AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As the final symbol was etched onto the contract, the room stilled, and I knew it was done. The weight of it settled over me, a mantle of responsibility and potential damnation. God help me, because I was past the point of saving.
The witch's fingers stilled, and the hum of magic that had filled the room tapered off into an unsettling silence. She turned to me, her eyes reflecting the flicker of candles as she held out the sire contract. It was a deceptively simple piece of parchment, but it thrummed with power, a silent siren call that made my heart clench in anticipation.
"Remember, Nash," she said, her voice low and serious, "Celeste must consent freely to this—her signature has to be given with full knowledge and will. Otherwise, you risk more than you bargain for."
"Got it," I muttered, snatching the contract from her grasp. The paper felt like a damn bomb in my hands, volatile and ready to rewrite destinies. I knew the stakes; hell, I was counting on them.
"Thank you," I said, though gratitude tasted sour on my tongue. I was neck-deep in the shit now, no turning back. "Your help... it won't be forgotten."
"Nor will the consequences," she shot back with a pointed look that could've pinned me to the wall. "Be careful with power, Nash. It's a fickle lover—always hungry for more."
"Isn't that the truth," I sneered, tucking the contract inside my jacket. The night air hit me like a slap as I stepped outside her cottage—an icy reminder of the twisted path I'd chosen. As I walked away from the warm glow of the witch's den and back into the moonlit streets, every step felt like I was marching towards damnation.
Fuck. I groaned into the night, my stride brisk and unyielding. This is for her protection, for her goddamn safety. The words were a mantra, a feeble shield against the onslaught of doubt gnawing at my insides.
I was Nash Rigby, the vampire vigilante, the dark avenger shrouded in blood and shadows. I wasn't supposed to feel this gnarly cocktail of fear and second-guessing. But when it came to Celeste, all bets were off. Her eyes haunted me, her strength and vulnerability a beacon I couldn't ignore even if it led me straight to hell.
Control over my powers... I let out a hollow sigh. She'll probably kick my ass for this. And maybe she should—maybe that's what I deserved. But if signing this cursed contract kept one more shadow from touching her, then bring on the fury.
Chapter 28
Celeste
The morning light forced my eyes open. I rolled out of bed, cursing the sun for being so damn chipper. My feet padded across the cold floor, each step a reminder that I was in some gothic mansion in Italy, not my cozy, cramped apartment where I could trip over my own art supplies.
"Breakfast," I mumbled to myself, scratching at the mess of hair on my head. "Need coffee. Need food. Need a straightjacket if I keep talking to myself."
I shuffled towards the kitchen, ready to drown in caffeine and scarf down something that would make my dietician wince. But the kitchen was empty—no heavenly scent of brewing coffee, no sizzle of whatever the hell rich people eat for breakfast.
"Figures," I muttered.
"Good morning, Celeste," came that voice, as smooth as the silk sheets I'd just abandoned.
"Holy shit!" I spun around. Nash stood there, all chiseled jawline and brooding brown eyes, like he'd stepped out of a painting I'd never have the talent to create. "You gotta stop doing that silent-creepy-stalker thing. It's bad for my heart."
"Apologies," he said, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "But I have something better than your heart's desire for coffee."
"Better than coffee?" I scoffed. "Doubt it."
He extended his hand, and I eyed it like it might bite. Probably would, knowing him.
"Fine," I sighed, ignoring his hand because I wasn't about to swoon. "Lead the way."
Nash chuckled—a sound as dark as his soul—and turned, guiding me through the halls of his too-big-for-its-own-good mansion. We passed windows revealing glimpses of dawn's light caressing rows upon rows of grapevines.
"Didn't peg you for a farmer, Nash."
"Vineyards are a tradition in my family," he said, looking back at me with a gaze that somehow made me feel naked. "Plus, they offer certain... privacy."
"Privacy for stalker shenanigans?"
"Something like that," he replied.
We reached the edge of the vineyard, where the grapes hung heavy with the promise of something unspoken. He led me up a subtle incline, the earth beneath our feet crunching in protest.
Hope this breakfast includes a shot of tequila.
We finally crested the hill, and I'll be damned, the view stole the sarcasm right from my lips. The Italian skyline cut against the horizon, but here, in Nash's world, it felt like another universe—one where maybe I wouldn't mind getting lost.
