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 within you."

His hand rested briefly over my lower abdomen.

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 end 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 your mortal life ends and your soul moves on. So no, you won't ever belong to another."

His words were colder than any night.

"If my presence frightens you so, fine. Once my purpose is fulfilled, I'll leave. If solitude is what you seek, you may have it."

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

He sneered and tipped my chin up. "So innocent. You know nothing of blood magic, of bindings... or even what such a union entails. Do you have any idea the extent of the bond we now share?"

My face warmed.

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 union was taking root. Did you really think being my wife was merely a title?"

I froze.

My hand instinctively fell to my stomach, where an odd warmth had been pulsing for days-like a dormant ember beneath my skin. I had attributed the sensation to the strain of the bond.

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. "The ritual has its own timeline, dictated by the bond itself. The initial phase was... necessary to solidify the connection."

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

"There are three nights left in this cycle," he said flatly. "You will see it through."

"...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 torn earlier-I pulled them off and stuffed them into my shoulder bag. The motion pulled at stiff muscles, and I winced.

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... show some restraint?"

Don't destroy my things. Don't treat me as if I'm merely-

"Restraint?" he snorted. "If I lacked all control, Clara, you would not be standing here now."

Right.

What was I thinking?

I was part of a pact. A vessel for a bond. A blood-bound bride.

Mortal conventions didn't apply to this.

Three more nights.

I turned to the mirror.

The girl staring back looked nothing like the one I remembered. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Marked by an ordeal 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 being-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 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 seized the class advisor and dragged him backward. 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 been broken that night-two years ago-when the bond first took hold.

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.