Ch. 18

“Adversity”

What a turn of events this has become. Here I am, outside the castle that held me for years, yet not in the Endless Forest I’ve dreamed of exploring. My favorite creature is beside me, though he still hasn’t returned. And then there's the mortal vampire who talks too much, yet leaves me with more questions than answers, which, annoying, I want. Damn inquisitive mind. It doesn’t help that so much is always kept from me.

“Only if you answer mine,” I finally say, tilting my head with a smirk. “I have already answered more than my fair share.” I gesture down at myself with exaggerated flair before shooting him a pointed look.

He simply nods. “More than you realize, actually.”

I snarl, glancing around…no rock to throw. Shame. “Don’t test me, mortal vampire.”

He smirks, enjoying himself far too much. “Ask away.”

“What were you really doing in the forest when we met?” I ask, as my eyes narrow and observe him, watching his breathing, the slight twitch of his mouth. Anything that might betray the truth hiding in plain sight.

“Meeting with Muma Padurii…” Zanir shrugs. “Then you showed up and ruined that.”

I stare at him, not blinking, not breaking. He knows what I am asking. Of course, I need to ask questions a certain way, smart ass.

“The forest is changing. Creatures are changing. Creatures and …people are going missing.” Zanir’s gaze stays fixed on me, but his expression is one of mild detachment. “Muma had information,” he notes, as if it is all just a passing thought for him.

I feel my eyes twitch in annoyance. “What information?” I demand. The binding rune burned into the Samca’s wrist flashes through my mind, a harsh reminder of its presence on my own wrist, somehow now connected me to its story.

Zanir raises his hand and shakes his head. “Mihaela, little bat…Tsk, Tsk, usually how this works… is a question, answer, and switch. It’s not complicated, like deciphering a rune or something.”

I glare at him, feeling my small patience wearing thin. I am being tested. Goddess Nyx, give me strength.

“Don’t call me that.” I snap, words flowing past my lips like a whip. My chest tightens, and heat surges to my cheeks, fighting the cold that still lingers. Frustration bubbling beneath my chill skin. But his smirk is unshaken, and I can feel the irritation simmering, rising like smoke in my chest.

Zanir remains unfazed, or at least he appears that way — that just adds to my growing irritation. He aimlessly dusts off his tattered shirt as it flutters in the wind as if that is going to make any difference.

“Ask your ridiculous question then,” I hiss, frost crystallizing in the air around my words as if to punctuate my irritation.

Zanir taps his finger to his chin and spins around on his feet like this was all some grand game for him to play. I could snap him like a twig. He ponders for a moment — a moment too long.

“What are you?” He finally asks.

A loaded question.

I muse over my options and realize that most of my secrets are already laid bare — literally — before this mortal vampire. I glance around, noting the quiet shoreline, and wonder where Halfy is.

My secrets feel like threads of a web unraveling — delicate, dangerous, slipping through my finger faster than I can grasp them. Each truth I reveal feels like a small betrayal, as though letting him in, even a little, threatens the life I have carefully guarded. I taste the bitterness of vulnerability, a flavor I swore I would forget.

But, he saw me in the night, this man, more than I would ever allow anyone.

Icy chills creep down my spine, and the weight of his gaze leaves me feeling bare, as if every layer I have built to protect myself is slowly peeling away. It’s a feeling I despise, but it is even worse as I realize I am letting it happen.

“A woman...” His eyes flicker, that orange flame reigniting. He steps closer, just a few paces away from where I sit on the rock as I continue. “My true lineage is a mystery, known only to Mother.”

All of this is true.

Mother said she was an orphan before she built the clan’s empire. She fought for everything, brick by brick, leaving no room for sentimentality. I never knew my father. Mother refused to speak of him. The few times I asked, she silenced me, her eyes hardening like ice, as if daring me to defy her. The look always sent a chill through me, a feeling I can’t quite shake, even now. Yet part of me still resents that fear, a stubborn spark that keeps me searching, defying the silence she demanded.

I stopped trying eventually, though something raw always festered within me, like an unanswered question lodged under my skin. Despite scouring the Grand Library with Oana, we’ve uncovered nothing. It’s as if he was a ghost erased from all records, with Mother the only keeper of his memory.

I run my hand across my neck, trying to soothe the sting of all I don’t know. But then it’s there again — the pulsing ache, dull yet potent, almost like a warning, pressing me back each time I push against it. I sometimes catch glimpses of something comforting, a warmth that once wrapped around me, secure and safe. But those memories fade quickly, shrouded in fog, and I’m left with Mother’s stories as my only compass. Each unanswered question feels like a piece of me missing, locking behind a door that refuses to open.

Then, a flash.

It jolts through me, sudden and unwelcome, like an icy spike to the skull. A memory, not fully formed, but sharp enough to leave a mark.

I’m small, a child, standing in Mother’s chambers, I don’t even remember the last time I was allowed in there. My voice shakes with hesitation. “Where is —” My words get cut off, and then I see her mauve eyes, cold and unforgiving.

“Enough.”

The next sensation is pain. A stinging across my face. I stumble back, stunned.

“Stop asking foolish questions,” she hisses, her words like vemon, poisoning any curiosity I had left. The image blurs.

I blink and find myself back by the lake, my pulse quickening, my breath shallow. The memory is fractured — I can’t even remember what I was going to ask her, only the hurt that came after. The sharp sting on my cheek almost feels fresh.

My hand trembles slightly as I pull my tunic closer, the movement mechanical, instinctive, as I try to ground myself in the present. But the fog in my head is lifting, bit by bit, and that old ache, the one that buries things I thought long forgotten, but it is creeping back. For years, I have tried not to dwell on it. I have told myself that some things are better left unknown. Yet here I am, aching to know the truth about things unknown to me. That is how I got stuck in this situation in the first place.

I shake my head, trying to clear it, trying to shove the memory back where it belongs — in the past, locked away. But the ache lingers, gnawing at me as my hands tremble.

“So, your guess is as good as mine, but I am a shifter.” I finally mutter, the words bitter on my tongue.

My eyes fall to the tattoos peeking from beneath my sleeves — creatures forever etched into my skin, their form stirring like restless shadows. I pull the sleeves down one by one, tucking away each reminder of what I have taken. They’re mine, no Mother’s, but I still feel the weight of her choices pressing on me.

I try to ignore the way they make me feel, telling myself I am not ashamed, even as I strive to keep them hidden. The tattoos tingle beneath the fabric, as if the creatures they represent are stirring, restless. Each tattoo is a reminder — of what I have taken, of what I have become. My skin feels too tight, like the ink is too much to contain.

Zanir moves in front of me. My eyes shoot up at him. He is watching, I realize. Not just watching, but seeing me — the subtle tension in my shoulders, the way my hands tugged down my sleeves, the hint of something I can’t hide from my expressive face.

His gaze lingers for a moment longer than usual, his smirk slipping just enough to reveal something behind it — curiosity, maybe? It’s unsettling, the way he can read me so easily, even when I am trying to bury everything under layers of control and barriers.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he says, his voice low, probing. “I wonder why that is…” His eyes drop to where my fingers fidget with the edges of my sleeves, then back up to meet my eyes. There is a glint of amusement in them, but beneath it, something sharper.

I grit my teeth and force a shrug. “That is none of your business,” I growl, trying to shake off the vulnerability that doesn’t sit well in my chest.

But Zanir doesn’t look away. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in that way that makes me feel like he is looking at any weaknesses in my well-guarded walls.

I swallow, shrugging off the uncomfortable feeling moving across my skin, and say, “My turn.”

Zanir is just a few feet away now. One wave of my hand could freeze or burn him to pieces, much like the clothes he still wears. His eyes move to the sky, unruffled. My gaze drifts over him, unbidden, tracing the winding patterns of ink that twist and curl up his arm, like hydra serpents coiling beneath his skin. There is something dangerous about them, something that pulls me despite my better judgment. The black ink that writhes up his right arm and shoulder, stopping just shy of his neck. The design remains a conundrum, obscured by the fading moonlight as it gives way to the approaching sunrise. His scar, which I noticed earlier, traces his jawline, flowing past his chin and ending at his neck. My eyes linger on it, following the rise and fall of his breath, even as I try to ignore the unexpected intrigue — and yes, a bit of not welcomed attraction — that haunts me despite his infuriating demeanor.

Just then, the moment is mercifully suspended. Halfy surfaces from the lake, shaking the water off his glowing white fur, as he starts up the bank. Thank you, goddess Nyx, for the diversion. The sight of Halfy — large, powerful, and unapologetically present — pulls me away from the mortal vampire man’s magnetism and reminds me of the immediate existence. I watch Halfy with a sense of gratitude for a familiar and reassuring presence until the reality of why Halfy was gone.

Drag marks still spoor the sand from the Samca. Halfy moves behind me, his body twitching with exhaustion. I can see how tired he must be. A smile spreads across my face as he passes by, reminding me of how he has helped me with many of those lingering past feelings and thoughts. With a loud thud, he collapses next to the rock where I sit. His breaths come heavy and labored, yet his massive wet paws rest gently on top of my boots, a comforting presence.

Thank you, Halfy. I say down our bond.

I turn to Zanir with a calculating glance. “So, tell me, are you part of the vampiric clan that supposedly resides somewhere in this forest?” I tilt my head slightly, a smirk now playing at the corners of my mouth, seems we both can enjoy a nice game.

“In one of them,” Zanir replies, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he runs his fingers through his hickory-dark hair. “But there is more than you think out there. So many little secrets in this world.”

Hmm… There is more than one? Do the scouts know? Does Mother know?

Zanir spins on his heels, cutting me off before I can even dwell on his last words any longer. “Anyway,” he says, moving on like the conversation was never meant to linger. “What do the marking all over you mean?”

I shove my hands deep into my tunic pockets, the only part of me not with some ink on my face. The markings — the tattoos — never touched my face. Thank Goddess Nyx, who I have been thanking a lot lately. But where was she when I got myself into this mess in the first place? “They appear after death,” I say flatly.

That doesn’t begin to tell the entire story — how each tattoo represents a creature, something that met its end by my hand, or fangs. Each kill is etched permanently into me, a reminder I carry of their last moments of what I took from them.

“And a few bonds…” I murmur, looking down at Halfy. His breath fogs in the air, each exhale visible in the sudden chill. Is it getting colder? I can feel the temperature drop, the biting cold creeping into the air. But, it is not the weather — deep down, I know it is me. The cold, as always, rises when I let my emotions slip, a creeping frost triggered by something I can’t control. A reminder of how my powers are changing. “Does being mortal feel the same as before?” I ask, my eyes flicking up to him while I keep my face turned toward Halfy.

He stays silent for a few moments, the usual cockiness stripped away. “Honestly…” His voice softens as he shifts his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mortality is not something I know anymore. I have memories — fragments of a past life — but that is all they are now. Just thoughts, nothing more.

In a blur of movement, Zanir is in front of me, too close — his hands on the rock, his breath warm against my skin. The suddenness of it sends a jolt through my body, like lightning cracking through the sky. My instincts scream to react, to push him away, but I freeze, trapped not by his hands but by the intensity of his presence. My pulse hammers in my ears, and the space between us feels electric, charged with something I can’t name but annoyingly can’t deny. The cold inside me spikes, a biting frost that creeps into my bones, but it’s at war with the heat blooming under my skin. I need to move — need to get control back — but I’m locked in place, staring into those eyes, unable to look away.

“My turn…” Zanir whispers, his breath brushing against my ears. The closeness is electric, but I can feel ice stinging along my fingertips. Adopting his familiar nonchalant smirk, he asks, “Are you mortal?”

My eyes widen in shock. How can he be so aloof about everything? After the threats, he just casually asked a question that could unravel me completely.

His smirk is infuriating, a mask of ease that mocks the tightrope I am walking on. Control has always been my armor, the thing that keeps me safe, but I feel it slipping, undoing strand by strand. The frost beneath my skin spreads, cold and hungry, desperate to lash out. I can feel it building, clawing for release, and it terrifies me. What happens if I lose it? If I let the cold consume me? Goddes Nyx, I can’t afford to lose control — not here, not now, as he stands in front of me.

Halfy lets out a growl beside me, deep and guttural, sending a chill down my spine. For a moment, I think it is directed at Zanir — I almost hope it is — but then Zanir steps back, his usual smug expression vanishing as his eyes narrow in warning.

Halfy’s golden ginger eyes are fixed elsewhere, staring past us, unwavering. I follow his gaze and feel my stomach lurch.

I turn, catching the lake’s surface, it is flat, eerily still, as if holding its breath. The usual whispers of night creatures are gone, no more dancing freely wisps either, leaving a heavy, unnatural silence that presses in my ears. My pulse quickens. Then, the water ripples, disturbed by something deep below.

A second later, a surge erupts from the depths, waves slamming against the shore with a bone-shaking force. Shadows devour the lake’s center, thick and ominous, as if something ancient is rising to the surface.

The lake.

My heart pounds against my ribs. The air is stiff, heavier. Something is coming.

I squint into the gloom, the growing shadows too large to be mere tricks of the fading moonlight. Then I see them. Not one, but three massive, serpentine figures break through the water’s surface, their scales slick with lake water that pours down their enormous bodies like rivers. Yellow eyes gleam in the gloom, too bright, too focused — locked onto us.

My breath catches.

The creatures rise higher, their reptilian faces monstrous, carved by ancient power. They move with terrifying grace, their eyes never leaving us, as if deciding which of us to devour first.

I instinctively reach for Halfy, but he is already bristling, his growl rumbling like thunder. The last thing I register before the creature roars into the dying night is Zanir. His mouth hangs slightly open, his haze fixed, unblinking, on the shadowed beast lunging into the sky — too fast, too massive. My heart slams against my ribs, every instinct screaming for me to run, to fight, to survive.

FUCK. I curse, and it simply bounces within my skull.