Birthright

Chapter 13 - the farmhouse - Ephy POV

When I landed in his arms, it was as if I forgot how to breathe. His hands tightened around me, steady and sure, saving me from a fall that would’ve left more than bruises.

Then I looked up.

His eyes, one a glowing green, the other a deep, endless brown caught me and held me captive. I could drown in them. His scent wrapped around me, pulling me in further, pine trees and roasted marshmallows, warmth and wilderness. A cocoon of confusion I didn’t want to escape.

For a heartbeat, I forgot everything. The shouting, the running, the danger. I forgot that we were being chased.

The guards had almost caught me and Raven. I’d been trying to run desperate to get away before Dalston’s men could drag me back. Two days. Two days until I’m eighteen. Two days until I’m bound to that monster.

Dalston must have his spies everywhere. They were going door to door, searching houses when they spotted me leaving mine. We had to warn the others, let the people know the guards were out in full force. But now..

Now I’m in the arms of a stranger whose very presence makes the world tilt off its axis.

“Jackson, we need to go, this can’t be good if everyone’s running for the door,” the blonde one says, his voice sharp, urgent.

The man holding me doesn’t move. His grip is strong, protective, maybe even reluctant to let go. I cough softly, just enough to snap him back to reality. His eyes flick down to mine, and for a heartbeat, something passes between us, something I can’t name. Then his hands drop from my waist, the warmth of his touch vanishing too quickly.

I take a step back, forcing myself to focus. The guards will be here any second. I can’t afford to be distracted, not now, not by him.

“Follow me,” I say, breathless but firm. “I know somewhere safe.”

Without waiting for an answer, I turn and run, down the narrow alleyways, to the end of Slavers Bay, over the fortress wall that prisons us there, across the mud filled fields, heart pounding like a war drum. After running for 30 minutes the old ruin of a farmhouse comes to view it sits at the edge of the forest, hidden beneath twisted oaks and creeping ivy. My secret place. My escape.

Only me and a few trusted friends know it exists.

I pull the curtain of ivy aside, its damp leaves brushing against my cheek as I step through the doorway. The air inside is cooler, still carrying the scent of earth and rain. I drop my bag onto a pile of fallen stones near the wall, my usual spot. The roof above sags but holds, offering just enough shelter to keep the worst of the wind at bay.

When it rains, water seeps through the cracks, dripping along the edges and pooling in the corners, but it’s still better than the open streets. It’s my hideaway, broken, forgotten, and yet somehow safe.

I exhale, letting the tension ease from my shoulders. The faint rustle of movement behind me reminds me I’m not alone anymore.

The one that thinks I brought him into a trap scans the room with a grimace. “Cozy,” he says dryly, brushing cobwebs from his shoulder. “You always bring strange men to your luxury estate?”

I roll my eyes. “Only the ones being chased by guards.”

Unusual eyes guy steps forward, his eyes roaming the ruins — not judging, just taking everything in. There’s something steady about him, something that feels, grounded, even here.

“This place,” he says softly, running his hand along the stone wall, “it’s hidden well. You’ve used it before.”

I nod, crossing my arms. “Since I was a kid. No one comes here anymore. It’s..forgotten.”

The blonde man moves toward the entrance again, peering through the gap in the ivy. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

The air between us settles into uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the faint whisper of the wind through the broken roof. I can feel his eyes on me, studying me like he’s trying to piece together who I am and why I helped them.

And truth be told, I’m asking myself the same thing.

“I never got your names,” I finally say, breaking the silence. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

The blonde one grins, leaning back against a cracked pillar. “Lex,” he says easily. “Resident troublemaker, occasional savior. You’re welcome, by the way.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Right. And the quiet one?”

The other man looks up from where he’s been crouched near the wall, tracing the old markings on the stone with his fingers. “Jackson,” he says simply. His voice is low, rough, but calm, like gravel softened by rain.

“Ephy,” I reply after a pause. “Ephy Elshine.”

Jackson’s gaze lingers on me for a moment too long. “Ephy,” he repeats, almost like he’s testing how my name feels on his tongue. Something flickers behind his mismatched eyes, recognition maybe, or curiosity, before it’s gone.

Lex clears his throat, breaking whatever passed between us. “So, Ephy Elshine, got any idea why half the damn city’s in an uproar? Or are you always this popular?”

I cross my arms, biting back a smile. “Let’s just say not everyone’s thrilled about who I’m supposed to marry.”

Lex whistles low. “Ah, so we crashed a runaway bride party. Nice.”

But Jackson doesn’t laugh. His expression hardens slightly, his eyes shadowed. “Who?” he asks quietly.

“Dalston,” I answer, my voice tightening around the name. “A high-ranking vampire.”

For a heartbeat, no one speaks. Then Jackson’s jaw clenches, and the air in the ruined farmhouse feels heavier.