Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

I weave on my feet, trying to get my bearings and regain my balance at the same time. My eyes fall on the stone angel with the chipped hand surrounded by the tombstones under her domain outside the nightwalker mausoleum. One second, I was in the bedroom pulling on my sneakers, and the next…

Dammit. Costin did it again. He mesmerized me.

The night air feels thick and oppressive, like the world is holding its breath. My reality shifts back to somewhat normal. I suppose I should be grateful that the vampire got me out of the penthouse undetected, but I wish he would have told me before putting me under his spell. After sex, the feeling of being drawn into the vortex of his emotions leaves me feeling vulnerable and connected to him .

I don't want to be connected to a vampire. I want to have used him for sex and rebellion.

Costin is arrogant and condescending. He calls me a castoff for fuck's sake. I'm not even sure I like him.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I wait to see if he says anything about what happened in my bedroom. He doesn't and so neither do I.

A strange chirping draws my attention to the shadows. A diminutive, gnarled creature with large ears jerks its head to tear at something it's eating. It stops to peer in my direction with sharp teeth bared. Its round black eyes remain fixed on me as if the creature can vanish from my sight by remaining perfectly still.

"He won't hurt you," Costin assures me.

I slowly look away first, but I continue to listen to its noises.

Costin holds his arm out for me to take. "Shall we?"

I don't accept the offer. Instead, I say, "You mesmerized me again, didn't you?"

"You wanted out of the penthouse. It seemed the most convenient way to travel." There is absolutely no apology in his tone. "Besides, I figured it would be best to come here before you talked yourself out of doing your duty."

"So it was more convenient, " I repeat .

He arches a brow.

"I think it's time we had a brief discussion about some ground rules for this whole saving the world prophecy business." I put my hands on my hips, hoping that I look authoritative. "Rule number one: absolutely no mesmerizing me without my foreknowledge or permission. Do I make myself clear?"

"The last time I transported a conscious human, they vomited on me."

"Then I'll pay for your dry cleaning," I quip.

He looks annoyed. "What other rules?"

That was the only one I was thinking of when I started my little speech. Still, I want to delay fate. The fear in my chest is coming out argumentatively. "No vampire tricks. No wordplay or loopholes. You're to do nothing that will take away my freewill to think and move for myself."

He crosses his arms over his chest and waits.

"And no abandoning me underground," I look at the mausoleum. It looks different from the night before. A greenish glow illuminates the edges as a colored spotlight hits it from behind. As if being in the graveyard wasn't scary enough, they needed to add special effects.

I'm keenly aware of where we are. The graveyard feels alive with a kind of dark energy. The weathered tombstones are crooked, as if the earth beneath them has been restless for centuries. Fog rolls through the narrow pathways between the graves, clinging to the ground like it doesn't dare rise any higher. Overhead, the moon hangs low, casting long, eerie shadows stretching toward the mausoleum like ghostly fingers.

Small, flickering orbs of light dart between the gravestones—spirits, maybe, or some other supernatural energy. The air here is thick and presses down on us, weighing heavily on my chest with every breath. Even the statues appear to be watching—the angel with a chipped hand and hollow eyes, gargoyles frozen in time always appearing one blink away from life.

Ahead, the mausoleum looms. I prefer to think of them as mausoleums instead of crypts. Crypt sounds so final. Mausoleum sounds more formal and less intimidating, like a museum. Its gothic spires and ornate carvings stand like a sentinel over the underworld it guards. The greenish glow from behind it pulses faintly and becomes brighter, casting an otherworldly light around the entrance. If the carved spirits in the black stone are any indication, there's no mistaking that many things ancient and dangerous wait beneath.

"Anything else?" he asks.

"And no making fun of me if I get nervous. No stupid human jokes. And you have to stop calling me castoff. "

"You're stalling," he states.

He's right. Damn him.

"Fine. I hear your terms," he mutters with a gesture of his hand toward the mausoleum entrance. "May we go?"

I can't shake the feeling that there's something more behind Costin's calm insistence. His eyes—those swirling, ancient eyes—look at me with a depth I can't translate. Am I more than just a pawn in his prophecy?

No. He wouldn't be here if my grandfather hadn't made him promise.

Panic overtakes me. My head churns with rapid thoughts.

I'm a mortal girl tangled up in something far bigger than me. Costin talks about the prophecy like it's inevitable, like I'm destined to be dragged deeper into a world I've fought so hard to stay out of. I don't want to go underground. I don't want to meet monsters or trolls or whatever else lurks in those tunnels.

But it's Costin who scares me the most. Not his power or his vampiric strength. No, it's the way he makes me feel. The way I catch myself wanting to trust him—wanting him to be the one who protects me from all this supernatural chaos. And that's the most dangerous thought of all.

I can't let myself get close to him. At the end of the day, there is no denying that he's a monster. And worse—his prophecy is unraveling everything I thought I knew about my human life.

I stare at the mausoleum, trying to make myself braver than I am. It's one thing to imagine an abstract story in a book, but another to face the beginning of that tale in person. I can only imagine the dangers that lurk behind those gothic walls, knowing that they're so much more than I can dream up. As a mortal, it will never be safe for me there—let alone a mortal meddling in things I should have no part of.

I touch my pocket where the amulet waits to be repaired. A sense of guilt comes over me when I think of Paul, though I know I have no reason for it. That was a different life, and I'm only torturing myself. I have every right to live mine in the here and now.

I'm selfish. I don't want to die. I'm not a hero. I open my mouth to tell Costin I can't do it.

I think of the rivers of lava. If just reading about the prophecy could feel so real that it sends me to witness the apocalypse, what will going into the mausoleum do?

I look around the murky shadows of the graveyard. The white moths circle the lamps, bumping into the glass while attempting to reach the gas flames inside. I feel a kinship to those poor creatures, bumbling stupidly as I seek entrance into a place I should not go. Just as the illustration foretold, will there be fire waiting to consume me inside the mausoleum?

"Does it have to be this place?" Nothing in the book said to come here. I want an excuse to leave.

"There is a troll who lives here that is friendlier than others." He places his hand on the small of my back, trying to make me walk. "We could travel to Europe, journey long nights across the rocky terrains until we reach the mountain colony. Even if they do grant us an audience, I worry there is not enough time to convince them to assist us. They could just as easily boil you in a stew rather than help."

Why do paranormal creatures enjoy eating humans so much?

The book said I would see a sign.

Well, actually it said something pretentiously asinine like, "When the destined soul beholds these words, omens shall guide their way to the realm of prosperity."

Where's my guiding omen? Surely, it's something I'd recognize. I mean, seriously?—

Suddenly, the moths leave their posts to swarm upwards, gathering over our heads before traveling toward the mausoleum. Their frantic wings beat wildly as they congregate around the stone entrance. They appear drawn to the unnerving green glow that is now seeping from its cracks. For a moment, I feel like I'm one of them—inexplicably drawn toward something I don't fully understand and can't escape.

"Do you see that?" I whisper, following the moths to get a closer look.

The moths change shape. Their dull and colorless wings reflect the green light and begin shimmering with a hint of magic.

Costin touches my arm to stop me. "What is it?"

The green glow intensifies until I can't look away. I keep walking, drawn to it. The moths continue to grow and change until they are no longer moths. They transformed into butterflies—iridescent, neon-green creatures that don't exist in nature. They flutter around the mausoleum door, their intended destination unmistakable as they bump desperately into the stone just as they bumped into the gas lamps before.

My omen.

"I believe you," I say, all doubt gone. "This is where we need to go."

Costin's touch on my arm keeps me frozen in place. My heart hammers in my chest. Butterflies. They've always been my talisman of sorts.

My grandfather's words echo in my mind, "The world needs butterflies, Tamara, as much as it needs dragons. Probably more. We all have our place."

I'm the butterfly, and inside that mausoleum are the metaphorical dragons. These butterflies aren't delicate or peaceful. They feel like a warning of the danger that awaits below, a danger I must face.

"This is the place," I say.

"What changed your mind?" Costin asks.

"Don't you see them?" I point at the door.

"There is no one there."

I can't take my eyes off the butterflies. The mausoleum looms ahead. I know its black stone facade is old yet appears untouched by time. Clouds move over the moon, darkening the graveyard. The green seeps from the cracks around the door, casting long slivers of light that flicker and dance like specters in the darkness. Every step I take is heavier than the last, and the air is thick with ancient and dangerous magic.

The entrance to the crypt is darker than I remember. I stare at it, moving like the moths toward the flame. The carvings on the door seem to writhe in the strange light, twisting into shapes I can't quite recognize.

I need to get closer.

There's something alive here within the stone, something primordial watching me approach. My heart races until I can't hear anything but the pound, pound, pound of its rhythmic thump. Instinct screams at me to turn back.

I can't. Not now .

I reach for the door, and the butterflies scatter around me. Before I touch it, the door creaks open with a groan. The sound sends shivers up my spine. Goosebumps cover my arms. My hand shakes as it falls back to my side.

The door opens on its own, welcoming me in. A few of the butterflies brave past me to go in first. Inside, the green light pulses, inviting and repelling me at the same time. I feel it in my bones—this isn't just a door. It's a threshold. Once I step through, there's no going back.

This is it. The moment everything changes.

Until now, I told myself that I had a choice, that I could somehow escape the destiny laid out for me if I so chose. I'm human, and we have free will, right?

Fate doesn't agree.

The vision from the prophecy's illustration still burns in my mind. So much death and destruction. The city, the people, all gone. Everything I care about is disintegrated and crushed. Costin told me that some of the supernaturals would survive, and their fates would be worse than the humans. And it will be my fault if I do nothing.

Costin said I'm part of this prophecy, but I'm just a mortal girl. What if I'm not enough? What if I fail? The weight of the world is pressing down on me, and I feel like I'm drowning in it. But I can't let fear stop me now. I've seen what happens if I don't act, and I won't let that become reality.

Knowing this is my fate doesn't make this any easier. Every instinct in me screams to run, to hide, to retreat to the safety of my penthouse and pretend none of this is real. If I choose Chester, I can hide inside our magical families. Maybe we'd survive.

Maybe.

But at what cost?

The glowing butterflies are real. This is my future. I have to face it. I have to go underground into the supernatural realm.

I feel Costin move past me through the door, unafraid.

I peek inside before angling my body to step through the opening, careful not to touch the writhing carvings along the doorframe.

The air inside is cold, unnaturally so. My breath comes out in shaky puffs, each one dissipating into the darkness.

I shiver, rubbing my arms. I can't help thinking of my family's crypt, watching as a wizard sealed their corpses into the wall. I shake the image from my mind.

Twelve large metal plaques are affixed to the walls to mark the graves within. Small niches are evenly spaced, and empty flower vases are attached along the outside edges. I listen to the stone to make sure nothing moves inside. An empty coffin platform is in the middle of the room. I don't touch it.

"It's warmer down below." Costin pulls at a sconce, and I hear stone grinding beneath us. He gestures to the corner of the room.

Two butterflies follow his hand, diving into a hole in the floor to reveal a stairwell. Loud thumps sound behind me, and I turn to see the rest of the butterflies hitting the door. They knock it shut behind us with a decisive thud, closing us in.

"Stay behind me." Costin leads me down winding steps.

Shadows flicker at the edge of my vision, stretching between the stone pillars that line the crypt's walls. My pulse quickens, and I fight the urge to run. I can't let this place get to me. This is only the entryway. I can't let the fear take over.

But it's hard. So hard.

I think of my brother down below, and I grab my phone. Anthony hasn't responded to my previous texts checking in. I try again, typing, "Coming down. With Costin. Where are you?"

"What are you doing?" Costin asks, his voice tight.

He can be annoyed with me all he wants. "Texting Anthony that we're coming down."

"I will protect you." He sounds defensive .

"Didn't say anything about that. He's my brother, and I promised to tell him when we went underground." I slide the phone back into my pocket.

He says nothing as he leads the way down the stairwell. The green light fades into darkness as we descend, replaced by shadows that twist and curl around us. And then I hear it—the whispers. Faint, barely audible at first, but growing louder with every step.

"Tamara." The voice is familiar, too familiar. "Tamara."

"Do you hear that?" I ask Costin, surging forward to press against his back.

"A breeze is whispering against the stone," he says.

"Tamara." It sounds like... Conrad? How can he be here?

I grab hold of Costin's arm and hold tight.

I keep walking, but the whispers follow, circling around me, growing louder, more insistent.

"Tamara."

"Tamara."

"Tamara."

I pull him to a stop, and we wait on the steps. "Someone is saying my name."

He puts his hand over mine and again starts walking. "This place is full of tricks and spells meant to distract you. Ignore them. They are manifestations of your fears."

Each step feels like I'm leaving something behind—my old life, my humanity, my safety. The tomb air becomes thick and oppressive, pressing down to force me inside. The penthouse feels so far away, almost like a different world that I can never return to. I've crossed a threshold. I'm in a supernatural realm, and there's no turning back.

Light appears from below. I lean forward before turning a corner. We reach the bottom. Thick prison bars block the exit.

I lean into the bars and give them a small shake as I try to look beyond at the impenetrable darkness. "How do we get in?"

Costin pulls me against his chest. The sudden full contact of his body takes me by surprise. I lift my face toward his, half expecting him to kiss me.

Instead, his face distorts and blurs. Before I can protest, I feel myself being jolted almost violently off my feet. Everything spins and mushes together, and I become lightheaded, like I've been dropped into a freefall inside a tornado.

As suddenly as it starts, it stops. Costin holds upright as my wobbly knees give out. Nausea churns. I hold my breath as I fight throwing up on the front of his shirt.

"That was traveling two feet," he states .

His look seems to say, I told you so.

"You could have warned me." I want to push away, but I'm still trying to regain my composure.

"You're mortal. The only way past the bars is with supernatural help." He lets me go, and I manage to stay upright. "It was faster than another debate. We cannot keep stopping every three steps to discuss what we are doing."

So much for my dictating rules.

"Supernaturals are so dramatic," I mutter.

I become aware of conversations happening around us. The indistinct murmurs create a hectic racket, as I can't pick out any one conversation. Everything is buzzing with energy, thrumming in time with the pulse in my veins. I turn away from Costin and realize for the first time that this place looks nothing like the dark pit I saw through the bars.

The bars acted like some kind of magical filter, shielding the true nature of this realm from the world above. Down here, my skin tingles as though the very air is alive with static electricity, ready to crash over me in waves. It's a familiar sensation, and I wonder if it's a magical residue.

Beneath my fear, there's something else. A spark. A sense of purpose. For so long, I've felt lost, trapped between two worlds, fully human but bound by the rules of the supernatural. Here, in this crypt, I feel something awakening inside me. It quickens my pulse and deepens my breath. I've been hiding from this world for far too long.

The tunnels themselves feel more natural than man-made, as if this place has always been here, hidden beneath the city, waiting. The walls and ceilings are formed of chipped stone, rough in places but worn smooth where centuries of hands have passed. A path polished by endless footsteps leads deeper into the heart of this underground world. Glowing clusters of crystals and gems embedded in the stone provide soft illumination, casting an otherworldly light that dances off the surfaces like fractured rainbows. It's brighter here than I expected, yet shadows cling stubbornly to secret edges. I feel a sense of danger lurking just out of sight.

"Stick close to me," Costin murmurs, his voice vibrating with an undercurrent of warning. "This isn't a place where you want to get lost."

As we move deeper, the narrow tunnels give way to a vast cavern, and my breath catches in my throat. Before me lies a sprawling city that feels like it belongs to another time—medieval yet pulsating with supernatural energy. Towering spikes of stone rise from the ground, connected by intricate bridges and archways that crisscross above us. Stalls line the streets, selling strange, shimmering goods I can't name by every kind of being imaginable. Creatures that would be glamoured and hidden in the human world move freely through the city.

Robed figures flit through the crowd like ghosts, their faces hidden, only their glowing eyes occasionally peeking out from beneath their hoods to glance curiously in my direction. I can't help but overhear snippets of conversations. Most of them are incomprehensible, spoken in languages I don't understand, but a few drift toward me with uncanny clarity.

"...you're kidding. I'm not paying for protection." A werewolf, half-shifted with his claws still extended, is deep in conversation with a delicate fairy whose wings flutter anxiously in the heavy air.

"I swear, he's got a vendetta against anyone who even looks at him wrong," the fairy answers. "Nearly tore off my wing for bumping into him at the market."

If I had to guess by the fairy's lack of clothes, I'd say she was a prostitute.

Then again, that might be a little judgy of me. Fairies aren't exactly my favorite creatures.

I shudder and move closer as Costin walks ahead of me, his steps sure as he navigates the crowd. I can tell he's done this a thousand times. I struggle to keep up, my senses overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of this place .

I wonder where Anthony might be. Why doesn't he answer my texts?

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end with the sensation of being watched. I can't blame any one creature. Several of them are staring at me.

Another conversation catches my attention—a pair of horned demons haggle with a merchant over what looks like a mason jar filled with a pulsing, glowing ooze.

"...if you can't guarantee it's the real thing, why should I pay full price?" a garbled voice demands. "A bottled soul isn't worth much if it's tainted."

"You can't tell me it's tainted when you can feel its heat," the merchant defends. "That's a pure soul, right from the source. Do you have any idea what it took to get this?"

I tear my gaze away from the jar, bile rising in my throat. A bottled soul? What kind of horrible black marketplace is this?

"You come here often?" I ask Costin. "You clearly know your way around."

Costin glances over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable, though there's a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You could say that."

I try to walk beside him, but he keeps angling his body to force me to remain a step behind. "I had no clue this place was… this ."

"This place has been here longer than you can imagine. Some parts are older than the city above. Most people live their entire lives without knowing it's just below their feet," he says.

"Lucky them," I mutter under my breath, only kind of joking. My eyes dart toward Costin's back as we pass a particularly imposing shifter, who is staring at me a little too intently. I can't tell what he will become, and I don't want to find out, but his glowing eyes give his ability away. "How often do you come here?"

Costin's eyes flick toward me for a moment, but then he shrugs. "Often enough when duty demands it. Don't be fooled by anyone you meet. They're not your friends. This place will always find new ways to surprise you."

Surprise or terrify?

I hear the subtle tension in his voice. I wonder what he's holding back. Something is making him uneasy.

An apothecary sells wares from one of the stores built into the small caverns along the side. The air is thick with something sweet and metallic, like magical spells seeping through the cracks in the earth. Every now and then, I catch glimpses of things moving in the shadows—creatures with too many eyes, beings made entirely of smoke that twist and curl as they slither between the narrow inlets along the stone walls .

I try not to stare at any one creature for too long. I feel eyes on me. Curious, hungry eyes. Some are watching me from the shadows. Others don't bother to hide their open scrutiny. I can imagine they're thinking I don't belong. On any other day, I would say they were right.

I know full well that in a place like this, I stand out. I pull my arms tighter around myself, wishing I could cast a glamour to disguise my humanity and disappear into the crowd.

We pass by a group of vampires lounging near one of the many inlets, their eyes filling with red as they track my movements. I don't recognize any of them. One stands and sniffs in my direction. I'm a meal they wouldn't think twice of devouring. Costin keeps them at bay with a single, sharp gesture. They don't like the order, but his presence is enough to tell them that I'm off-limits.

Not for long, if they have any say about it.

As we approach a bridge made of twisting stone, I look down into what appears to be a bottomless pit and hesitate to cross. The glow from the crystals doesn't penetrate all the way to the bottom. A crooked figure leads a group of small, jittery beings across. At first glance, she seems like nothing more than an old woman, but as we draw closer, I can see the unnatural sharpness of her movements and the gleam coming from hollows where her eyes should be.

Costin steps several paces onto the bridge before stopping. He frowns as he walks back toward me. "What now?"

I ignore his annoyance as I watch the figure approach from the other side of the bridge. Her form is hunched, wrapped in layers of frayed fabric that drift around her like a tattered, dirty wedding gown. Her pale skin is almost translucent and stretches tightly over her pronounced cheekbones. A tangle of silver hair is pulled back into a severe bun, though wild strands slither around her head as if caught in some invisible current. She moves with unsettling precision, each step deliberate and jerking, her bony fingers gesturing for the small figures trailing behind her to follow.

"Is that a banshee?" I ask Costin, moving close to him as the woman stops on the bridge to wait for the stragglers in her group.

"Witch," he answers. "It's too late now. We'll have to wait for the students to pass."

The children—if they can be called that—are an assortment of supernatural beings. Some have tiny, spiraling horns jutting from their foreheads, others have glowing eyes that flick nervously toward the stone beneath their feet. A few even sport small wings, which flutter anxiously as they move closer to the edge. I see leashes tied around their ankles as they're tethered to classmates. They fill the bridge, blocking passage to all others. They seem apprehensive, casting wary glances down into the chasm below, and I wonder what they've been told to fear.

"Stay close! If you fall in, we're not going after you." The witch schoolmarm's voice slices through the ambient noise, condescending yet laced with a warped sort of affection for her charges.

I see a kid weaving magic through his fingers like I've seen my brother do many times over the years. Is this what school for Anthony was like?

I glance around, looking for my brother, but I still don't see him.

The children shuffle closer together, their collective gaze drifting toward the edge of the bridge. One of the smaller creatures, a boy with curling horns, glances up at the witch nervously, his tiny hands clutching the hem of his jacket. Their murmurs are barely audible over the hum of the city, but their expressions speak volumes.

"We wouldn't want anyone to stray too far from the path, now would we?" The witch's words have a sing-song quality, though there's a menacing lurking beneath the tone. Her back is facing us.

"Is she the one from the fairytale that lures kids with candy before she eats them?" I whisper to Costin .

"You don't want to be overheard making jokes like that down here," he says with a frown of warning.

Who's joking?

The schoolmarm's head rotates on her shoulders even though the rest of her doesn't move. Her razor-thin grin doesn't reach her eyes as she peers at me.

Oh fuck.

I quickly look away. I wait a few minutes before glancing back. Her head again faces forward.

"Who can tell me what lies beneath?" she asks the children.

The answers come in shouted, chaotic waves.

"Nyxorneth," says the horned boy.

"Thal'gorath," shouts a girl struggling to keep her tethered companion from lifting her off the ground.

"Zharog."

"Vorthyx."

"Molgarath," a small cat shifter says, poking the girl next to him with a claw.

She yelps and swats at him. "No. It's Draakmar!"

"Xeltharok!"

"Grav'Zhul!"

"Enough." The witch lifts her hands, and they instantly go silent. "Yes, those are all beings that live deep within the earth. But who is the great creature that sleeps in the pit down there waiting for me to send it naughty children to snack on when it wakes?"

"For fuck's sake, Costin." I exhale in panic. "How many ancient fucking evils are there?"

The witch turns more fully to face me this time and twitches as she steps forward.

"Uh, sorry." I hold up my hands. "Please, continue."

The woman gestures toward the chasm with a bony finger and returns to her students. "We call it Nyxorneth, but it is older than time and has no true name. It's been there for centuries, longer than your families have walked this dirt. But every now and then... someone gets too close. And when they do, they are never heard from again."

She lets the words hang in the air, savoring the rising tension.

I lean into Costin, feeling safer with him next to me. He looks down at my death grip on his arm.

The children stare at her in silence.

The schoolmarm flashes a wicked smile as she turns to stare at me. "The creature of the pit has a gnawing hunger that knows no bounds. It's always waiting for someone foolish enough to look over the edge and—" Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, making the children jump. Her cold cackle echoes across the bridge as the kids join her laughter.

The children scurry along behind her as she leads them from the bridge. I want to stop her to ask which of the many evils they just mentioned was the one I'm up against. Though, I'm not sure giving it a name will make me feel better.

I glance over at Costin. His expression is tight, but he catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. His posture is tenser than before.

"Can we cross now?" he asks.

"I feel like you're not telling me something." I don't move.

He doesn't answer right away, instead flexing and twisting his arm to force me to let go. His expression sharpens, but not on me—on something behind me.

"I'm keeping you safe. That's what matters." He nods toward the bridge. "We need to keep moving."

I glance at the throng behind us but only see the teacher leading the kids into the crowded marketplace.

I keep to the middle of the bridge as we pass, trying not to look anywhere but at my feet until we're on the other side.

Structures crafted from mud and stone line one side of the walkway. A few of them have windows, and I see wooden furniture inside. The doors to the dwellings are all closed. The foot traffic around us lessens as Costin ducks between two of them.

"The troll lives in there." He points toward a tunnel's entryway hidden behind one of the homes. "Let me do the talking."

As an independent woman, I should tell him he can't order me around. As a human about to meet a troll in an underground tunnel in the supernatural realm to discuss the nature of evil, I think I can let his tone slide.

"Wait," I stop him.

"What is it?" He sounds annoyed.

"Just give me a second," I insist. "This place is a lot to take in and this is the first moment of privacy we've had since we arrived."

He arches a brow and turns to look at a goblin sprawled on the ground, snoring and hugging an earthen jug. The pointed stick next to him makes me think he's the worst troll tunnel guard ever.

"Costin, please, just…" I'm scared. I don't know what to expect. I've seen trolls before, but I've never held a conversation with one. "Just give me a moment. I need to say something."

"Yes?"

"I never thanked you for the pizza. It was…" I bite my lip. "Nice."

"You needed to talk about pizza?"

"No, I just…" I need to buy time.

He takes a deep breath and lifts a hand to my cheek. "Your heart is beating fast."

"I'm nervous," I say .

"You should try to calm it." His tone lowers seductively, and he steps closer. "It's like a drum calling all vampires within a twenty-mile radius."

I glance back in the direction we came.

"Yes. Those vampires." He strokes my cheek. "They want nothing more than to devour you."

My breath catches and I forget everything but the look on his face.

"They smell your blood." He leans close to my head and breathes me in. "I will not be able to fault them if they can't control themselves. Even I struggle…"

I moan softly as I take hold of his shirt. I pull him to my mouth, offering him a kiss. His fingers curl around the nape of my neck, tipping my head back to better suit him.

I expect an explosion of angry passion like before, but this time, he's gentle. His mouth moves against mine, his tongue slipping past my guard to explore. The sharp tips of his fangs threaten tender flesh but don't injure. I moan, and the kiss becomes almost frantic.

He pulls me tight against him. The full length of his muscled chest molds my softer skin. He's a dangerous man, I know that, but I feel safe with him.

How did we come to this? Just yesterday, I would have denied anything like this could happen. Now, I just want to keep kissing him .

I want time to stop so that I can remain trapped in his vortex. My lungs burn for air, I pull away to draw in a heavy breath. I gaze deeply into his eyes.

He looks away first and tilts his head. "We should keep moving."

"I'm scared," I tell him.

"The wizards would not have written the prophecy if there was not a chance you would survive," he says.

I'm not sure if he thinks that's comforting.

"Do you think I can do it?" I ask. For some reason, the answer is very important to me. I need him to believe in me. I can't help but hear voices from my past telling me that I'm a mere mortal, not special, human. What if they're right?

"You are the only one who can," he answers.

It's not exactly the testimony to my greatness that I want to hear, but I can't fault him for it.

"We should go," he says.

I nod. I still taste his mouth on my lips. My skin aches to continue what we started. I could make love to him right here, hidden behind the mud-brick homes.

One of the green butterflies that followed us inside the mausoleum appears overhead and flies into the tunnel, as if telling me to keep moving. Costin doesn't appear to see it. The magical insect reappears and perches on the tunnel entrance .

Costin looks at me a moment longer before taking my hand to pull me behind him into the tunnel. The drunken goblin doesn't notice our passing.

The tunnel is dark and ominous, as the crystals do not grace the walls to give it light. Firelight coming from within reveals our destination. We turn a few corners before coming to an enormous cavern. A fire burns inside an inlet in the far wall beneath a cauldron. Trinkets and oddities surround oversized furniture made for a giant. Gemmed necklaces hang from the ceiling to create the impression of the night sky.

We're in the lair of the cave troll, but I don't see him.

"Costin?" I stop walking as he tries to go deeper inside. I want to run, but his grip tightens. "I don't think he's home. We should wait outside."

At the sound of my voice, a large rock moves on the ground in the center of the cavern.

"Remember, let me do all the talking," Costin whispers. "No jokes or small talk. Stay quiet."