4. Traces of Darkness

4

Traces of Darkness

Roman

R oman glanced over at Christian as they drove towards Creekguard, the vampire's profile silhouetted against the passing streetlights. He'd always been wary of vampires, a natural instinct for a half-fae, half-bear shifter. But there was something about Christian, a calmness and wisdom, that put Roman at ease.

He thought back to earlier that day, when he'd approached Dominic about borrowing his mate for a little while. The weather witch had raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical.

"You want to spend time with Christian?" he'd asked, his tone a mix of surprise and amusement. "Alone? I thought you had a thing about vampires, especially the elder ones."

Roman had shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. "I'm trying to expand my horizons," he'd said, his voice gruff. "And besides, I could use his help with something."

Dominic had studied him for a long moment, his dark eyes knowing. "This is about Merin, isn't it? About what happened to Chrissy's parents?"

"Yeah," he'd said, his voice low. "It is. I need to go to their house, see if I can pick up any magical traces. And I could use Christian's skills, his senses, to watch my back."

Dominic had nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "Of course. Christian would be happy to help. Just…be careful, okay? Riordan is dangerous, and he's got a vendetta against everyone that goes beyond reason."

He wanted nothing more than to tear the bastard apart with his bare hands. To make him pay for every ounce of pain he'd caused.

And so here he was, driving through the day with a vampire by his side, heading towards a crime scene that could hold the key to unraveling the mystery that had plagued them for so long.

Christian's voice broke through his thoughts, startling him back to the present. "So," the vampire said, his tone conversational. "When are you finally going to make a move on Merin?"

Roman sputtered, nearly swerving off the road in his surprise. "What? I don't…I mean, how did you…?"

Christian chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to fill the car. "Oh, please. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that you're head over heels for the guy. And Dominic might have mentioned something about you two dancing around each other like a couple of lovestruck teenagers."

Roman groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Dominic needs to learn to keep his mouth shut," he grumbled.

Christian shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "He's just looking out for you. For both of you. He wants you to be happy, Roman. We all do."

Roman sighed, feeling a sudden, bone-deep weariness wash over him. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice rough. "Merin…he's been through so much. He's got walls up that I'm not sure even I can break through. And I don't want to push him, don't want to risk losing what we have."

Christian was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I get that," he said finally, his voice soft. "Better than most, I understand the fear of letting someone in, of being vulnerable. But Roman…life is short. Even for those of us who measure our years in centuries. And the thing about walls…they're meant to be climbed. Meant to be torn down, brick by brick, until there's nothing left but the truth of who we are."

Roman swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in his throat. He knew Christian was right, knew that he couldn't let his fear, his uncertainty, hold him back forever.

But the thought of losing Merin, of scaring him away with the depth of his feelings…it was a risk he wasn't sure he was ready to take.

"I don't know," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I'm strong enough, Christian. To be what he needs, to help him heal from all the hurt he's been through."

Christian reached over, laying a hand on Roman's arm. His skin was cool to the touch, but there was a warmth, a comfort, in the gesture that made Roman's heart ache.

"You are strong enough," Christian said, his voice firm and full of conviction. "And Merin…he sees that in you. He trusts you, even if he's not ready to admit it to himself."

Roman felt a flicker of hope, of something that might have been the beginnings of belief, kindle in his chest. "You really think so?"

Christian smiled, squeezing Roman's arm gently. "I know so. And when the time is right, when you're both ready…you'll find your way to each other. It's inevitable, Roman. Like the tides, like the turning of the seasons. Some things are just meant to be."

Roman took a deep breath, letting Christian's words wash over him, soothe the ragged edges of his soul. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. "For being here, for listening. For…for everything."

Christian chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a grin. "Anytime, my friend. Anytime at all. Now, are you going to tell me what we're really doing in Creekguard, or do I have to guess?"

"We're going to Chrissy's house," he said, his voice low and serious. "Merin and Margareth found her parents dead, killed by someone with a cane and short dark hair. Someone who fits Riordan's description to a tee."

Christian's face hardened, his eyes glinting with a sudden, fierce anger. "That bastard," he growled, his voice cold as ice. "He's gone too far this time, Roman. Too damn far."

Roman nodded, his own anger rising to match Christian's. "I know. And that's why we're here. To find proof, to see if we can pick up any magical traces that might lead us to him. I need to know for sure, Christian. I need to know that it was him, before I tear him apart with my own two hands."

Christian was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the windshield. Then he nodded, a grim, determined set to his jaw.

"We'll find him," he said, his voice like steel. "And we'll make him pay for what he's done. To Chrissy, to her parents. To Merin. He'll answer for his crimes, Roman. I swear it on my life."

Roman nodded, feeling a grim sense of determination settle over him. Christian was right. Riordan would pay for his crimes, for the pain he had caused. And Roman would be the one to make sure of it.

* * *

They pulled up to the address Merin had given them, a quaint, unassuming house on a quiet street. But even from the car, Roman could feel the wrongness in the air, the lingering darkness that clung to the very bricks and mortar.

He glanced over at Christian, seeing the same unease reflected in the vampire's eyes. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Christian nodded, his jaw tight. "It's like a stain on the very fabric of reality. Even after all this time, it lingers."

Roman took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. "Stay on guard," he warned, his voice low. "We don't know what we might find in there."

They got out of the car, making their way up the front walk with cautious, measured steps. The door was unlocked, and Roman pushed it open with a sense of trepidation, half-expecting to be assaulted by the coppery scent of blood and death.

But the house was clean, almost eerily so. He knew that Adrian and Benjamin had taken care of the bodies, had arranged for a proper funeral as soon as possible. But still, the absence of any sign of the violence that had occurred here was unsettling.

"We should split up," Roman said, his voice echoing in the empty foyer. "Gather anything that might be valuable, anything that might help us understand what happened here."

Christian nodded, his eyes already scanning the room with a sharpness that belied his casual demeanor. "I'll take the downstairs. You head up, see what you can find in the bedrooms."

"Be careful," he said gruffly, meeting Christian's gaze with a look of fierce, unspoken understanding.

Christian smiled, a small, sad thing that made Roman's heart ache. "You too, my friend. You too."

With that, they parted ways, Roman making his way up the stairs while Christian disappeared into the depths of the house.

The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. Roman pushed it open, feeling a shiver run down his spine as he stepped over the threshold.

This was where it had happened. Where Chrissy's parents had been murdered, their lives snuffed out by a madman's cruelty.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to picture the scene as Chrissy had described it. Her parents, waiting for her to come home, waiting to meet with Merin and Margareth.

And then Riordan, appearing out of nowhere, a demon in the guise of a man. Cane in hand, eyes glinting with malice and madness.

Roman cast out a fae globe, a shimmering sphere of light that pulsed and swirled around him. With a whispered word, he sent it out into the room, seeking any traces of magic, any clues that might lead him to the answers he sought.

And there, in the corner of the room, he saw it. A faint, sickly glow, like a poisonous mist clinging to the walls.

A tracking spell. And beside it, barely visible even to his fae sight…a listening spell.

Roman's heart raced, a cold, creeping dread washing over him. Riordan had been listening, had been watching. He'd known that Merin and Margareth were coming, had known that Chrissy's parents were alone and vulnerable.

With a wave of his hand, Roman dispelled the spells, feeling a grim satisfaction as they dissipated into nothingness. But the satisfaction was short-lived, replaced by a growing sense of unease.

If Riordan had been spying on them, had been privy to their every move…what else did he know? What other secrets had he gleaned, what other weaknesses had he discovered?

Roman shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He couldn't afford to dwell on the possibilities, couldn't let fear and doubt cloud his mind.

He had to focus on the task at hand, on finding the answers that would lead them to Riordan and bring him to justice.

His gaze fell on the closet, the door slightly ajar. Something about it called to him, a whisper in the back of his mind urging him forward.

With a sense of trepidation, he pulled the door open, half-expecting to find some dark, sinister secret lurking within. But at first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary - just a bunch of old clothes, musty and moth-eaten.

He sighed, feeling a flicker of disappointment. He'd been so sure, so certain that there was something here, some clue that would help them unravel the mystery of Riordan's attack.

But as he started to pull the clothes out, intending to pack them up for Chrissy, his hand brushed against something solid, something that didn't quite belong.

A bag, hidden beneath the layers of fabric. Small and unassuming, but with a weight to it that spoke of secrets, of things not meant for prying eyes.

Roman's heart raced, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled the bag out and opened it. Inside, nestled among a few scattered trinkets and mementos…

A journal. Leather-bound and worn, with a small, delicate lock holding it shut.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this journal belonged to Chrissy's mother. He could feel the echo of her presence, the lingering traces of her love and her pain.

With a whispered word, he called upon his fae magic, feeling the lock click open beneath his fingers. And as he opened the journal, as he began to read the words within…

His blood ran cold, a sickening sense of dread washing over him.

Page after page, entry after entry, Chrissy's mother poured out her heart, her deepest, darkest secrets. Her desperate desire for a child, her aching longing for the family she had always dreamed of.

And then, the deal. The bargain struck with a shadowy figure, a man who promised her the child she so desperately craved…for a price.

Her firstborn. Her precious, innocent child, traded away like a commodity, like a pawn in some twisted game.

And if she failed to deliver, if she tried to back out of the deal…her life would be forfeit. Her very soul, condemned to an eternity of torment and darkness.

Roman's hands shook, his vision blurring with tears of rage and sorrow. How could she have done it, how could she have made such a terrible, unthinkable choice?

But even as the question formed in his mind, he knew the answer. Desperation, fear, the all-consuming need to fill the void within her heart…

It could drive a person to do unimaginable things, to make choices they would never have considered in the light of day.

And Riordan, with his twisted, manipulative mind…he had known. Had sensed her weakness, her vulnerability, and had exploited it for his own gain.

Roman's jaw clenched, a hot, fierce anger burning in his chest. Riordan's cruelty knew no bounds, his hunger for power and control driving him to destroy lives, to shatter families and futures.

But he would not succeed. Not this time, not ever again. Roman would make sure of it, would fight with every ounce of strength and cunning he possessed to bring the dark seer to justice.

A sudden shout from downstairs jolted him out of his thoughts, and he stuffed the journal into the bag, along with the rest of the clothes and mementos.

"Christian?" he called out, his voice tense and wary. "Everything alright down there?"

There was a moment of silence, a heartbeat that seemed to stretch into eternity. And then Christian's voice, tight with urgency and concern.

"Roman, you need to see this. I'm in Chrissy's room."

Roman's heart raced, a cold, creeping dread washing over him. He slung the bag over his shoulder and raced out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to reach Christian's side.

He found the vampire standing in the middle of Chrissy's room, a small, cozy space filled with stuffed animals and fairy tale books. But Christian's attention was fixed on something else entirely, something that made Roman's blood run cold.

A drawing. Childish and crude, but with a level of detail, of raw, visceral emotion, that spoke of a vision, a glimpse into a world beyond their own.

And at the center of the drawing, looming large and terrible…a demon. Dark and twisted, with eyes that glowed with malice and hunger.

Roman's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew, better than most, the significance of a seer's drawings, the way they served as an outlet for the visions that haunted their dreams and waking hours.

And this drawing, with its stark, terrifying imagery…it was a warning. A glimpse into a future that could not, must not, come to pass.

"We need to get this back to the others," he said, his voice rough with urgency. "Merin, Margareth, Adrian…they need to see this. Need to know what we're up against."

Christian nodded, his face grim and determined. "I'll grab the rest of her things. You take the drawing, and the journal. We'll meet back at the car in five minutes."

They had to get back to the others, had to share what they had discovered and figure out their next move. Because if Chrissy's drawing was any indication, if the journal's dark secrets held even a grain of truth…

They were running out of time. Running out of chances to stop Riordan, to protect the innocent lives he sought to destroy.