"Who makes himself a sheep,
will be eaten by the wolf."
Italian Proverbs

🩸

"What happened to you?"

She felt hollow, even as her familiar's voice wrapped her in its embrace. A cold feeling that she could not shake, a scene of carnage marring her bed room. The porcelain tub in the corner of her room had already been filled to the brim. Lavender hung on the spigot, the water steamed with some vanilla and rose-scented oil. She sauntered to it, already feeling her bone suture back into place with every passing minute.

Cian sat on the edge of her bed, as close as he could get to barely touching it. His tourmaline eyes followed her carefully, intense in their perusal. As worried as he must have been, he stayed home instead of tearing apart the city to find her, because she had requested him to. She refused to let the sick rise in her throat, at how different the night could have been if she had not charmed away their connection.

The one night he decided to listen to me.

A laugh was torn out of her, though nothing was humorous.

An immortal being she was. Poems were written about the curse of watching everything change where they remained the same. How the fruit of life grew sour, as loved ones were left behind.

Most children outlive their parents. No one could have prepared her to see them both die in a gruesome manner before their eyes.

Her mother made a choice. But her father...she had stolen his.

Because she refused to drink from humans. Because she took out her anger on lovers that meant nothing. Because she was arrogant, and selfish, and used her bravado to sweep away all of her problems.

Cian warned her it would all catch up to her one day.

She grabbed at the metal chain she wore around her neck, trying to keep her hand as steady as possible. Not for herself, but for her familiar who was now attempting to piece together their time without her saying a word. Ripping down and out, she tore the clove of garlic off herself.

"I saw my father." She spoke out into the air, adding more heated water to the tub. Needing it to burn her flesh.

Cian sat even more still on her bed. So frozen she caught his lack of movement from the corner of her eye. He was shocked, and possibly concerned that maybe she murdered him herself from the way she spoke about him before. He looked up and down her body again and decided on a different story.

"He is gone. Octavia found you?" Her familiar's svelte voice went soft, less icy than usual. It was pity and she loathed it. The last part of his sentence lilted, showing her that something occurred that he could have not foreseen.

It made her feel weak. Something she could no longer afford to be.

"Astute observation." She drew in a painful breath as she moved to untie the back of her now blood-stiffened dress, "Yes, the Empress found me. Then she used my father to get to me."

Cian remained silent, the harsh cover of night on his eyes lifted with a fiery need for revenge. She could tell that he had pieced together himself what she could not say, and he was more furious for the both of them. He stood up from the floral-fitted bed, his tall frame leaping shadows across her own body as he paced around the room.

She did not want to cry again. And she knew that softness between them could make her deteriorate to ash within a second. Who knows what other stupid things would come forth from her mouth if she let vulnerability ripen.

The pain of her creating new wounds as she ripped material off her body kept her focused. Cian was too busy trying to breath to notice she was getting entirely uncovered.

Not that he would care.

With every lap he took across the room, she could hear his mind screaming at her.

If only you had not shut me out.

He wouldn't say it out loud. Not what she was at her lowest.

"I did not stop you from murdering that imbecile in a room full of people. I let you go by yourself to the city, even with the Council after you. I never ask for what you cannot or do not want to give. But Rin—" Her familiar turned, just as she peeled off the last of her destroyed garments.

He stopped, swallowing once. The man let out a shuddering breath before closing his eyes, his fists tightening by his side. "Wouldn't you like to warn me?" Cian asked through gritted teeth.

Serafina rolled her eyes, stepping into the warm bath water. Grateful to be frustrated out of her deep state of shock. The slide of if the run against her skin brought feeling back to the tingling numbness of her limbs. She gripped onto the sides, bringing her chest below the cover of milky water. Her soaked and crusted hair dipping in, the water slowly changing to a rosy pink.

She shifted her head towards Cian, who had definitely helped place her into a bath fully undressed after a night of rough drinking. Has cleaned her wounds at a strained state of undress. There was no need for barriers of any kind between them.

"Stop acting like a prude or I'll send you to a convent. Come here, you obviously would like to talk, and you deserve an explanation."

Cian breathed in deeply before opening his eyes directly onto her line of sight. Her heart quickened in pace, despite his sterile concern. He bit the bottom of his lip, his boots chattering soundly against the floor as he pulled over a wooden stool and sat beside the bath. His elbows rested on his wide open knees, his wrists and forearms revealed from his black, lifted sleeves. Black hair fretted over sea-wavering irises. His back curved as to keep his height much closer to her own within the bath.

"Are you alright?" The crouched man was inspecting the wounds again he could see above the water. His pointer finger twitched outward, near her outstretched hand. He did not close the small gap between them to trace along her skin.

He was not speaking of the wounds he could see at all.

"It's just my wrists—"

"Lying to me does not suit you. You know what I am asking."

She wanted to answer without frightening him.

I will never be okay. I will bring justice, which is more finite. Tangible.

"She tortured him, Cian. After he finally...I cannot forgive this. I do not want to lead these despicable, depraved creatures. I do not want to be a figurehead for their sadistic whims. I want her obliterated for what she did. I wish for her millennia alive to mean nothing. To mark nothing of importance. I wish to make her the Empress of an empire that never was." Serafina sucked in a shaky breath, resolute, "I want to feast on her until there is not a drop of blood left, and for her to feel pain for however long it takes."

The window to the room was open, letting in last remnants of night. They would have to close soon, as the sun made its morning climb.

Cian placed his hands together, and her pulse leapt to her throat as he touched a previously open wound that was now a soft pink line on her tanned skin with the pad of his ring finger. The caress so light it was the soft flutter of a moth's wing. Emotion filled her once again, and she refused to let any tears fall. Not now. Not when they would not stop.

It was a promise.

"We will write it in blood." Cian assured her, unwavering as always. Her skin heated where he pulled away his touch, and she moved to place her arms under the water. Her reaction to him mattering less more than ever.

Octavia must die.

Not another person I love can die.

It had been foolish to ever believe they could live each other more than companions, and what had occurred only opened her eyes to this. Her impulsive rebellion had only brought them further into respite. To protect him, it meant snuffing out every temptation that could bring him harm. She could not be the reason for his death as well.

She did not even dare to imagine what Octavia would do to him if she had the chance.

The water cooled some, but still she was a lot torch. "But how Cian? I have been a vampire for eleven years. And while I have you...it is not enough to defeat an Ancient and to establish order in the chaos we create. We would have to have enough raw power to take out Octavia, and the rest of the bastards."

"There is something, an old myth of some sort. Spoken about in realms of shadow, and other parts of the underworld. It spoke about circles of power, and taking it from others. There was a poem, or a prophecy. I wonder—" The man's eyes lit up, his smile catching her off guard with its brilliance. His exhilaration was more blinding than his brooding, "We need La Strega."

"A witch?" Serafina bit back the strange sharpness of jealousy that clung to her as he spoke of this other woman with enthusiasm he rarely emitted. Familiar's often crossed paths with others in the underworld, considering they enacted tasks that were deemed below vampires.

"The witch"

"My apologies." Serafina grumbled sardonically, tapping on the edge of the tub impatiently. She attempted to adjust her tone, even as Cian's grin widened. There were more important things than her immature whims, "Where?"

Her only task was to avenge her father, to rid the world of Octavia, and to keep Cian alive and her feelings at bay. Her heart throttled again as she caught the scent of his cologne, and he leaned even closer. Tracing from his eyes, to his lips, to his neck, and back to his impossibly carved face she knew that she would be warring with fate.

Let him go. Tell him to stay.

Find the witch by yourself, and spare him.

Those eyes stole her breath, her sense. They were above her when she tried to take her life. Every time they brought her back, and welcomed her.
Tied together by time, and bound by threads.

She could tell him to stay, but he wouldn't. Not this time.

"I am sorry Rin."Cian whispered his apology.

His avoidance was an answer in itself.

The South.

Her once beloved escape, a nightmare she must surrender to. It already threatened to bleed her dry, but it was not another thing she could run from. She had made a promise.

For my father, for my mother, and for their love...I will.

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(A/n: oooooo what witch? And what will happen as they travel hahaha. Let's see!

Thank you to everyone who is reading! Let me know your thoughts/what tropes you would like to see!