The Blood Thirsty ✨

Chapter Ten – The Names That Bind

The night had folded over the city like a velvet shroud, cool air carrying whispers of things unspoken. Lina’s steps echoed softly on the cobblestones, her pulse quickened not by fear, but by the impossible tension that hummed in the shadows around her. Nera walked beside her, alert, a blade always within reach, senses sharpened by years of survival. And yet tonight, there was something different—something that felt like destiny brushing close, tickling the edges of memory she didn’t even know she had.

They hadn’t seen them yet—Jaxon and Dante—but they felt them. Something ancient, like a thread stretched taut across time, calling them forward. And when the wind shifted, carrying the scent of the city’s darker corners, they knew those threads were no accident.

Then they came into view.

Jaxon stepped from the shadow of an alley, dark hair falling into eyes that had seen centuries and forgotten none. His presence was a storm wrapped in silence, commanding yet gentle, terrifying yet familiar. Dante appeared opposite him, regal even in the dim lamplight, every movement precise, deliberate, as if centuries of power had etched themselves into his very bones. The air between them crackled, an invisible electric charge binding four souls together in a pattern older than the world.

Lina’s breath caught. Her heart thudded violently against her ribs, a drumbeat she didn’t recognize but somehow knew. She had seen them in dreams, in fleeting glimpses of something she thought was memory, not reality. And yet here they were. Real. Alive. Powerful. Dangerous.

“Little light,” Jaxon murmured, and the words struck her like a lightning bolt.

Her eyes widened. That voice… that tone… it carried something she didn’t have words for. Something old. Something sacred.

“Jaxon…” she breathed, the name slipping from her lips like a prayer she had been waiting centuries to say.

Nera stiffened beside her, gaze darting toward Dante, whose own expression had softened in the same way. “My Raven,” he whispered, his voice low, velvet-dark, carrying the weight of history. The nickname made her chest ache with recognition, a song she had forgotten but remembered instantly.

Time seemed to pause. The city, the night, the wind—all of it held its breath as four souls faced each other across the distance of centuries. Memories rose like smoke: laughter echoing across long-forgotten halls, promises whispered under starlit skies, hands clasped in silent agreement that no force could break.

“My little light,” Jaxon repeated, stepping closer. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, yet there was a tenderness beneath the centuries of survival, a warmth she didn’t expect from someone so deadly. “Do you remember?”

Lina’s fingers trembled at his words. She felt it—the memory, faint at first, then roaring to life: a little girl laughing in a sun-drenched courtyard, her tiny hands gripping his as he lifted her high. That was her nickname, given long ago in a life she couldn’t fully recall, yet it felt more real than the ground beneath her feet. The warmth of familiarity, the ache of loss—it all hit at once.

“Yes…” she whispered, voice trembling, eyes brimming with tears she didn’t dare let fall. “I… I remember.”

Dante’s gaze fell on Nera, sharp yet soft, a paradox in itself. “My Raven,” he said again, stepping forward. The title was not just a nickname—it was a bond, a recognition of strength, resilience, and loyalty. Nera’s mind reeled as memories clawed their way back: moonlit forests, the rustle of wings, promises of protection and vengeance whispered in shadows. The name had been hers alone, yet it belonged to Dante as much as it belonged to her.

Nera’s lips parted, but no words came. She was stunned, caught between disbelief and a heat rising that was neither anger nor fear but something entirely new. Something dangerous and thrilling.

The air between them thickened. Four souls, centuries of history, and a love that had survived death itself—all converging in a single moment. Lina’s hand reached unconsciously for Nera’s, and their fingers intertwined, a silent reassurance in the chaos of emotions and centuries of separation. The contact was electric, a grounding force amid the storm of recognition and desire.

Jaxon’s gaze never left Lina. His eyes were both terrifying and tender, full of the hunger of a predator and the care of someone who had carried her in his heart across lifetimes. “You’ve grown,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Stronger… brighter… more than I ever imagined.”

“My little light…” The nickname fell again, soft and reverent. It carried centuries of unspoken promises, and Lina felt herself melting under the weight of it. It wasn’t just a name—it was a lifeline, a tether to a past that had never truly ended, a reminder that she had always been loved.

Dante took a step closer to Nera, closing the distance, letting his presence envelop her like a shield. “Raven,” he whispered again, and the sound wrapped around her like a cloak of night. Every shadow in the alley seemed to bend toward them, as if acknowledging the power between them, the inevitability of their connection. “You’ve carried everything, survived everything… and yet here you are. My Raven.”

The names, the recognition, the centuries of unspoken love—it was too much. Nera’s breath hitched. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel everything: relief, desire, fear, and a devastating joy that had no words.

They were no longer just survivors. They were the echoes of something eternal, something that had survived through lifetimes of cruelty, war, and separation. And now, with these names spoken, with these memories awakening, they were whole again.

The city around them seemed to fade. The hum of life, the distant sounds of traffic, the whisper of the wind—all disappeared until only four hearts existed in that space, beating together across time and memory. Lina’s dark eyes met Jaxon’s, and for a moment, the world tilted. She saw not just the vampire before her, but the boy who had once lifted her high in sunlit courtyards, the protector, the companion, the love she had always carried in her soul.

Jaxon reached out, cupping her face with hands that had known centuries of death yet still held tenderness for her. “You’re mine,” he said, voice low, almost a growl softened by affection. “My little light… and always will be.”

Lina’s lips trembled. “And you… are mine,” she whispered, a laugh breaking through the tears, shaky but beautiful. “Always.”

On the other side, Nera mirrored the motion, letting Dante close the distance. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling, hearts synchronized. “You’ve always been my Raven,” he murmured. “Through every shadow, every storm, I’ve carried you in my soul.”

“And I you,” Nera replied, a soft ferocity in her voice. “Through every danger, every loss… we survived. And now…” Her eyes shimmered with fire and emotion. “…now we are together again.”

The four of them stood in the alley, bonded by blood, memory, and the undeniable truth of their shared fate. It wasn’t just love—it was a reclamation. A victory over time, over death, over the forces that had tried to tear them apart.

And in that moment, the city didn’t matter. The night didn’t matter. Only the four of them existed, tethered by something older than life itself.

But even in the warmth of their reunion, a shadow lingered—Zoraver Dracula. His name whispered in the corners of their minds, a reminder that fate was rarely gentle. The road ahead would be perilous, but for the first time, Lina, Nera, Jaxon, and Dante felt ready. Because together, with names that carried centuries of love, they were unstoppable.

“My little light,” Jaxon whispered again, pressing a gentle kiss to Lina’s forehead.

“My Raven,” Dante murmured, brushing a hand through Nera’s hair, eyes dark with devotion and fire.

And the night answered, folding them into its eternal embrace, as if acknowledging that four souls had finally found their way home.