah, more insults!" He grinned, a flash of white teeth. "You have a wonderful way with words when you're angry. It's quite attractive." He took another bite of the apple. "Do I enjoy playing games with people? That's a harsh way to put it. Let's just say I enjoy… lively discussions. And yes, your family's trouble is… interesting. A nice change from the boring politics of my world."
"So this is just a game to you?" she demanded, her voice rising. "My life, my family falling apart, it's just another story in your long, terrible history?"
"Terrible? Now that's not fair." He sighed dramatically. "I'm offering help, Aisling. A rather elegant solution, I thought. I save your family from ruin, stop your old home from becoming a very drafty barn, and all I ask for is a wife with red hair and an even hotter temper. Seems like a good deal. Witches of the past knew a good bargain when they saw one."
Her laugh was sharp, like broken glass. "A good deal? You mean selling their daughters and their souls to monsters like you?"
"Monsters like me?" He raised an eyebrow. "Be careful, Aisling. You might hurt my feelings. And there are far worse things out there than a devil who at least has the decency to be charming." He paused, his smile fading slightly. "As for your life… I'm not threatening it." He stood, dropping the apple core into a bin with easy grace, and walked towards her. "I am, however, giving you a very important choice about your brother."
The amusement left his eyes, replaced by something cold, hard. "Liam. Such a delicate boy. If you say no to my very generous offer, the debt stays. And debts, my dear, always get paid. Blood, as they say, will find a way. Or, in this case, find its way in."
"You wouldn't dare," she whispered, a ball of ice forming in her stomach.
Kylian stepped closer, his charming mask falling away, showing the ancient hunter beneath. "Wouldn't I? After coming all this way? After your father has practically signed the papers?" He tilted his head, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Oh, I absolutely would. Maybe not with the same… pleasure I'd feel making you my wife, but a debt is a debt." He smirked, a flash of his earlier wit returning, but sharper now, like a knife point. "You look so much like her when you're scared, you know. Serena. She had that same wide-eyed look, like 'oh, the poor humans,' right before she'd try to set my favorite cloak on fire. Very cute, in a fire-starting kind of way."
Crack.
The slap was automatic, driven by fury, terror, and the insult of being compared to someone she didn't know, dismissed so easily.
Kylian's head snapped to the side. He touched his cheek slowly, carefully. Then he turned back, and the charming mask was completely gone. His blue eyes turned a burning, hellish red. His fangs, longer and sharper than she'd imagined, dropped down. A low growl shook his chest.
"Well now," he said, his voice a smooth snarl. "That was rather rude." He moved incredibly fast, slamming her against the bookshelf. The air left her lungs. For a terrifying moment, she saw the wild hunger in his eyes, felt his hot breath as his fangs touched her throat.
But then, something flickered in those red depths. A struggle. He pulled back, just an inch, his chest rising and falling quickly. The red in his eyes fought with the blue.
In the fancy mirror above her father's desk, her reflection shimmered. Red hair, yes, but styled in a way she'd never worn. Dark lips. A black dress. Serena's eyes.
The image vanished.
Aisling gasped, stumbling away as Kylian suddenly let go. He didn't follow, but his gaze, now a stormy mix of red and blue, stayed locked on her.
"You're remembering," he said, his voice rough, the charming tone gone, replaced by a raw, almost pained certainty. "Her."
"I… I'm not her," Aisling choked out.
Kylian ran a hand through his messy hair, a surprisingly human gesture. A shadow of his earlier smirk returned, but it was tight, haunted. "No," he said softly. "Not yet." He let out a breath. "But gods, you fight like her." His laugh, when it came, was low and complicated, mixed with something that might have been amusement, or perhaps sadness. "This is going to be much more interesting than I thought."