SO, here's the thing. Vivaldi's begging for help, right? And the guy's in serious pain—the kind of pain that just, like, resonates through you. You know, the sort of pain that kinda sticks with you, weighing you down like a heavy, soggy coat.
Now, I remember being trapped in that old, dusty mansion—with its tall, arched windows and that feeling of pure despair washing over me, like a tidal wave of sadness. I can still picture the world outside those windows, just moving on without me, and boy, let me tell ya, that still stings. But then, like a pair of knights in shining armour, Winter and Scarlett showed up, and everything changed.
So, I'm looking at Vivaldi, and I can see it—that soul-crushing pain that mirrors the darkness I once knew. And in that moment, I realize I can't leave him to suffer. I can't just abandon him to a life in that messed up, loop of werewolf transition or transformation. Because let's face it—if Winter and Scarlett hadn't been there for me, I'd still be lost in that haunting mansion, forgotten and alone.
The cave goes quiet, so quiet you can almost hear your heartbeat echoing off the walls. My eyes are fixed on Vivaldi's face, trying to figure out if he's for real or just trying to play me. Trust is a rare commodity in this world, especially when you're dealing with a vampire who's always on the hunt for their next meal.
So, I suck in a deep breath and give it to him straight. "Alright, Vivaldi, it's truth time. Is any part of your sob story real, or are you just trying to pull one over on me?"
He holds my gaze, steady as a rock, and I can see the desperation burning in his eyes. "Every single word," he says, his voice cracking with urgency. "You have to believe me. When the full moon rises, I'll be trapped in an eternal nightmare, and you—you're the only one who can help me break free."
Now, I'm not usually one to give in easily, but there's something about Vivaldi's plea that strikes a chord in me. I decide to take a chance. "Fine, I'll sign the contract. But I've got a couple of rules."
Vivaldi tenses up, like he's bracing for a punch. "What rules?"
And I'm thinking, "Here we go. I sure hope I'm not about to make the mother of all screw-ups."
So I just go for it, laying out my conditions. "Look, Vivaldi, this blood contract is a two-way street, and I need to know you're not gonna stab me in the back. Until that full moon hits, you stick to animal blood, understand? No humans, no blood bags—strictly animals. I need you to prove you're a vamp I can trust."
Vivaldi grimaces like he's just bitten into a lemon, but he finally gives in. "It's not going to be easy, but if that's what I have to do to get my freedom back, I'll do it."
"Great," I say, feeling some of the tension melt away. "And since you're trying to turn over a new leaf, you've got to break that mind control you've got on Chloe. If she still wants to be with you after that, cool. But if not, you gotta let her go."
Vivaldi's not exactly thrilled about my terms, but he eventually sighs, giving in. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll break the mind control on Chloe and see where we stand."
I nod, glad he's agreed to my conditions. "Good. That's the right call, Vivaldi." We sit in silence for a moment before I drop the next bomb on him.
He's glaring at me now, his eyes narrowed like he's trying to read my mind. "And what else?"
I take a deep breath, fully aware that what I'm asking for is a big deal. "I need to see it with my own eyes—the transformation into that big, bad wolf when the moon rises. If I'm going to believe everything you've been telling me, I need proof."
Vivaldi's face turns hard as granite, like he's struggling to contain a whirlwind of emotions. "You don't want me to do that," he says, his voice a rough whisper.
"Yeah, I do," I shoot back, holding my ground. "Trust isn't a freebie here. You gotta earn it."
He lets out this heavy, frustrated sigh, like he's carrying the whole world on his back. "There are other ways to prove it to you—wolfsbane, silver—"
But I cut him off, determined to get my way on this one. "Nope. I need to see it for myself. That's the only way I'll know you're not just stringing me along with some fancy lie."
Vivaldi's lips practically disappear into a razor-thin line as he thinks it over. "You have no idea what you're asking," he growls, his voice low and intense.
"Hey, I get it—it's not a walk in the park," I tell him, trying to be reasonable, "but you've been handling this werewolf thing for centuries. One more transformation shouldn't be too big a price to pay for your freedom, right?"
Vivaldi's gaze is locked on mine, and I can practically see the battle raging inside him. At last, he gives me a sharp nod, like he's come to terms with the situation. "Alright. I'll do it. But remember, you've got a part in this too—you promised to help me if I went along with everything. So don't you dare think about going back on your word now."
As I lay a hand on his shoulder, I can feel the tension slowly seeping away. It's like a tiny spark of hope kindles in his eyes, and I know he's clinging to my promise like it's the only thing keeping him afloat. "I swear, I'm not gonna let you down." And that's a promise I fully intend to keep for Vivaldi.
"Keep this in mind, though," I tell him, making sure he understands. "I'll be watching you. Don't make me regret this decision."
"Now why don't you start proving your loyalty by breaking the compulsion on Chloe?"
~~~~
The sound of gentle knocking echoes through the quiet evening, like the steady beat of a woodpecker's beak. Chloe stands up from her seat, intrigued, and moves toward the door with light, graceful steps. She reaches out to grasp the cool, metal doorknob, and as the door swings open, her eyes grow wide with wonder, like she's staring at something straight out of a fairy tale.
"Oh my goodness, Angel! It's really you?" she exclaims, her voice filled with excitement and a touch of disbelief. A warm smile spreads across his face as he returns her friendly welcome.
"Come on in," she says, her voice brimming with a joy you can almost taste. Angel pauses, his eyes fixed on the doorway, a tiny squint revealing his uncertainty, as though waiting for some unseen barrier to stop him. Mustering his courage, he takes a step forward, and when nothing happens, relief floods through him like a burst of cool air on a hot summer's day. They hug, but as their bodies touch, Angel's mouth waters, an instinctive reaction as involuntary as breathing. The sight of Chloe's soft, vulnerable neck so close to his mouth unleashes a ravenous hunger that pulses through his body. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses to pull away, to break the embrace before he gives in to the dark, consuming desires stirring inside him.
Angel's breath comes in heavy, ragged gasps, like a man fighting for air after being pulled from the ocean. His body shakes, a visible tremor running through him like the freezing touch of an icy hand.
"Are you alright, Angel?" Chloe asks, her brow creasing with worry.
"I'm… hungry," he says, his voice strained and full of an unearthly craving.
"Well, I just made some spaghetti for myself," she says, a glimmer of amusement in her tone. "You didn't mention you were coming, or I'd have cooked enough for both of us. But you can have mine. I'll whip up another batch for myself."
He turns down the spaghetti without hesitation, as if the idea of eating it makes his stomach turn. "I don't want spaghetti," he says, his voice trembling like a shiver running down his spine. With an eerie grace, Angel floats toward the kitchen cabinet, his movements both fluid and urgent, like a ghost driven by desperation. Chloe trails behind him, concern casting a shadow over her face.
He snatches up a bottle of golden liquid, the alcohol offering a fleeting refuge from the storm inside him. He gulps it down, the burning liquor blazing a trail down his throat, its warmth snaking through his shaking body like fingers of soothing heat.
"What do you want?" Chloe asks softly, her voice a hushed breath in the heavy quiet.
"I don't know," Angel admits, his voice heavy with a sorrow he can't hide. "Chloe, I need to leave."
"But you just got here," she argues, her voice shaking with a hint of desperation. "You can't go now. You've been so distant—no calls, texts, nothing. What's going on with you, Angel?"
"I can't explain it, Chloe," he says, his words a pained plea, "but this has to be goodbye for us. I came to tell you we can't see or talk to each other anymore. Don't try to contact me or find me."
"There's something you're not saying, isn't there, Angel?" she pushes, her eyes delving into his, seeking the truth lurking in their depths. "Don't tell me you're going to disappear from my life. You're all I have left. Please, Angel."
He draws in a shaky breath, his chest heaving like a man trying not to cry. His fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands in a nervous, twitchy motion. A whirlwind of emotions churns inside him—guilt over leaving her wrestling with the raw instinct to save himself. Seeing her so upset stabs at his heart like a thousand little knives, and he knows if he stays, the hunger for her soft neck might overtake him. That's why he has to leave, even if it tears him to pieces.
But the thought of her all alone, a single figure in the world they once knew together, is a stark image burned into his mind. His emotions swirl, a storm about to break free from his chest. Her cries echo in his head, each one a torture, a sorrowful song he can't escape. The weight of it all bears down on him, a crushing force that builds and builds until it explodes.
With a sudden, fierce movement, he flings the bottle of alcohol. It flies through the air, a glittering missile that explodes against the wall, raining down shards of glass. The force of the impact sends the sharp pieces flying, slicing through the space between them. Chloe lets out a gasp, her hands shooting up to protect her face, but she's not fast enough—the shards cut into her soft skin, a brutal reminder of the beast inside him.
The scream that rips from Chloe's throat fills the room, cutting through Angel's heart like a thousand knives. His eyes go wide with horror as he rushes to her side, hands gently pulling her hair back from her face.
"Chloe!" he cries out, his voice a raw, wounded sound filled with regret.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his heart breaking like the shattered glass around them.
Her eyes beg him, a silent plea that says more than any words could. "Please don't go," she begs, her voice trembling. "I thought I'd lost you forever."
He wraps his arms around her, holding her tight as a surge of emotion rises up in him like a flood. But then, a new feeling breaks through, a scent that makes his spine tingle—the sharp, coppery smell of blood.
Angel pulls back, his gaze darting across Chloe's face, hunting for the source of the irresistible smell. His eyes go wide when he sees the red drops marring her pale skin. The broken glass has done its damage, cutting into her delicate flesh like a vicious, merciless beast.
He feels a sticky warmth on his fingers, and when he looks down, he sees the blood staining his skin. The temptation is almost too much, a siren song pulling him under. He can't resist—he brings his fingers to his mouth, and the taste of copper fills his senses.
"Angel, what are you doing?" Chloe asks, her voice filled with confusion and a growing fear.
He growls, a primal warning that rumbles through the room. He tries to tell himself to leave, to run before it's too late. But the sweet, tempting taste of blood on his tongue wakes up a dark, ravenous hunger inside him. His eyes fix on Chloe, and he knows he's lost the fight. With a savage snarl, he lunges at her, giving in to the beast inside as he feeds on her.