Private Tales The Price of Defiance

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Nikolai had buried himself in the deepest part of the manor, locking every door between himself and the scent that threatened to break him. It clung to him like a curse, like iron chains wrapped around his ribs, constricting with every breath.

The hours stretched, the sun slipping beyond the horizon, painting the world in twilight. The hunger gnawed at him, raw and insistent, but he forced himself into stillness, into control. It was only when the moon took its place in the sky that he finally moved, dragging himself from his self-imposed exile.

She hadn't run.

He'd expected to find tracks in the snow, the scent of her fear leading away.. But she hadn’t gone anywhere.

His gaze landed on her, small and curled beneath the Ilithoré bushes, their thorny branches folding around her like something protective. How appropriate. She looked like a creature of shadow herself, a part of this cursed place, hiding among things that would tear her apart just as easily as he could.

But then—she moved. His breath hitched as she reached toward one of the violet flowers.

"Don’t touch tha—"

He was already moving before the words finished leaving his lips, dropping to a knee beside her, his hand snapping around her wrist and drawing her hand back from her mouth.

"Shit." His fingers curled tighter as he caught sight of the tiny wound beading red against her pale skin. "Must you prod everything that's dangerous?" His voice was sharp, frayed with something between frustration and fear. It should have hit her by now. Ilithoré was a quick poison. Deadly, even in the smallest of doses. It curled through the veins like fire, burning its way through a body, unraveling it thread by thread. But she just stared at him, wide-eyed, unflinching.

His other hand lifted before he could stop himself, rough fingers catching beneath her chin, tilting her face up. His grip was firm but not unkind, forcing her golden-flecked irises to meet his own.

He pressed two fingers against the pulse in her throat. Steady. Normal. His brow furrowed.

"You... You're alright?" His voice was quieter now, uncertainty threading through it. That wasn’t possible.

His fingers ghosted over her wrist again, lingering where the thorn had pierced her, where there should have been something wrong. His lips parted, the shape of a question forming, but he found himself unable to voice it. He just stared.

What the fuck was she?
 
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Sadie flinched when an ice cold hand wrapped around her wrist, dragging her hand away from her mouth. Pressure tightened, firm and frantic soon after, as though he had expected her to wilt right before his eyes. But Sadie just stared at him, watching the way his face twisted, the way his violet eyes scanned her, searching for something. Some sign that she was dying.

She wasn’t.

Not physically anyway.

Sure her hand hurt a little, her wings still ached. But that was it.

His hand shot up to her face, fingers beneath her chin to force her to look at him. Sadie didn’t resist, but she didn’t quite react either. She just blinked, curiously, as those icy fingertips ghosted over her throat to be greeted with the steady, unfazed rhythm of her pulse.

You.. You’re alright?

She thought about his question for a moment before finally answering. “…I think so?”

But his fingers lingered against her skin, grip still tense as though he didn’t believe her. Like if he let go, she would crumble. But his eyes asked more questions than his mouth did, and she wished she had an answer for him.

She shouldn’t be fine. Judging by the panic in his face, his body, his every breath. The plant should have killed her, or at least come close. But it hadn’t touched her with its effects. Not even a whisper.

Her eyes flicked down to where his hand still held her wrist, thumb over where she’d accidentally pricked herself. A tiny drop of red welled against his fingertip, smearing faintly. But there was no pain. No burning. No slow, creeping horror. No feelings of any impending doom.

She could see questions forming in his mind, see the pieces clicking together but she was too afraid to ask the ones that burned through her own chest.

Mates.

Had he meant it as part of the Crimson Thread, or had he meant true mates? Her stomach twisted.

Had he already accepted it?

Was that why if she died, he would follow suit, but if he perished, she would not?

The idea made her chest tighten and her thoughts spiral, but she didn’t speak them out loud. Not right now. Not while he was still so volatile, while his breaths came too quickly and his shadows still pulsed around them both.

Instead, she did the only thing she could do. She yanked her wrist from his grip and broke the silence with other questions.

“How bad is it?” She asked, voice quiet. “The house.” She clarified, still not daring to look at him. Silence stretched just long enough for her stomach to churn, for her pulse to pick up slightly. Before she forced herself to continue.

“I will clean up the mess I made of the sunroom. I’m sorry for doing that.” The words came out flatly, almost distant, but she did mean them. It was all she could think of to lure him back into the house. To hurt herself and let her blood fill the air, pool against the stone floor and smear against the fountain.

It was a silly offer, to fix it while the rest of the house was now in ruins. But it was easier to think about than what he had said before. About what he had called her- called them. “I’m sorry…”
 
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Nikolai didn’t let go right away. His fingers curled around empty air when she yanked her wrist free, and something inside him coiled tight—frustration, confusion, a thread of something more dangerous. His gaze snapped to hers, searching, as if looking long enough would unravel the impossible. But she was fine. He could feel the steady pulse in her throat even now, a phantom rhythm against his fingertips. The Ilithoré should have done more than this. It should have taken root, spread like a sickness through her veins, choked her breath and stolen the light from her eyes.

Instead, she sat before him, whole. Unscathed. And dangerously fucking beautiful.

The thought slammed into him all over again, knocking the air from his lungs. His shadows trembled, curling against the stone like restless things, seething with the energy he refused to unleash. Fate was laughing at him. He had ruined her life, shattered what little peace she had left, and still—still—she was bound to him. His mate.

And yet, she was thinking about the house.

Nikolai huffed a sharp, incredulous breath. “The house,” he echoed flatly. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless. “You’re sitting here grasping at lethally poisonous plants, and you’re worried about the house.”

He should have known. She always found some other burden to carry, some way to shift her focus away from what she couldn’t control. Maybe that was the only way she knew how to keep from breaking.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, but his voice was quieter when he spoke again...

I’m sorry…

The words struck him like a fist to the ribs, knocking something loose and ugly in his chest.

His lips curled back, his shadows snapping outward before he could stop them. “Don’t,” he snarled. “Don’t apologise. Not for that. Not to me.”

The rage was sudden, sharp, but it wasn’t meant for her.

She should be screaming at him. Fighting. Instead, she sat there, small and tired and offering him apologies, of all things.

Nikolai exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from his muscles. He closed his eyes for half a breath before looking at her again, softer this time. “Just—come inside,” he murmured, reaching for her again, slower this time. “Before you freeze to death.”
 
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Sadie watched him, blinking against the cold as words settled over her. She had never seen him look quite like this before- tense and restless, as if something deep inside him had begun fracturing and Nikolai had no idea how to hold the pieces together on his own. But all she had done was prick her hand with a thorn.

Yet, he still looked like something was unraveling, like some terrible thing had nearly happened. Worse, he watched like something still might happen.

She swallowed, glancing down at the tiny wound. It wasn't even bad, not compared to how she had sliced her own wings just to get his attention. This? This was just a shallow cut from a thorn that barely even stung. But he still looked like that. And why was he staring at her like that?

Sadie's breath hitched, a sharp sound that was nearly too quick to catch. She watched as his eyes flickered over her face with an unreadable expression with something still lingering there, something she wasn't sure of. It wasn't fear. But it sent a shiver crawling up her spine, though it had nothing to do with the cold.

Her fingers curled around the useless blanket she had carried out to cloak herself against the winter with, a feeble attempt at grounding herself, at trying to ignore the way he was looking at her. Like he wasn't sure if he wanted to snarl or kneel before her. But then, he finally huffed and spoke.

The house...You're sitting here, grasping at lethally poisonous plants, and you're worried about the house.

Sadie blinked. Her brow furrowed at how flat and unimpressed he sounded, as if she were a child who had just said the most absurd thing imaginable. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "Of course I'm thinking about the house," She muttered. What else was there to think about? Other than what she refused to think about.

She had ruined his sunroom. Left one room an utter disaster, bloodstained and torn apart. And the rest of the manor, from what she had seen while fleeing, appeared to have hosted a bull who made quick work of destroying everything else. But it had all been her fault. And that was why she was apologizing to him.

His shadows lashed out, pulsing against the stone, his voice full of anger again when he refused her apology. Words came fast and raw, like he might bleed out if he didn't stop himself from speaking.

Sadie's stomach twisted, watching him seethe, his shadows flickering around like living smoke. She shouldn't have said it. Even if she did mean it. Maybe it wasn't about the apology at all. Maybe he was upset about everything else.

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sound of wind rustling through the frozen garden. And then finally, Nikolai reached for her, offering a hand between thorns. Just- come inside. His voice was quieter now, rough still, but softer.

She stared at his offered hand, then at his face, then back at his hand as her throat tightened. She hesitated, realizing that he was giving her a choice. But still, she paused- not out of fear. No, she stopped fearing him long ago. But she hesitated because of what this was.

A step.

A small step.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Sadie's fingers twitched around the blanket, gripping tightly for a moment longer before, finally, she reached out and took his hand.
 
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Gods her hand was colder than it should have been, though still warmer than his own. Nikolai’s grip was firm, steady, but colder than the night air as he led her back inside. He didn’t pull or rush her, didn’t force her forward, but his pace was purposeful, as though afraid she might vanish if he let go. As if the poison might be delayed. And yet, he glanced back at her more than once, his expression unreadable in the moonlight as though reassuring himself she was still there, still safe.

The scent of her blood clung to her more so than usual, though the moment they crossed the threshold, it hit him like a hammer to the chest. Nikolai stiffened, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he swallowed hard against the sharp hunger curling deep in his stomach. It was unbearable—sweet, intoxicating, something he had never encountered before her. He had enough control now not to lunge, not to lose himself entirely, but it was a struggle. More of a struggle than it had been in centuries.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his senses to dull as his shadows lashed out, shoving aside the broken remnants of a table in his path. The manor was a wreck, shattered glass and splintered wood littering the stone floor, furniture upturned and walls still scarred with the evidence of his rage. He forced himself to ignore it for now, focusing on her instead.

“You need to bathe.” The words came out as more of a grumble than anything else, but he didn’t quite meet her eyes when he said it, dropping her hand as he stepped into the kitchen. He opened the pantry door, lifting a large sack of salt and setting it down on the table. “That should help… with the sun room.”

The moment he said it, the image of the room flooded his mind—the pool of blood, the sharp copper tang of it in the air, the sight of her sitting there with her wings torn and dripping. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

“I’ll…” His voice came quieter now, rough but lacking its usual sharpness. “I’ll deal with the rest of the house. And get you something to eat.”

He wasn’t sure why he said it, but the thought of her being hurt, of her being weak, set something unbearable twisting in his chest. So he forced himself to move, to do something, anything, because standing still meant thinking about how close she had come to something irreversible.

And Nikolai wasn’t sure he could stomach that.
 
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The walk back home was quiet. She didn't speak, didn't lift her head. Sadie didn't acknowledge the way that Nikolai kept glancing back, checking on her. Not that she knew if he was looking to see if she had been killed by whatever she had touched or if she had somehow managed to silently gnaw through her own arm to get away from him while he wasn't looking.

She just followed behind him, fingers loosely curled around his in a grip so light, she had forgotten she was even holding onto him until they had entered the kitchen, until she had felt the shift in the air as he stiffened and released her to retrieve salt. Her fingers twitched in his absence, a phantom warmth lingering against her skin. Not hers, but his. How peculiar that she was colder than him for once.

Sadie shoved the thought away.

You need to bathe.

The words were grumbled, but the felt them hit anyway. She did need a bath. Desperately. She was still in the same tattered clothes, still covered in blood that had long since dried and cracked against her skin. Still wearing the same cuffs that Eluin had latched on while she was unconscious. Eluin. The name curled through her mind like a sickness, sending a shudder through her bones. She tried to play off the sudden wave of nausea, breathing deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth.

He wasn't dead. That much, she knew.

And if he was still out there, then who knew how many others were looking for her. And knowing Nikolai had saved her, he would be on their radar as well. That realization coiled tight inside her, a quiet sort of dread that she couldn't afford to dwell on now.

She swallowed, reaching out to lift the sack of salt to clean the sunroom, only to stumble slightly under the weight of it. Gods. It was heavier than she expected after how easy Nikolai had made it look.

But she took it anyway and began to waddle off. She new Nikolai couldn't help- wouldn't help- because the hunger in his eyes was razor sharp, a glimmer of something he wasn't able to voice aloud.

I'll deal with the rest of the house. And get you something to eat.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. It had been a long time since she had felt true hunger. Far longer than she had allowed herself to acknowledge. But when he mentioned food, her stomach betrayed her with a quiet snarl of protest. She hesitated for a moment. Something flickered in his voice, lacking his usual sharpness with her. Like he was trying...whatever that meant.

Trying not to look at her? Trying not to think too much? Trying to fix something he didn't know how to fix because it was completely and utterly destroyed? Maybe that was it.

She almost let him go, let him leave without saying anything. But then she forced out the words, quiet and hesitant- a fractured thing that barely filled the space between them as she looked back. "No meat." She turned before she could see his reaction, before she could let the moment settle in her. She wasn't sure why it hurt. She wasn't sure why anything hurt anymore. But the thought of eating anything remotely like that- after what she'd done to herself, and the sounds of the male she was supposed to be mated to with another female- made her stomach twist violently.

So she left him there, focused herself on cleaning, scrubbing away what remained of her blood. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that when she finally made her way upstairs, she was trembling and cold and still not entirely present in her own skin.

The fire lit easily, flickering to life in the hearth at the opposite end of the room she'd slept in before. Possibly the one room left untouched in Nikolai's rampage, thankfully. She stared at the bloodstained blanket in her hands. That same one she had bled over weeks ago and now, the one she had hidden beneath, hoping to disappear into. She tossed it into the fire, watching as the fabric caught fast, curling into nothing but embers and ash as she watched the flames consume it. It wasn't fast enough.

Then, she peeled away her clothing and tossed them in after. She stepped into the bath after filling it, barely registering the sharp stinging as warm water and soap seeped into her wounds, water turning pink as her blood washed away. Sadie breathed through it, letting the water wash away what it could, but it could do nothing to cleanse what sat heavy inside her. And once she was clean, she dug through that armoire once more, until she could find something light, something soft, something that wouldn't hurt her wings.

Another nightdress, albeit much less skimpy than the last.

She stared at herself in the mirror, a hazy reflection in the candlelight. Then she turned away and waited for whatever came next.
 
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Nikolai didn’t say anything when she told him no meat. He only gave a slow blink, before he nodded once. Then, she turned away, and he let her go.

He watched her quiet retreat. The scent of her blood still clung to the air, wrapping around him like a noose. It had settled into the cracks of the manor, into the very bones of the place. He swallowed against the hunger curling in his chest and exhaled sharply.

Then, he moved.

Shadows surged at his command, crawling up walls and across broken furniture, wrapping around debris and shattered glass. Slowly, the manor stitched itself back together, splintered wood reforming, torn fabric smoothing out as though it had never been touched. The wreckage of his rage disappeared piece by piece, though the house would never be quite the same.

He opened the curtains as he passed, staring out into the forest beyond. Moonlight spilled across the snow, casting silver over the treetops. Everything was still. Everything was quiet. For once, the world was not so demanding.

The hearths in every room flickered to life, chasing away the cold. Candles followed, each one casting a soft glow, their flames steady and warm. He told himself it was for the house. But really, it was for her.

In the depths of a long-forgotten chest, he found it—a fur blanket, thick and soft, worn but well-kept. His mother’s. He stared at it for a long moment, fingers curling over the familiar texture. Then, with careful hands, he folded it neatly and left it outside her door.

Downstairs, the dining table became something else entirely. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was enough. Fresh bread, fruit, cheeses, small cakes. Wine. Tea, still steaming. He had no idea if she would come down, if she would eat. But the food was there. Waiting.

Nikolai settled by the fire, red wine swirling in his glass, its scent barely noticeable over the lingering trace of her. He tilted his head back against the chair, staring into the flames, listening to the way the manor breathed in the quiet.

Waiting.
 
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A noise caught her attention. Something at the door, quick steps away. She glanced outside and saw, folded neatly into a square, a fur blanket. She pulled it over her shoulders, letting the weight of it settle over her, warm and strangely familiar. Her fingers curled into the thick material, pulling it tighter as she released a slow breath. She hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t really expected anything.

Her wings dragged under the heavy fabric, aching, but hidden as she slowly made her way downstairs.

To her surprise, Nikolai had done exactly as he said. The house was whole again. Shattered glass, broken furniture, the remnants of Nikolai’s destruction- all of it was…gone. As if it had never happened. As if the rage that had ripped through this place had been swallowed whole by the walls, restoring the ruin back into something so eerily untouched.

She paused briefly in the doorway of the dining room, her gaze sweeping over the table. True, it wasn’t extravagant. But it was thoughtful. A quiet kind of care that she, once again, hadn’t expected from him.

Her stomach twisted again, not with unease for once. With hunger, rather.

She chose the farthest chair from Nikolai and slid into it. The moment she sat, the scent of cheese, bread, and no meat surrounded her. Her stomach growled loudly again, announcing her presence. Her face burned, but she didn’t hesitate to reach for a piece of bread, tearing into it with quiet desperation, like she wasn’t sure when she’d next have the chance to eat.

For a while, there was nothing but the quiet crackle of the fire and soft clinking of utensils as she ate. The tension between them sat heavy, thick and unspoken like a chasm that stretched endlessly. One that neither of them wanted to cross.

Her fingers hovered over a slice of cheese before she finally broke the silence.

“If you don’t drink fae blood, then what do you eat?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain. The words felt strange leaving her lips, like she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to know the answer. But she kept her gaze down, focused on the food in front of her. Waiting. Desperate for conversation.
 
Nikolai glanced up the moment she stepped into the room, his eyes flickering over her, catching on the blanket draped around her. His mouth twitched—just a ghost of a smile, brief, barely there. The scent of her blood was duller now, less oppressive, less maddening. He could think again.

As she ate, his attention shifted back to the fire, his gaze distant, thoughtful. The house was whole again, the destruction erased, yes, but the weight of it lingered—anger, regret, something deeper.

Then her voice pulled him back into the room. His gaze slid to her, watching the way she kept her eyes down as she spoke. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

“Normal things,” he said quietly, and added a little awkwardly.. “though I have a preference for raw venison.”

His lips pressed together, recalling the last time she’d tried it, how she’d turned green, gagged, and then promptly vomited on his floor. He cleared his throat at the memory. A beat of silence. His fingers tapped against the edge of the table before he spoke again, softer this time.

“Are you… warm enough?”

It wasn’t what he meant to say. It wasn’t what he wanted to ask. But the words came out anyway, hesitant, careful, like he was trying not to startle her.
 
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Fork in the air, mid-bite, Sadie stilled. Raw venison. The memory surfaced instantly- the taste of iron coating her tongue, the cold, thick, sickening texture sliding down her throat. Her own stubborn pride refusing to let her back down. And then, of course, the way her body had violently rejected it. She could still hear the wet, gagging sounds that had haunted her until Morrwyn showed up.

Sadie’s lips pressed into a thin line and her gaze flickered up to find Nikolai already watching her, clearly remembering the same thing. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she turned her focus back onto her food, tearing off another small piece of bread as if the topic had never existed.

When he spoke again, it was different. Softer. Hesitant. Uncertain. A question it seems neither of them had expected.

Are you… warm enough?

She blinked, slowly. Of everything he could have asked her, that was what he chose?

Her brow arched as she tilted her head slightly, considering. The fur was thick, weighing down on her like a second skin. Between that and the roaring fires in nearly every room, she had no reason to still feel cold.And yet, she let that question linger a little too long before offering a single, slow nod.

Then, just as timidly, “…Thank you.”

It felt strange. Awkward, even, but not entirely wrong. She shifted in her chair and adjusted the blanket, pulling it a little tighter around herself before taking another bite of cheese.

The silence threatened to return, pressing in around them,

So she swallowed and glanced up again, searching for anything to keep the silence away. “…How long have you been an Ail’thain?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to be left alone with the weight of everything in her head. Maybe part of her wanted to understand him a little better. To know parts of him that weren’t tangled in blood and prophecies and fate.
 
Nikolai’s brow furrowed, the question settling over him like something distant and half-forgotten.

“I… was turned some time after my four-hundred and thirtieth year… so…” He frowned, gaze drifting as though sifting through time itself, searching for something solid to hold onto. But there was nothing.

It had been centuries since then. Millennia. Thousands of years lost to blood lust and madness.

His expression darkened, troubled, as he considered. “I’m not sure exactly. Thousands of years…” His voice was quieter now, as though admitting it aloud made the weight of it heavier. He shrugged, the movement slow, aimless, before his eyes dropped to the dark claret in his glass.

“There are many that I don’t remember so well.” His fingers curled loosely around the stem, rolling the wine gently. “And many that I spent locked away…” A humourless flicker of a smile touched his lips, brief and bitter. “It’s easy to lose count.”

He took a slow sip, the firelight catching in the deep violet of his eyes as he stared down into the glass, lost in it.

Then, after a pause—softer, quieter—he added, “But I remember the turning. That isn't easy forget.”
 
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Sadie swallowed slowly, watching carefully as his features flickered between distant and hollow to something raw. Something he didn't appear to want to talk about. But he was talking about it. That alone was enough to keep her staring at him, curiosity threading through her in ways it shouldn't.

Thousands of years.

Her fingers tightened around her fork as she swallowed against that thought. Thousands of years, many locked away. Thousands of years lost to time, to bloodshed. And yet, he still sat across her, whole and tangible. And changed by the shifting of the centuries. Sadie hated to admit that it sent a pang of jealousy through her.

She would never have that.

Her gaze dropped to her plate, suddenly unable to reach his eyes. It was a ridiculous thing to dwell on- the span of time between them- but the realization pressed into her, heavier than it should have been. Even before she became a hunted thing, her life had been nothing but a fleeting ember when compared to his.

And now? Now, it would be even shorter.

As long as she was someone's prey, there would be no thousands- maybe not even hundreds- of years for her. She didn't know if it was more or less comforting to not know how long she had left. No time for finding herself. No time for finding someone else, someone who loved her, who saw something in her. No time for a family to watch grow. No time to live.

She forced her voice to work, ignoring the ache of it. "What was it like?" She asked, glancing back at him. The whites of her eyes had turned reddish from fighting back a tear or two. "The turning?"

She hesitated, barely giving him time to answer before she asked another. "Why had you been locked away?"

Too many questions. She knew. Too many chances for him to snap at her, to shove her out again. But if she stopped asking now, she would start thinking about things she didn't want to think about. Fate. Mortality. The hourglass counting down until her last breath. So she had to press on. Shifting slightly in her chair, she asked another. "How much has everything changed?" Her voice was quieter, almost careful. "Do you even recognize the world anymore?

Questions tumbled from her before she could stop them, her own selfish curiosity clawing its way out. But she just...needed to know. Everything.
 
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For a long moment, Nikolai said nothing. His expression didn’t shift, his violet eyes locked onto her in that unreadable way of his. If it had been anyone else asking him such questions, anyone at all, he might’ve lashed out at them, ignored them, or worse. He didn’t think about such things. He certainly didn’t speak about them.

But it wasn't anyone else. It was her. And he owed her some honesty. So he spoke.

“The turning.." he echoed, his voice quieter than usual, as if the words themselves were a foreign thing on his tongue. He leaned back, head tilting just slightly, gaze distant. “It was.. painful.”

A humourless, breathless laugh left him, too soft to be anything but bitter. “No.. that word doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

He let out a slow exhale, pressing his tongue to the sharp edge of a canine before continuing, “It was like my blood was on fire. Not just heat—flames. Racing through my veins, searing me from the inside out. My nerves felt raw, exposed. Light burned. Every sound was too loud. Every breath scraped against my lungs like a blade. I thought—I hoped—it would kill me.”

He drummed his fingers once against the table, then curled them into a fist, as though gripping something unseen. “And then the hunger came.”

His gaze flickered to hers, dark with something old and terrible. “It wasn’t just hunger. It was agony. It was the only thing that mattered. It hollowed me out, made a beast of me. My thoughts—myself—drowned beneath it. I needed. I needed to drink, to tear, to kill. And when I did?” He gave a slow, sharp smile, but there was no real amusement in it. “It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.”

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, and for the first time, he looked away.

“She locked me away because I ran wild.” His voice was quieter now, the sharp edge blunted by something almost like exhaustion. “I killed without restraint. I hunted without care. I had a taste for blood, and my hunger was unquenchable.. My need to kill, insatiable.” His lips parted slightly, as though tasting the words before he spoke them. “I was a danger to our kind. I was the reason we were hunted so drastically."

Nikolai exhaled, pressing a hand to his mouth for a moment before dragging it down his jaw. His fingers twitched slightly, restless.

Gods, how many had he slaughtered? How many of his own kind had been hunted and killed because of his recklessness? His mindlessness?

Silence settled between them, heavy and unyielding.

Then, finally, he looked back at her, and there was something almost amused—almost—lurking beneath the violet of his gaze.

“You ask too many questions about me, Ilith,” he said, but there was no real bite to it. He tilted his head slightly, watching her. “Is it because you want to know? Or because you don’t want to think about your own fate?”
 
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Sadie sat still, her fingers still curled around her fork while her forgotten food hung in the air before her. She watched him- not just listening, but observing. The way his voice changed as he spoke, quieted. The way his mouth twisted into a hollow smile that had no joy behind it. It seemed there was a weight to each word, like he was plucking them from behind some locked door that he hadn't dared to revisit in years.

And still, he gave them to her without a hint of annoyance.

She didn't flinch at the word painful. She expected that. But the rest? The way he described it? That did make her stomach turn. Fire in his veins. The scraping of each and every breath? Fuck. Gods.

Her brows creased as he spoke of hunger. Not just thirst that she had imagined, but hunger- the kind that devoured everything else inside. Agony, he said, and it sounded like he had meant it. Like the person across the room had died and been reborn. And then he said something that made her blood run cold.

She locked me away.

Her stomach twisted.

She.

It didn't matter than he hadn't outright said Morrwyn's name. The bile that crept up in her throat told her everything she needed to know from that one word. Sadie's wings tensed beneath the fur blanket, her shoulder twitching slightly before she made herself go still again. When he looked at her again, there was something too heavy in the quiet between them.

She shouldn't have asked. She knew she shouldn't have. But she had needed to hear it.

And, to her surprise, a question came from him. Unprompted. Unwanted, perhaps. A question that made her gaze drop to her plate immediately. She flinched, slightly, but it was there. Her throat tightened and her appetite had vanished in only an instant.

Her voice was quiet when she finally thought of a way to approach. Her tone was not sharp, not cold. Just...tired. Maybe even sad if he could recognize such an emotion after the life he's lived.

"I ask because you've lived thousands of years." She looked back up slowly, her purple eyes dulled under the light. "And because I won't." The words sat heavy in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

"I ask," She went on, her voice a little more steady, even as something in her eyes darkened. "I ask because I already know how this ends. Maybe not the year, the day or the hour, but I know I am not going to have a long life. Not with the Ail'thain, or Eluin, or his fucking followers hunting me. I doubt I'll reach two hundred. I won't make it to one hundred fifty. I might not even make it to the end of this week."

She swallowed and her jaw tightened. "So...yeah." She finally dared to meet his eyes again. "I want to know everything you've seen. Because I don't know how much time I have to see it for myself."
 
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Nikolai frowned, the weight of her words settling into his bones like iron. She spoke of her life like it was already gone, a flame guttering in the wind, and something deep and vicious in him rebelled against it. No. No, he would not allow it. His jaw tightened, and his fingers curled around his glass, tension threading through his every muscle, threatening to shatter it.

"That is not how this ends," he said, his voice quiet but firm, dark with certainty. "I will not let it."

His violet eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering. She was strong. He had seen it, even if she didn’t believe it herself. She had survived things that would have broken others. And if she wasn’t strong enough yet? Then she would learn.

"You are not prey, Ilith," he continued, leaning forward, his voice low, like a promise. "You just need to learn how to fight like a predator. And I will teach you."

There was no hesitation in the way he said it. No doubt. But then, his thoughts drifted—just for a second—to her. To the one thing he could not fight. Morrwyn.

If she knew about Sadie, if she truly knew…His stomach twisted in a way it never did. Morrwyn was the only force in this world he could not stand against.

"We should leave for a while. At least until I have dealt with Eluin.."
 
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The sound that came from her mouth may have been a laugh if it weren't so hollow. It caught in her throat, brittle and dry, like something long-dead being shaken awake. She didn't even look at him when it slipped out- just stared down at the half-eaten piece of cheese on her fork. "Maybe not today, " she said softly, "maybe not tomorrow...but I will die long before you do." Her voice was quiet, nearly lost beneath the crackle of the fire in the hearth. But it carried a weight that pressed in around her. "Unless someone beats time to it."

She set the fork down, her appetite all but gone again. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table, biting into the wood. "Is that the catch of this mating bond?" She asked, though the curiosity in her tone was overshadowed by nothingness. "To watch one half slip away while the other lives on? Or worse- dies alongside for no reason other than fate decided they cannot go on without their mate?"

Her eyes flicked up, finally meeting his. "You are immortal. I am not. Even if we both survive all of this...Eluin, Morrwyn...what do you think will happen?" She chewed on her lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. "I'll rot away like all mortals do, and you'll follow suit because fate decided to tie you to something temporary."

There was a long pause, her chest rising and falling slowly as the silence stretched. The air was heavy and Sadie felt like she might cry at her own realizations.

"I won't make plans." She said after a while, softer now like she was speaking her thoughts to only herself. "Not anymore. No aspirations. No grand hopes. No finish lines to race towards. Just fleeting whims, I guess. If I get them..." She shrugged. "Maybe that is luck. Maybe it's mercy."

She finally addressed his statement, and echoed him. "We should leave..." A brow arched. "And go where?"

She pushed her chair back, just slightly. Enough to allow her to draw up her legs and tuck them underneath her like she was trying to fold in on herself. Her voice dropped, her next question heavy with unease. "What do you plan to do with Eluin?" She asked. "Because you know he isn't the only one trying to force this crimson thread thing, don't you?" Her lips pressed into a thin line, dread pulling at her heart. "I'm starting to wonder how many people I'll have to fight just to keep myself from becoming someone's possession."

She looked away again. "I already know what that's like."
 
Nikolai’s quiet growl rumbled through the space as his gaze snapped to her lips, darkening at the scent of her blood. His fingers twitched where they rested against the arm of his chair, his hunger stirring at the edges of his control.

"Stop doing that." The command was low, quiet, but edged with something sharp.

He turned fully toward her then, swallowing down the last of his wine in a single, unbothered motion before setting the glass down with more force than intended. His patience, already frayed, was wearing thinner by the second.

"Immortality is overrated." His voice was flat, unwavering. "There is not much in this life that can kill me. I’m too strong. Too stubborn." He leaned in slightly, his violet eyes catching the firelight as they locked onto hers. "But yes, I'll die when you die, and I'll welcome it. But that is a long time from now, Ilith, so stop being so fucking dramatic."

His fingers curled into a fist against the table. He knew what she was trying to do—talk about herself like she was already dead, as if she was something fleeting, something temporary. But she wasn’t. Not to him.

His expression hardened at her next words, his mind shifting with an ease that was almost frightening. A hunt. A purge.

"I don't give a fuck how many of them there are," he said coldly. "I'll find out, and I'll kill every last one. You are mine. Not theirs."

His frown deepened as his gaze flicked down to her plate. "Finish your supper. We’re going to the Autumn Court."
 
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"Sorry." She whispered, sucking her lip back into her mouth until the taste of copper faded into nothingness. She turned away from him, ashamed for reasons she couldn't put into words.

It was the tone in his voice that had caught her off guard more than his words. The flat certainty of them. The calm, absolute acceptance of his own death. Sadie blinked hard, focused more on the grain of the wooden table than him. She couldn't look at him at all. "That's not fair." She watched candle light flicker in the reflection of the polished wood. "To you. That isn't fair to you at all."

Because while Sadie had long since stopped trying to pretend she wasn't fated to die- by time, magic, or the cruel hands of fate- she hadn't accepted it. Not really. It still made her chest ache in ways she didn't understand. Still made her wonder what it would have been like to have more time. What life would have been like had Nikolai not found her that night in Eluin's study.

Had she not been born a creature of nightmares.

She didn't get more time. And neither would he.

He spoke again, then, the sharp conviction in his voice made her breath catch.

You are mine.

The words hit somewhere low in her stomach, where something warm and dark and so wholly undeserved began to unfurl. She didn't want it, didn't know what to do with it. But it settled there all the same. A brand. A claim. A comfort. A promise she did not deserve to be given.

He was dangerous. And for some unfathomable reason, because the fates liked to joke, he was hers.

She could only manage a slight nod when he brought up the Autumn Court, her voice lost for a moment. But when it did return, it came out quiet, curious. "Why?" But even as the question left her mouth, she already knew the answer. Eluin. Morrwyn. The others. They needed to put distance between themselves and them. Whatever was coming next, they couldn't face it here.

She pushed back from the table, chair scraping along the stone floor. She didn't look at him still. Her plate wasn't empty. It was nowhere near, but she could not bring herself to finish. Not with the way her stomach was twisting with something different than fear and sickness.

"I will pack up the books." She murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "There is a lot I still don't know." Thanks to Nikolai. Thanks to his kind for burning any records of both themselves and her. She was completely on her own to figure out what was happening.

She returned a short while later, sitting on the grand staircase with nothing other than a small bag that was nearly bursting at the seams with texts. She had nothing else to bring.
 
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He let out a bitter laugh. "Fair?" The word was almost mocking. "Ilith, I have lived for centuries. I have stolen countless lifetimes, ended many before they even had the chance to begin. It is more than fair, it is long overdue."

His gaze darkened as he studied her. She was too young to understand what it meant to exist as he did, to carry the weight of so many years and so many deaths. He had wanted to die more times than he could count. Perhaps, when his time finally came, the fates would grant him the mercy he had long been denied.

And yet, she intrigued him. Despite everything.

He could feel the way her pulse quickened beneath her skin, the way the blood surged warm and alive through her veins. She should have despised him—had every reason to—but this Crimson Thread between them bound her too tightly to ever truly recoil. The bond was real. Dangerous. A thread of fate that should never have been spun, and yet here they were.

'Why?'..

"Because I have friends there. Because you will be safe there." he answered. Because if anyone else dared try to take her from him, he would rip them apart without hesitation.

He gathered what little he needed and found her sitting on the stairs, her only possession the bag overflowing with texts she had no business keeping. He should have burned them by now, erased the knowledge of his kind from existence. And yet, she clung to them as if they held all the answers she was desperately searching for.

His jaw tensed, but he didn't scold her. Not yet. Instead, he stepped closer, looming over her as his voice dropped to something quiet and cold.

"Keep them safe." His violet eyes flickered with something dangerous. "They should not even fucking exist. If anyone else so much as lays a hand on them—" his head tilted slightly, his gaze deathly serious "—they die. And that, Ilith, will be on you. Understood?"
 
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Sadie's fingers clenched tighter around the strap of the bag where it sat on the steps beside her. Her arms curled loosely around her knees. She didn't look at him immediately. She couldn't. His words- it is more than fair, it is long overdue- still echoed in her head.

Long overdue.

It wasn't the statement itself that unsettled her, it was the finality of it all. The quiet certainty that his life had led him to this end. That whatever tethered them together was something that he welcomed openly, not something he feared. Sadie still had yet to make a decision on how she felt about this bond.

Why did that hurt?

Why did it all hurt?

She didn't understand him. Not really. So many had died unwillingly because of her. And now, he found peace as long as she died beside him. Even if he had meant it in a way that should have sounded gentle, it wasn't. Not to her.

As he towered over, she shrank back into herself, pulling the bag close. His voice was low and sharp when he gave these orders. But there was something else laced with it. Fear, maybe. Or desperation. She wasn't sure. But she lifted her chin and met his gaze at last, her voice steady.

"I will guard them with my life." Her knuckles were turning white. "I swear it."

A moment passed before she spoke again.

"And when I have committed every word to memory...you can burn them."

Her voice cracked faintly at the end, but she didn't let herself look away. She couldn't be the reason more people would die. She couldn't carry that growing burden. That might very well kill her before Nikolai's kind got the chance again. She didn't want sympathy. It was just...a fact. One she had no idea how to deal with on her own.


Sadie had never used the leylines before. She'd never had a reason to. No one to see. No one wanting to see her. She barely had time to gasp for air before the was swallowed whole. The world fractured around them the moment Nikolai took her hand and stepped right in. It wasn't like any other magic she had felt. It was raw, ancient, rushing magic that slammed her from every angle. The pressure was immense. Her ears rang, her stomach churned. Wind, water, or maybe time itself seemed to pull at her as she was pulled through the veins of the fae world. There was no up. No down. Only motion.

It was like being hurdled through a river of light and shadow at one...and drowning in both.

She didn't remember when they stepped out. One second she was weightless, and the next, she was slammed back into her own body, boots scraping across damp stone as arms steadied her, holding her upright before she could collapse.

She doubled over, one hand braced on her thigh, and the other clutching the satchel with all her might. "I'm going to throw up." She muttered, her heart racing, her voice hoarse. The world around them was warmer, but still cool. And dim. The sky was veiled in orange-gold twilight of the Autumn Court. Rustling leaves were the only sound in the air which was crisp and spiced with smoke and wind and magic of the ley.

She swayed slightly again, lifting her head to blink at her surroundings. The colors were beautiful. Red, gold, deep browns. Not as lovely as the beauty of winter, but it was new and stunning. But the world still felt like it was spinning. "That was horrible." She croaked, shooting a glare towards Nikolai. "You should have warned me."
 
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Nikolai barely spared her a glance as she doubled over, her body fighting against the remnants of ley travel. He had long since forgotten how it had felt the first time he had traveled this way. It had been millenia since it last unsettled him.

"Sorry." The word left his lips with all the warmth of a dying ember. Bland, dismissive. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he hadn’t thought to prepare her either.

His gaze flickered to her, watching the way she swayed on her feet, her knuckles white around the strap of her satchel. He had no doubt she would keep her promise. That she would guard those books as if her life depended on it. Because it did.

"I didn’t realise there was need for warning," he admitted, quieter now. A rare thing, that sort of honesty.

The ocean roared beneath them, waves crashing against the jagged cliffs like the growl of something ancient and restless. The air smelled of salt and magic, thick with the dying light of autumn. A fitting place for them both to be—on the edge of something treacherous.

Without a word, he reached for her hand, his fingers cool against her skin as he guided her toward the steps carved into the rock. A path downward, spiraling toward the hidden cove below, keeping his grip firm.

At the base of the cliffs, a boat took shape with a curl of his fingers, unfurling from darkness itself, a vessel of pure shadow resting on the sand.

Nikolai stepped around it, his expression unreadable as he gestured toward it.

"In." The command was quiet, but it left no room for argument.

Nikolai guided her into the boat, stepping in after her as the vessel stirred to life beneath them. It drifted forward without the aid of oars, slipping through the restless sea like a shadow untethered from the world. The water barely rippled in its wake, as if uncertain whether the boat was truly there at all.

The waves churned around them, restless and unpredictable, but Nikolai remained still, his expression unreadable. Further out, a towering wave gathered speed, rising like a beast from the depths. It roared toward them, dark and inevitable. He did not flinch.

The wave should have swallowed them whole. Instead, the moment it reached them, reality fractured—the spell unraveled, and the chaos of the sea stilled in an instant. The churning waters became smooth as glass, reflecting the sky in perfect, undisturbed clarity.

Ahead, where jagged rocks and the wreckage of lost ships had once marred the horizon, a vast island now emerged from the mist. It was a land of towering mountains and dense, ancient forests bathed in the hues of endless autumn. Trees of crimson, gold, and deep amber blanketed the slopes, their leaves catching the wind like embers adrift in the twilight. Waterfalls cascaded down sheer cliffs, their silver torrents vanishing into emerald pools below.

Nestled in the heart of the island, sheltered within a cradle of stone and cascading water, lay a city carved from the very bones of the land. Its spires rose like gilded sentinels, bridges arcing over winding canals that mirrored the glow of lantern light.

Nikolai leaned against the side of the boat, his gaze sweeping over the sight before them. A slow, knowing smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"Endora," he murmured.
 
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Hunched slightly, one hand was still braced on her thigh as she tried to catch her breath. Sadie still felt like her head was spinning, her stomach roiling from the way the magic had slingshotted them across realms like ragdolls. She blinked at his curt apology- if it could be called that- and gave him a flat look in response, that, despite her queasiness, was not entirely devoid of attitude.

“Thought I was going to die in there, of course it would have been nice to be warned.” She muttered, taking another breath before she pushed herself upright.

When he reached for her hand again, her breath hitched. She flinched, almost imperceptibly at the coldness, at the quiet force of his command- like he had any right to talk to her like that. In. It wasn’t cruel, just final. That was worse somehow. The quiet power that didn’t need to raise its voice to demand her obedience.

Still, though she wanted to ignore him for thinking he could order her to do anything, she obeyed, climbing into the boat with as much dignity as one could muster, even as wood and shadow beneath her shifted. She sat across from him, wrapping her arms around her body, her wings stiff. The air was colder on the water. Sharper.

It was quickly that she discovered she did not enjoy travel by boat. Her eyes darted across the horizon, to the water, to the cliffs, to the boat of shadow that gilded like a ghost across the restless sea. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the seat as that water began to rise ahead, towering and monstrous. A kind of thing that might split a ship in two.

Her blood iced.

“Oh gods!” She gasped, and without thinking, turned and launched herself into Nikolai’s chest. Her hands fisted the front of his shirt, clinging to him as they were about to be swallowed whole.

But there was no pain. No crash. No ice cold salt water tearing into her lungs before whatever horrid creatures beneath the surface could tear the rest of her apart.

There was only stillness.

For several heartbeats, she just stayed there, pressed against him. Her breath stuttered, teeth chattering as she tried to understand what had happened. Magic tingled along her skin, and slowly, hesitantly, she peeled herself away from him and lifted her gaze over his shoulder. Her breath left her entirely.

An island rose like a dream out of mist, golden and burning in the colors of an eternal autumn. Waterfalls and glowing spires, winding canals…it all shimmered under a sky that felt too vast and open to be real. It looked like something forgotten from a story, a place untouched by time or war or blood.

Endora.

She repeated the word under her breath, her voice barely more than a whisper as she just…stared. “…Endora…” She had never seen anything so beautiful.
 
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