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EIGHTY FIVE: Where do we Belong
I woke up to the sharp blare of the alarm clock, the sound cutting through my sleep like a blade. With a groan, I reached out blindly and smacked it silent. For a moment, I just lay there, breathing slowly, letting the quiet settle back in. Then the sunlight broke through the curtains, spilling across my face—warm, blinding, almost too real. I squinted, turned slightly, and sat up. “Oshun?” I called softly. No answer. I looked to her side of the bed—empty. The sheets were already cool. That was strange. I swung my legs off the bed and stood up, stretching slightly before stepping out into the hallway. The house felt… still. Too still. “Oshun?” I called again, louder this time, walking toward the kitchen. Nothing. I checked the kitchen—empty. No movement, no sound, no sign she had even been there recently. A faint unease crept into my chest. I moved faster now, stepping into the living room. Also empty. “Oshun!” I shouted, my voice echoing faintly through the ho
CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR: He didn't Stay Dead
“So… where do you plan on going?” My voice sounded smaller than I intended as I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Francis pack. He moved quietly, folding shirts with mechanical precision, placing them into the open luggage at his feet. His shoulders trembled with every breath. He sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Wherever the wind blows,” he murmured. My throat tightened. “I… I wish there was something I could do.” “But there isn’t,” he cut in gently, not unkindly. “There’s no need to talk about it.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “No need to be sorry.” He paused then, his hand hovering over the half-zipped luggage. Slowly, he turned to look at me—eyes already swelling with fresh grief. “I think she knew,” he said quietly. “Somehow, she knew this would happen. She’d been acting… different lately.” “Different how?” I asked, leaning forward. Francis’s gaze dropped. His voice cracked as he swallowed the words. “Don’t… don’t bother. Just forget about
CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE : TORN
“Now this makes me wonder… how many bastards do you have, Adesina?” Adetutu’s voice cracked like a whip through the chamber, sharp and furious. She stood across from me, her eyes blazing with the kind of rage only a betrayed queen could possess. I had seen empires burn with less heat. And yet… she was my wife. Her fury only grew as she paced. We had just discovered the truth—my nephew was actually my son. And not just any son… but the prophesied Dhimpir I had been searching for over centuries. The boy had been right under my roof, in my court, carrying my bloodline. “I still can’t believe it,” I whispered. “Emmanuel… my son.” Adetutu stopped pacing. The look she gave me could have killed a mortal instantly. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she snapped. “You have to stick it in everything that breathes. Including your brother’s wife. You have no shame, Adesina!” “Darling, please—you have to be calm—” She grabbed the bronze lamp from the table beside her an
EIGHTY TWO: Obey Me
My eyes snapped open, and the full moon hung high, casting a cold, silver glow over the park. The air smelled of blood and charred grass. I turned to my side and froze. Adrien lay there, lifeless, a stake protruding from his chest. My stomach dropped, and memories hit me in waves—the call from Juliet, how I had rushed here despite Adrien’s warnings that something about her sudden change was suspicious, the wolf leaping out of nowhere, the brutal fight with Timi and the two other vampires, the desperate way Adrien had come to my aid, and how Timi had driven the stake into him—and into me. I thought I was dead. Yet, somehow, here I was, lying in my own cold blood, my heart a few steps away from me. How was this even possible? I sat up shakily, my body trembling. I turned back to Adrien, his lifeless eyes staring at the moonlight, and reached for him. My hands shook as I pulled the stake from his chest, closing his eyes gently. A wave of anguish tore through me. His death hurt like a k
EIGHTY ONE: Dhimpir vs Dhimpir
“Stephen, you’re back!” Jane’s voice echoed through the hideout, and before I could take another step, she ran straight into me, wrapping her arms around my torso in a tight hug. I let her. I even returned it—awkwardly—but my eyes weren’t on her. They were on Sandra. She had frozen the moment I walked in, her expression unreadable… until she quickly looked away like she hadn’t been staring at me at all. My chest tightened. I still hadn’t told Jane about our kiss. And now Sandra couldn’t even hold my gaze. Jane finally let me go, stepping back with relief all over her face. “Tell us what happened.” I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I walked toward the couch and nudged Marco’s legs off it with my knee. “Move.” He grunted and shifted, and I sat down heavily. “It actually wasn’t a big deal,” I said, resting my elbows on my knees. “Turns out they didn’t need my help.” Across from me, Nate cracked his knuckles, eyes sharp. “Were there any casualties?” I sighed, l
EIGHTY: When Love Dies
Adrien walked beside me through the quiet Parisian streets, his steps unsure, his eyes flicking toward every passing shadow. The night wrapped around us like a cloak, cool and heavy, but to him it must have felt like fire—every sound, every scent, every heartbeat around us crashing into his senses all at once. “You’re different now,” I told him gently, keeping my voice steady, measured. “Not weaker. Not cursed. Just… changed. You’re stronger than any human walking this city. Faster. Sharper. Every sense you have is going to feel like it’s been turned all the way up.” Someone passed us—a woman in a long tan coat, head down, clutching her purse—and I saw Adrien’s body lean toward her instinctively, drawn by the sudden spike of her pulse, the warmth of her blood calling to him like a whisper only he could hear. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and tugged him back. “Easy,” I murmured. He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard, as if waking from a trance. “I—I didn’t mean to—” “I k
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