18. Violet

18

VIOLET

My fingers tremble as I flip through the pages of the ancient book. I have no idea what I'm even looking for, but right now, I'm fascinated by all this magick . The symbols dance before my eyes, somehow familiar yet completely foreign. The atmosphere makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in awe.

Freezing, I realise that isn't the atmosphere.

A cold breath on the side of my neck, exactly where I thought Thorne had kissed me earlier, turns me to stone. Ice floods my veins as I slowly raise my head, dreading what I might see. My childhood fear comes rushing back, memories of countless nights spent paralysed under my blankets, listening to that same cold whisper.

It hovers there, just at the edge of my vision. A dark shape, more absence than presence, with gleaming points of light where eyes should be. The same creature that haunted my childhood nightmares, the thing that made me sleep with the lights on until I was a teen.

Its form shifts and writhes like smoke in the wind, but those eyes - those terrible, knowing eyes - remain fixed on me.

"No," I whisper, the book slipping from my numb fingers. "No, no, no. Not you. You're not real."

"Violet?" Thorne's voice seems to come from very far away, muffled as if through water. "What's wrong?"

I can't tear my eyes away from the apparition. It undulates, and the temperature in the room plummets. Frost forms on the nearby shelves, creeping across the ancient tomes like skeletal fingers.

"You see me, don't you, little one?" it whispers, its voice like rustling leaves and grinding bones. "Just like when you were small. Always so sensitive to our kind. Remember how you used to cry? How you begged your parents to check under the bed, in the wardrobe? But they never found me, did they?"

My throat closes up as memories flood back - nights spent crying, my parents exchanging worried looks, doctors suggesting that I was just an imaginative child with an overactive mind.

"Guys," I manage to choke out, "we need to leave. Now."

"Why?" Flint starts, but his words cut off as the books vanish from the shelves, blinking out of existence one by one. The sound of his sharp intake of breath tells me he can see that much, at least.

The ghost - no, not a ghost, something worse - glides closer. Its form ripples and distorts, sometimes seeming huge enough to fill the room, other times condensing to a tight knot of darkness. "Did you think you could just walk in here and take our secrets? Morgan's knowledge belongs to us now. You belong to us. Have belonged to us since long before you were born, little one."

"Violet, what's happening?" Caine demands, gripping his cane tighter as more items disappear around us. His knuckles are white against the dark wood, and I can hear the tension in his voice.

"It's here," I gasp, backing away from the pedestal. My legs feel like lead, childhood terror warring with adult instincts. "The thing from my nightmares. It's real, it's always been real, and it's making everything vanish."

The creature laughs, a sound like breaking glass and screaming wind. "Smart girl. But not smart enough to stay away. Just like when you were small - always poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Suddenly, the pedestal itself vanishes, along with the book. The walls shimmer, the glowing symbols fading into darkness. The temperature drops further, making me shiver.

"Run!" I scream. "Everyone run!"

Without questioning me, the guys bolt for the passageway behind me as the room dissolves behind us. The ghost's laughter echoes off the walls, growing louder and more distorted with each passing second. The sound bounces off the stone walls until it is a cacophony of madness that makes my head spin .

"Which way?" Flint shouts as we reach the first junction. His voice carries an edge of panic I've never heard from him before.

"Left!" I yell, my vampire vision cutting through the darkness. "There is no other way!"

We sprint down the tunnel, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The ghost follows, its presence like ice down my spine. The air grows colder with each step, and our breath comes out in white clouds. The lights that had guided us earlier flicker and die as we pass, leaving only darkness in our wake.

"You can't escape," it taunts, its voice somehow inside my head now. "This is our domain now. Just as your bedroom was our domain then. Remember the shadows on your walls, little one? Remember how they used to dance?"

I do remember. God help me, I remember everything. The way the shadows would twist and writhe, forming shapes that shouldn't be possible. The whispers in the dark, promises and threats mixed together until I couldn't tell which was which.

The tunnel ahead suddenly splits into three paths. I skid to stop, my enhanced vision showing me the danger ahead. The middle passage bristles with metal spikes, barely visible in the gloom. The right-hand tunnel shudders ominously, cracks appearing in its ceiling.

"Middle passage has spikes," I gasp out. "Right one's collapsing. Left!"

We veer left just as the other two passages seal themselves off. The ghost's laughter grows louder and closer. A cold wind whips through the tunnel, carrying the scent of decay and ancient stone.

"Remember when you used to hide under your blankets?" it whispers in my ear, so close I can feel its cold breath, making my skin want to crawl off my body. "As if that could protect you from me? Such a foolish child. But then, you're still a child, aren't you? Still running, still hiding."

Tears blur my vision as the past terror mixes with present danger. I'd convinced myself those nightmares weren't real, that I'd imagined the dark shape hovering over my bed, whispering threats in the night. Years of rationalising, of telling myself it was just an overactive imagination - all of it crumbles in the face of this terrible reality.

"Violet, what's happening?" Caine calls from somewhere behind me. His usual composed attitude is cracking, under this race for our lives.

"It's following us!" I cry out, ducking under a low-hanging arch. "The thing that used to visit me when I was little. I thought I was crazy, but it was real! It was always real!"

The tunnel ahead suddenly drops away into a steep slope. Without time to stop, we slide down the smooth stone, trying desperately to control our descent. The ghost's laughter follows us down, echoing off the walls until it sounds like a thousand voices cackling at once.

"Brace for landing!" Thorne shouts just before we shoot out into another chamber .

We tumble across the floor, coming to a stop in a heap of tangled and bruised limbs. As we scramble to our feet, the ghost materialises through the ceiling, its form spreading out like an oil slick across the stone.

"Always running," it mocks, its voice taking on a sing-song quality that sends goosebumps rippling over my skin. "Just like when you were small. But you can't run forever, little one. Time grows short, and the darkness grows stronger."

The chamber shakes, dust and debris raining down from above. The ghost's presence fills the entire space, its darkness seeping into every corner, every shadow.

But I am the only one who can see it.

"This way!" I point to a narrow archway on the far side. "Before the whole place comes down!"

We sprint across the chamber, dodging falling debris. The ghost follows, its presence making the air so cold our breath comes out in clouds. Ice forms on the walls as we pass, spreading in intricate patterns that look almost beautiful - until I realise they're forming images of screaming faces.

The archway leads to another tunnel, this one lined with more of those glowing symbols. As we run past, they begin to fade, darkness closing in behind us like a tide of ink.

The ghost screams a sound that makes my blood run cold, and my bones vibrate.

The tunnel ahead starts to collapse, massive stones falling from the ceiling. The ghost's power pulses through the air, turning the structure of the passage against us.

"Jump!" I scream, pushing myself to move faster, calling on every ounce of vampire speed I possess.

We dive through the gap just as the ceiling comes down, cutting off the ghost's shriek. We land hard on the other side, rolling to a stop in what looks like the back of the Blood Bar where I fed from Caine and Thorne. The sound of falling stone echoes behind us, and then there's silence - blessed, terrible silence.

For a moment, we just lie there in the snow, gasping for breath.

"What..." Flint speaks up first, his voice shaky. "…the fucking hell was all that about?"

I sit up slowly, wiping tears from my face with trembling hands. "There was this thing that used to visit me when I was little. The nightmare everyone told me wasn't real." My voice breaks on the last word, and I have to take a deep breath before continuing. "It would come at night, watching me, tormenting me, whispering things about darkness and power and destiny. My parents thought I was having night terrors, but it was real. It was always real."

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Caine asks. His face is pale, and there's frost still clinging to his hair.

"Why would I? I haven't exactly had time to have heart to hearts with all of you have I? Besides, I'd all but forgotten about it. I'd convinced myself it wasn't real!" I snap, then take a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm shaken up. I had to convince myself it wasn't real to stay sane. But seeing it again... fuck. All these years, I thought I was crazy. That I'd made it all up."

"Hey," Thorne says softly, pulling me into his arms. His warmth helps chase away some of the lingering cold. "You're safe now. We're all safe."

But even as he says it, I hear that familiar whisper, so faint I might have imagined it: "For now, little one. For now."

I shudder and press closer to Thorne, knowing I'm fucked. It's back and it will never leave me alone again. The ghost—or malevolent force, whatever it is—was right about one thing: you can't run forever.

But as I look at my guys, still here, still with me, battered and dusty but alive, I realise I'm not that helpless little girl anymore. I'm stronger now, and I'm not alone. Whatever that thing is, whatever it wants, I can handle the fucker. I know better now. Behind these peaceful walls, in the dark spaces between reality and nightmare, something ancient and malevolent is watching. Waiting. That thing, that presence, has been part of my life since childhood, and it's not done with me yet. Not by a long shot.

"Until next time, little one. Until next time." The whisper on the wind chills me to my core, because now I understand. It wasn't just haunting me all those years.

It was waiting.