~ Chapter 12 - The Birth of a Predator ~

Fear: An unpleasant feeling triggered by the perception of danger, real or imagined. That was the definition, and just as Ana once thought the description of "Obsession" was over the top, this time it felt utterly insufficient.

Terror. Panic. Dread. And the list could go on.

The entity that had caused them so much trouble and fright now stood before her, wearing the appealing form of a man in his thirties.

His startled expression had been so striking that anyone would've noticed—and Norell was no exception.

–What is it, girl? –he asked, trying to keep his composure–

–Y-you... you're him –

Ana kept staring in disbelief, a tear already trailing down her cheek.

The vampire smiled, letting his fangs show.

–I don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart. You shouldn't get jealous—there's no one else between us –he tried to keep her enchanted–

That final line was all Ana needed to tie the remaining threads together in her mind. Well, most of them. She also realized she was under a powerful spell that had pulled her far from her usual self.

That urge to stay in the house, even knowing the awful things happening in town, was entirely out of character. Remember, she had left her old apartment just because of noisy neighbors.

Stay in a haunted house? Not a chance.

But she couldn't help it—she'd fallen so deeply under the spell that now she even cared about her appearance. The jealousy she felt over Norell possibly visiting other women was absurd. She would never behave that way—especially not over someone she didn't even know. Without a doubt, the enchantments tied to him were incredibly strong.

Still, "jealousy" had been a recurring theme in her investigation—especially in the letter from Mrs. Oswall:

–... My jealousy keeps me from speaking to you in person, for I can't stand that he visits you.

I can only write to beg you to leave and never return. Perhaps then you'll have better luck than we did –

Then there was the hostile reaction from the woman in the red dress, later accused by Mrs. Oswall of cutting the electricity cables.

All the women and their adverse reactions were connected, and the thread tying them together was him—Norell.

–Don't call me sweetheart! –Ana shouted, stepping back–

The man could feel things slipping from his control. The young woman was showing a remarkable resistance to the love spell. Maybe he should erase her memory of that night...

Yet Ana's strength intrigued him so much that he broke the most sacred rule of his kind.

–You'll roam the earth for centuries, perhaps millennia, gathering the essence of women whose youth will give us the strength to carry on –said Esmeralda, his "godmother"–

Norell still didn't understand what had happened. Maybe he never truly did, even after all these years. He just wanted to stay alive.

To die at the hands of his wife—so humiliating, so treacherous—was unbearably unfair for someone who had led such an honorable and loyal life.

At just twenty-nine, he had heard those words from the shadows, and in the desperation of his deathbed, he accepted the offer to join them.

Darkness spilled from the corner of the room and slid toward the center.

The floor was drenched in Norell's blood—he was bleeding out rapidly from the wound in his abdomen, where his wife had driven the dagger.

The mist burst softly in the middle of the room, making way for a strikingly elegant female figure.

A woman around forty, wearing a refined red dress that clung to her from bust to floor, hiding even the heels whose sound marked each step.

She was tall—almost two meters with the heels. Her dark hair framed red eyes, and her long neck was adorned with a shining gold pendant. Her features were as beautiful as they were seductive. She looked like lust itself in human form.

She approached him slowly, deliberately, and without a word, placed her hand on the young man's chest.

Norell would forever remember that moment as the worst torment of his life. The heat from the vampire's hand felt like it was melting his bones. After several minutes—which felt like an eternity—she vanished into the mist, and he passed out.

He awoke some time later.

Five years later.

Inside an oak coffin, buried three meters underground in a field of mint and roses.

Desperation led him to claw at the wood until his nails broke. He cried from the anguish. Cried for hours, then fell asleep again—and so the minutes passed. The days. The weeks.

The love and affection he'd once felt for Frida, his wife, twisted over time. What he now felt was hatred and resentment.

The pain of betrayal, the injustice of being condemned to eternal confinement without explanation, consumed his thoughts.

A year later, still trapped in his shameful prison, he saw the red lady's mist drift once more into his coffin.

Her face emerged from the darkness, just inches from his lips, her eyes filled with desire.

She extended her arm and offered him her wrist.

Norell didn't understand, but some instinct rose from deep within. He took her forearm and, with a delicacy that matched hers, sank his fangs into her skin.

Blood bloomed from the torn veins, slipping over his lips and intoxicating him with the most pleasurable feeling he'd ever known.

It wasn't until he swallowed the crimson elixir that he felt his body flood with a new kind of energy. His eyes turned blood red.

His muscles swelled—far beyond anything he'd achieved in life. He felt so powerful he could shatter the coffin with his bare hands.

Reading his thoughts, the woman pressed a finger to his lips to calm him. She grabbed him by the shirt and, with grace and strength, pulled him into the black mist.

Norell drifted through rivers of darkness.

He heard laughter that sounded like crying—or crying pretending to be laughter. In the shadows, vision deceives. One sees what one wishes.

The hardest part is seeing the truth—especially when it's uncomfortable.

After an eternity of moments, the fog cleared.

It was night.

The young man knelt in a castle hall. A vast room lit dimly by candles, but with a massive dome window allowing full moonlight to pour in.

The moon shone directly in the center of the hall, bathing it in silver, while the corners basked in shadow.

Columns rose to the ceiling around him, covered in carvings whose shapes he could hardly discern.

A giant oak door stood behind him, and another smaller one far ahead. The room's only adornments were enormous windows ending in sculpted arches several meters high.

But the most captivating, most beautiful thing, was the refined lady at the center of the hall. She stared at him, dressed in a red gown that clung from bust to floor.

–Is this what it means to be in love? –Norell thought, his eyes savoring every feature and curve–

For the first time since he met her—whether minutes or years ago—the vampire spoke.

–It's rude not to stand in the presence of a lady, don't you think? –

Her voice was calm, yet commanding. Not stern—but leaving no room for disobedience.

Norell scrambled to his feet, offering a makeshift bow. He wanted to speak, but her presence left him breathless.

–T-thank you –he finally said–

–For what? –she asked, her gaze indifferent–

–For saving me. I don't know what happened –

The woman stepped closer.

Norell hardly dared to breathe in her presence. Even the sound of her heels delighted him.

–I know, darling –she said, brushing his cheek– No one likes discovering betrayal that way. But now you know –

Her voice sounded like someone who'd seen too many heartbreaks—empathetic and resigned.

–I want to know why. Why my wife did that –

–Did what, sweetheart? –she asked, moving his hair aside, her tone detached from the gravity of it all–

–Stabbed me... –

–To get the inheritance. What else would it be for? –she said, like stating the obvious–

–B-but... we were in love... –

A tear slipped from his eye, heavy with disbelief.

The lady gently wiped it from his cheek with a comforting touch.

–Child, you must let go of human sentimentality. Your rank has changed –

Norell's mind flooded with questions, but his shock kept him silent.

He felt he owed his entire life to the woman in red.

–What's your name? –he asked, without thinking–

She smiled kindly.

–My name is Esmeralda. You may call me that –

Norell couldn't decide what he liked most—her voice or her features.

–Esmeralda... –he repeated, dazed– What a lovely name... –

She laughed softly, genuinely.

–Charming. Looks like your words are as pretty as your lips –

Norell felt he might melt. Esmeralda hadn't stepped back an inch, and now only five centimeters separated their lips.

–Who are you? –he whispered–

His subconscious handled the logic; his mind wandered in deep, seductive awe.

–Who am I... What a broad question, don't you think? –

She turned and walked back to the hall's center, where a large oak table stood.

She faced him again and, with a small leap, sat on the table and crossed her legs.

–To the night, I am the moon. To wolves, their mistress.

To you... an admirer –

–An admirer? –he stammered– What do you mean? –

Esmeralda took a cup from the table, swirling the wine-red liquid inside.

–I've always admired certain traits. Some so much, I've practiced them all my life –

She sipped the cup.

–Is that wine? –Norell asked. She smiled wickedly–

–Well, look who's found his tongue. From no questions to too many –

–Sorry –he muttered, lowering his gaze for the first time–

–I believe power takes many forms. Love is one of the strongest channels to reach it –she continued– I feed on that –

–On love? –he asked, wary– Or on power? –

–I live off the passion and desire I inspire in men. They give me part of their essence.

I give them a reason to live –

–That's awful –said Norell bluntly– You're a vampire –

–I've been called many things. 'Vampire' is just the term these days.

In the past, we had other names –

–I don't understand. Why save me? –

Esmeralda finished the glass.

–Ah yes, that.

You see, I believe seduction and sensuality only work for those who know fidelity doesn't exist. Happy couples, loving families... they're rare –

Norell listened quietly.

He thought he was beginning to understand, though it was all so tangled he needed clearer words.

–You want to live, right? You can live forever without being a killer.

You'll take the souls of women who choose to give them.

You'll live eternally.

They'll live in blissful love. Everyone wins –she smiled–

–I still don't quite get it –he said shrewdly– And what do you get? –

–Ha! What a clever boy.

Well, the seal on your chest feeds a sliver of each rescued soul to us. A tiny offering for the Order –she rolled her eyes– My superiors –

Norell opened his shirt—and there it was.

A large black circle etched into his chest like a blazing tattoo, filled with strange symbols.

He might have panicked—if he hadn't already spent five years buried alive.

Nothing could scare him now.

–Now go –

Esmeralda waved her hand, and Norell was hurled backward, flying hundreds of meters as if pushed by a hurricane, every door of the castle bursting open until he was cast out—on the peak of some snowy mountain, under a beautiful full moon.

END OF CHAPTER 12.