Chapter Seventeen: Whispers Of The Dark

The moment Myra stepped into her bedroom, she exhaled in relief.She had missed this—her space, her silence.

Kicking off her shoes, she collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the soft comfort of her pillows. Inhaling her scent, it was way better than the stench of humans. The exhaustion from the day clung to her bones, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was socially exhausted, she needed

Her body melted into the mattress, and her mind drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, the only way to recharge her social battery. A satisfied sigh escaping her lips.

Knock. Knock.

She groaned inwardly.

Could she not have a single moment to herself?

"Lady Thorn," a voice called from behind the door. It was one of the butlers. "The master requests your presence in the study."

Myra rolled onto her stomach, burying her face into the pillow. Punching the bed as she tried to calm herself.

Of course, he did.

"Now, my lady," the butler pressed.

She sighed dramatically before pushing herself up. Why did he want to see her now? Still reluctant, she buttoned her shirt properly and ran her fingers through her hair before trudging out the door.

---

The third floor of the manor was dimly lit, its long hallways eerily silent. The butler walked ahead of her, his footsteps light and precise. When they reached the study, he wordlessly pushed the doors open and then stepped aside, leaving Myra to enter alone.

The moment she stepped in, the door clicked shut behind her.

Sebastien Aphelion sat at his massive mahogany desk, flipping through a book. He didn't look up immediately, as if deciding how to start the conversation.

"How was school?" he finally asked.

Myra hesitated. Should she tell him about the incident in the washroom?

Probably not.

So, she settled for a vague response. "It was… okay."

Silence.

Uncomfortable. Awkward.

Myra fidgeted with her fingers, glancing toward the door. "Can I leave now?"

Sebastien sighed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then he nodded.

Relieved, she stood up and headed for the exit, but just as she reached the door—

"Wait!"

She stopped in her tracks, turning back with a raised brow.

"I just wanted you to know…" Sebastien hesitated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm always here if you need something."

What?

Myra blinked at him, a little thrown off.

Sebastien Aphelion was many things—the head of a powerful vampire family, an intimidating leader, and a man who never wasted words. But this? This almost felt… personal.

She forced a tight, awkward smile.

"Okay....?"

Then, without waiting for anything else, she slipped out the door.

She left.

Something wasn't right.

The hallways felt colder than before.

As Myra walked, a strange feeling settled in her chest—a creeping sensation, like something unseen was watching her.

Then she heard it.

Whispers.

Low at first. A soft, almost inaudible murmuring.

She froze.

Her eyes darted left, then right.

The corridor was empty.

The whispers grew louder.

Her breath hitched.

She turned sharply—nothing.

The whispers became voices.

Distant. Familiar. Calling her name.

Her head throbbed.

And then—fire.

An unbearable heat surged through her body, wrapping around her like invisible flames. It burned from the inside out, searing her veins, choking her lungs.

Pain. So much pain.

It felt like her chest was going to explode.

A strangled cry escaped her lips as she collapsed onto the floor, clutching her chest.

The whispers turned into screams.

"Myra!"

Someone was calling her. A real voice.

She forced her eyes open.

Sebastien.

He was running toward her. But when his gaze locked onto her—

He stopped.

His eyes widened in shock. No, not shock—fear.

Her vision blurred.

And then—

"Alexander."

The name slipped past her lips before she even realized she had spoken it.

Sebastien's expression darkened.

Then, the world went black.

---

A Heavy Silence.

Sebastien sat quietly by her bedside.

His hands were clasped together, his mind racing.

He had never seen anything like that before.

His wife entered the room, her expression tense. She didn't say anything at first, just stood there, watching the girl sleep.

"She mentioned his name," Sebastien finally said.

Madeline's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I saw… symbols," he continued, recalling the strange, glowing marks that had appeared on her skin before vanishing. "Runes I've never seen before."

Madeline sighed and sat beside Myra, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

Then, gently, she leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead.

---

The Next Morning

Myra woke up feeling like absolute shit. Her limbs were heavy, her body sore. A dull ache pulsed at the back of her head. She groaned, rubbing her temples.

What the hell had happened last night?

She tried to remember.

There was a vague image of her… falling?

Falling down the stairs?

That must have been it.

She shook her head, dismissing the strange unease lingering in her chest. It wasn't important. She had school to get ready for.

Downstairs, the moment she walked into the dining room, everyone went silent.

Myra frowned. Why was everyone staring at her?

Ezra was the first to speak. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not that weak. Falling down the stairs isn't going to kill me."

Silence.

Her words should have been brushed off. But they weren't.

Nathan stiffened. His fork clattered onto his plate.

"You didn't fall down the stairs, Myra," he said flatly. "Something else happened to you—"

"NATHAN!"

His parents shut him up instantly.

Myra narrowed her eyes. What the hell was that about?

Nathan clenched his jaw. He understood immediately. They had erased her memories. And now, they were covering it up.

Fine.

He silently finished his breakfast, waiting for the others to leave the table.When it was just him and his parents left, he set his fork down.

"You used your talent on her, didn't you?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.

Sebastien and Madeline said nothing.

That was answer enough.

Nathan let out a sharp breath, shaking his head in disappointment. "You better pray she never finds out," he muttered, standing up. Then, without another word, he walked out of the room.

Because if Myra ever remembered what had happened—

Blood would paint these walls.