Anastasia stood there, her mind racing. She couldn't believe what she was seeing—an arsenal of weapons covering the basement walls, guns, swords, axes, you name it. The room was massive, stretching out like it could fit the whole house above it. There were these archways leading off to other rooms too, like training spaces or something. As she walked around, taking in the collection, she was just... mesmerized. She never expected this. Then she spotted Bastian checking out a shelf full of old emblems and ancient demon-hunting blades that looked straight out of a history book.
She wandered into another room, this one filled with training mats. The walls were covered with old photos and paintings of people she didn't recognize. The photos spanned centuries, from faded colour shots to black-and-white to sepia, and eventually sketches and paintings. When she finally looked closer at the names under the pictures, her breath caught in her throat. There, staring back at her, was a photo of her father—decades younger than he was now, labelled 'Wyatt T. Goodwin, 1999'.
"Grandpa?" she whispered, eyes fixed on an even older colour photo labelled 'Thomas J. Goodwin, 1980.' Then she saw a black-and-white photo, 'Jonathan M. Goodwin, 1945,' and another, 'Michael K. Goodwin, 1920.' The Goodwin line stretched back to the 1700s and was a lot to take in. Part of her was thrilled to find pieces of her family history, but another part couldn't shake the unease. Who were these people, and what was up with all the weapons? The training room was packed with old-school gear too—spears, bows and arrows, nun chucks, crossbows, shurikens, katanas, Jo staffs, Sais... It felt like she'd stepped into some kind of martial arts dojo.
A few minutes later, Bastian joined her, looking around in awe, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Okay, I'm not gonna lie—this is seriously cool!"
Anastasia turned, narrowing her eyes at him. "Did you know about this, Warren? You seem pretty involved with my family for someone I only met a few months ago. Who are you, really?"
Bastian raised his hands defensively, trying to look innocent. "I swear, I had no idea about this basement. I knew of it, but I didn't know what was inside."
"Who are you, Warren Baxter?" Anastasia stepped closer to him, suspicion etched into her face, and Bastian's confidence wavered. She got so close that her face was mere inches from his, staring him down.
"Uh, Warren Baxter?" He nervously chuckled, trying to play it off.
"Ha-ha," Anastasia mocked, but suddenly, she realized how hard it was to pull her gaze away from his. His ocean-blue eyes seemed to look right into her soul, and now she was all too aware of how close they were. Her eyes flicked to his lips without even thinking, and Bastian definitely noticed. He waited, giving her the space to make a move, but she hesitated. They just stood there, caught in the moment.
Bastian didn't want to push her so he broke the tension with a grin. "You know, if you really wanna kiss me, I won't stop you."
Anastasia snapped out of it, narrowing her eyes. "In your dreams, pretty boy."
"Oh, so I'm pretty now, huh?" he teased, flashing a cocky smile. "Not like we haven't kissed before."
"That... that was different!" Anastasia shot back. "I was stressed, okay?" But even as she spoke, she found herself glancing at his lips again, something Bastian noticed right away.
He laughed, shaking his head. "You're practically begging me to kiss you when you look at me like that."
She stared at him in disbelief before playfully hitting him on the shoulder, pretending to be irritated as she folded her arms defensively, shielding herself from his mysterious charm. As she averted her gaze, she still couldn't rid herself of the sense of his being there, the echo of his voice staying in her mind. Being vulnerable wasn't a familiar feeling to her, but Bastian managed to make her feel like she wanted to lower her defences, which was unsettling.
"I don't beg," she declared, attempting to portray defiance, but her voice ended up gentler than she had meant. She was uncertain if she was attempting to persuade him or her own self.
Bastian's quiet chuckle suggested he knew more than he revealed. He moved closer, not too far, just enough to move a strand of hair from her face, his fingers staying for a moment longer than needed. "No, you do not," he whispered softly, his voice quiet and silky, giving her a shiver. "You don't have to be afraid with me, Anastasia."
Once more, she locked eyes with him, and all other things faded away. The patient and understanding way he gazed at her caused her chest to tighten. She desired to speak to disrupt the moment, but couldn't find any words to say.
Rather, she leaned forward slightly, dipping her toes in the water to see how it felt. Bastian observed, his smile becoming gentler, yet he remained still. He waited for her to decide.
"I hate that you do this to me," she whispered, almost to herself, but Bastian heard it.
"Do what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against her skin.
"Make me want something I'm afraid to have," she admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
Bastian's teasing faded away, replaced by something softer, more serious. "You don't have to be afraid with me, Anastasia," he said gently.
His words hung in the air between them, heavy and full of meaning which made Anastasia find it difficult to swallow, feeling a lump in her throat. She wanted to trust him and to believe he wouldn't hurt her, but old wounds made that hard. Still, the way he looked at her gave her hope.
She closed the distance, taking a deep breath before pressing her lips to his. The kiss started off gentle and uncertain, but it intensified as Bastian embraced her, drawing her near. The world appeared hazy, and Anastasia experienced peace for the first time in a long while. But even as they kissed, that strange sense of familiarity, the one she always felt with him, crept in, haunting her.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, Bastian let out a soft laugh. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Anastasia smiled, her heart racing. "Maybe you were right," she admitted, a little breathless. "But don't get used to it, pretty boy."
He laughed, and it made her feel lighter, like some of the weight she'd been carrying had been lifted. "Too late," he teased, but his eyes held something more—a promise. One that made her believe, even for just a moment, that maybe he'd be there for her when she needed him. Maybe even more... but later. She couldn't let herself fall into something too quickly again. When she'd started dating Dylan only months after Bastian's death, it had felt like she was being pulled in some unnatural way. After the breakup, it was like waking up from a dream she'd been trapped in for four years.
'With Warren... this pull feels so natural, so easy. Like we're meant to be together, but why? I could give in right now... I just can't.'
Bastian sensed the turmoil in her thoughts so he stepped back a little, giving her space to breathe.
Anastasia cleared her throat, shifting the focus. "There were some books in the other room. Maybe they can tell us more about what we found here, about the Goodwin family history. Want to check them out?"
"Yeah, good idea," Bastian agreed, following her back to the bookshelf in the weapons room.
Hours passed as they pored over book after book, most of them filled with details about demons, their types, their origins, and the best weapons to use against them. One demon description caught Anastasia's attention, but before she could dive in, Bastian's frustrated outburst broke the silence.
"Dammit!"
"What's wrong?" she asked, startled.
"It's been hours, and the guys still aren't here. I've been trying to reach Billy, your dad, but all I'm getting is voicemail."
Anastasia's heart sank. "What if... what if they were attacked too?" she asked, her voice trembling with the fear she desperately hoped he'd dispel.
Bastian froze, the possibility hitting him like a ton of bricks. Without another word, he bolted for the door, sprinting out of the house towards the pier, his mind racing with dark thoughts.
'I pray Anastasia's wrong... Please let her be wrong.'