Bloodbound Heir

Ayla Roth had never believed in ghosts—not until the night her grandmother died and left her a mansion that shouldn't exist.

She stood at the rusting gates of Ebon Hollow, rain dripping from the edge of her hood, staring at the towering silhouette carved from stone and shadows. The place had been wiped from city records, tucked behind miles of forgotten forest and fog. And yet, somehow, it bore her name now. The last Roth.

The key had come in a black envelope with no stamp, sealed with crimson wax bearing a crest she didn’t recognize: a wolf pierced through the heart by a sword.

She shouldn’t have come.

But curiosity? It had always been her worst habit.

~~~~~

The inside of the mansion smelled like dust, roses, and something older—like old paper and memory. Her boots echoed through the marble foyer. Paintings lined the walls: all somber eyes, pale skin, faces that felt too real. One of them looked like her. Too much like her.

She found the ring in the study.

It was cold to the touch. Black metal, smooth, with faint runes that shimmered silver under the lightning flashing outside. She should’ve left it there.

She didn’t.

The moment she slipped it on, the world stilled.

Then came the voice.

"You’ve awakened it. Foolish girl."

A deep, ancient voice that slid down her spine like ice.

She spun around. No one.

"Do you even know what you are?"

Her heart raced. She stumbled back, grabbing a broken chair leg as a weapon. But there was no attacker—just the shadows growing thicker behind her. Twisting. Breathing.

And then, from the darkest corner of the room, he emerged.

Tall. Lean. Eyes like bleeding stars.

A man—no, not a man. A vampire.

He looked at her like he’d been waiting for centuries.

"At last," he said. "The Bloodbound Heir returns."

~~~~~

Alya's heart hammered against her ribs, but her feet were frozen to the spot. The shadows seemed to ripple around the vampire, like a dark cloak wrapping itself around him, making him part of the very air she breathed. He was a vision out of a nightmare, but it was his words that caught her like a vice.

The Bloodbound Heir returns.

She hadn’t been prepared for that. She didn’t know what he meant, but something in her gut twisted, a sense of destiny—or doom—sinking in like a weight on her chest.

"Who are you?" she managed to croak, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile reality she’d entered.

The vampire smiled, a cold, slow curve of his lips. His eyes—those bleeding stars—never left hers. They seemed to see through her, like he was looking into the very marrow of her soul.

"You don’t know, do you?" he mused, his voice smooth, like dark velvet. "Your grandmother was a fool to leave you this place. But you, you are the key. The last Roth. The heir to this... legacy."

Alya’s mind reeled. She couldn’t breathe. Her grandmother—she remembered the stories, the warnings about her family’s mysterious past. But ghosts? Vampires? None of it had ever seemed real until now.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her grip tightening on the chair leg, the only thing that made her feel like she had some control over this situation.

The vampire’s gaze flickered to her hand, and Alya’s pulse skipped when she realized the ring was still on her finger. The runes had changed since she’d put it on, the faint silver glow now pulsing rhythmically, as if alive.

"Nothing," he said, stepping closer, his voice lowering to a growl. "The ring has already claimed you. You have no choice in this, Bloodbound Heir. You are bound to this mansion, to its secrets. To me."

Alya’s breath hitched. “What do you mean, bound? What happens to me now?”

The vampire’s eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "You’ll see, Alya Roth. All in time."

He moved past her, his form sleek and impossibly graceful, like a shadow that had stepped out of the dark. She watched him warily, trying to make sense of the chaos swirling in her mind.

Before she could say anything more, he paused, just by the door. "One more thing. The ring you wear is not just an heirloom. It is a key. But it will not unlock the truth until you accept your fate. And trust me, child… your fate will find you sooner than you think."

Then, without another word, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the mansion as if he had never been there at all.

Alya stood alone in the study, her heart racing, the cold ring on her finger burning with a strange energy. The voice still echoed in her ears, the words he’d said sinking in, making her blood run colder than the rain outside.

She had to leave. This place was a nightmare—a trap. But something told her she couldn’t run from this. Whatever it was that had begun, it was already too late to stop.

Alya slowly walked toward the door, but before she could reach the threshold, she stopped, staring at her reflection in the dusty mirror beside it. The woman staring back at her had changed—her eyes, darker than they had been when she arrived, and the faintest trace of something ancient in her expression.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Not really. The mansion, the ring, the vampire—everything was pulling her in, whether she was ready or not.

And she wasn’t sure if she ever would be.

~~~~~

The wind howled through the cracked windows of Ebon Hollow as Alya stepped into the dim hallway beyond the study. Her boots echoed across the dusty floorboards, each step a declaration of defiance—or maybe fear. The ring on her finger pulsed faintly with every heartbeat, like it was syncing itself to her, binding her further with each breath.

She moved slowly, hand brushing the walls for balance, tracing the carved patterns etched into the old wood. Wolves. Swords. The same crest that sealed the black envelope.

She was walking deeper into the mansion, but it felt like she was being led. Or watched.

Somewhere upstairs, a door creaked open.

Alya froze.

The air changed. Heavier. Like the house was breathing again.

"Hello?" she called out before she could stop herself. Her voice didn’t echo—it was swallowed whole.

No answer.

Just that same, slow creak, followed by silence so complete, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

She shouldn’t follow it. She knew she shouldn’t.

But curiosity had always been her worst habit.

She gritted her teeth and started up the staircase. The banister was cold under her fingers, slick with dust. Portraits lined the walls here too—generations of Roths, maybe. Some faces blurred by time. Others eerily clear.

Halfway up, her eyes caught on a painting. A woman in black, her hair braided with crimson ribbon, holding a sword across her lap.

Alya stopped.

Because the woman was wearing the same ring.

And she was smiling.

Not kindly.

What the hell...

A thud came from the end of the hall above her. A door slamming shut.

She ran the rest of the way up, fueled by adrenaline and an ever-deepening dread. When she reached the landing, the hallway stretched in both directions, lit only by flickering wall sconces that hadn’t burned minutes ago.

To her left, a door stood open.

Of course it was the one at the very end.

She stepped forward cautiously, each footstep quieter than the last, until she was standing in the doorway. Inside was a bedroom—ornate, antique, untouched by time. The canopy bed was draped in black lace. Candles burned in each corner, flames still as death. A mirror stood across the room.

In front of it—him.

The vampire.

His gaze met hers in the mirror first.

“You came,” he said, turning slowly to face her. He wasn’t surprised.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Alya said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

He smiled faintly, as if that amused him. “You always had a choice. You just didn’t want to admit what you already knew.”

She stepped into the room, carefully. “Which is?”

“That this place is yours. That it has always been waiting for you.”

She folded her arms. “Cut the cryptic crap. Who are you?”

The vampire tilted his head slightly, as if debating how much to reveal.

“My name is Lucien,” he said finally. “I was bound to this house long before you were born. And I served your bloodline until the night your grandmother sealed me away.”

Alya blinked. “She sealed you?”

“She tried to protect you.” His tone darkened, almost bitter. “From this place. From me. From the truth.”

“What truth?”

He stepped closer, eyes burning. “That you are not just a Roth. You are the heir to a bloodline that once ruled the supernatural underworld of this land. And now that you’ve returned... you’ve inherited everything. Including its enemies.”

Alya’s breath caught.

Lucien leaned in, voice low, intimate. “You can still run, if you like. But it won’t save you. The wards are breaking. The others will come.”

She stared at him, heart pounding. “Others?”

Lucien’s smile was all fang and prophecy.

~~~~~~

Alya’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her mouth had gone dry.

“The others?” she echoed, the word tasting like ash on her tongue.

Lucien’s expression shifted—less amused now, more... alert. He turned toward the window, gaze cutting through the night like a blade.

“They’ve sensed your return,” he said, voice low. “The blood that binds this place has awakened. The moment you put that ring on, the seals began to break. The Hollow is no longer hidden.”

He stepped past her, fast—too fast—and flung the heavy curtains open.

Outside, beyond the wrought-iron gates, the forest was no longer empty.

Eyes. Dozens of them. Flickering like dying embers in the darkness. Watching. Waiting.

Then—one by one—they began to move.

Lucien’s voice dropped to a near growl. “You should not have come alone.”

Alya turned to him. “Then help me stop them.”

He looked at her, and for the first time, something unguarded slipped into his gaze—regret, maybe. Or fear.

“I can’t stop them,” Lucien said. “Not anymore.”

The candles in the corners of the room blew out all at once, plunging them into darkness.

And somewhere downstairs, the front door—the one that had opened by itself when she first arrived—slammed shut.

Alya didn’t move.

Then, echoing through the mansion like a whisper carved from bone, came a child’s voice.

Soft. Laughing.

     “Blood to stone, and bone to flame, The Hollow calls you by your name…”

And then came the scream.

Not human.

Not anymore.