CHAPTER 379: BLOOD AND LOVE

Vincent/Vaelthor~

I sat on the weathered stone bench beneath the ancient oak in the palace gardens, its colossal branches stretching outward like the arms of a silent sentinel. Sunlight poured through the canopy in scattered ribbons, dappling the ground with gold and shadow. The morning air carried the crisp bite of autumn, wrapped in the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and the earthiness of dew-soaked grass. It was a scene so calm it felt almost cruel—like the world itself was mocking the war tightening in my chest.

Sylthara and I had slipped away right before breakfast, escaping the stiff smiles and watchful eyes of the royal household. Here, beneath this oak that had seen centuries pass, I could breathe without pretending.

My sister sat across from me, the breeze teasing strands of her pale blond hair, making them dance like sunlight on water. Her eyes, sharp yet weary, held the same quiet fire I’d known all my life—a resolve born not of privilege, but of survival. I could see the storm behind them, the one that mirrored my own.

I drew in a slow breath, feeling the weight of the plan that had kept me awake all night. Every word, every move, had been sharpened in my mind like a blade waiting for the perfect strike. This morning wasn’t just another stolen moment. It was the beginning of something far bigger—something that could either set us free or destroy everything we’d ever known.

Sylthara leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on her knees, her voice quiet but steady. She didn’t have to say anything for me to hear the questions burning behind her guarded gaze.

I’d just finished unfolding it all—the slow infiltration, the feigned affections, the whispers of poison in dreams, and finally, the rejection words that Nancy had whispered to me like a forbidden incantation. "I reject you as my mate." Simple. Surgical. The key to our freedom. I leaned back against the bench, the cool stone seeping through my shirt, expecting the usual flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Sylthara had always been the cautious one, the one who weighed every shadow before stepping into it. But vengeance? That had been our shared heartbeat since the day we learned how our parents were ripped from us—Mother slain by Zane and Natalie, Father imprisoned in eternal darkness. It was our dream, forged in the cold nights of orphanhood, whispered over scraps of food in hidden alleys. She’d come around. She always did.

But as the words hung in the air between us, something shifted. Winter’s face crumpled, not in doubt, but in outright devastation. Her blue eyes, usually so steady and unyielding, widened with a raw hurt that punched the air from my lungs. Tears—actual tears—welled up and spilled over, tracing glistening paths down her pale cheeks. Sylthara never cried. Not since we were children, when she’d learned that tears were just salt water wasted on a world that didn’t care. She’d hardened herself, bottled it all up, because crying didn’t bring back the dead or mend the broken. Seeing her like this now, vulnerable and shattered under the golden morning sun, twisted something deep inside me.

"Vaelthor," she whispered, her voice cracking like fragile glass, the name she’d always used for me in our private moments, not the alias Vincent we hid behind. She clutched the edge of the bench, her knuckles whitening, as if grounding herself against the flood. "No. I... I can’t. I won’t be part of this. Not if it means harming Nicholas."

I blinked, stunned, my mind reeling as if she’d slapped me. "What? Sylthara, listen—"

But she shook her head fiercely, more tears falling freely down, her breath hitching in sobs that seemed to tear from her very soul. "I know what you’re thinking. That I’m being selfish. That I’m a horrible daughter—betraying Mother and Father like this. Gods, Vaelthor, I feel it every day, this guilt gnawing at me like shadows in the night. But I can’t hurt him. I just... I can’t."

Her words poured out in a torrent, each one laced with a desperation I’d never heard from her before. She reached out, grabbing my hand, her fingers cold and trembling against my skin. The garden around us seemed to hold its breath—the birdsong fading, the leaves rustling softer—as if the world itself recoiled from the intensity of her plea. "All my life has been nothing but pain, Vaelthor. Endless, suffocating pain. The only real love I’ve ever known came from you. You were my anchor, my protector, pulling me through the nightmares, shielding me when the world wanted to swallow us whole. I love you so much—more than words can capture. If anyone ever hurt you, it would be like ripping my heart straight out of my chest, leaving me hollow and bleeding."

She paused, her blue-tinged eyes—mirrors of our demonic heritage—locking onto mine with an intensity that made my own heart ache. The sun filtered through the oak’s leaves, painting her tear-streaked face in ethereal light, turning her vulnerability into something almost sacred. "And that’s exactly how I feel about Nicholas. He’s... he’s a gift, Vaelthor. A gift from the gods, even though I don’t deserve him. No one has ever looked at me the way he does—like I’m not a monster, not a shadow-born curse. In the short time we’ve known each other, he’s cherished me, loved me with a fierceness that heals all the broken parts inside. His touch, his laugh, the way he pulls me close in the dark... it’s real. Maybe it’s the bond twisting our fates, making us feel this way, but whatever it is, it’s better—infinitely better—than the emptiness I lived in before. The loneliness that clawed at me every night, making me wonder if I’d ever feel whole."

Sylthara’s voice broke again, and she swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, but they kept coming, relentless. "I’m so tired of being alone, brother. Tired of the cold, the vengeance that eats away at us like acid. I want to be with him. To build something real, not destroy it. And I know you feel the same about Katrina. I’ve seen it in your eyes—the way you light up when she’s near, the softness that creeps in despite your walls. Don’t fight this mate bond. Please, Vaelthor. Let yourself be happy. We deserve that, after everything."

Her words hung there, heavy and pleading, the garden’s beauty now a cruel contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. Happiness? With them? Rage ignited in my chest, hot and blinding, like shadows erupting into flame. I yanked my hand away, standing abruptly, the bench scraping against the gravel path. How could she say this? After all we’d endured, all we’d sworn? The morning light suddenly felt too bright, too mocking, as I paced a tight circle under the tree, my enhanced senses picking up every hitch in her breath, every rustle of leaves.

"Happy?" I spat, my voice low and venomous, laced with the dangerous charm that usually masked my fury but now cracked under the strain. "You think being ’happy’ with the children of the monsters who destroyed our family is real happiness? Zane and Natalie slaughtered Mother, imprisoned Father in eternal darkness! Sebastian and Cassandra were right there, aiding them! And now you want to curl up in their spawn’s arms like it’s some fairy tale? That’s not happiness, Sylthara—that’s delusion. A poisoned illusion that’ll rot us from the inside."

I whirled back to face her, my shadows flickering involuntarily at my feet, coiling like agitated serpents in the grass. Her tears only fueled the fire; how dare she cry for him, when our parents’ blood cried out for justice? "We can never be truly happy with them. The guilt, the betrayal—it’ll fester. The right thing—the only thing—is to cut off this cursed mate bond. Sever it clean, like Nancy said. Reject them, and we’re free to avenge what was taken from us. Free to rebuild without their shadows looming over us."

Sylthara’s eyes flashed with a mix of horror and defiance, her quiet guard shattering completely. She shot to her feet, her small frame trembling but unyielding, the tears now mingling with anger that made her cheeks flush. "NO!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the garden, startling a flock of birds from the oak’s branches. They exploded upward in a flurry of wings, the sound like thunder in the otherwise still morning. "Don’t you dare, Vaelthor! Don’t do anything stupid. You think rejecting them will set us free? It’ll destroy us—rip us apart from the inside, just like the vengeance you’re chasing!"

She backed away, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the hurt in her eyes cutting deeper than any blade. For a moment, she looked like the little girl I’d protected all those years ago, lost and afraid, but now the fear was for us—for what we were becoming. Then, with a choked sob, she turned and stormed out of the garden, her footsteps crunching angrily on the path, her shoulders shaking with unrestrained cries. The jasmine vines seemed to part for her, as if even the plants sensed her turmoil, and she disappeared around the hedge, leaving only the echo of her pain.

I stood there, frozen under the tree, watching her go. My heart felt like it had been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, each one embedding deeper with every beat. The ambitious plan I’d crafted, the calculating revenge that had sustained me, now tasted like ash. Sylthara—my sister, my only constant—had chosen love over blood. And in that moment, as the morning sun climbed higher, creating long shadows that mirrored my own, I wondered if the gods were laughing at us, two orphaned demons tangled in a web of fate we could never escape.

The garden’s beauty blurred through the unexpected sting in my own eyes, and for the first time in years, I felt truly alone. What had we become, indeed? Architects of our own ruin, or victims of a cruel twist that bound us to our enemies’ hearts? The thrill of betrayal I’d envisioned now felt hollow, replaced by a thrilling dread that pulsed through my veins. But anger simmered beneath it all, a dark promise that I wouldn’t let this end here. Not yet.