Chapter 5
1448words
Eventually, we reached a fragile consensus: he would temporarily reside in the sunless wine cellar, while I, as "landlord," would find suitable "food" sources for him. In exchange, he'd follow house rules and provide "exclusive material" for my novel. We tactfully avoided discussing what his "food" actually entailed, though I knew this ticking time bomb would explode eventually.
I practically fled to the master bedroom, locked the door, and pressed my back against it, heart hammering. As adrenaline faded, fear and excitement mingled in equal measure, leaving me trembling. I picked up my Field Notes but found myself frozen, pen hovering above paper. How to document this? [Observation Record 010: Established temporary contract with Non-human Entity #2 (Name: Silas, Species: Vampire). Risk assessment: Extremely dangerous. Opportunity assessment: Immeasurable.] It read like research notes doubling as a last will and testament.
Fatigue and mental exhaustion eventually won out. I collapsed onto the bed fully clothed and instantly plunged into deep sleep.
Tonight's dream, however, was no longer the peaceful sea of white flowers.
I found Julian again in that moonlit field, but he wasn't quietly waiting as before. He stood with his back to me beside a patch of withered flowers. The once-pristine white blooms had blackened and died. Their sweet fragrance had been replaced by a bitter, earthy smell like rotting humus.
My heart raced as I approached him. "Julian?" I called softly.
He turned slowly. His handsome, sorrowful face no longer held its gentle smile. His gray eyes were turbulent as a stormy sea, filled with emotions I'd never seen in him before—heartache, anger, and unmistakable betrayal.
"You shouldn't have... awakened it." His voice was no longer a gentle whisper but carried a cold, accusatory edge. "You shouldn't have brought that filth... into our home."
"I didn't mean to—it was an accident," I explained, feeling an unexpected surge of defensiveness even within my dream.
"An accident?" He stepped closer as the air around us chilled. "You used your blood—your life essence—to feed a sealed darkness. Nora, do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"
It was the first time he'd called me by name in a dream, yet it came as an accusation.
He reached for me with those beautiful, slender hands. But this time, I instinctively recoiled. He didn't wait for permission, grabbing my wrist with a grip colder than ever before, unyielding and possessive.
"This place," he pulled me toward the withered flowers, each step crushing dead petals beneath our feet, "belonged only to us. Pure, peaceful, untainted." His voice carried an elegant yet obsessive possessiveness that made me shiver. "Now his presence has contaminated everything, like ink polluting clear water."
His gaze locked onto me, no longer showing mere intellectual appreciation or platonic admiration, but a fierce desire to separate me from "danger," to "purify" me and possess me exclusively.
"Stay away from him, Nora." He caressed my cheek with his other hand, his icy touch making me shudder. "Once something becomes contaminated, it can never truly be cleansed."
As he spoke, the ground beneath me turned to mud. Black thorny vines erupted from the withered flower beds, coiling around my ankles like venomous serpents. The cold, sharp pain felt horrifyingly real.
I cried out, jolting upright in bed, gasping for breath. Dawn light filtered through the window—it had only been a dream. Yet the phantom sensations of being gripped and pierced still lingered on my wrists and ankles. Julian, that gentle, shy ghost, had revealed another side—a powerful, obsessive spirit with overwhelming possessiveness.
The manor now housed two dangerous "residents"—one in the basement craving my blood, another in the very air coveting my soul. The cheerful sunlight and birdsong outside my window seemed bizarrely out of place.
To escape the suffocating atmosphere, I decided to explore the estate grounds. According to the lawyer's documents, the property included not just the manor but also a large forest behind it. Maybe I could find a spot to grow vegetables—ensuring I wouldn't starve if my supernatural roommates became too problematic.
I pulled on sturdy boots, grabbed my Field Notes and a gardening trowel (doubling as self-defense), and headed outside. The morning air felt fresh and damp, rich with the scent of soil and wild grass. A dense, ancient forest surrounded the estate—massive trees reaching skyward, their canopy allowing only scattered sunlight to penetrate. At the forest's edge, I found traces of past maintenance and a faint path leading deeper into the woods.
I hadn't gone far when I realized this place had a deeper connection to the manor than I'd imagined. Ancient stone carvings—thorny designs similar to those on the manor walls—stood scattered at the forest entrance like boundary markers. It was eerily quiet, even the birdsong having ceased. The air felt primeval and wild, as if countless eyes watched from the shadowy depths between trees.
Instinct warned me not to venture further. Just as I turned to leave, a figure emerged without warning from the dense forest beside me.
He was a man—or at least appeared to be one. Extraordinarily tall and powerfully built, he wore a simple leather vest and work pants. His exposed arms, covered in thick black hair, rippled with muscle. His untamed black hair framed deep-set, rugged features, and amber eyes that gleamed with the sharp vigilance of a wild predator.
He exuded a powerful, aggressive scent—pine needles, damp earth, and wild animal musk—as if he were an extension of the forest itself. His mere presence created a suffocating pressure, the pure physical intimidation of an apex predator.
"You don't belong here, outsider." His voice was deep and hoarse, like a beast's roar barely contained in a human throat. "This manor doesn't welcome the living, especially ones like you who bring plague."
My heart leapt into my throat as cold sweat dampened my palm around the trowel. This man radiated a danger more direct and primal than Silas's aristocratic menace. "I don't know what you're talking about," I answered, faking composure. "I'm the rightful heir to this manor. I have every legal right to be here."
He let out a contemptuous snort and stepped closer. His wild aura intensified; I could feel heat radiating from his body. "Legal?" His amber eyes flashed with mockery. "Human laws mean nothing in this forest. You've awakened an ancient evil that should have remained sealed forever. Its stench has already contaminated our land. I can smell that filthy rot clinging to you."
Ancient evil? He meant Silas. Who was this man? How did he know?
"Leave this place immediately with your 'pet.'" He delivered his ultimatum, his gaze leaving no room for negotiation. "Otherwise, the forest's fury will burn you both to ashes. This is your first and last warning."
"I'm afraid my landlady cannot comply with your suggestion."
A languid yet elegant voice suddenly came from behind me. I spun around to find Silas standing there, somehow having appeared without a sound. He remained in the manor's shadow, untouched by sunlight. Still wearing his dust-covered formal suit, his pale face was fixed on the tall stranger, crimson eyes burning with undisguised, bone-deep hatred.
The moment the stranger saw Silas, every muscle in his body tensed. A deep, threatening growl escaped his throat, his amber eyes blazing with ancient enmity.
"Scum of the Delacour bloodline," the man snarled, each word dripping with murderous intent, "You're still not completely dead."
"The wild dog from the Grimm pack," Silas replied with elegant disdain, a cold, bloodthirsty smile curling his lips. "Your stench is as revolting as ever."
Delacour? Grimm? The names struck like lightning bolts through my mental fog. Vampire and werewolf—legendary eternal enemies—facing off before me in their first confrontation after centuries.
"Seems centuries of hibernation haven't made you any smarter." The werewolf—Finn Grimm, I decided to call him—stepped forward, crushing fallen leaves as his oppressive aura surged. "Do you think hiding behind this woman will keep you safe?"
"She is not my sanctuary," Silas moved forward, smoothly positioning me behind him, undeniable possessiveness flashing in his crimson eyes. "She is my property. And I never tolerate others touching what belongs to me."
He tilted his head slightly, whispering in my ear with that cold, elegant voice only I could hear:
"Isn't that right, my dear... landlady?"
