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EIGHTY SEVEN: Blood on the Table
We stepped back into the house together, the warmth and laughter swallowing us like nothing had happened outside. Lloyd looked up first, a wide grin on his face. “Well, that was a long smoke,” he said. Hazel chuckled lightly, setting her glass down. “I was beginning to think you both got lost out there.” Hakim spoke before I could. “Just needed some fresh air,” he said smoothly. “Good conversation.” I nodded along. “Yeah… just talking.” It sounded normal enough. Too normal. I walked back over and sat beside Oshun, my movements slower now, more deliberate. I reached for her hand under the table and held it tightly. She turned to me immediately, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re scared,” she said quietly. I forced a small shake of my head. “It’s nothing.” But she didn’t look convinced. Before she could press further, Hazel stood up, clapping her hands together softly. “Well,” she said with a bright smile, “we were waiting for you. Now that you’re here… i
EIGHTY SEVEN: The Price of Freedom
I brought the cigarette to my lips, the flame still dancing at the tip, and took a slow drag. The smoke filled my lungs—harsh, unfamiliar. I exhaled, watching it curl into the night. Then I looked at him. “Are you a hunter too?” Hakim shook his head, almost amused. “Nah… far from it.” He took a long, steady puff of his own cigarette, holding it in for a moment before exhaling slowly. Then, without a second thought, he flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe. “I’m not a vampire,” he said. A pause. “Or a hunter.” He looked at me again—this time, something darker behind his eyes. “I’m something worse.” I frowned. “Then what the hell are you?” He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly and gestured down the street. “Walk with me.” I didn’t move. “I can’t leave Juliet in there.” He glanced at me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t you mean… Oshun?” My body went still. For a second, I just stared at him
EIGHTY SIX: The Invitation
By the time I got back to the house, the first thing that hit me wasn’t the quiet— It was the smell. Rich, smoky, spiced. Jerk chicken… and pork. I didn’t even realize how tense I’d been until that scent wrapped around me and pulled me in. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and followed it straight to the kitchen. There she was. Oshun stood by the stove, moving with ease, turning the meat, checking the heat like she’d done it a thousand times. For a moment, I just stood there watching her… letting the normalcy sink in. Then I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She didn’t flinch. She just smiled softly and placed her left hand on my hair, fingers resting gently against my head. “Are you okay?” she asked. I hesitated. “Yeah,” I said. She tilted her head slightly. “Your heartbeat says something different.” I exhaled quietly. “It’s nothing,” I muttered. “Just… had a weird encounter at the bar.” She turned slightly in my
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
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