The Mishaps of Immortals: Origin

“I remember the alarms blaring loudly at our compound, piercing through the stillness of the night, as my mother burst into our bedroom, grabbing me and Sorcha without a second’s notice. She held us close to her chest as she ran out of the room, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I could feel her heart racing, pounding against her chest, and I could smell her panic—acrid, mingling with the scent of fear that clung to her like a second skin. It made my own fear swell, tightening my chest, but I could only look at my sister’s scared face. We couldn’t utter a word; we were too scared, too confused to even react to what was happening.

I remember the way her face turned pale as she suddenly came to a stop in the hallway, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air. ‘They’re here,’ she muttered under her breath, a tremor in her voice that I had never heard before. Without hesitation, she shifted into her werewolf form. Her muscles rippled beneath her fur as she clutched us tighter, her eyes scanning the shadows.

I remember the smell hitting me then—rotten blood, filling the air with its foul stench. My mother didn’t wait any longer. She bolted toward the end of the hall until we reached the window. Without a second thought, she leapt through the glass and over the garden wall. She landed gracefully, despite the burden of carrying us both, and set us down gently, her eyes wild with urgency.

‘Run!’ she commanded, her voice a desperate growl. She pushed us forward, her gaze lingering on us for just a moment, filled with pain and fierce determination. ‘Don’t ever come back here,’ she added, her voice breaking as she turned back toward the compound. We hesitated, just for a moment, watching as she vanished into the darkness. The last sound I heard was her howl, a defiant cry that morphed into a low whine, chilling me to the bone.

I steeled myself, forcing down the terror that threatened to overwhelm me. I could see the lights of the nearby town in the distance. I remembered that we had friends among the humans in that town—A merchant named Carlos and his wife, who would visit our compound from time to time, showing us their wares and taking special orders. I guess ‘merchant’ is an old term now, but he used to sell us all kinds of things so we called him the merchant. Anyway, I took Sorcha’s hand, squeezing it tight, and ran as fast as our legs could carry us, the stench of rotten blood still thick in the air.

We didn’t know where the merchant’s house was and I wasn’t sure if he would recognise me and Sorcha, but we had nowhere else to turn. Panic fueled us as we searched the unfamiliar streets, asking strangers, ‘Can you please tell us where Carlos lives? He’s a merchant.’ Like the little kids, we were.

No one knew what we meant or who we were talking about and after hours of searching, we finally lucked upon an old woman who knew Carlos’s wife by name. She guided us to their apartment. We knocked on the door, our bodies, exhausted, covered in grime and sweat.

When the door opened, Carlos stood before us, his eyes widening in recognition. Without a word, he ushered us inside, his expression softening with concern as we told him what had happened. His wife wasted no time, making us food, helping us get clean, and providing us with a change of clothes. Their kindness was a balm to our frayed nerves, but we all knew it wasn’t safe for us to stay there for long.

That night, as we lay in bed, I heard them arguing behind closed doors. They must have thought we were asleep—or perhaps they didn’t realise how sharp a werewolf’s hearing could be. They weren’t blessed with children, you see. So Carlos was adamant about taking us in as his daughters and moving to another country, far from the danger. He called us ‘his god-sent daughters.’ His wife, though sympathetic, worried about the risks. Moving would mean leaving behind everything they had built, their business, their life. What if they failed in a new country?

In the end, Carlos persuaded her. I remember the silence that followed, everyone wondering if they made the right decisions that day, including me. And the rest is history.”

“And how old were you and your sister when that happened?” my therapist asked, her voice gentle as she leaned forward, her notepad resting on her knee.

“We were children,” I replied, my voice steady, though the memories still tugged at the edges of my mind. “I was sixty-two, and Sorcha was only forty.”

She looked at me with surprise, her pen pausing mid-air. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tynan, I’m still not fully used to working with species other than humans. Could you tell me what that means in human years? I mean, I know you’re ninety now and of legal age.”

I sighed, feeling a familiar frustration bubble up. “You humans and your self-importance. Why should I know how my age translates into human years?”

The therapist shrugged her shoulders, a small, apologetic smile on her lips.

“Ugh, fine,” I relented, rolling my eyes. “I was around twelve, and my sister was eight. Also—”

Before I could finish, the soft chime of her watch’s alarm rang, signalling the end of our session for this week.

“That’s our time this week,” my therapist said, her tone warm but professional. “I can definitely see improvement with your openness. Before next week’s session, I want you to go to a bar and try to interact with as many people as you can. Just a simple ‘hello, how are you doing?’ should suffice for now.”

I frowned, a wave of scepticism washing over me. “My sister didn’t say a single word for ten years after all that, you know? I don’t think greeting random people is going to do much.”

“It will do more than you think,” she replied, standing up from her chair and walking over to the door, holding it open for me. “Small steps, Ms. Tynan. It’s about re-engaging with the world.”

I sighed. “I’ll try,” I muttered as I stepped out of the office.

The receptionist looked up as I approached. “Same time next week, Ms. Tynan?”

I nodded silently, pulling out a wad of cash and handing it over for today’s session. It felt like an outdated ritual, but it was one I’d grown accustomed to. With that out of the way, I turned to leave, already dreading the next session.

As I descended the stairs, only one thought consumed my mind—how much I hated this place, how out of place I felt. It was the best clinic money could buy in the city, yet, it was so painfully human. This place wasn’t designed for me; it was designed for them. I wasn’t just alienated by the clinic itself, or even the country—it was the entire continent of Arcaena. It had never been a place for us, for werewolves or any of the other non-human species. But at least, in recent years, people had grown more tolerant. It certainly helped that if I covered my ears, they didn’t know any better with their dull-ass senses.

As I walked down the bustling city street, making my way back home, I took note of every bar I passed. The first few were easy to dismiss—some looked too human supremacist, their clientele likely to sneer at someone like me the moment I walked in. Others looked too cheap, with dingy holes in the wall that reeked of desperation and stale beer. A few were too fancy, places where the rich and powerful gathered, exchanging meaningless pleasantries while sipping overpriced cocktails. None of them felt right.

It wasn’t until I was just two buildings away from home that I finally stumbled upon a bar that caught my attention. The exterior was nothing special, a dimly lit sign above the door. But what intrigued me was the sight of a siren sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender, she wasn’t wearing a charm or a disguise. They were just laughing together. And the bartender, he looked human.

I considered going in, but after the day I’d had, the thought of more social interaction was exhausting. I decided I’d had enough excitement for one day and made a mental note to come back tomorrow, after my tennis practice. That would be enough time to prepare myself for the challenge my therapist had set. At least talking to non-humans would be easier.

I continued on to our building. Yes, our building. The entire place belonged to us—me, Sorcha, and Carlos. When Carlos moved here with us, he hit a massive jackpot. His business boomed beyond anyone’s expectations, and the simple life his wife once feared losing was replaced with a taste for luxury. She was always a kind and patient woman, but I still missed her. But what did I expect? They were not immortal like us. At least I still had old man Carlos.

As I entered the lobby, the familiar scent of polished wood and fresh flowers greeted me, a small comfort in the vastness of the building. I took the elevator up to our floor, the ride smooth and silent. When the doors slid open, I stepped out into the apartment, a sprawling space filled with modern furnishings and memories of the past. Sorcha would be locked in her own apartment like always, likely dealing with her own demons in her own way. Unlike me, she refused to get any sort of help or to interact with anyone. And she was Carlos’s precious baby, of course, he didn’t force her to do anything, even if it was for her own good.

I dropped my keys on the marble counter, letting out a long breath. Tomorrow, I’ll go to that bar. Tomorrow, I’d try to make those small steps my therapist talked about. But tonight, I just needed to be alone with my thoughts.

I face-planted into my bed, burying my face into the soft, cool sheets as I let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Why is everything so exhausting? I didn’t even do anything other than go to the therapist today,” I mumbled into the fabric.

It felt like the weight of the entire day had been pressing down on me, draining my energy until I was little more than a limp ragdoll sprawled out on the bed. With a groan, I pushed myself up and peeled off my clothes, letting them drop to the floor in a messy pile. I didn’t have the energy to care about tidiness right now. All I could think about was the need for a long, hot shower, something to melt away the exhaustion.

The bathroom filled with steam as I stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over me in soothing waves. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth envelop me, feeling the tension dissolve.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably just a few minutes, I turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping myself in a plush towel. The mirror was fogged over, and the bathroom filled with the lingering scent of lilac and steam. I dried off slowly, savouring the last remnants of warmth before putting on my favourite bathrobe.

I didn’t bother with anything else. I headed back to my bedroom, the cool air a welcome contrast to the heat of the shower, and flopped down onto my bed with a sigh of relief. The sandman called for me, but I resisted the urge to close my eyes just yet.

Instead, I reached out for the remote and flipped on the TV, scrolling through the options until I found a new anime that caught my eye. Something light, something fun—nothing that required too much thought. My brain was too fried for anything deep or meaningful. I just needed to escape for a while, to let the colourful characters and fast-paced action whisk me away to a world where my worries didn’t exist.

As the first episode began to play, I let myself relax as my body sank under the blankets. It didn’t take long before my eyelids grew heavy, the voices from the TV fading into a distant murmur. I barely registered the moment when I drifted off, slipping into the comforting darkness of sleep. The last thing I remembered was the sound of laughter from the screen, a happy, carefree sound. What was this anime about again?

The next day, after wrapping up an intense tennis practice with my sister, Sorcha, I decided to head to the bar I had noticed the day before. My body was still buzzing from the exercise, my muscles pleasantly sore, but my mind was focused on the task ahead—my anxiety simmering.

As I was getting ready to leave, adjusting the collar of my jacket, a familiar gentle voice called out to me from the living room. “Heading out, Caoimhe?”

I turned to see Carlos standing by the door, his warm eyes crinkled in a fond smile. “Yes, indeed I am. Who would’ve thought, right?” I replied with a wry grin, trying to hide the nervousness that fluttered in my chest.

Carlos gave a hearty chuckle. “Therapy homework?”

I averted my gaze, avoiding his knowing look. “Perhaps,” I mumbled.

With another chuckle, Carlos walked over and enveloped me in a hug. I could feel the years in his embrace—the fragility that had crept in as he aged. The eighties are not a merciful age for humans, and each time I hugged him, I was reminded of the ticking clock that didn’t apply to me or Sorcha. I hugged him back as tightly as I dared, not wanting to let go.

“Be safe out there, kiddo,” he said softly, patting my back before stepping away.

“I will, I promise,” I assured him, giving him a small smile before saying goodbye and heading out the door.

As I walked the familiar streets toward the bar, my mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. It was a Saturday night, and the city was alive with energy—bars and restaurants bustling with activity as people made the most of their weekend. I could feel the thrum of life all around me, but it only made my nerves dance.

When I finally approached the bar, I paused for a moment outside, taking a deep breath as I reached for the door handle. Letting out a slow, measured breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bar was far from quiet, with a steady hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filling the air. Patrons occupied nearly every seat at the bar, tables, and booths, the atmosphere lively but not overwhelming. The dim lighting cast a warm, inviting glow over the space, and I could only see non-humans mingling together—a promising sign.

As I stood there, taking in the scene, the bartender glanced up at me for a split second before resuming his conversation with an elf woman seated at the bar. I hesitated, unsure of where to go, but after a moment, I gathered my courage and approached the bar, taking an empty seat near the middle.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to finish his chat and turn his attention to me. He was tall, with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. “A new face, I see,” he said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A very pretty one, at that. What can I get you, Miss Werewolf?”

I blinked, startled by his directness. It felt as though he had stripped me bare with a single glance, his eyes piercing through my defences. I gasped softly. “You can tell?”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, his tone reassuring. “Don’t worry, pretty lady, you’re amongst friends here. So, what can I get you? I have human and non-human drinks—whichever you prefer.”

I hesitated, feeling out of my depth. “I… I haven’t had anything non-human before.”

The bartender’s smile widened with a hint of excitement in his eyes. “Then you’re in for a treat. How about I make you my favourite drink?”

“S-sure,” I stammered, feeling a mixture of nervousness and curiosity.

The bartender nodded, turning to his array of bottles and mixers with practised ease. He moved with a fluid grace, pulling down a few select ingredients that shimmered and glowed faintly in the low light. His hands worked quickly, combining the elements in a way that was both precise and artful, a performance in itself. I had never been to a bar before, but there was something about him—my heart felt it. I watched, mesmerised, as he poured the cocktail into a glass and added a final touch—a small sprig of something red that I didn’t recognise.

He slid the glass across the bar toward me, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Here you go. One Running Blood. It’s a blend of blood essence and a few other secret ingredients. Perfect for a werewolf on a Saturday night.”

I picked up the glass, staring at the iridescent liquid that swirled inside. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, and I could smell a faint, floral scent rising from the drink, mixed with slight sweetness. I took a tentative sip, the flavour exploding on my tongue—sweet, with a hint of something darker.

“It’s… amazing,” I said, surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

The bartender grinned, clearly pleased with my reaction. “Glad you like it. Stick around, and you might discover a few more surprises.”

As I sipped my drink, I felt a little of the tension ease from my shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe this was exactly what I needed—a step out of my comfort zone, a chance to reconnect with the world, one small interaction at a time.

“So, how come I never saw you here before?” he asked, his tone light. “I know almost every non-human who lives near here. My bar is their watering hole.”

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “I honestly never noticed it,” I admitted, glancing around the bar’s warm, welcoming interior. “And I’m not really the bar-going type.”

“A quiet night at home kind of gal, huh?” he said with a knowing nod. “I can respect that.”

“Exactly,” I replied, feeling a little more at ease. There was something about his easygoing demeanour that made it easier to talk. “But I’m glad I found this place. It’s… different. In a good way.”

The bartender’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with genuine warmth. “Well, I’m glad I’ve met you tonight, miss.” He quickly put down the glass he had been cleaning and wiped his hand on a towel before extending it to me. “I’m Victor, by the way.”

I blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard. “Victor?” I repeated, reaching out to shake his hand. His grip was firm, but not overpowering, a perfect balance of strength and friendliness.

“Yep,” he said with a playful wink as we shook hands. “And you are?”

“Caoimhe,” I replied, finding myself smiling back at him. “Nice to meet you, Victor.”

“Caoimhe,” he echoed, rolling the name around as if testing its weight. “That’s a beautiful name. You don’t hear names like that often around here.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a slight flush rise to my cheeks.

Victor nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Well, Caoimhe, I hope you’ll feel at home here. This place is meant to be a safe space for everyone—human and non-human alike. If you ever need anything, just let me know.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that made me believe him, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of belonging, however small. I took another sip of my drink, the warmth spreading through me as I relaxed a little more.

“So, what do you usually do on a quiet night at home?” Victor asked, his tone still light and friendly, but with a hint of genuine interest.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” I said, shrugging slightly. “Read, watch TV, maybe get lost in a good anime if I’m in the mood.”

“Anime, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “You’re full of surprises, Caoimhe.”

I chuckled, feeling a little more comfortable with each passing moment. “I try.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Victor asking about my favourite shows and me asking about the bar and its regulars, he even introduced me to some other werewolves who lived in the area. There was a casual ease to our conversation that made me feel like I was catching up with an old friend rather than talking to someone I’d just met. I had never enjoyed talking with someone so much in my life.

As the night went on, I began to feel that perhaps this place could become a part of my routine, a small step out of my comfort zone that didn’t feel so daunting after all. At least as long as he was here.

#

As the night wore on, I felt a warm, pleasant buzz from the seven amazing cocktails Victor had made for me. Each drink had been a delightful surprise, a testament to his skill as a bartender, and I found myself more relaxed than I had been in a long time. But as I paid my check and got ready to leave, a lingering curiosity gnawed at the back of my mind.

“You kept calling me ‘Miss Werewolf,’ but I never found out your species,” I asked, leaning slightly on the bar as I pulled out the cash to pay.

Victor smiled, his expression warm and friendly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “Oh, you can’t tell? I’m a vampire.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart sank, the warmth in my veins turning ice-cold in an instant. Vampires? Again? After all these years, had they not taken enough from me? The memories I had tried so hard to bury came rushing back, the scent of rotten blood, the sound of my mother’s desperate howl…

I started hyperventilating, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. My hands trembled as I tried to form words, but they came out broken. “B-but… y-y-you… r-rotten.”

Without thinking, I bolted from the bar, the panic surging through me. I could barely hear anything over the pounding of my heart, but I caught the sound of Victor’s voice behind me.

“Caoimhe! Wait!” he called out, his tone laced with concern, but I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t think.

I stumbled out into the street, my vision blurred by tears and fear. The city lights blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope as I turned in the middle of the road, my instincts taking over. I could feel the shift within me, the wolf fighting to the surface as I let out a howl with all the strength I could muster. “Don’t touch me!!”

The sound echoed through the empty streets, a cry of raw pain and terror. I didn’t wait to see if he followed. I just ran. Ran until I was back at our building, the place that had always been my sanctuary.

I didn’t dare go upstairs right away. Instead, I collapsed onto one of the plush chairs in the lobby, curling into myself as I tried to calm the storm raging inside. My mind was a whirlwind of memories, fears, and anger, all colliding in a chaotic mess that left me trembling. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart.

It took a while—minutes, maybe hours—but eventually, the adrenaline ebbed away, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake. My hands still shook, but I managed to stand, my legs unsteady beneath me. I forced myself to take the elevator up to our apartment, the familiar surroundings doing little to ease the turmoil within.

The moment I stepped inside, I made a beeline for my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in my pillow, and screamed as loud and as long as I could.

The tears came in a torrent, hot and unrelenting, as I cried into the pillow, my body shaking with the force of my sobs. All those years, I had thought I was over it. I had thought I had moved on, that I had made peace with the past. But tonight had shattered that illusion, leaving me raw and exposed, all the old wounds torn open once again.

I cried until I was too exhausted to cry anymore, the pillow soaked with tears. I felt like a child again, lost and afraid, with no one to turn to. I hugged the pillow tight, trying to hold onto something, anything, that could anchor me in the storm.

But I knew, deep down, that this was a wound that hadn’t healed. Not really. And now, I wasn’t sure if it ever would.

I lost track of time after that night. Days blurred into nights, weeks into months, all of it passing in a haze as I shut myself away in my room. I didn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and breathing—something so autonomic—became a struggle. Each breath felt like a battle, each moment a reminder of the pain that clung to me.

The world outside my door ceased to exist, replaced by the dark, suffocating cocoon of my thoughts. I was drowning in them, unable to reach the surface, and I didn’t care. I wanted to disappear, to fade into nothingness where the memories couldn’t touch me.

I don’t know how long I stayed in that room—weeks, maybe months. Time had lost all meaning. But then, one day, a gentle knock on my door pulled me back to reality, cutting through the fog that had settled over my mind. It was a sound that seemed foreign, almost unreal. Had he knocked before? I couldn’t remember.

Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed, my body heavy and sluggish from disuse, and opened the door. There, standing in the doorway, was Carlos, his familiar warm smile greeting me. Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, and the floodgates opened once again. The tears I thought had dried up poured out, soaking his shirt as I wept uncontrollably. He held me tight, his embrace strong and comforting, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt something other than pain.

After what seemed like hours, I finally calmed down, the sobs fading into quiet sniffles. Carlos led me to the kitchen, where a warm meal awaited me. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until I took the first bite, the food reminding me of all the simple things I had neglected while I was locked away.

As I finished eating, Carlos sat across from me, his expression gentle but serious. “There’s something important I need to discuss with you, something that might give you and your sister the closure you need,” he began.

I looked up at him, my heart sinking at the mention of Sorcha. “What is it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“A young man came to visit a couple of times while you were locked away in your room,” Carlos continued his tone carefully measured.

“Victor…” I whispered, the name slipping out before I could stop it.

“Yes, Victor,” Carlos confirmed. “He was concerned about you, and he told me what happened that night at the bar. I didn’t tell him much, just that you had a difficult childhood. But he figured out a lot from your reaction. Apparently, you’re not the first person he’s met who has dealt with these kinds of vampires.”

I clenched my fists, the memories of that night flashing through my mind. “What do you want me to do?” I asked, dreading his answer.

“I think you should listen to what he has to say,” Carlos said gently. “I didn’t tell him much, but he believes he can help. I think it would be good for both you and Sorcha to hear him out. We should invite him for dinner.”

“What? We can’t…” I started, panic rising in my chest.

“Caoimhe, please,” Carlos interrupted, his voice firm but pleading. “Don’t argue with me on this. Just this once, listen to me. I’m going to call him and ask him to come over today. I want you to go get your sister, but don’t tell her we’re having guests.”

I stared at him, the weight of his request pressing down on me. There was a part of me that wanted to refuse, to shut the door on all of this and retreat back into the darkness. But the look in Carlos’s eyes stopped me. He had been there for us when no one else had, and he was asking for so little in return.

“Okay,” I whispered, barely able to get the word out.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of anxiety and dread. I found Sorcha and brought her to my apartment, carefully avoiding any mention of what was to come. As the evening approached, I sat next to her on the couch, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for the inevitable ring of the doorbell.

Carlos was in the kitchen, cooking dinner for my parents’ murderer. How could I let this happen? The thought of Victor sitting at our table, eating our food, made my blood boil. I should kill him when he’s here tonight, I thought, the anger bubbling up inside me. But a small voice, the one that still trusted Carlos, told me to wait.

Then, the doorbell rang. My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt Sorcha tense beside me. Carlos walked calmly to the door, his footsteps steady, as if this were any other evening. I heard the door open, and then the sound of their voices—Carlos’s warm greeting, and Victor’s polite response.

They entered our home together, and I felt the walls closing in around me. I wanted to run, to hide, but I was frozen in place, my thoughts racing as I struggled to figure out what to do.

Sorcha started to panic as soon as she saw Victor, her eyes wide with fear. She stood up abruptly, but Carlos was there in an instant, gently guiding her back to her seat. “It’s okay, Sorcha. Just sit with us for a while,” he said, his voice soothing.

Victor, to my surprise, didn’t seem fazed by our reactions. Instead, he quietly helped Carlos set the table, his movements calm and measured. How generous of a murderer, I thought.

Finally, we all sat down to dinner, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Carlos’s cooking was, as always, incredible—the kind of meal that should have been savoured and enjoyed. But I could barely taste it, my thoughts too consumed by the man sitting across from me.

“Thank you again for the invitation, Mr. Javier. The food is just delicious,” Victor said, his tone polite and respectful.

“Come on now, no need for flattery. I’m not some blushing housewife,” Carlos replied with a chuckle, his mood seemingly unaffected by the tension at the table.

“No flattery here, just facts,” Victor responded, his smile genuine.

Sorcha and I sat in silence, watching the exchange between the two men. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, anger, confusion. How could Carlos be so at ease? How could he allow this man into our home, after everything we’d been through?

But as I stared at Victor, I noticed something that gave me pause. He wasn’t the monster I had expected. He didn’t have the cold, predatory air of the vampires who had haunted my nightmares for so long. Instead, there was a quiet sadness in his eyes. And his smell, he didn’t smell like them, that smell of rotten blood. He smelt… pleasant. He had a calming scent even. I even caught my sister glancing at him every so often.

I didn’t know what I should do, but for the first time, I found myself willing to listen.



After the meal was done, Victor insisted on helping Carlos with the dishes. Once the dishes were cleaned and put away, Victor and Carlos returned to the dining room, taking their seats opposite Sorcha and me. Victor’s expression was calm, and composed, but there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes—something that made me wonder if I had judged him too quickly.

Carlos was the first to break the silence. “Caoimhe, why don’t you tell Victor what happened when you were young? I believe he might be able to help.”

The knot in my chest tightened, and I felt a wave of panic rising inside me. I glanced at Sorcha, who was now curled up in her chair, her hands trembling as she clutched her ears, her face wet with tears. My heart ached for her, for the pain that she still carried after all these years. How could I bring myself to speak of it again? How could I relive those memories in front of one of them?

But when I looked up into Victor’s blue eyes, something in me stilled. There was a calmness there, a quiet strength that I hadn’t noticed before. And in that moment, a small voice whispered that I could trust him. It was a fragile feeling, easily shattered, but it was enough to give me the courage to speak.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and began to tell him the story. I started with the night of the attack, the blaring alarms, the smell of rotten blood, and the terror that had gripped me as my mother ran with us in her arms. As I spoke, the memories came flooding back, raw and painful, and there were moments when I had to stop, my voice choked with sobs. But Victor just listened, his gaze never wavering, his face an unreadable mask.

It was unhinging, how he just stared at me as I poured my heart out, crying in between my sentences. I searched his face for a reaction, for any sign of emotion, but his expression remained calm, almost cold. For a moment, I regretted saying a single word. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like I had handed him my deepest wounds on a silver platter.

But then, as I finished my story, I saw it—a single tear slipping down his face. It was such a small thing, but it held the weight of a thousand unspoken words. My heart skipped a beat, and for the first time that night, I wondered if Victor was carrying a burden of his own.

He cleared his throat, his voice soft but steady. “Caoimhe, you’re very strong. To have dealt with all that and still have the courage to talk with me… that must have been incredibly tough. I will not take your trust for granted.” His smile was warm and sincere as he made that promise, and despite everything, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could trust him after all.

Victor leaned forward slightly, his tone growing more serious. “Those vampires who smell like rotten corpses are called the Corrupted. They’re cannibal vampires. Normally, a vampire’s powers grow stronger with age, experience, the type and amount of blood they drink, and how strong their coven is. It takes decades for one of us to gain a single Elder Blessing. But the Corrupted… they hunt weaker vampires and consume them to accelerate their growth. It gives them that horrible stench, and they become savages, primal—like cavemen. They are loved by no vampire and are hunted by all. All covens around the world permit killing corrupted vampires on sight.”

He paused, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. “I will contact some of the covens in Erensi and get back to you. I’m sure I can find out what happened to the Corrupted vampires who attacked your family.”

Before I could respond, Sorcha let out a piercing scream. “NOOOOOOO!” she cried, bolting from the table and running into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I could hear her sobbing, the sound muffled but heart-wrenching.

Victor’s eyes softened as he looked in the direction she had fled. “I know this is difficult,” he said gently, turning his gaze back to me. “But I think we might be able to get your family’s compound back, or at the very least, find out what happened to those responsible. I’ll do everything in my power to get you the justice you deserve.”

I nodded, unable to find the words. My throat felt tight, my emotions tangled and confused. Part of me wanted to believe him, to trust that he could help us, but another part of me was still trapped in the past, where vampires were nothing but monsters.

Victor stood up from the table, Carlos rising with him. As Victor extended his hand to shake Carlos’s, I saw a brief exchange between them—Victor leaned in close, whispering something in Carlos’s ear. Whatever it was, it was too quiet for even my werewolf hearing to catch. Carlos nodded in response, his expression serious, and then Victor turned to me with that same warm smile.

“Thank you for giving me the chance to listen,” he said softly. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

I managed a small nod, feeling emotionally drained and exhausted. As Victor left the apartment, I remained seated at the table, staring at it.

Eventually, I forced myself to stand and made my way to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I leaned against it for a moment, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on me. And then, with a heavy sigh, I locked the door and collapsed onto my bed, pulling the covers over me as I tried to shut out the world. I closed my eyes, forcing everything into the back of my mind as exhaustion put me to sleep finally.

Days passed in a blur of darkness and silence as I locked myself away in my room. All the years of painstaking work I had done to improve my mental health, to build a fragile sense of stability, had shattered in mere weeks. The progress I had made crumbled into dust, leaving me feeling lost and helpless. But even in the depths of my despair, a part of me waited—waited for Victor, as if somehow he could magically take it all away.

I didn’t know how much time had passed. The days had melded into one another, indistinguishable in my self-imposed isolation. But then, the same familiar knock on my door pulled me out of the suffocating fog in my mind. The sound was like a lifeline, tugging me back to reality.

This time, when I opened the door, I found Carlos standing there, his expression gentle but determined. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. He simply took my hand, the warmth of his touch grounding me in the present, and gently pulled me out of my room, out of the apartment, and into the elevator. I could have easily resisted him; after all, he was an eighty-year-old man, and I was a ninety-year-old werewolf. Not only could I have stopped him, I could have torn his arm off with ease. But who would do that to their father? The thought of hurting him, even unintentionally, terrified me more than the pain I was feeling.

Carlos led me through the building in silence, guiding me down to Victor’s bar. We entered through the back door, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the polished floor as the afternoon sun filtered through the windows.

He didn’t say a single word until I was sitting in front of Victor, who was already waiting for us. “Tell her,” He told him before making his way to the bar, giving us some space.

I sat there, my heart pounding in my chest, a mix of fear and confusion swirling inside me. Victor’s blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. There was something in his gaze—something that made my heart clench. But then he averted his eyes and began to speak.

“I talked to the Erensi covens,” he started, his voice steady but carrying the weight of what he was about to reveal. “And I found out what happened that night. Your family wasn’t targeted, and you were never in danger if you had stayed. It was simply a mistake made by one of the covens, and they’ve promised to help make things right.”

His words struck me like lightning. My family’s death—a mistake? My mind reeled at the thought, and I felt anger bubbling up inside me, hot and fierce. I wanted to shout, to scream at him, even though I knew deep down that Victor had nothing to do with it. But before I could say anything, Victor raised his hand, his expression pleading.

“Please, let me finish first,” he said, his tone gentle but firm.

I glared at him, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but I held my tongue and let him continue.

“Back then, the covens were hunting a Corrupted nest that was located near your family’s land. The one responsible for the hunt was a young vampire, the son of an elder, who was too proud to admit that his son was incompetent. In his arrogance, he let some of the Corrupted escape, and those were the ones who attacked your home.”

“His failure cost you your family,” Victor continued, his voice heavy. “And caused you unimaginable pain. I demanded payment, and I made some threats of my own. With Carlos’s help, we reached a compromise.”

Victor paused, his eyes searching mine for any sign of understanding. I was frozen, caught between the rage that burned inside me and the sorrow that had never truly left. But I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I called for payment,” Victor said, his voice growing firmer. “You and your sister will have the right to decide how the young vampire will be dealt with. He could be exiled or imprisoned, or if you choose, you can challenge him to a one-on-one duel. However, I don’t recommend that—you have no fighting experience, and it would be dangerous. You can also have someone fight in your stead, and I would gladly do that. If you choose his death, I will more than happily deliver it.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “And the coven will give you back all the land your family owned, including the compound.”

For a moment, the room was silent. I could barely process what he had said—justice was within my reach. The idea of avenging my family, of reclaiming what was ours, was intoxicating.

Carlos slammed his glass on the bar with a sharp clink, the sound reverberating through the quiet room as he took the last of his drink in one swift chug.

“I know what you’re thinking, darling,” Carlos began, his voice low and firm as he made his way over to me. “And it is not the answer.”

I looked up at him, startled by the intensity in his voice. My thoughts had been a chaotic mess ever since Victor’s revelation—rage, pain, and the overwhelming desire for revenge battling within me. But Carlos’s words cut through the noise, pulling me back to the present.

“I know what happened caused you so much pain,” Carlos continued, his eyes searching mine for understanding. “But killing that man because of a mistake he made as a teenager… it means nothing, and it does nothing. It won’t bring your family back, and it won’t erase what happened.”

I felt my heart tighten in my chest. “But he’s responsible,” I whispered, my voice shaking with anger. “He’s the reason they’re gone.”

Carlos nodded, his expression softening with empathy. “I know, sweetheart. We all wanted justice, believe me. We tried to get his father to pay for his misjudgement, but that bastard threw his son under the bus without a second thought.”

He glanced over at Victor, who was listening intently. “According to Victor, your family’s death didn’t go unnoticed. Multiple werewolf packs in Erensi started searching for you and Sorcha after they killed the Corrupted vampires. When they couldn’t find you among the corpses, they began to question everything that had happened.”

Carlos took a deep breath, his tone shifting to one of resolve. “Victor’s search for the truth in the last few days almost sparked a werewolf-vampire war up in Erensi. You have the power to force that elder and his coven out of their lands, to humiliate them in a way that will send a message across Erensi. You don’t have to kill anyone to get your justice.”

A war—over us? It seemed impossible, and yet…

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “We just need to get you and your sister to Erensi. Me and the young man here”—he gestured to Victor—“will help you every step of the way. You won’t have to face this alone.”

As I stood there, something nagged at the back of my mind—something I hadn’t considered until now. Why was Victor helping me and my sister? What would he stand to gain from all of this?

He was risking his reputation among his own kind by aiding us, a pair of werewolves, in a cause that could easily paint a target on his back. Vampires weren’t known for their charity, and in this world, every action had a motive. What was his? I looked into his eyes, searching for the answer, but all I saw was that same clarity, sincerity, and intensity that had been there since the day we first met.

His blue eyes, sharp and unyielding, weren’t seeking anything in return. They were burning with a cold, focused anger. Anger on behalf of me, my sister, and my family. He could have left me that night at the bar, let me run away and never see me again. But he didn’t. Instead, he chose to involve himself in my life, to help me when he could have easily walked away. And now, all of this was only possible because of him.

For a moment, I hesitated, the realisation hitting me like a wave. I hadn’t fully understood until now, hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge what had been growing inside me. But I knew, I knew what this meant to me, what he meant to me.

Without another thought, without a shred of doubt, I reached out, my hand gently cradling the side of his face. Victor’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held my gaze, as if understanding the depth of what was about to happen.

Then, with a resolve I hadn’t felt in years, I leaned in, giving him my very first kiss.

It was a soft kiss, my lips brushing against his, tasting the faint remnants of his signature cocktail, “Running Blood.” His lips were cool, but there was a warmth in the way he responded, his hand coming up to rest gently on my back, pulling me closer.

I didn’t care that Carlos was watching, didn’t care that Victor was a vampire, and I certainly didn’t care about the backlash that would come from others. I had spent so long wrapped in fear and anger, but now, for the first time in thirty years, I felt happy. For that brief moment, the world fell away—the anger, the pain, the fear—all of it dissolved into the background. All that mattered was us. I loved this man, and I would stand by him, just as he had stood by me.

“Caoimhe…” he began, his voice soft, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to process what had just happened.

I pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a gentle smile. “Don’t say anything,” I whispered. “Just… thank you. For everything.”

Victor nodded, his hand still resting on my back. There was so much more to say, so much more to feel, but for now, this was enough.

Carlos, who had been quietly watching the entire exchange, finally spoke, his tone light but filled with affection. “Well, if that’s settled, then I guess we have a lot of work ahead of us, don’t we?”

I smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through me that I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, I truly believed that things could be different—that I wasn’t just surviving anymore, I was living, and I was ready to fight for the future, no matter how uncertain it might be.

Victor’s hand slipped into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. Whatever came next, I knew we would face it together.