But as their meal neared its end, he reached into his coat pocket, fingers closing around the smooth weight of the medallion. His mood shifted, a seriousness settling over him. “Lila.”

  “What is it?”

  He pulled the medallion from his pocket and held it out, the silver glinting in the light.

  She took it gently, her fingers tracing the surface. “This is beautiful. What is it?”

  “A protection charm,” he explained, watching her reaction carefully. “Cel gave it to me before I left Brașov, but I only recently understood its significance.”

  She turned it over in her palm, examining the details.

  “The stone in the center is black tourmaline. A powerful stone used for warding off dark forces.”

  “These are runes.” Lila lifted it and held it, turning it slightly as if trying to decipher them.

  He nodded. “They’re protective inscriptions, inlaid with garnet. The metal itself is silver and is also a safeguard against unnatural forces.”

  Lila’s fingers brushed over the garnet inlays. “And this central symbol above the stone?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

  She looked up, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I found a drawing of this medallion in a book Cel gave me. The talisman reacts to danger.”

  Her breath hitched slightly. “Danger?”

  Divan took her hand, closing it around the medallion. “I want you to wear it always.”

  She looked into his eyes, as if searching for answers. He didn’t say the Umbrawolf, didn’t tell her that he feared what his brother truly was. He knew she could sense the weight behind his words, the urgency in his voice.

  “I trust you,” she whispered.

  “Then promise me you won’t take it off.”

  She nodded, slipping the chain over her head, the medallion settling just below the hollow of her throat. The sight of it against her skin filled him with a strange sense of relief.

  She touched it once more, then looked back at him, her eyes soft, unreadable. “Thank you.”

  Divan reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb sweeping gently over her heated skin. “You don’t have to thank me.” His voice was low, intimate, his gaze darkening with something deeper than concern. “You have no idea how much I want you,” he murmured, his voice like silk. “I’ve only known you a short time, but already you’ve settled inside me in a way I can’t explain.”

  Her breath caught. “Divan…”

  He leaned in, his lips barely brushing hers at first—a tease, a question. Then he kissed her, slow and lingering, a gentle possession that deepened with each heartbeat. She melted into him, her fingers fisting in his coat as he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her as though he would never let her go.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her lips, his breath hot, hungry.

  A trembling sigh escaped her, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I love you, too.”

  The words ignited something in him, raw and unrestrained. His heart pounded as he captured her lips again, this time with more urgency, more need. His hands drifted down the curve of her back, pulling her flush against him, the warmth of her body searing through the layers between them.

  The world around them blurred—the whisper of the stream, the rustling leaves, the distant birdsong all vanishing as he eased her down onto the blanket. His lips traced a path along her jaw, down the delicate curve of her throat, savoring the way her pulse quickened beneath his mouth.

  Lila arched into him, breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair, nails grazing his scalp as his kisses grew deeper, more urgent. The heat between them was undeniable, a slow-burning fire threatening to consume them both. His hands roamed, tracing the contours of her body, feeling the way she responded to his touch, to the quiet promise of something inevitable.

  ***

  The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh bread, dried herbs, and the faint metallic tang of sharpening knives from the blacksmith’s stall. The market square bustled with villagers moving between vendors, exchanging coins, and having conversations.

  At Maria’s booth, Divan stood beside Lila, carefully measuring out a mixture of dried berries and medicinal roots for an elderly man who had been struggling with his eyesight. Lila focused, ground the mixture into a fine powder, adding a few drops of a clear tincture before sealing it in a small pouch.

  “This should help,” she said, handing it to the man. “Boil it in water every morning and drink it while it’s warm.”

  The old man nodded, his gnarled hands shaking slightly as he took the pouch. “Thank you, child, and you, sir.” He gave Divan a nod of gratitude before shuffling away.

  Just as Divan turned back to Lila, a voice cut through the morning chatter. “Well, well. Look who is back.”

  Divan turned, already knowing who he would see. Caliban. He stood a few feet away, clad in a dark waistcoat and an easy smirk, but there was something off about him today, something just beneath the surface. His eyes flicked between Divan and Lila, sharp with interest.

  “Brother,” Caliban said smoothly, stepping forward. “I came looking for you.”

  Divan studied him, his expression unreadable. “And now you’ve found me.”

  Caliban let out a low chuckle, his gaze sliding toward Lila. “You must be Lila Unger. I’ve seen you now and then, and I’ve heard much about you.”

  Lila stiffened slightly but managed a polite nod. “My lord.”

  “Please,” he said, tilting his head, his smile widening. “No need for formalities.”

  Divan watched the exchange carefully, already noticing the tension thrumming beneath Caliban’s casual tone. There was something too controlled about him, as if he were holding something back.

  Lila turned back to her work, arranging small vials on the table. But Divan remained tense, something prickling at his senses. Then, a faint glow flickered at Lila’s throat. The medallion. The flicker was subtle at first, a dull gleam that pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Divan’s eyes flicked down, his jaw tightening. He knew what it meant and why it was reacting.

  Caliban noticed it too. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he pointed lazily at it. “That’s an interesting trinket.”

  Divan shifted, stepping subtly between him and Lila. “Cel gave it to me,” he said evenly. “For Lila.”

  Caliban arched a brow.

  “He told me it would protect her against the creature,” Divan replied, watching his brother’s reaction closely.

  Caliban’s lips curled slightly, as if amused. “How thoughtful. Of course, if you ever need real protection, I’d be happy to oblige.” Before Lila could react, he reached out, taking her hand in his.

  The moment his fingers touched her skin, the medallion ignited.

  A sharp surge of energy shot outward, like a red tongue of crackling magic that struck Caliban’s hand like a lash of fire. He recoiled instantly, cursing under his breath.

  Lila gasped, stepping back, her wide eyes darting between them. “What—?”

  Caliban flexed his fingers, his jaw tightening, but just as quickly, he forced a laugh, waving it off. “Your little trinket doesn’t like me. I suppose I should go before it decides to take another bite.” He looked at Divan. “I was curious how your trip to Brasov had been. I can see now that it was successful.” Without another word, he turned sharply and strode away, disappearing into the crowd.

  Lila exhaled shakily. “Divan, what just happened? I feel as if I should apologize to him.”

  Divan’s gaze followed Caliban’s retreating figure. Something had changed. The medallion wasn’t just reacting to the creature, it was reacting to the man.

  He looked at Lila. “Cel told me it was powerful, and because you are a witch, you would enhance its protective qualities. I think that’s exactly what happened.”

  “But why did it attack your brother?”

  He couldn’t tell her, not now. She would find out soon enough, but the less she knew, the safer she was.

  Chapter 16

  They have come before. Men with silver knives and holy books, with ancient rites and shining eyes, claiming to know the secrets of the night. They named me a Strigoi, a Picolici, a demon born of some ancient sin. They brought their relics, their rituals, their clever words, and they died, every one of them. The beast tore through their charms as through wet paper. Their silver knives could not find the heart they sought. Their prayers scattered like dust before a storm. They never understood what they were hunting. The villagers forgot them by the next full moon. But I remember. I remember every fool who thought he could kill what he could not even name. -from the Journal of Caliban Drakovar

  The villagers gathered in the square, drawn in by the booming voice of a man who enjoyed being the center of attention. “Fear not, good people of Bran!” the man’s voice rang out, thick with bravado. “For I, Gregor Balan, have come to rid you of this foul beast! The Strigoi who has brought death to your loved ones and kept you living in fear.”

  He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with a short beard and a large coat lined with wolf fur draped dramatically over his shoulders. A massive silver-plated crossbow rested against his hip, and a silver-tipped stake dangled from his belt.

  Behind him, two men who were lean and weathered stood with arms crossed. Their expressions made it clear that they were there for the money, not the heroics.

  The villagers muttered amongst themselves, some hopeful, others skeptical. A few old women crossed themselves, while a handful of men exchanged uneasy glances.

  Divan stood near the edge of the crowd, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and irritation. He had seen men like this before, loud, boastful frauds who thrived on fear and theatrics.

  Gregor continued, puffing out his chest. “I have slain Strigoi in Wallachia! Moroi in the depths of Transylvania!” He gestured wildly. “The creature that plagues your village is no match for my skill!”

  Divan stepped forward, arms crossed. “And what exactly do you know of this creature?”

  Gregor turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly at the challenge in Divan’s voice. “I know enough. I know it hunts your people under the full moon. That it leaves its victims torn apart, drained of blood!”

  Divan gave a slow, unimpressed nod. “Interesting, because none of the victims I have seen were drained of blood.”

  The crowd fell silent.

  Gregor’s bravado faltered, but only for a moment before he laughed heartily. “Ah, a skeptic! There is always one! And who might you be, friend? Perhaps some city-bred scholar who thinks he knows better than a seasoned hunter?”

  “I am Divan Drakovar.”

  The moment the name left his lips, a few villagers exchanged uneasy glances.

  Gregor’s smirk widened. “Ahh, the long-lost Drakovar heir.” He took a step closer, sizing him up. “Tell me, Drakovar, have you ever killed a Strigoi? A Moroi? Have you ever even seen one?”

  Divan tilted his head. “Have you?”

  Gregor scowled at Divan. “I have seen many things in my time, young man. I know one thing for certain, when there’s a beast, there’s a hunt, and I always find my prey.”

  Divan’s jaw tightened. Something about this man, about his presence, set his instincts on edge. He very well may complicate the situation and cause the beast to be threatened. The creature is already reacting to me being here, and now this fellow arrives. Divan watched him . . . But then again, Caliban was a smart man, an even smarter beast, and would be little threatened by this carnival barker.

  “I hope you do,” Divan said smoothly. “Your theatrics would be a shame if this all were for nothing.”

  Gregor grinned, but his eyes were hard. “Oh, don’t worry. I always deliver.” He turned back to the crowd, lifting his arms. “Tonight, I begin my hunt! You will all sleep soundly knowing that Gregor Balan is on the prowl!”

  A few villagers clapped hesitantly, while others remained wary.

  Divan, however, watched him head for Claudiu’s inn, feeling the weight of the medallion pressing against his chest. Something told him Gregor was about to make things much worse.

  ***

  The warmth of Maria’s cottage was a stark contrast to the chill outside. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the small space with the scent of burning wood and the comforting aroma of roasted meat and herbs. The wooden table, though modest, was laid with care, fresh bread, a hearty stew, and a bottle of dark red wine.

  Divan sat across from Lila. Maria sat at the head of the table, her sharp eyes watching them both with quiet amusement, though a flicker of concern remained in the creases of her face.

  Halfway through the meal, Lila set down her fork and glanced at Divan. “What do you make of Gregor Balan?”

  Divan sighed, rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. “He’s a fraud. A loud, obnoxious one at that.”

  Lila smirked. “I thought as much, but he keeps talking about Strigoi.” She turned to her grandmother. “Do we have a problem with a Strigoi?”

  Maria, mid-bite, hesitated. She placed her spoon down gently and shook her head. “No, not that I know of.”

  Lila frowned. “Then why is this man here, claiming he’s going to destroy one?”

  Divan took a slow sip of wine before answering. “Because people like Gregor don’t care about the truth. They sell fear, it’s how they make their living.”

  Lila leaned in slightly. “Then tell me the truth.”

  Divan glanced at Maria, whose expression remained neutral but watchful. He set his glass down. “There are many creatures in our legends. And most people don’t understand the differences. A Strigoi is one of the most feared; it’s what most people think of when they say ‘vampire.’ A reanimated corpse, hungry for blood, able to shift between human and shadow. They return to their families first, feeding on their loved ones before moving on to the village.”

  Lila shuddered. “But they’re just legend, right?”

  Divan didn’t answer immediately. “Then there are the Moroi, not the undead, but born creatures. Some say they are the offspring of Strigoi and humans. Others say they are humans cursed with a thirst for blood. Unlike the Strigoi, they are living creatures, not reanimated corpses. They walk among us, feeding in secret.”

  Lila rubbed her arms as if a chill had crept into the room. “And what about the one Gregor should be hunting?”

  Divan hesitated. “The Umbrawolf?”

  Maria’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted her glass.

  Lila’s brows furrowed. “Umbrawolf?”

  Divan nodded, choosing his words carefully. “This werewolf is something in between, not fully human, but not fully beast. The creature is not bound to the moon like a traditional werewolf, but it feels the call of it. The beast is neither dead nor alive in the way Strigoi are. It is cursed.”

  Maria stood abruptly, gathering the empty plates and taking them to the basin.

  Lila turned to watch her, concern crossing her face. “Grandmother?”

  Maria didn’t respond immediately. She began wiping the table, though it was already clean, her movements quick and agitated.

  Lila’s gaze flickered between Maria and Divan. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Divan exhaled slowly. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Maria’s back remained to them as she scrubbed the same spot on the wooden counter, her shoulders tense.

  Lila reached for Divan’s hand under the table, squeezing it gently. “Then we can figure it out together.”

  Divan glanced at Maria one last time before nodding. “Yes. We will.”

  But as he sat there, feeling the weight of the medallion against his chest, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Maria already knew more than she was saying.

  Divan pushed his chair back and stood, reaching for his coat. “I should go. I know Gregor will be at the tavern, and I’d rather observe him before he talks some poor villager into doing something stupid, like exhuming his family’s graves.”

  Maria remained by the basin, still scrubbing dishes that were already clean. She said nothing.

  Lila rose as well, following him to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

  The night air was cool, the sky deep with stars, and the village was hushed save for the occasional distant murmur of voices from the square. Lila pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stepped outside beside him.

  When they were a few paces from the door, she glanced at him. “What’s wrong with my grandmother?”

  Divan sighed, looking down at her. “I don’t know, but be patient with her. She’s seen things, things she never wanted to see again.”

  Lila nodded, though concern lingered in her eyes.

  He turned toward the path, but something in him refused to let go, refused to leave just yet. Without another word, he pulled her into the shadows between the cottages, pressing her flush against him. Lila gasped softly, her breath hitching, but it melted into a sigh as he captured her lips in a deep, fervent kiss. His hands slid around her waist, molding her against him as though he could claim her in this moment, fuse them so nothing could pull them apart.

  The world fell away. The fear, the uncertainty, the growing darkness, none of it mattered. All that remained was her.

  Lila clutched his coat, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, her breath warm and wanting against his lips. The taste of honeyed wine lingered between them, intoxicating and sweet, making him dizzy with need. Divan groaned softly, the sound swallowed between them as he pressed her back until her spine met the cool, unyielding stone wall. His hands roamed, one sliding into her hair, fingers tangling in the silken strands, the other gripping her hip, pulling her tighter, desperate to feel every inch of her against him.

  His thumb brushed along her jaw, slow, teasing, before he tilted her face and deepened the kiss, taking his time, savoring the warmth of her mouth, the soft little sounds she made as she melted into him.