Chapter 17: Dawn of Reckoning

The first light of dawn crept through the half-drawn curtains, washing the room in a fragile glow. The rain had died down, replaced by gentle drips sliding down windowpanes. Outside, the city stirred, its morning breath soft and cautious. Inside, all was still.

Adrian lay beside Emily, her breath slow and even. He stared at the curve of her spine, the pale skin still damp, marked by bruises and impressions of his grip. His throat tightened. Morning had stripped away the night's euphoric haze, leaving raw evidence of a savage surrender.

He reached out, fingertips trembling, brushing a bruise on her hip. The faint blush of damage rubbed raw by passion cut deeper than any blade. Each mark was a reminder: he had lost control. He had pulled her into the rut into his storm.

Emily stirred. Her lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes soft with sleep and streaked with vulnerability.

"Good morning," he said, voice low and rough.

She offered a small, uncertain smile, her gaze drifting down to the faint bruises on her skin.

"Morning," she murmured, voice quiet but steady.

Adrian's eyes followed her glance, guilt flickering in their depths. He cleared his throat.

"You should take a shower," he said gently.

Her brows lifted slightly. "Why?"

He hesitated, then stepped closer, his voice low and careful.

"Because I want you to feel comfortable. Clean. And... we need to talk."

Something in his tone softened her. She gave a quiet nod. "Okay," she whispered, the word fragile as glass.

Confusion clouded her features. She got to her knees, glancing down. "Adrian, I don't think " But the tone of his voice ended the protest. She slid from the bed, pulling on the sheet around her like a fragile shield.

He stood, stretching briefly, then waited in silence as she entered the bathroom and turned on the water. Her footsteps echoed, hesitant. The sound of running water began a quiet, cleansing rush. A sanctuary.

He paced near the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets. Each movement felt heavy with guilt. He had brought the beast into their bed. He had hurt her, though without malice. But pain, physical and emotional, still pulsed in the bruises on her skin and the tremor in her eyes.

He closed his eyes and let the silence press in. Behind the storm had been something more than hunger. There had been searing anguish, something he couldn't disentangle yet: instinct, grief, something monstrous lurking under centuries of control.

…..

Inside the bathroom, Emily stood under the stream of lukewarm water. The drop of cold against her bruised skin made her gasp softly. She cleaned herself, lyingly methodical, tender, careful, as though she was washing away more than sweat. With each stroke of soap, she traced the patterns of last night again the wildness, the loss of self, the moment when his body claimed hers with a savage beauty. She felt both sorrow and awe that she had been there, that she had held him through it.

After rinsing, she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out, water dripping onto the hardwood. Adrian stood waiting, eyes shadowed, silent.

Their gazes met.

She swallowed.

He said, "Come sit."

She obeyed, sliding onto the edge of the bed while he leaned against the headboard. He studied her, the rise and fall of her shoulders, the shine of tears unshed in her eyes.

He breathed in slowly, searching for words. "Emily," he began, voice soft but steady, "last night… I lost myself. I'm still trying to find who I am without that fury inside me."

Her eyes widened. "Adrian..."

He raised a hand. "Just let me speak."

She nodded, slipping closer.

Adrian took her hand, squeezing it gently. "I didn't plan how it would go. I didn't mean to overwhelm you. But the Crimson Tide... it surged inside me. Like a wave I couldn't stop. And then…" He exhaled shakily. "I hit the shore, with you."

Emily blinked, confusion flickering behind her lashes. "Crimson Tide?" she repeated softly, the words unfamiliar on her tongue.

He stilled. His jaw tightened as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud. But the time for silence had passed.

"You don't know what that is," he said, not as a question. "Of course you don't."

Emily studied him carefully, her brows slowly drawing together. "Is it a metaphor?"

"No," he whispered. "It's not."

She tilted her head. "Then what is it?"

He hesitated, then leaned forward, pressing their joined hands to his chest. She felt his heartbeat—erratic, wild.

"It's real," he said quietly. "It's something... in my blood. In me. A curse. A hunger."

Emily's stomach tightened. She pulled her hand back, not out of rejection, but reflex. "Adrian... you're scaring me."

He nodded slowly. "I know. But you deserve the truth. You stayed with me through the storm, through the worst of it. I owe you what I've never given anyone."

She swallowed. "The truth about what?"

He looked down at his hands for a long moment. Then, with a voice cracked but steady, he said, "I'm not human."

Silence stretched between them like a drawn breath.

Emily stared, stunned, unsure whether to laugh or be afraid. "What?"

"I was born in the 14th century," he said quietly. "In northern France. I died when I was twenty-seven. And then… I came back."

The world shifted under her feet. "Adrian…"

"I've lived for centuries," he went on, eyes locked with hers. "Hiding. Feeding. Controlling the monster inside me. That monster is real. So are the stories, the ones about blood, about night, about teeth."

She went rigid. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Are you telling me... you're a vampire?"

A long silence answered her.

Her breath caught in her throat. "No. That's not; That can't be real. Vampires are... they're fiction. Stories. You're just"

"I'm not fiction." His voice was almost gentle. "And neither is the Crimson Tide."

She stood abruptly, wrapping the sheet around her. "This is insane."

"I understand why you'd think that," he said. "But what happened last night, that wasn't just desire. It was the hunger. The bloodlust. It comes in waves. And when the Crimson Tide takes hold, I lose myself."

She backed up a step. "So you—what? You drink blood? You live forever?"

"Yes," he said simply. "And no, I don't feed on humans, not anymore. I haven't for over a century."

Emily turned away, pressing her hand to her mouth. Her heart thudded against her ribs. The bruises on her skin suddenly felt colder, heavier. Real.

He stood but didn't approach her. "Emily… I would never hurt you intentionally. Last night, I lost control. Not because I wanted to take from you, but because for the first time in so long, I felt. I didn't feel like a monster. I felt like a man again."

She shook her head, overwhelmed. "You expect me to believe that vampires are real, and that last night was some... ancient blood magic storm?"

"No," he said. "I don't expect anything. But I hoped... I hoped you'd at least hear me."

Silence stretched between them.

He stepped closer, voice hushed. "Do you want to see proof?"

She turned slowly. "What kind of proof?"

Adrian met her eyes. "My heartbeat. The one you felt earlier, it shouldn't exist. I shouldn't be able to breathe. And yet... when I'm with you, my body behaves like it remembers being human."

She frowned. "So... what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you did something no one else ever has. You brought me back, just a little. Enough to remember what it is to want more than just to survive. To crave more than blood."

Emily stared at him, her chest tight. "You're serious."

He nodded. "Every word."

She didn't speak for a long time. Then finally, in a trembling voice, she said, "I don't know what to believe right now."

He stepped back, accepting her distance. "That's fair."

She looked down at the faint bruises on her body again, eyes unreadable. "And last night… that was part of it? The Crimson Tide?"

"Yes," he said. "It happens rarely. But when it does, it consumes me."

Her voice broke. "And I let you in. I asked you to come back. I thought you were slipping into a breakdown, not... turning into something else."

He looked at her with such aching vulnerability it nearly shattered her. "You saved me, Emily. You anchored me. If you hadn't been there, I don't know what I would have become by morning."

She was shaking now. "I don't know how to process this."

"Then take your time," he said, stepping away. "I won't ask for your trust, not yet. But I'll wait for it. As long as it takes."

Emily stood silent for a long moment. And then, slowly, hesitantly, she walked to him. Her arms wrapped around herself.

"I'm not saying I understand," she whispered. "But I didn't run. And I'm still here."

He looked at her, pain softening into hope.

She reached out, placed a hand on his chest again, over that impossible heartbeat. "You feel real," she whispered. "So I'll hold onto that."

Adrian's eyes closed, and he exhaled slowly.

Outside, the clouds parted. Light spilled through the windows, touching their faces like a benediction. For now, it was enough.