Chapter 5 The Crimson Mask

"I still have much to do in this realm," he said quietly. "And you are my key to moving between them. You can't die-not yet. So live. Do you understand me?"

I nodded again, the tears on my cheeks already drying in the cold air.

He took my arm and pulled me to my feet.

"Lastly... protect what's growing in here."

His hand brushed my lower abdomen-flat, tender, unfamiliar.

I stared at him in confusion.

He let go, voice slipping back into that detached chill. "If you fulfill your role, I'll make you a promise. When everything is done... I'll disappear. You can live out your quiet little life. Alone."

Alone?

I blinked. That wasn't what I expected. I thought he was going to kill me, not offer me some twisted version of peace.

He gave a short laugh, like even saying something remotely "kind" irritated him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "This Crimson Bond between us-it cannot be broken. Not unless you die and your soul gets recycled into another life. So no, you won't ever belong to another man."

His words were colder than any night.

"If you're so afraid of me, fine. Once my purpose is fulfilled, I'll leave. If loneliness is what you want, you're welcome to it."

I swallowed, my voice barely a whisper. "What... what exactly is your purpose?"

He sneered and gripped my chin. "So innocent. You know nothing of blood magic, of bindings... or even what it means to lie with someone. Do you have any idea how much of me I've left inside you?"

My face flamed.

That mask no longer frightened me-it numbed me. All I could feel was the weight of his words.

He glanced down at my hand, at the blood ring now circling my finger. "When the Blood Seraph began to take shape in your Crimson Sigil Ring... it meant the blood-bound child was already conceived. Did you really think being my wife was just about spreading your legs?"

I froze.

My hand instinctively fell to my lower stomach, where an odd heat had been pulsing for days-like coals buried beneath my skin. I had assumed the pain came from his relentless nightly violations.

Now I wasn't so sure.

His expression darkened. "Understand now?"

"I... I'm still a student. Can't this wait? I'm only eighteen. I just started college-"

"Wait?" he scoffed. "I'm not spending another week trying to coax life into a stiff, unwilling body. That wasn't fun the first time."

My throat tightened. He meant the first ritual. The first week. The beginning of it all.

"There are three nights left," he said flatly. "Call it torture, call it rape-I don't care. You will endure them."

"...Okay," I whispered, wiping at my face, trying to hold on to what little strength I had left.

Maybe after this, I'd drop out of school, lock myself away from the world.

It was early spring, still cold in the mornings.

The tights I wore had been shredded by him earlier-I pulled them off completely and stuffed them into my shoulder bag. The motion pulled at the sore muscles between my thighs, and I winced, biting back a hiss of pain.

He stood a few feet away, arms folded, watching me with the stillness of a statue.

"I agreed to your terms," I murmured, looking up at him. "Could you at least... try to be gentle?"

Don't rip my clothes. Don't treat me like I'm just-

"Gentle?" he snorted. "If I hadn't been, Clara, you wouldn't be standing upright."

Right.

What was I thinking?

I was a sacrifice. A vessel. A blood-bound bride.

Human dignity didn't apply to me anymore.

Three more nights.

I turned to the mirror in the restroom.

The girl staring back looked nothing like the one I remembered. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Bruised in places no one could see.

"Clara! Hurry up!"

My brother's voice echoed down the corridor.

I took a shaky breath, wiped beneath my eyes, and stepped back into the world.

The incident had already gone viral overnight.

The surveillance footage showed me entering the office, then bolting out just minutes later-disheveled, panicked.

I was seen on every floor's emergency stairwell, sprinting down until I finally reached the ground level and paused outside the building.

It wasn't until I had already stopped running that the class advisor's body fell from the sixth-floor window.

Timeline-wise, I was in the clear. No one could blame me.

Which made me all the more suspicious.

Had that monster-my so-called vampire husband-calculated it that precisely?

If the class advisor had died inside the office while I was still there, I'd be done for. An open-and-shut case.

Instead, the glass had shattered. He'd been dragged to the edge and left squatting at the windowsill, seen by plenty of students... just before he "jumped."

Clever. Too clever.

My brother's acquaintance, Officer Bruno, was the one handling the investigation. Late twenties, ex-special forces, with the kind of sharp stare that made you want to confess to things you hadn't done.

Standing in front of him, I felt smaller than ever. Hollowed out. Unsteady.

"Bruno's no joke," my brother whispered to me. "Used to be military. Reads people like a bloodhound. Watch what you say."

The conference room was a mess of chaos and worried faces. School leaders paced. Phones buzzed.

One man-a balding, red-faced administrator-slammed a hand against the table the moment I stepped in. His name was Vincent.

"Look at her! This is what our female students have come to? Low-cut tops, bare legs in this cold-it's practically an invitation!"

Seriously?

He went on, glaring at the school officials and Officer Bruno. "That class advisor, Jack, always got along well with his students. Top-notch reviews! This girl clearly toyed with his feelings, drove him to suicide!"

"I didn't toy with anything!" I snapped before I could stop myself.

Insult me all you want-but implying I seduced that sleaze? That was too much.

"He asked me to help with class records. Everyone in the room heard him. Then he cornered me alone and demanded that I be his girlfriend. I ran. That's it."

I tried to stay calm. This wasn't the place to scream, no matter how badly I wanted to. But that man-Jack's boss, probably a relative too-was relentless.

"Your word against his," Vincent growled. "The man's dead and can't defend himself. Look at you, a delinquent -do you even look like a victim?"

"Who the hell are you calling a delinquent?" my brother barked, shoving back his chair. "Keep talking and I'll wipe the floor with you-position or not!"

"Enough!" the principal shouted, voice fraying. "This isn't helping. We need to control the damage."

He turned to me, face softening. "Miss Clara, we're classifying this as a suicide for now. But the media will come knocking soon, and we hope you'll consider the school's reputation."

I frowned. I already knew what he wanted-some clean little lie:

"I saw the class advisor fall ill while helping in the office. I ran to get help. When I came back... he had jumped."

Before I could even reply, Officer Bruno let out a low chuckle.

"Principal, I'm still sitting here," he said coolly. "You really going to coach a witness? Rewrite a legal statement in front of law enforcement?"

The principal laughed nervously, probably cursing Bruno in his head.

But Bruno ignored him, focusing on me. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."

I kept my story clean. Omitted the part where an unseen force crushed the class advisor's windpipe and dragged him backward like a puppet. I just said Jack had acted erratically, and I panicked.

Bruno didn't stop there.

He asked again. And again. Four times total.

Each time, the same questions, slightly different angles. Testing me.

When he was finally done, he turned off the recorder and put away his notebook. The school staff trickled out, leaving us alone.

He gave me a long, unreadable look, then said with a faint smile, "You've got nerves of steel, Clara."

If only he knew.

If I didn't have nerves of steel, I would've died that night-two years ago-before the blood ever dried.

******

We returned home to find my father sunbathing lazily in the courtyard, clad in a white tank top and shifting around in his old rattan chair like a contented cat.

"Clara, you're back... Ah, come scratch my back, would you? It's driving me mad!"

I walked over, half-smiling, and lifted the edge of his shirt. Just as I raised my hand to scratch-

I froze.

Etched across his upper back was a Crimson Mask-vivid, grotesque, and pulsing like living flesh.

"...Clara... Clara Duskgrave..."

A raspy, unfamiliar male voice slithered into my ear.

The mask wasn't just an image. It moved, subtly shifting with my father's breathing. Its hollow, blood-rimmed eyes locked onto mine, and the wide, gory grin stretched in a taunting sneer.

"Clara... Clara Duskgrave..." The voice was calling me.