Stefania: The Bride Wore Blood

Chapter Five

I Had Always Desired One Thing In Life But I Never Had A Plan.

— Manya

Relationships are nothing but empty exchanges, a game where someone always gives too much and someone else takes it all.

Manya never saw the point. What good were friendships, these fragile connections that only ended in misunderstandings and shattered expectations? To her, they were just traps—wasted emotions, hollow promises, and inevitable endings.

It was easier to stand alone than to risk being the one left bleeding.

Manya stretched out her body like a feline as she padded barefoot into the kitchen, her muscles sore and her skin still humming with the aftershocks of another restless night.

The silence of the house wrapped around her like a second skin—too quiet, too still, the kind of quiet that made her ears ring.

She paused briefly at the doorway, taking in the sight of Terina perched on a stool at the kitchen island, slicing through toast with the same focus she might apply to an intricate spell.

Her long hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her posture was too controlled for this early in the morning.

She is always like this when she has to go for training with Waldron. She is possibly the only person who reacts to him this way outside Radomir who hates him; the others just behave indifferent to his presence.

“I don’t know if I should stay mad at you or apologize,” Terina said without looking up, her voice cutting through the quiet with an unnerving calm.

Manya sighed, dragging herself toward the coffee machine. Her body still felt like it was running on fumes, leftover adrenaline and the bitter taste of nightmare tangled somewhere behind her ribs. “Whichever makes you feel better,” she muttered, switching on the machine with more force than necessary.

The events of the night before pressed against the back of her mind like a bruise. The suffocating thump of the nightclub, Thea’s shrill voice drilling into her skull, the way every flicker of movement and scent had grated on her already fragile nerves.

She hadn’t lasted long, and hadn't wanted to. She remembered standing up so fast her chair screeched, remembered Terina following her out into the cold night, sliding into the car with that maddeningly neutral expression, then prying, gently, yes, but still prying.

“Is this about him?”

“It’s been three days,” she snapped.

And it had. Three days since Kazimir had left and three days since he’d kissed her like he meant to rewrite her. Three days of silence she didn’t know what to do with.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her coffee mug just as hot liquid splashed over her skin.

“s**t!” she hissed, flinching and nearly dropping the mug.

Terina finally looked up, eyebrows raised. “See? I was trying to be nice.”

Manya shot her a glare, blowing on her burned fingers before taking a cautious sip. The bitter heat steadied her, though it did little to quiet her mind.

Terina was still watching her with that too-keen stare, the one that scraped away at Manya’s carefully constructed walls.

“You know,” Terina said, voice light but lined with intent, “For someone so mysterious, you’re also really bad at pretending you’re okay.”

Manya didn’t respond. She took another sip, settled into the chair across from her, and fixed her gaze on the pattern on the countertop.

“You never ask me anything personal,” Terina continued, unbothered by the silence. “Is that just part of your charm, or...?”

“Because I don’t care,” Manya replied flatly, her tone as sharp as glass. “Not everyone is as nosy as you.”

But even as she said it, her mind wandered again, back to that moment in the car, to Terina’s accusing calmness, to her own stupid reaction. She hadn’t told the truth. Not then. Not even to herself.

Because it wasn’t just the club that had gotten under her skin.

It was Kazimir.

The echo of his hands on her body.

The ghost of his voice.

And the terrifying truth that no amount of distance had dulled any of it.

Terina’s words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Miss him? The thought was absurd, laughable even. She didn’t miss him. How could she?

It had only been three days. The distance was good, necessary even. She needed it to clear her head, to remind herself of the bigger picture.

The space between them allowed her to focus on her mission—to keep her eyes on the prize, not the man who had started to seep into places he didn’t belong.

Manya shook her head, trying to shake off the memory. She couldn’t let Terina think she could read her so easily. Terina was a pawn, nothing more, a piece to be moved strategically on the chessboard. Manya would not allow her to overstep.

Terina tilted her head and studied her, unconvinced, but didn’t press further.

And Manya, eyes fixed on her coffee, kept her expression cold, detached.

Because that was easier than admitting she was still burning. That even as she sat staring into the countertop the ache wouldn’t leave her. It wasn’t longing, she told herself. It couldn’t be.

Today wasn’t a day for idle chatter or distractions. Today, she’d finally searched for the letters she suspected were in Kazimir’s office—letters that could hold the key to the vampire disappearances.

"I’ve got training with Waldron. Come with me," Terina suggested, standing and placing her empty plate in the dishwasher. "I can’t stand him, but Kazimir insists. Honestly, casting a permanent hex on his handsome face seems more appealing."

Manya rolled her eyes at the irony. "I’ll pass," she said simply.

"You’ll pass by?" Terina smirked, leaning closer. When Manya didn’t respond, Terina sighed dramatically. "Fine. I’m off. Call me if you need anything." With that, she grabbed her bag and strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Manya alone.

Manya lingered at the sink, rinsing her fingers under the stream of cool water long after Terina disappeared through the front door.

The house felt quieter now, like it had exhaled. She dried her hands slowly, methodically, as if dragging out the silence would somehow stretch the peace.

Halfway up the stairs, the vibration in her pocket stopped her.

She pulled out her phone, already expecting some forgotten reminder or spam. Instead, a message blinked on the screen from an unsaved number:

I have someone who needs to meet with you.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. No greeting. No name. She glanced behind her as if the walls might offer some explanation. A mistake, probably. She tapped the block button without replying.

Before her finger lifted, the phone buzzed again.

You must be curious to know about this person.

Her brows furrowed as she stared at the cryptic text.

The wording unsettled her, and a prickle of unease crept up her spine. This felt more like a veiled threat than an innocent mistake. A third buzz, this one longer. The message was longer too:

You’re not curious? Or are you afraid this might not be a joke? We need to meet.

The room had gone still. She didn’t notice it happening, didn’t notice herself backing against the wall, one hand gripping the railing, knuckles pale.

She stared at her phone, her instincts screaming caution. Who would try to bait her like this?

Her stomach twisted. Against her better judgment, she starts typing a reply. “Wrong number."

She hits send.

Fourth buzz but not a text this time, it was a voice recording. She hit play and a voice flowed through the speaker. Calm. Measured. Male. “You’re not mistaken. I know who you are… Alyona. A vampiress without history, family, or past.”

The name stopped her like a slap. Alyona.

She hadn’t heard it since Waldron. And even then, it hadn’t sounded like that.

Fingers cold and shaking, she continued the recording. “We don’t know much about him, but someone insists you left him behind. Says he knows your father.”

She almost laughed. Almost. "My father is dead." She replied with a text.

Another voice record came immediately. “I understand your skepticism. He’s ill. And asking for you. I’ll text the address if you’re willing.”

Manya lowered the phone slowly, her reflection faint in the dark screen. Her hand curled around the device, almost like she might crush it. But she didn’t move. Just stood there at the top of the stairs, caught between the past she didn’t remember and a name that refused to forget her.

If this stranger truly knew her past, he could hold the answers she’d been chasing for years.

Hours later, Manya stood outside the shelter, a five-story building isolated in an overgrown field. A man with gray eyes held a sign with “Alyona” written in bold blue ink.

His expression was unreadable behind a black mask, but his aura screamed werewolf—low-ranking, unremarkable, and yet oddly confident.

“This way,” he said tersely, leading her toward a waiting car.

As the vehicle rumbled along dirt roads, Manya studied the two werewolves in the front seats. Something about them felt...off.

She shifted in her seat, fingers brushing against the hidden knife at her hip.

“Tell me about the man who claims to know me,” she demanded.

The driver, whose name she learned was Dmitri, spared her a glance. "He’s in bad shape. Found him half-dead a few weeks ago. Don't talk much, except about you."

“And this shelter? Shadow? Never heard of it.”

“It’s not on the map,” the other man, Sergei, answered, his voice cool. "A safe haven for outcasts, rogues, sorcerers, those who’ve been cast out."

It sounded noble, but something about their story didn’t sit right. Manya leaned her head against the window, pretending to relax while every nerve in her body screamed vigilance.

As she drove through the borders of tick trees, she saw the Shadow Shelter looming at the end of the dirt path, an isolated building surrounded by trees.

The dirt road crunched beneath Manya's boots as she approached the Shadow Shelter, unease prickling her skin.

The building loomed in the distance, a hulking five-story monolith of sleek gray stone surrounded by a sea of trees that swayed with the restless wind. It looked more like a corporate retreat than a sanctuary, but Manya had learned that appearances were often deceptive—and rarely in her favor.

Her leather jacket flapped against her sides as she stepped into the clearing. Two werewolves stood at the entrance, their postures stiff, their gazes razor-sharp.

One gave her a once-over, his lips curling slightly. "No sudden move. Inside’s neutral ground, but trust me, it won’t save you if you start something."

Manya arched a brow, unimpressed. "I’ll behave if you do." The faint hum of magic in the air made her uneasy.

The werewolves exchanged glances before the other opened the heavy door, gesturing for her to enter. The interior was stark and polished, the faint scent of lavender struggling to mask something sharper.

Blood. Old and faint, but it clung to the air like a ghost. Polished hardwood floors gleamed under the soft lighting, and a woman sat behind a sleek desk, her expression as cold as the granite countertops.

"Hand over any weapons," she ordered, pushing a black box toward Manya.

With a small, defiant smirk, Manya pulled two daggers from her jacket and a smaller blade from her boot, dropping them into the container with a satisfying clink. The woman's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, instead sliding over a sign-in book.

Manya scribbled her alias—Alyona—into the book, a name she hadn’t used in years but felt fitting for this shadowed place.

Then the woman waved her through, and Dmitri led her down a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly, every step deepening the tension in her chest.

Finally, they arrived at a modest office. Tic Volkov, the head of the shelter. She knew because that was written in the last message he sent her.

He sat behind a desk, his sharp blue eyes cutting through her the moment she entered. He was tall and wiry, his blond hair perpetually disheveled, his smile thin and practiced.

"Welcome to Shadow Shelter," he said, gesturing toward the leather chair across from him. "You must have many questions."

Manya didn’t sit. She didn’t trust him—or anyone here. "I don’t like games."

Tic leaned back, his smile faltering. "You’re cautious. I like that. Please, have a seat.”

Manya didn’t relax, even as she sank into the leather chair. The office was bare, save for a desk, a couch, and a few filing cabinets. "This place is impressive," she said, her tone clipped. "But why is it hidden?" She sensed no immediate danger, but her instincts warned her this place wasn’t what it seemed.

Tic folded his hands. "The shelter is a haven for rogues, outcasts, and those who need to disappear. Not just werewolves, but lycans, sorcerers, and even vampires. It’s a delicate balance of security and secrecy."

Manya wasn’t convinced. "And this person who supposedly knows me? Where is he?” she asked for the second time with her patience running low.

“ The man’s name is Riven. He arrived here a week ago, sick and delirious. He keeps repeating the same thing—that he knows your father."

"What did he say he knows about my father?" Manya asked, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Tic raised a hand, his expression placating. "Riven believes he knows something about your past, Alyona."

Hearing the name again unsettled her. It wasn’t hers anymore, and yet it clung to her like an unwanted shadow. She crossed her arms, glaring at Tic. "Where is he? I want to speak to him."

Before Tic could answer, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a resounding crash. Dimitri stumbled in, his face pale and his breathing ragged.

"They’re here," he gasped. "The building’s surrounded."

Tic shot to his feet, his calm demeanor cracking for the first time. "What? By whom?"

"Cars. Bikes. Armed to the teeth. They’ve cut the perimeter. No markings." Dimitri’s voice trembled, his claws unsheathing involuntarily.

The air in the room shifted, the weight of danger pressing down like a suffocating fog. Manya’s hand instinctively went to her thigh where her hidden blade usually rested—only to curse silently, remembering she’d surrendered it at the entrance.

"Get everyone to the underground safe house," Tic barked, already moving toward a panel on the wall. He pressed a series of buttons, and a section of the floor slid open to reveal a stairwell leading into darkness.

Pinch hesitated. "What about her?" He jerked his head toward Manya.

"She’s coming too," Tic snapped.

With a nod, Dmitri bolted from the room, leaving Manya and Tic alone. But Manya wasn’t moving. Her instincts screamed at her to stay above ground, to confront the danger head-on. "No way. I’m not running like a scared rabbit." She rounded on him, her dagger drawn in an instant from where she had hidden it. "What the hell is going on? Did you lure me here as bait?" she hissed, her voice cold and lethal.

Tic raised his hands, his expression one of genuine alarm. "I swear, I didn’t—"

"Then start talking," she growled, the blade pressed against his throat.

"I swear, I had no part in this. They’re after him, not you."

“Who are they?” she demanded, her fangs itching to extend.

Tic rounded on her, his blue eyes blazing, even with the blade pressed against he neck for the kill. "You don’t understand what you’re dealing with. These aren’t amateurs—they’re hunters. Riven said they would be here for him. They'd been tracking him for days, waiting for the right moment."

"I’ve dealt with hunters before," Manya countered, her voice steady even as her pulse quickened. Hunters are immortals who swore to hunt down rogue or immortals they believe have gone astray, proceeding between insanity and sanity. "But if you think I’m letting myself be cornered underground, you’re mistaken."

Before he could answer, a crash echoed from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable growls of werewolves shifting. The air thickened with the scent of blood.

Tic’s voice lowered. "If you want to live, you’ll have to trust me."

Manya’s grip on the knife wavered. Her instincts screamed to run, to disappear, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her leave without answers. Gritting her teeth, she released him.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But if you lie to me again, I’ll kill you myself.”

The next moment, the lights flickered, then died, plunging the room into darkness. "s**t," Tic muttered, his voice barely audible over the chaos erupting outside.

Manya’s vision adjusted quickly, her vampiric senses sharpening in the dim emergency lights that flickered to life. She moved toward the door, but Tic grabbed her arm.

"You’re not going out there," he growled.

She yanked her arm free, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Watch me."

A deafening explosion rocked the building, sending tremors along the floor. The smell of smoke and burning metal wafted in, and screams echoed from somewhere deeper within the shelter.

Manya turned to Tic, her voice cold and resolute. "Get your people to safety. I’ll handle this."

"You’ll get yourself killed," Tic shot back.

"Maybe," she said, a grim smile tugging at her lips. The hunt had begun.

Outside, the forest was alive with movement—shadows shifting, figures closing in. The air hummed with danger, the kind that promised bloodshed.

And somewhere in the chaos, a figure watched from the treeline, his lips curling into a smile.

"Alyona," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din. "Welcome back."