The rain outside came down in steady sheets, muffling the distant sound of the city. Inside the old church, the only light came from a few candles that Dorian had lit and set on the altar. The space felt too quiet, too still, but I tried to focus on him, on what he was about to say.
"You need to understand something," Dorian started, his tone low and deliberate. "This isn't just about the book. It's about you."
"Me?" I asked, sitting straighter on the bench. My voice echoed faintly in the empty space.
He nodded. "The mark on your neck—it wasn't random. That book didn't fall into your hands by chance."
"You keep saying that," I said, my frustration spilling out. "But what does it mean? Why me?"
Dorian hesitated, and for the first time since we met, he looked almost... unsure. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps before stopping.
"It's your family," he said finally. "Your bloodline."
I blinked at him, confused. "What does my family have to do with this?"
He gestured for me to stand. "Come here."
I hesitated but got up, following him to the altar. He pulled a leather-bound notebook from his coat pocket and flipped it open, revealing pages filled with old handwriting and sketches.
"This is part of why I came here," he said, pointing to a page. "Your name—your family name—has been tied to the supernatural world for centuries. You're not just anyone, Evelyn. You're a descendant of the House of Aravelle."
I stared at him, the words not quite sinking in. "House of Aravelle? I've never heard of that."
"You wouldn't have," he said, his voice grim. "The name was erased from most records centuries ago, but among sorcerers and vampires, it's legendary. Your family was one of the most powerful sorcerer bloodlines to ever exist."
I shook my head. "No. That doesn't make sense. My parents—they were just normal people. My dad worked in finance, my mom was a teacher. They didn't have magic or whatever you're talking about."
"Did they ever tell you about their past?" he asked, his gaze sharp.
I hesitated. My parents had always been quiet about their families, brushing off my questions with vague answers. At the time, I thought it was just because they didn't like talking about it.
"No," I admitted. "They didn't."
Dorian nodded, as if that confirmed something for him. "That's because they were protecting you. Your mother's side of the family—the Aravelle line—was cursed centuries ago."
"Cursed?" I repeated, the word sounding ridiculous even as I said it.
"Yes. It's why they tried to keep you away from this world. But the curse doesn't just go away, Evelyn. It follows the bloodline."
I felt a chill run through me. "What kind of curse?"
Dorian's jaw tightened. "It started during the war between the sorcerers and the vampires, hundreds of years ago. Your ancestor, Lyra Aravelle, created a spell—a weapon, really—that could destroy vampires permanently. But it required a sacrifice. She bound the spell to her own bloodline, ensuring that her descendants would carry its power. The vampires couldn't risk that power being used against them, so they cursed the Aravelle line. Every descendant would be marked, hunted, until the spell was destroyed."
My head was spinning. "And the book?"
"It's the key to the spell," he said. "The vampires want it destroyed so no one can ever use it again. But there are others—sorcerers, like you—who would kill to get their hands on that kind of power."
"Like me?" I repeated. "I'm not a sorcerer."
"Not yet," Dorian said. "But you could be. That's why the mark appeared. The magic in your blood was dormant, but touching that book woke it up."
I took a step back, shaking my head. "This is insane. I'm not—I can't be part of this. I didn't ask for any of this!"
Dorian's expression softened, but his voice remained firm. "I know you didn't. But that doesn't change what's happening. You've been marked, Evelyn. The vampires know who you are now, and they won't stop until they have the book—and you."
I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. My life, everything I thought I knew, was unraveling before my eyes.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You learn," Dorian said simply. "You learn to fight, to defend yourself. You learn to use the power in your blood before someone else uses it against you."
"And you?" I asked, looking at him. "Why are you helping me?"
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something like guilt. "Let's just say I have my own reasons for wanting to keep you alive."
I didn't press him. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
---
The rain had stopped by the time we left the church, but the streets were still wet, the pavement glistening under the dim glow of the streetlights. Dorian walked a few steps ahead of me, his movements quick and purposeful.
"Where are we going now?" I asked, hurrying to keep up.
"There's someone you need to meet," he said without looking back.
"Who?"
"You'll see," was all he said.
I didn't like the vagueness, but I didn't argue. At this point, I didn't have many options.
As we turned down a narrow alley, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder.
"Dorian," I said, my voice low.
"I know," he said, his tone tense.
I barely had time to react before a figure stepped out of the shadows ahead of us. They moved with inhuman speed, their eyes glinting in the dark.
"Stay behind me," Dorian said sharply, his hand moving to his coat.
I didn't argue. My heart pounded as I watched him face off with the stranger, every instinct screaming at me to run.
But I didn't. I couldn't.