Azalie sped through the deserted streets, her footsteps muted on the cobblestones. Most of the townsfolk had long since retreated to the safety of their homes for the night, yet she clung to the shadows. She may be invisible to the humans, but the bundle cradled in her arms—could not escape detection. She needed all her stealth training in this one moment.

What had taken her countless, anxious hours of wandering to reach the location where Lucius had been, only took minutes to retrace her steps back to the estate and beyond to soon arrive at the secluded sanctuary. 

Her lungs burned, her legs trembled, and a strange lightness clouded her head as she held Lucius closer. He lay quiet, a slight weight in her arms, with glazed blue eyes slightly rolled up in lethargy as she descended into the hidden entrance.

This sanctuary had once been a refuge for her, her brother, and their friend. She slowed, her gaze catching on the thicket of tangled shrubs and vines concealing the entrance—a covert fortress grown wild and nearly forgotten. Although exhaustion tugged at her limbs, she forced each step to remain steady, calculating each careful descent as she wound deeper into the earth. The dirt-packed walls gave way to damp stone, and the musty scent of moss and mold enveloped her. She wrinkled her nose, pushing forward into the inky blackness. After so many visits, she could find her way here blindfolded.

“Aza-lie. . .” Lucius’s murmuring voice echoed softly off the stone walls around them. She knew they were alone, but she gently shushed him all the same.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered in his ear.

At last, she reached the small metal door, fitted with a ship’s rusty lever latch. Carefully shifting Lucius’s weight, she freed one arm to lift the lever, the sting of silver dust biting into her skin—a deterrent against prying Others who might happen upon it. She heaved the rusty lever upwards, and a groaning shriek echoed as she pulled the door open, slipping inside quickly and sealing them within.

She gently laid Lucius onto a cushioned surface, then crossed the room to a crumbling fireplace that housed a cluster of thick candles. The glow stirred to life, casting long uneasy, wavering shadows against the ancient brickwork. The room was slightly larger than the room they had escaped, yet feeling somehow more confining with its low, windowless stone walls. A stale tang lingered in the air—the scent of mildew mingling with the thick musk of dust-covered pillows and acrid remnants of an old fire. An untouched scent of decay clung to every corner. 

Two worn lounges crowded the space, one shoved against the wall beside the fireplace, and another against a chunky, heavy-framed bed filled with fluffy pillows. The bed which Lucius now occupied. 

This once had been her favorite place to escape to with her twin and their only friend. Hidden away from the world and all its problems. Though, what had once been her cherished sanctuary was now worn with time and neglect. Its comforting embrace tempered by years of solitude. Its purpose, however, remained unchanged. And now it would be for Lucius what it once was for her and her brother and friend—at least until she could arrange something safer.

She moved quietly to his side, gazing down at him as she gently cupped his face. “Lucius,” she whispered.

The glaze over his eyes vanished in an instant. He blinked slowly, disoriented as he looked around his new surroundings. “What…where have you brought me?” he asked, his voice catching slightly as he tried, with futile composure, to conceal his unease.

She offered a faint, reassuring smile, settling herself beside him. “A place hidden from prying eyes—a secret refuge of mine,” she said easily. “I think it was once a building, a house maybe, that got destroyed and the earth took claim to it. It’s all underground now. There’s a stone path out the door that if you follow it for a long while, you’ll find yourself in the catacombs under the city,” she said pleasantly. “My twin and our friend used to always come down here. We haven’t used it in about five years, though. I know it’s not the most comfortable place to stay.” She dusted off the pillows as she added with a wry smile, “Or the most clean, but it’s well hidden and protected with mine and my brother’s wards. No one will find you here.”

Lucius nodded with a gentle, grateful smile. He had such a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Azalie,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around her in another sudden embrace. She felt her cheeks warm.

He flushed, too, and quickly pulled away, his hand landing on one of the pillows. A puff of dust rose like a tiny storm, causing them both to gag in a fit of coughs.

“I wish I could have aired out the place first,” she managed between coughs, fanning the lingering cloud. “I didn’t realize it would be so inhospitable. All this dust can’t be good for you.”

“No, it’s perfect,” he said, catching his breath. “I’m very grateful to even be here.” His tone was warm, but she could tell he was only being polite. She doubted anyone but herself could tolerate such a place. For her, the dirt and dust added to its charm, giving it a sense of rebellious freedom—a secret in defiance of her strict upbringing. But Lucius? He didn’t deserve to suffer discomfort while hiding here.

Quickly, she tore a strip of cloth from the blanket that had been wrapped around him and folded it into a mask. “Here, wear this for now.” She placed it over his mouth, tying it behind his head. “That should keep some of the dust out for now. I’ll bring over some fresh linens tomorrow morning and some food. I’m sure you’re going to be hungry by then, right?” As if on cue, her stomach punctuated the thought with an audible growl.

Lucius blinked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. He let out a light chuckle. “You sound rather famished yourself.”

She turned away, biting her lip in embarrassment. “A little,” she muttered, groaning internally as she tried to quell her hunger. Hunger had a way of always making her fangs even more achingly prominent, and she felt their faint prick against her lip. Lucius must have noticed, too, because he suddenly froze at the sight of her.

“You’re a vampyre… so, you drink blood, correct?” he asked, trying to sound casual in his inquiry.

Here it was. She could imagine the wild thoughts that might be running through his mind, especially if he knew little of her kind. Best to put him at ease quickly. She cleared her throat. “Yes, but all the blood we drink is donated from our blood donors,” she replied, keeping her tone light and reassuring. “They’re volunteers, and we take only what’s offered.”

Lucius visibly relaxed with that, but a curious glint entered his gaze. “Do you bite them? The donors, I mean. Like in the books?” he asked, the innocent tone of his question catching her off guard. A giggle bubbled up despite herself. There was something about his curiosity that she found pleasantly charming.

“We’re quite capable, yes. However, we don’t . . .well that was true until recently,” she found herself saying. She hesitated, uncertain how much to say. Azalie didn’t think there was really any harm in telling him this information, and, after all, he wasn’t her enemy. Lucius was just a victim of his own family. “Lately, some of our blood has been tainted in some way. It makes us very ill, so for now, to be safe, we feed directly from our donors.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea vampyres could fall ill,” he said softly, and the concern in his voice took her by surprise. The gentleness of his words soothed her.

Her lips curled into a faint smile as she nodded. She was glad his mood seemed to have lightened. She suspected his anxiousness was born from a lifetime of tension and desperation, but here, in the shadows of this hidden retreat, he seemed a touch more at ease than he had in the sterile confines of that abandoned town house, but she didn’t want to burden him with troubles that didn’t concern him. “There are very few things that can. It’s understandable that you wouldn’t know,” she replied, brushing the concern away. “It’s nothing serious,” she lied. “I’ve been secretly looking into the matter, though. That’s why I was investigating the power surge. I thought I might find a clue. Running into you again wasn’t what I expected, but I’m glad I did.” 

Her smile revealed a faint hint of her fangs, and Lucius returned it, nodding. “I’m grateful for it as well. I promise I’ll do my best to keep out of trouble,” he assured her. “Even with these bindings, I still have some control over my magick, though I’ve never been trained. I’ve always been able to move things and summon small objects to me.”

Curiosity lit her eyes as he raised his hand, demonstrating with a flick of his fingers. All the pillows on the bed floated upward, hovering like sleepy ghosts in the dim candlelight. She stared, fascinated. She has known Others who had a similar ability. Her own father was one, and technically her brother could make his fire move without touching it, so that counted in a way. But she’s never seen a human with such abilities.

He’s not fully human if he’s a warlock, she reminded herself.

She plucked one pillow from the air, drawing it close to her chest as the others tumbled softly back onto the bed. “I, too, have a unique ability.” She held out her hand, willing ice crystals to form from the air. In a blink, it took shape, becoming a dagger of ice. With an almost dance-like grace, she twirled it around in her expert fingers, each rotation catching the faintest glint of light on its crystalline edge. “My brother can create and control fire,” she added, letting the blade shatter into a shimmering dust that melted into her skin.

Lucius’s gaze was transfixed, his voice breathless. “Beautiful,” he said, awe radiating from his wide, ocean-blue eyes.

She stared at him, her expression faltering. Beautiful? The word struck her as foreign when applied to her icy craft, a tool she’d honed and wielded without a second thought. Azalie has seen many beautiful things—sculpted stone arches, the carved artwork on the front of the estate, the iridescent stained glass above her shelf, her collection of knickknacks and trinkets, even her clothes could be described as beautiful—but those were things to admire, to cherish. Tools weren’t usually thought of as beautiful, except maybe Azazel’s sword, Brisingr, but that was her brother’s feeling towards his own things. Her ice was nothing more than a weapon; and in her father’s eyes, she too was merely an instrument to wield, no different than her own cold creation.

“What ability does your twin have?” Lucius asked, snapping her out of her reverie.

She blinked. “He creates and controls fire,” she said again. “My brother is my twin.”

Lucius chuckled lightly. “Ah, forgive me—you’re fraternal twins. I hadn’t realized.”

Fraternal? Azalie tilted her head at the unfamiliar term, her lips curling into a faint smile. Thinking of her twin always stirred something gentle in her, despite his infuriating and incorrigible nature. The smile vanished quickly as she felt the prickle of the fading time. She stood, placing the pillow on the bed. It was already past sundown.

“Lucius, I must take my leave,” she said softly. “But I shall return tomorrow. In the meantime, try not to leave the room too much, if you can help it.”

His gaze held hers, reluctant, carrying an unspoken longing that twisted in her chest. Her throat caught, and she couldn’t bear to look into them. They were so much like his. And even though she didn’t really know Lucius well enough yet, before she could think, she leaned down and brushed her lips to each of his eyelids as she had done to him. She was surprised that Lucius didn’t move away from her touch, nor cringe away from her gentle kisses. She wanted to ease the aching sadness of those familiar tortured eyes.

“I promise when I return, I’ll have some way to help you get rid of that sigil mark,” she whispered, a reassuring smile pulling at her lips.

With that, she slipped out the way she had come, and climbed her way back up to the surface. After she covered the entrance with overgrown brush, she wasted no time, sprinting towards home.