Page 2 of The Night Runs Red

Against my father’s will, she approached the witches and begged for a solution—a way for her daughter, who so loved the dark, to appease the curiosity of her mind and body. At first, they denied her request, but it didn’t deter her. She came back every week, leaving offerings at their doorstep, until the covens finally agreed. They warned, however, that what they did for one, they would have to do for the other.

Within the year that followed, the homes of the two factions were fitted with enchanted glass that allowed fae to bask in the night and vampyres to walk in the sun. When my father found out what she’d done, he’d taken out his fury on her body.

“Are you still awake, Calia?” Elom asked, his voice raspy from sleep. He snaked an arm around my waist, adjusting his grip and pulling me close.

I softly hummed, watching the rain assault the glass as Elom’s fingers traced soft circles along my ribs. I hated when he did that, hated the sensation of anyone touching my stomach and sides. I pushed his hand away, feeling him flinch from my indifference.

“We could run away together,” he said, leaning forward and kissing my shoulder. “I’m not wealthy, and I couldn’t offer you the comfort you’re used to, but I do well enough. I’ve got enough money to last us a while. We could get settled somewhere else, maybe across the sea. I’ve heard the countryside is amazing; you’ve mentioned it before. We could figure out the rest once we get there.”

He rambled on and on, not stopping until he nearly ran out of breath. It was a sweet notion, but the thought made me just as nauseous as the future awaiting me tomorrow. Elom was kind—the type who saw the good in everyone and everything, no matter the situation. It was what drew me to him when I’d first laid eyes on him at the coffee shop I frequented on the way to my cousin’s house. It reminded me of the kindness people said they saw in my mother. I believed it was fate or whatever divine intervention the old gods prophesized.

It didn’t take long for that kindness to sour like curdled milk in my stomach. Perhaps I was more like my father than I cared to admit. Nevertheless, Elom soothed the loneliness and kept my cold heart from freezing over completely. It was selfish to keep him on, especially when I learned of the depth of his feelings. He’d cried for thirty minutes when I told him of the betrothal and how quickly the ceremony would take place. I almost felt pity for him, though it quickly changed to indifference the longer we sat together. To live a life with him would be a death sentence, and I had no plans of dying just yet.

“As sweet as the thought is, it isn’t an option,” I said with a sigh. “And you deserve to love someone who can give you a fulfilled life. That’ll never be the case with me.”

We’d fought about this on more than one occasion. I was the foolish one who kept this situation-ship going purely for selfish reasons. Regardless of his clingy nature, Elom was a good lover. He always aimed to please me first, multiple times, in fact, before he sought his pleasure. Since I was destined for a life of self-enjoyment, I wanted to be selfish a bit longer.

Beyond that, my duty and title as a Darrow would not permit me to marry who I chose. I was marked from birth to be used as a sacrifice to an eternal curse. My family descended from the true line of fae royalty who ruled long before the council took their place. Both my father and my aunt were members, an ode to the old ways.

This was the way my life was always destined to be. Even without the curse, Elom would never have made it onto the list of suitors. Even though he was fae, he had no title or money to offer, no meaningful connections to be bartered to my father for my hand.

Elom’s fingers halted on my thigh, and he looked up at me, his shadowy eyes nearly blending into the darkness lingering throughout my bedroom. “To hell with your father. Shouldn’t you have a say in your own life and future?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to soothe the headache that was beginning to blossom there. “It’s not that simple.”

The death clause in the permanent marriage contract between the Darrows and the D’Arcys was kept secret, and I could not reveal the knowledge to anyone outside of our bloodline. The two chosen to wed were marked at birth, born into a world where their destiny had already been decided by fate.

Elom sat up, exposing my naked body to the chill air. A rebuttal sat on his lips, ready to fire away, but then his eyes dipped lower and lower until he stared at the soft center between my thighs. It was his mistake, one he hadn’t intended to make, but all thoughts seemed to eddy from his mind as he took in my body.

His gaze would have bothered me before, but now I welcomed and embraced it. I tried to be proud of how I looked, but I’d have been a fool not to notice the haughty looks from others as I walked by. Even as a child, I was teased and tormented about my body. I was never thin, and while I tried to tell myself I would grow out of it, I never did. Instead, my figure grew fuller. I embraced my curves—celebrated them, even—so long as people never touched me unless I invited them to.

It’d taken a long time to get to this point, and I still had moments of weakness when I looked in the mirror. Those days had me crawling into bed, wearing oversized clothing to hide myself, and crying into my pillow. I looked nothing like the women in my family, only inheriting their tall height. But where they were willowy, possessing a perceived perfection I’d never never been graced with, I was blessed with curves and thick thighs. My stomach was supple, sporting lines of stretch marks along my permanent pooch.

I ran a hand up my body, softly caressing my skin with the tips of my nails. Elom inhaled deeply, noting the change in my scent that told him I wanted this as badly as he did. Men didn’t take long to become distracted, and Elom was no exception. Though I could tell he wanted to argue, to fight for me and hope I fought for him in return, he said no more as he leaned in and kissed me deeply.

The hours I had remaining passed in a blur—Elom kept me up with his skilled fingers and tongue until the sun rose over the peaks of the mountains in the distance. He looked in my direction wistfully as he slipped out of my door. His brown eyes were full of regret for everything he didn’t say. “I hope you find some semblance of happiness within this, Calia. But if you don’t, then my offer still stands.”

I nodded, offering him all I could—a simple smile. Because it didn’t matter if I found happiness or not. That wasn’t the point of this. And even if it was, my happiness didn’t lie with him. He took my silence as dismissal and slipped through the door and out of my life for good.

CHAPTER TWO

The silence was the first thing I noticed as I opened my eyes. Sun streamed in from the windows, illuminating my bedroom in a soft glow. The rain had stopped, and the storm passed. It seemed like a perfect day.

Fuck.

I pushed up onto my elbows, blinking at the bright light. I glanced over at the clock sitting on my nightstand. It was only seven, but I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came knocking on my door and bursting inside.

A small picture sat next to the clock, one I tried to look at every morning as a reminder to seize the day. In it, my mom’s arms were draped around me, holding me close. A traveling carnival had come to town, and I’d begged my parents to take me. My father said no, telling me it was unbecoming to be seen at something so mundane, but my mom understood. She’d excused me from school the following day, and we spent hours getting lost in greasy food, games that were clearly rigged, and rides that were most likely unsafe. We’d laughed until we were hoarse and asked a random passerby to take our picture in front of the cotton candy machine.

It was one of my last memories of her before her death, and it was still one of the happiest days of my life.

“I’ll make you proud, Mom,” I said, kissing my fingers and touching the glass on the frame. I always waited a moment, hoping she would respond or give me some sign from beyond, but I sat in silence as always.

I stumbled out of bed, peeling out of my clothes and turning on the shower. Frigid water came streaming out from the faucet, hitting my arm before I could pull it back. “Shit,” I mumbled, wiping my hand on the towel hanging on the wall. I sighed, looking around the room before ambling over to the small speaker perched on the shelf nearby and turning it on, fumbling for a playlist on my phone to brighten my mood. I settled on one, listening to the soft rock tones fill the space before rechecking the water temperature.

As I slipped inside, the heat from the water soon steamed up the glass around me, encasing me in my private bubble. There were no pressures or social expectations, and certainly no betrothals. There was only me in this singular, perfect moment in time. Without the weight of the day, I felt like I could breathe. I lathered my hair with shampoo and conditioner, enjoying the soft mint scent tingling my nose.

I heard my bedroom door creak open, footsteps quickly following. “Calia?”

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