Chapter 7

The silence in the car pressed on me like a weight I couldn’t shake off. I sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes glued to the blur of streetlights passing by outside. Kieran’s grip on the steering wheel was easy, loose, but his presence filled every inch of space. I could feel his eyes flick toward me now and then, sharp as needles even when he pretended not to care.

The car ride stretched on in silence, but my thoughts weren’t on Kieran or even on the looming mansion I knew we were heading toward. They circled back to the man from the café. His face wouldn’t leave me. He hadn’t looked like a cop, not even close, and I knew most of my father’s colleagues. That man wasn’t one of them. So who was he? And what kind of business had he had with my father? The way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me—it was too sharp, too knowing. The encounter kept gnawing at me, filling every gap of quiet with questions I couldn’t answer. I let out a breath, long and shaky, and tried not to think about the interaction any longer.

When the city lights began thinning, when the air grew quieter and darker, I finally spoke. “So that’s it? Just like that? I bury my dad, and now I’m supposed to come running back like nothing happened?”

“Not running,” he said flatly. “Dragged. Don’t flatter yourself.”

I shot him a glare, but he didn’t bother meeting my eyes. His expression didn’t shift, not even a smirk, though his voice had that dry sharpness that always made me grind my teeth.

The ride went on. The farther we drove, the more the streets stretched empty, lonely. A heaviness settled over me. I pressed my forehead against the glass, staring out at the dark outline of the trees and houses slipping past. It felt like every mile away from the city was another mile away from the life I’d known.

And then, suddenly, there it was.

The mansion.

It rose out of the night like something carved out of time itself. My chest tightened as my eyes swept over it. The walls were stone, dark and looming, like they’d stood through wars and centuries of storms. Ivy crawled up the sides, clinging stubbornly to the cracks and corners. Iron gates stretched wide, swallowing us in as the car rolled up the drive.

But for all its age, the place wasn’t ruined. Far from it. The windows glowed with golden light, the gravel drive was pristine, and the gardens we passed looked too perfect to belong to mortals. It was the kind of wealth that didn’t just speak of money—it screamed legacy. Old money, ancient money, the kind that never fades because it was never earned in the usual ways.

A chill ran down my spine. This place doesn’t just look rich—it looks untouchable.

The car stopped, tires crunching softly on the gravel. I didn’t move at first. My eyes stayed locked on the towering front doors, carved with symbols I didn’t recognize. The sight of them made my skin crawl.

“Out,” Kieran said simply, already opening his own door.

I followed, legs heavy as stone. The air here felt different—thicker, colder. Every breath I took seemed to weigh more than the last.

Inside, the mansion was worse.

The moment I stepped through the doors, I was swallowed whole. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, painting the polished marble floor with fragments of light. Tall portraits lined the walls, stern men and women watching from gilded frames. Their eyes seemed to follow me no matter where I turned.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. It wasn’t just a house. It was a monument. A world built on centuries of secrets.

I trailed after Kieran down one hallway, then another. My sneakers squeaked faintly against the marble, the sound jarring in the stillness. He moved quickly, purposeful, as if he’d walked these paths his whole life.

I couldn’t stop staring. Every corner revealed something new—statues, velvet curtains, bookshelves filled with tomes so old they looked like they’d crumble if touched. The deeper we went, the more suffocating it felt.

This isn’t wealth that grew in a generation or two. This is something older. Something rooted. Who the hell are these people?

My chest tightened with unease. My father’s debts, his death, the Otho family’s hold on everything—it all tangled together in my head like a knot I couldn’t untie.

Kieran didn’t explain a thing as we walked. He didn’t need to. His silence was enough to say, you’ll see soon enough.

Finally, we stopped.

The hallway ended at a massive metal door. Cold and silver, it looked entirely out of place compared to the ornate beauty of the mansion. My eyes ran over it, unsettled by the way it hummed faintly, as if alive.

Kieran stepped forward. Without a word, he pressed his thumb against a sleek panel. A light flashed green. Then another. He leaned in, letting the scanner read his eye. I blinked, stunned. High-tech security, here, in a place that looked like it belonged in the fifteenth century?

The locks clicked. The sound echoed deep in my chest.

The door opened.

I froze in the threshold.

It wasn’t another hallway. It wasn’t another gallery of portraits or glittering chandeliers.

It was a lab.

Cold lights buzzed overhead. Silver counters stretched in clean lines. Machines I didn’t recognize hummed faintly. Vials of blood—actual blood—were neatly stored in glowing cases against the wall.

My stomach turned.

“What the hell is this?” I whispered, my voice barely carrying.

Kieran stepped inside, not bothering to answer right away. He moved like he belonged here, like this sterile nightmare was as normal as a living room.

“You’ll need your blood tested,” he said finally, his tone flat, matter-of-fact. “We need to know if it’s suitable.”

My throat tightened. “Suitable for what? A transfusion?”

Kieran turned then, his green eyes catching the cold light. For the first time that night, a faint smirk ghosted across his lips.

“No. To drink.”

The words slammed into me. I stumbled back a step, my heart hammering. “You’re—you’re kidding.”

His smirk deepened, but it wasn’t amusement. It was sharp. Predatory.

“You really think this is a joke?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. My chest rose and fell too fast. “So what—you expect me to just sit here while your master drains me like—like a wine glass?”

“Only if he wants to.” Kieran shrugged, casual as if we were talking about the weather. “It’s not up to you.”

I laughed, but it was hollow, desperate. “Yeah, right. And Santa Claus is real too.”

Kieran didn’t bother with words this time.

His lips pulled back, and there they were. Fangs. Sharp, gleaming under the sterile light. His pupils bled into a luminous glow, a color I couldn’t even name—purple laced with silver, something otherworldly.

The air caught in my throat. My whole body locked in place.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until the space between us was thin as a breath. His gaze pinned me like a predator cornering prey.

“Do you want proof?” he asked softly. “Do I have to drink from you to convince you this isn’t a joke?”

The words sank into me, heavy and sharp. My pulse thrashed in my veins, loud enough I swore he could hear it.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Kieran tilted his head, watching me struggle. For a fleeting second, there was no smirk, no laziness, no mask. Just hunger. Real, unfiltered hunger.

And in that moment, I knew—this wasn’t a game.