The storm screamed with rage. No human was supposed to be outside, yet there they stood beneath the orange tree, kissing as if it were their last day on earth.
His jaw clenched and teeth gnashed. Blood-red eyes narrowed on the pair as he growled under his breath. The ache in his heart burned, and so did the fury—like the storm raging above.
"You should go," the man told the woman, his hand gripping her waist. "It'll be a scandal if anyone sees us."
She smiled, her chestnut brown hair whipped by the breeze. Smoky gray-blue eyes locked on his with love. "Oh, George, let me be with you for the night."
George raked his golden hair, hazel eyes fixed on hers as the first drop of rain fell. She didn't flinch or even move to take shelter.
The one watching them burned with even more rage.
George's hands touched her wet cheek. "It's tomorrow, my heart, and we will never be apart."
"Oh, George," she protested, but he shook his head. "Go now, Catherine, and dream of me tonight. I'll be with you tomorrow."
Catherine sighed. Just then, a carriage appeared, and two guards moved towards them swiftly.
Catherine nodded at him, pulled her cloak over her head, and stepped into the carriage. Then she was gone.
Only the wind whispered along the empty road. The man turned to leave, but the one who had been watching them stepped out from the shadows.
Lightning shook the sky. George froze at the sight of the man. His eyes were the color of blood, his hands tipped with claws, and two fangs gleamed in his mouth.
The man wore a long black cloak, his hair white as snow, but his face as cold as winter.
"What do you want?" George said fearfully, stepping back, but the man moved forward.
"Please," George cried, fear etched in his voice. Everything happened so fast after that.
Just as thunder roared, the stench of blood hit the carved road.
The man knelt beside George's lifeless body, his hand trembling. "I'm sorry," he murmured, eyes flashing with regret.
Beside him appeared a golden basin, brimmed with blood—but not his own.
It was the blood of the man he had taken in rage, a temper that was not truly his.
However, hope surged through him as he held the basin. Let this bring back the love I have lost, he whispered. Even if she hates me, even if she runs.
The blood hissed.
A streak of lightning flashed, cracking through the mountain sky.
Suddenly, a scripted parchment appeared in his hands.
"It is now."
He cut his hand with the blade of his fangs, letting the blood drip into the basin. Then he pressed the parchment to his chest and spoke the words:
"By love, by death, by soul returned, let her memory rise and let her heart burn.
Bone to blood. Name to fire.
Return what time could not expire."
The ground split, and blood ignited.
Something screamed from the darkness—but it was not her voice.
Not yet.