The forest stretched endlessly ahead, its towering trees glowing faintly in the dim light. Rowen had lost track of how long they'd been walking, but her legs ached, and her sneakers, now caked with dirt, squeaked with every step.
Dryanden moved ahead of her, his strides long and purposeful, his cloak billowing behind him with every step. He didn't seem tired—if anything, he looked like he could walk for miles without breaking a sweat.
"Do you ever slow down?" Rowen called, trying to keep up.
He didn't glance back. "I told you before. The forest isn't safe. We need to reach Za'thik before nightfall."
Rowen frowned, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "You keep saying 'not safe.' Maybe try being specific for once. What exactly are we running from? More giant shadow wolves?"
Dryanden finally stopped, turning to face her. His crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the filtered light, and for a moment, Rowen felt a shiver of unease.
"Shadehounds are only one of the dangers here," he said evenly. "This forest is older than you can imagine, and it harbors creatures that thrive in darkness. Some can sense raw, untamed magic—like the kind you woke when you touched the seal. To them, it's like a beacon. Others…" He paused, his gaze flicking to the trees around them. "…simply enjoy hunting."
"Hunting what?"
His eyes locked onto hers. "Anything that bleeds."
Rowen's throat went dry. She took a step back, her gaze flicking over him for the first time since they'd met. The pale skin, the inhuman grace, the way his crimson eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light…
"You're not human, are you?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dryanden's lips twitched faintly, almost a smirk. "I assumed that much was obvious."
Her chest tightened. "Okay, so… what are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Of course, it matters!" she snapped. "I'm walking through some kind of magical murder forest with you, and you won't even tell me what you are? You could be leading me into a trap for all I know!"
Dryanden sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if her panic were an inconvenience. "I assure you, if I wanted you dead, you'd already know it."
"That's not helping!"
He stepped closer, his crimson gaze fixed on hers. For a moment, she wanted to back away, but her pride wouldn't let her.
"I'm a vampire," he said simply.
Rowen froze. The word hung in the air. She thought of every myth, movie, and horror story she'd ever heard.
"That… tracks," she said finally, her voice shaky. "I guess it's not the craziest thing I've heard all day. The eyes, the brooding, the general air of doom and gloom. Yeah, you've got the whole vampire thing down."
His lips curved into something resembling a smirk. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't." She took a shaky breath, trying to steady her nerves. "So, do you—what, avoid garlic? Turn into bats? Sleep in coffins?"
Dryanden raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming those are myths from your world."
"Yes, because vampires aren't real.." she said laughing despite the situation. "So, what's accurate then? Can you walk in sunlight? Can you… smell my blood or something?"
His gaze flicked briefly to her neck, and she immediately regretted asking.
"Sunlight weakens me but doesn't kill me," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "And yes, I can smell your blood. It's one of the reasons you need to stay close to me. Others will sense it too—and unlike me, they won't ask permission."
Rowen's stomach turned. "Right. Good to know."
She shook her head, trying to focus. The vampire thing was… a lot to process, but there was still a bigger issue at hand.
Okay, fine, you're a vampire," she said, crossing her arms. "Magic trees, shadehounds, glowing seals—sure, why not? But what I really need to know is how to get home. You keep dodging that question.
Dryanden's faint smirk disappeared, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. "You don't."
Rowen froze. The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Her hands clenched into fists as a lump formed in her throat. She couldn't lose everything—not like this. There had to be a way back. There had to be. "What do you mean, 'you don't'? That's not an option."
He turned fully, his crimson eyes meeting hers with the same unyielding focus he'd had during the shadehound attack. "Crossing into this realm wasn't an accident. The seal isn't random. It doesn't react to everyone—it responded to you. Your magic. That's why you're here."
"That's comforting," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So what? I'm just supposed to accept that I've been… abducted by magic trees and give up on my life?"
"That life is gone now," Dryanden said, his tone almost gentle. "The sooner you accept that, the better your chances of surviving here."
Her chest tightened, the words hitting her like she had ran into a wall. Gone. Just like that? Her apartment, her playlists, her friends—it was all out of reach, like a closed door she hadn't even realized was locking behind her. It wasn't just a place she'd left behind. It was her whole life. And now she was supposed to just… accept it?
Rowen's hands clenched into fists. "You don't get to decide that for me. I'm going to find a way back. There's always a way."
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shrugged. "You're welcome to try. But until then, you'll need to adapt. And that includes finding more… appropriate attire."
Rowen blinked. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
Dryanden's gaze dropped briefly to her tennis tank top and skirt, his lips twitching in something dangerously close to amusement. "Your clothing is… minimal. It's bound to attract attention."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's called functional. It's not my fault this world is stuck in medieval times."
"Functional for what, exactly? Exposing your limbs to predators?"
"I was running errands, not preparing for battle! Excuse me for not packing a hair covering and a suit of armor for my daily Target trip!"
Dryanden smirked faintly and gestured to the forest around them. "In Vireth, modesty isn't just custom—it's practical. Bare skin leaves you vulnerable—not just to the creatures but to the magic in the air. Everything here touches you differently, and it's better not to let it."
"Okay, Captain Cloak-and-Brood," she shot back, gesturing to his heavy leather doublet and midnight cloak. "You're dressed like you're auditioning for the lead in a gothic romance. How is that practical?"
Dryanden tilted his head, his smirk growing. "It keeps me alive. And, unlike you, I don't resemble a sunburned fawn wandering into a den of wolves."
Rowen felt her cheeks heat. "Sunburned fawn? That's rich coming from someone whose wardrobe looks like it came with a free copy of How to Lurk in Shadows."
Dryanden chuckled softly—a low, rich sound that startled her. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh, and it was oddly… disarming.
As they reached the edge of the village, Dryanden slowed his pace, glancing back at her. "Before we go any further… there's something you need to consider."
"There is… one option," he said slowly, his voice lower than before. "But it requires trust."
Rowen crossed her arms, immediately skeptical. "That sounds ominous. What's the catch?"
He took a step closer, his presence commanding enough to make her want to take a step back—but she held her ground.
"A blood claim," he said simply.
Rowen blinked. "I'm sorry, what now?"
"A blood claim," he said quietly, his voice almost… reluctant. "It's a bond. One that ties me to you—and you to me." His gaze flicked away, as though the words cost him something. "It would allow me to sense your location, your emotions, even your pain. In return, you get increased strength, speed and—"
"By drinking my blood," Rowen interrupted flatly.
"Yes."
She stared at him, waiting for the punchline. When it didn't come, she shook her head. "Okay, that's insane. I don't even know you. Why would I let you do that?"
Dryanden didn't flinch. "Because without it, you won't survive. The creatures and people here can sense raw magic, and yours is unguarded. It's like blood in the water to them. A blood claim won't make you invisible, but it will mark you as mine. Most creatures won't dare challenge that—they'll sense the bond and know you're protected."
Rowen's stomach twisted. The way he said 'mine' sent a strange, involuntary shiver through her. It wasn't just the idea of the bond—it was the weight of it, the way it tethered her to someone she barely knew in a world she didn't understand.
Could she trust him?
Did she have a choice?
"That's… a lot to process," she said finally. "Can I think about it?"
Dryanden tilted his head, studying her. "You have until nightfall. After that, it may be too late."
Rowen sighed, her gaze falling to the ground. She hated the idea of relying on anyone—especially someone as infuriatingly cryptic as Dryanden. But the memory of the shadehound's snarling jaws was fresh in her mind, and she wasn't eager to meet anything worse.
"It's not a bond I offer lightly," he said, his gaze holding hers. "But here, it may be the only thing that keeps you alive."
"Fine, I'll think about it," she muttered, her voice begrudging. "And no biting until I say so."
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was suppressing a smirk. "As you wish."
Rowen squinted into the distance. The trees were thinning now, giving way to small, crooked cottages with slanted roofs and chimneys that puffed faint trails of smoke into the air. As they got closer the village of Za'thik spread out before them, its winding cobblestone streets dotted with lanterns that cast a warm, flickering glow.
It should have felt welcoming, but the air was thick with unease. Shadows flickered behind windows, and Rowen had the distinct feeling of being watched.
"Is it just me," she murmured, "or are we being… scoped out?"
Dryanden didn't glance at her, his eyes scanning the path ahead. "They're suspicious of outsiders. Especially ones who look like you."
Rowen frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your clothing," he said, his tone neutral. "and the fact that your magic is practically screaming for attention."
She sighed. "Great. Guess that's why they're whispering, huh?"
As they walked deeper into the village, heads turned toward them. Villagers in plain, earth-toned tunics and cloaks lingered in doorways or peeked out from behind half-closed shutters. Some glared openly, their eyes sharp and mistrustful. Others darted back into their homes, shutters slamming shut as if her presence were a threat. Whispers followed them like a ripple through the crowd.
"Who is she?"
"Look at her—her aura's too bright."
"Did you see the mark on her wrist? It's magic-born."
Rowen instinctively rubbed her wrist, hiding the crescent moon of her birthmark beneath her hand.
"Perfect," she muttered. "Just the kind of warm welcome I was hoping for."
Dryanden kept his voice low as they passed a particularly intense group of onlookers. "I'm telling you, your clothing.."
"Yeah, I got that," she said. "The staring gave it away."
She resisted the urge to shrink under their stares, but her hands itched to pull her hair over her face or hide her birthmark. The whispers followed her like static, crawling under her skin.
They reached a bend in the road, and Dryanden stopped suddenly, his sharp eyes flicking toward a narrow alley where two figures had just slipped out of sight. Rowen glanced back, catching the faint glint of eyes in the shadows before the figures melted away. Her stomach churned. Who were they hiding from—or watching?
Dryanden's eyes narrowed as he scanned the alley. "Keep moving," he said, his voice low. "Eyes forward." Rowen didn't argue, but the weight of unseen stares burned on her back.
"What is it?" Rowen whispered, stepping closer to him.
"Nothing to worry about yet," he said, though his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword. "Let's get you inside before we draw more attention."
He gestured ahead, and Rowen followed his gaze. The shop was unlike anything Rowen had ever seen. The façade, carved with delicate floral patterns that seemed to shift and shimmer in the dim light, exuded a sense of timelessness. A faint blue glow emanated from the windows, and the hand-painted sign above the door swayed slightly in the breeze, the sound of its creaking hinge oddly melodic.
Moonwhisper Fashions
"Well," she said, stopping just short of the door. "Here's hoping they've got something in my size."
The humor felt hollow in her throat. The whispers hadn't stopped, and something about the shop's shifting patterns felt… alive. A chill brushed the back of her neck, like the faintest breath of something unseen.
Dryanden stepped ahead, his strides purposeful as ever, and pushed the door open.