We left the siren tied up in the basement.
I didn't care if she was growling through the Christmas lights or humming some cursed lullaby—we needed a break before one of us (me) stabbed her just for breathing too loud.
The living room was quieter now. Kind of.
Luciano sat on the edge of the couch like it might explode beneath him. The redhead was curled in the armchair, bandaged and holding a mug of something hot that Sylas definitely stole from their kitchen.
She looked up with those soft, tear-stung eyes.
"I'm… Elara," she said quietly. "In case anyone was wondering."
I gave her a nod.
Luciano, on the other hand, was ready to combust.
"Okay," he said. "We are way past normal explanations now. I was almost murdered by a mermaid, you people tied her up with Christmas lights, and I have no idea who you are or what kind of… Marvel fanfiction this is. So. Talk."
Sylas popped the tab on a can of soda and sat backwards on a kitchen chair like he was about to teach a high school life lesson. "Alright, listen up, traumatized youth."
Darian let out a long, sharp breath.
"Don't," he warned.
Sylas ignored him.
"We're not FBI. We're not cosplayers. We're not from this world."
Luciano blinked.
Sylas continued. "I'm a fairy. She's a half-vampire, half-werewolf. Darian over there's a hybrid of nightmare and daddy issues. Magic is real, monsters exist, and your world is sitting on top of a war you don't even know about."
Luciano stared at him like he'd just declared himself a unicorn prophet.
Elara looked down into her mug like she was trying to convince herself the hot chocolate was laced with vodka.
Darian stood slowly. "Sylas—"
"What?" Sylas shrugged. "You were gonna tell them eventually."
"We were going to decide if we needed to tell them at all," Darian snapped. "Not dump the immortal world's secrets like a drunk bard at a tavern."
Sylas smirked. "Relax. You can just erase their memories later."
Darian turned, sharp and cold. "Do you want me to scramble them? Because spells are unstable here, Sylas. You know that. One wrong cast and I could wipe their minds completely. Erase their entire personalities. Their identities."
Luciano paled. "I—I like my identity! Please don't erase me!"
Elara whispered, "This is real, isn't it?"
Luciano shook his head rapidly. "Nope. No. This is insane. There's no such thing as vampires, or wolves, or—whatever the hell Sylas is supposed to be."
I didn't say a word.
I just smiled.
And let the transformation bleed through my skin.
Claws sharpened at my fingertips. My fangs slid into place. My eyes flared red, deep and glowing with ancient hunger.
I stepped closer to Luciano, just enough to make the shadows stretch over his shoes.
"I'm hungry," I said softly, tilting my head. "Want to volunteer?"
Luciano made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a scream.
He wobbled. Hard.
Darian was at my side in a second. "She's kidding."
"Am I?" I whispered, still smiling.
"Aurora."
I rolled my eyes and backed off.
Luciano collapsed onto the couch, gasping.
"Okay," he wheezed. "Okay. I believe you. Please don't eat me. Please."
I leaned back against the wall. "What's the plan now?" I asked, brushing invisible dust off my skirt. "And for the record, I wasn't kidding about being hungry."
Luciano made a strangled sound and stood up so fast the couch squeaked.
He bolted to the far side of the room.
Grabbed Elara's wrist.
Dragged her with him like I was a wild animal that might pounce at any moment.
I smiled.
God, I loved scaring people.
Sylas arched a brow. "You really have a gift for bonding."
Darian sighed, muttering, "You're going to give that boy a heart attack."
"Maybe just a little bite," I offered, tilting my head playfully.
Darian shot me a look.
Before he could say anything, a click sounded from the front door.
It creaked open.
"—Did anyone hear that?" Elara whispered, eyes wide.
Luciano froze. "No one's supposed to be home—"
All of us moved at once.
Sylas flipped behind the kitchen counter, hand already at the knife tucked in his waistband.
Darian drew something from his jacket—barely visible, but humming with power.
And I crouched low, eyes narrowed, ready to lunge.
Then—
"Oh, sweetie, could someone help me with these groceries? The bag with the soup cans is about to rip—"
A woman stepped through the door.
Human.
Sweet-looking.
She looked to be in her early forties, with warm olive-toned skin like Luciano's, her dark hair tied back in a loose bun that had clearly been done in a rush. Her face was soft, kind, and slightly flushed from the cold air outside, with laugh lines around her eyes and a maternal energy that could soothe hurricanes—or scold them into cleaning their room. She wore a simple sweater, jeans, and practical shoes, with one dangling earring missing and a car key between her teeth.
Her arms were full of overstuffed paper bags. A loaf of bread stuck out at an awkward angle, and one bag was clearly tipping sideways.
She looked just enough like Luciano that the pieces clicked before he even said it.
"MOM?!" he squeaked.
I blinked.
Of course.
I straightened just as Darian lowered his weapon, Sylas vanishing his knife with a groan.
The bag in the woman's arms tilted further, blocking her view of the chaos she'd just walked into.
"Coming!" I called, moving quickly.
Darian was already at my side, both of us shifting smooth as shadows to hide what almost happened.
We each grabbed a bag from her arms.
"Oh! Thank you," she said, smiling as her eyes finally focused on me.
She paused.
Tilted her head.
Then whispered to Luciano, "Who is this sweet, beautiful girl? Is she your girlfriend?"
Luciano made a noise like he'd swallowed a bug. "NO!"
Everyone turned.
I blinked.
Slowly turned my head toward him.
He flinched.
"I mean—" he threw up his hands—"not that you're not beautiful! You are! Like—scary-beautiful. Like, goddess-who-could-kill-me beautiful—which is a compliment!"
I stared.
He shrank a little more.
"I just mean—like, not my girlfriend. Because she's not. Because she's… married!"
Silence.
Elara looked like she'd just lost the will to intervene.
Luciano pointed frantically. "To him!" he blurted, voice cracking. "The guy with the eyes and the murder-aura—Darian! Yeah! They're married!"
Darian, mid-grocery-bag lift, looked up like someone just threw him into traffic.
Luciano's mom turned to Darian slowly.
Her eyes scanned him once.
Then she nodded, impressed.
"Oh. Well," she said in Spanish, "Qué hombre tan guapo."
(What a handsome man.)
Luciano groaned. "Mamá, por favor—"
She smiled and leaned in close to him. "You couldn't have married her first?"
Luciano's mom beamed. "You two make such a beautiful couple," she said, genuine and dreamy. "When did you get married?"
Darian blinked. Nothing came out.
"Oh—was it recent?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "Is that why you're visiting? A little honeymoon trip?"
Luciano facepalmed in the background.
"You're so young!" she added. "Why the rush? Were your parents supportive? Did he propose at night or during the day? Was it with candles? Do you have a video? Did he cry? I bet he cried. How many kids are you planning?"
Darian's mouth moved but no words came out.
Sylas leaned against the kitchen counter, completely useless, cackling silently.
I stared at her.
Then slowly turned my head to Darian.
One eyebrow raised.
Well? my look said. Fix this.
Darian looked at me like he was internally dying.
Luciano was mouthing "I'm so sorry" in the corner.
The woman just stood there, waiting patiently, smiling like this was the best story she was ever going to hear.
Darian stepped forward with infuriating confidence and said:
"Of course. I actually have it with me."
"What?" I thought.
"In your pocket?" Luciano's mom asked, delighted.
"Yes," he said, patting his jacket. "We were having it adjusted. Needed to reinforce one of the enchantments. You know how it is—magical fluctuations and all."
I stared at him.
He was lying.
He had to be lying.
But then—
He reached into his jacket.
And pulled out a ring.
An actual. Literal. Ring.
Luciano made a choking noise in the corner.
His mother clapped her hands. "Let me see it on her! Put it on her finger!"
I was still processing reality when Darian stepped closer.
He didn't say anything.
He just gently took my hand—his fingers brushing mine with that quiet intensity that always made my pulse stutter—and slid the ring onto my finger.
And everything stopped.
The ring… wasn't just beautiful.
It was unreal.
Delicate gold wrapped around my finger like it had always belonged there. The band was impossibly intricate—filigree vines curling and weaving like ancient magic frozen in time. The centerstone was an oval-cut amethyst, deep purple like twilight over ruined thrones.
But it glowed.
Not just from the light—from within.
As if starlight had been trapped inside it. As if the ring remembered dreams I hadn't lived yet. A soft pulse shimmered beneath the surface, catching a star-like pattern at its heart that seemed to breathe with the same rhythm as mine.
It looked like something from the immortal world.
It looked like it was made for me.
It looked like…
What the hell is happening.
My heart was sprinting. My breath caught halfway to my lungs.
Why did he have this?
Where did it come from?
When did he—how did he—WHY?
I stared at him, trying to find the lie, the joke, the trick.
But he wasn't smiling.
Not really.
Just watching me. Quiet. Careful.
Like he knew.
And I—I couldn't think.
I couldn't move.
Luciano's mom squealed again. "¡Ay por Dios! That is the most beautiful ring I've ever seen."
I couldn't answer.
Because in that moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to throw the ring across the room…
Or never take it off.
Luciano's mom clapped her hands suddenly. "Okay! I'm making dinner. Everyone is staying. I need to feed you—look at all of you, you're skin and bones and chaos."
"You," she pointed at Luciano. "Help me chop."
He groaned. "Mamá—"
"And you," she pointed to Sylas, who immediately straightened like he'd been caught in a crime.
"Absolutely not."
"Oh yes," she said sweetly. "You're helping too. No magic. You're stirring."
Sylas blinked. "Did… a human just command me?"
"You want to eat or not?" she asked with a raised brow.
Sylas slowly followed her into the kitchen like he'd just been personally cursed. "I have fought shadow beasts, flown through lightning storms, and walked into cursed crypts. And now I'm slicing onions."
"Use the good knife," she called.
"I am the good knife."
While chaos moved into the kitchen, I saw my chance.
I turned to Darian.
And without a word, I took his hand in mine.
He tensed—just for a second.
But he didn't pull away.
And I hated that I noticed how warm he was. How solid. How easy it felt.
Focus.
"Outside," I said.
He didn't ask why.
We stepped out the back door, the air cooler and quieter than it had been all day. The sun was lower now, brushing everything in a soft golden haze.
But there was nothing soft in me.
The moment we were out of sight, I turned on him.
"Talk."
He blinked. "About what?" he asked carefully.
I stared. Hard.
"The siren. The ring. The fact that you've been acting like you know things I don't since the minute we met. I want answers, Darian. All of them."
He didn't speak right away.
Which only made it worse.
"I'm done guessing," I said. "I'm done pretending this doesn't feel like a game I wasn't invited to play. So start talking. Or I swear, I'll drag the truth out of your pretty mouth one fang at a time."
Darian didn't speak right away.
Instead, he looked out at the yard—quiet, glowing, pretending it wasn't holding two immortals and a thousand unsaid things.
"Sit with me," he said, gesturing to the porch step.
I narrowed my eyes.
"No games," I warned.
"No games," he repeated.
I hesitated… then sat.
A beat of silence.
Then he exhaled.
"My mother is the heir to the throne of Velmora…"
[scene continues with full confession—already shared above—ending with:]
He nodded again.
Then finally looked at me.
And that's when I realized—
He hadn't just been protecting himself.
He'd been protecting everyone.
I didn't know what I was doing.
I just… moved.
No knives. No snarling. No screaming.
Just a step forward—slow, careful—and then I wrapped my arms around him.
Darian froze.
His breath caught like I'd stabbed him instead.
To be fair, I wasn't exactly known for casual affection. Or affection at all. I wasn't sure when the last time I hugged someone was. Maybe never.
It felt foreign. Unnatural.
But not bad.
He didn't move at first. Didn't breathe.
Then—slowly—his arms came around me. Gentle. Careful. Like he thought I might vanish or explode if he touched me wrong.
We just stood there. In the quiet. In the fading gold light.
And I let myself melt into him.
His warmth. His silence. His stupid heartbeat that wouldn't calm down. Or maybe that was mine.
I didn't pull away when I spoke.
"Is there anything else I need to know?"
No answer.
I shifted back just a little, enough to see his face.
Still close. Too close.
Our breaths mixed in the space between us.
I tilted my head, watching him.
His eyes met mine—but didn't stay there.
They dropped.
Lower.
To my mouth.
My heart thudded once. Loud enough to shake the porch.
"Darian," I said, voice low. "Tell me."
But he still wasn't speaking.
Just staring.
And I wasn't sure if I wanted to pull away…
Or pull him in.