PROLOGUE
The bells rang at midnight, low and hollow, echoing like the town itself was holding its breath.
Beneath the old church, the catacombs waited, stone corridors twisted into darkness, and walls were carved with hundreds of names. Every soul’s death date was etched deep, every fate written, and every grave was waiting for its destined resident.
Except mine.
The townsfolk say that I should have been gone years ago, and I didn't have a grave with my name on it. Yet here I was, walking the deserted cobblestones like a mistake the world refused to claim.
A soft click behind me made my heart leap. “Running from death, or just practicing dramatic entrances?” the voice drawled, calm, deadly, and with a hint of amusement that made my skin crawl.
I spun so quickly, I nearly fell.
He stood in the shadows, leaning against the church's archway. His long velvet coat brushed against the stones like it had been woven from night itself, hands casually in his pockets, with the air of perfect composure, and yet every inch of him screamed control. He seemed like a tall and regal vampiric count who would summon a colony of bats and disappear at any moment.
“You shouldn’t be wandering here,” he said with polite coldness and a tiny smirk that made it feel more like a dare than advice.
“I… I didn’t mean to—”
“No one ever does,” he interrupted, voice smooth, lethal, and far too amused. Then, with a casual shrug, he sighed, “But if you fall into one of the graves tonight, I might let the dead teach you a lesson.”
I blinked. “…Excuse me?”
“They’re restless,” he said, nodding toward the catacombs. “Even the dead are curious how you’re still alive. Honestly, it’s quite rude.”
A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold, at least not entirely.
“Do you… always talk to corpses?” I asked, barely managing a whisper.
He raised a brow, smirk curling dangerously. “Only the ones who talk back.”
Then, as if remembering something, he added, dryly, “Honestly, though, if you trip over one more gravestone, I might reconsider letting fate catch up, so watch where you're going.”
I blinked. That was not what I expected.
“Are you… joking?” I whispered, uncertain whether to be terrified or relieved.
“Why ruin the night with gloom when I can amuse myself?” He stepped closer, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t fall in the catacombs and embarrass me. You’re mine to guard, after all.”
My stomach flipped. Guard me? Why did that sound both terrifying and dangerous? The shadows in the catacombs shifted, like the dead themselves were watching. The whispers began then, rising like smoke through cracks in the stone walls.
He stepped closer, eyes glinting in the faint torchlight. “Relax,” he said. “I’ll be watching. The dead tend to follow orders better than most living people. You, though, miss Vespera Whitlock, not so much.”
I swallowed hard. “You- how do you know me?”
He shrugged, casual as a man ordering tea. “I know everyone and everything...but trust me,” the corner of his mouth quirked, “if you survive this night without screaming, I might even approve of your company tomorrow.”
That is when I knew, as I stared into those impossibly controlled, impossibly amused eyes, that life, or death, was no longer mine to decide, and this man might be the answer to all of my questions.
