Chapter 9 The Blood-Touched Heels

When I got off at the university tram stop, I bumped into Sophie.

She grabbed my arm and muttered, "The department head's stepping in as our class advisor now. Says we're spreading rumors and tarnishing the school's reputation."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Clara, I don't believe for one second this was your fault. That perv Jack always gave you creepy looks. No way he didn't have something messed up going on in his head."

I gave her a weak smile.

"Also, why are you walking like a crab?" Sophie frowned, glancing down at my slow shuffle. "Seriously, you okay?"

I nearly died from embarrassment.

I was practically limping from exhaustion-my thighs ached, my back hurt, everything down there was sore and swollen. No normal man had that kind of stamina. Alaric Vexmoor... was not human.

As we neared the campus gates, a middle-aged woman suddenly stormed up to us, screaming like a banshee.

"You slut! You're the one who smeared my nephew's name online, aren't you?! Look at you, dressed like a whore-don't pretend he didn't fall for it! He's dead now, and everyone's trashing him like he deserved it! My whole family's getting dragged through the mud and no one's saying a damn thing about you! Shame on you!"

I sighed and rubbed my temples. Jack's family again. Seriously, what was wrong with these people?

Sophie stepped protectively in front of me. "And you're not ashamed? You reek like a perfume factory exploded! So what if Clara's beautiful and confident? That doesn't mean she deserved your creep of a nephew groping her!"

The woman clearly didn't believe in dignity-she lunged for Sophie, grabbing her clothes like she meant to tear them off. Two more women behind her joined in.

I rushed in, heart racing. Sophie had stood up for me-I couldn't just stand by and let them humiliate her.

"Let go of her! I'm calling the police!" I yelled, prying at one woman's arm with all my strength.

Just then, something massive came rolling at us from across the street.

I saw it clearly and screamed.

A semi-truck's tire had detached and was barreling across the divider like a monster on the loose. I had seen stories like this on the news-never imagined I'd witness it firsthand.

Without thinking, I shoved Sophie to the ground. The tire slammed into the shrieking middle-aged woman behind us, sending her flying before she crumpled on the asphalt, unconscious.

Sophie and I stared at each other in disbelief.

Was this divine intervention?

That tire could've easily killed someone. No one would believe it unless they saw it with their own eyes.

My heart pounded as I caught a faint red glow flickering from my Crimson Sigil Ring.

People nearby were already calling 911.

I grabbed Sophie's hand and dragged her out of the crowd before anyone could notice.

It couldn't be a coincidence. A loose tire, a perfect arc, a perfect hit... and the ring-it pulsed.

Was this him?

Did he do it?

"Hey, Clara... what's this thing?" Sophie had caught sight of the pendant around my neck. The Crimson Sigil Pendant had slipped out from under my collar.

"Just... a piece of jewelry," I lied quickly, tucking it back beneath my shirt.

I didn't have friends at school-except Sophie. And if she knew my life involved blood pacts, spirits, and a terrifying vampire husband, she might faint on the spot.

"Hmm?" She tilted the pendant, squinting at the etching on the back. "It says... The Crimson Lord of Vexmoor?"

My blood froze.

Crimson Lord-Reddusk had called him that once. That name... it belonged to him.

"You can read that?" I asked, my voice thin.

"My dad deciphers dead languages for the university. He's obsessed with ancient sigils," Sophie said proudly. "I've been around that stuff my whole life-those old inscriptions don't exactly scare me."

The Crimson Lord of Vexmoor.

I'd seen that name before... somewhere. But where?

When I returned to the occult shop, my brother was arguing impatiently with a man at the counter. The man had placed something wrapped in brittle waxed parchment on the glass, trying to shove it inward as my brother kept pushing it back toward him.

"I told you already, I'm not taking this cursed junk!" my brother snapped, clearly losing his patience.

"You-you have to take it! Your father told me to bring it. I left at dawn just to make it here before dark. How can you turn it away?" the man protested.

In the midst of their quarrel, the edge of the parchment slipped open. Inside was a pair of black velvet bridal heels, adorned with garnet beads and faint traces of gold embroidery in a twisting, winged pattern-something eerily ceremonial, unmistakably ancient, and disturbingly regal.

The shoes looked like they'd been buried for decades, not just from the dust, but from the aura of something long dead still clinging to them. They reminded me too much of that blood-red gown my father had presented earlier-drenched in age and the scent of old crypts.

Thinking of that crimson mask seared into his back, I had a gut feeling these bridal relics weren't gifts from him at all-but offerings collected while that thing controlled his body.

"My father went back to the ancestral house," my brother said coldly, finally forcing the man out the door. "Wait until he's back if you still want to hand it over."

"He went to see Great-Grandfather?" I asked.

"Yeah. I offered to go with him, but he said he couldn't leave you unguarded. Told me to stay and watch the shop. And help keep you safe, obviously. Now go cook dinner, Clara."

...Honestly, who's watching who here?

As I rolled up my sleeves and headed to the kitchen, he leaned against the doorway, sniffing dramatically.

"Smells good. Too bad your spooky vampire husband doesn't get a taste."

"Quit hanging around. Go call Dad and ask if he's arrived safely."

With the highways being what they are, the ancestral town was only three hours away by bus, maybe four if you counted the van ride into the old countryside. By dinner time, he should have arrived.

As I brought out the dishes, I noticed my brother pacing the living room, phone pressed to his ear.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath.

"What happened?" I asked, heart skipping.

"Dad's not picking up. And I just called the family house-no one's seen him," he said, biting his lip and trying again.

The line rang endlessly.

Dad could be mischievous at times, but he never joked about safety.

Ping. My phone chimed with a new message.

It was from Dad-he'd sent a GPS location.

My brother immediately tried calling again, while I hit the voice message button. "Dad? Where are you? Please answer your phone!"

But again-no response.

We both knew something was wrong.

My brother grabbed a jacket, then ran into his room and came back out with a black tactical backpack.

"I'm going too!" I chased him to the garage and climbed into the passenger seat before he could stop me.

"If Dad finds out I brought you along, he'll murder me," my brother muttered, starting the car.

"I'd lose my mind waiting at home. Just let me come," I said, buckling in with trembling hands.

He didn't argue.

We sped toward the pin dropped in the message-over a hundred kilometers away, along a stretch of highway in the opposite direction of our hometown.

"Why would he go there?" I murmured. My scalp tingled with dread. "Do you think... maybe the mask is controlling him again? Maybe we just couldn't tell when he was normal-but when it manifests..."

"Don't panic," my brother said, jaw tight. "Dad's not the kind of man to give in without a fight. Let's get close first. Then we'll figure it out."