Chapter Four: Of Blood and Bells
844 Words
The church bell rang before dawn.
Its cry echoed over the village rooftops, through the thick mists that clung to the valleys and fields. Bells were only rung that early for two reasons—death, or danger.
By the time Evelyn reached the village square, she already knew it was the former.
A man lay cold on the cobblestones. A merchant, eyes frozen wide, mouth agape in a scream he never finished. The blood beneath him had already gone black, soaking into the cracks of the stone. But it wasn’t just the death that chilled Evelyn—it was what had been done to him.
His chest bore a symbol. Carved—not written. Not drawn. A mark that pulsed with something unnatural. The villagers whispered around her, some crossing themselves, others backing away.
“It’s the Devil’s mark,” someone muttered.
“No—it’s his,” another spat. “Lord Vale.”
Evelyn turned sharply.
Nathaniel was not there. But his name, like a shadow, moved before him.
---
Later that day, the town council sent a sealed summons to Thornhart Manor. Not to her father, but to her.
That had never happened before.
Evelyn’s father, Lord William Thornhart, stood stiffly in the drawing room as she read the message aloud. His lips were pursed, jaw locked with disapproval.
“They want you involved in this why?” he asked sharply.
“I don’t know,” she replied, though something inside her whispered otherwise.
Because you saw him. Because he saw you.
Her brothers exchanged glances behind her. The eldest, Ronan—commanding and sharp—watched their father for cues. The younger one, Alaric—softer, more curious—watched her instead.
“Perhaps it’s because of your visions,” Alaric offered gently.
“Enough, Alaric,” their father barked. “That part of her is not to be discussed.”
Evelyn folded the letter, careful not to let her hands tremble. “I’ll go. They want someone from the family present. I’ll represent us.”
“No, you—”
“Let her,” Ronan interrupted.
Everyone turned to him. He rarely defended her. But in his eyes, there was calculation. He didn’t trust Nathaniel Vale. He wanted eyes on the inside.
“Let her learn what he’s hiding,” Ronan said. “Maybe then she’ll finally understand what kind of man he is.”
---
The village council gathered in the old hall near the edge of town. It was cold and smelled of parchment and pine smoke. Evelyn stepped in with her cloak drawn tightly around her, only to stop when she saw him seated at the end of the table.
Nathaniel.
He looked different in the morning light. Less ghostly. More… real. His hair was slightly damp, and his coat was marked by the forest. But his eyes—those infernal red eyes—glowed faintly even here.
“Lady Thornhart,” he said, standing. “An honor.”
“You summoned me?” she asked, keeping her voice even.
He offered a nod. “The townsfolk believe I had something to do with the merchant’s death.”
“Did you?”
Silence.
He smiled faintly. “No.”
“But you knew it would happen?”
He stepped closer, his gaze never breaking from hers. “I felt it. That’s different.”
The council murmured in discomfort. Evelyn, however, did not step back.
“And the mark?” she asked. “On his chest?”
Nathaniel’s expression shifted. Just slightly. Like someone pulling on a mask they no longer wanted to wear.
“That mark is ancient,” he said quietly. “It’s not mine. It belongs to something older. Something... that’s waking.”
Evelyn felt a chill crawl down her back.
“What do you mean waking?”
Before he could answer, the door slammed open.
A boy—no older than ten—ran in, breathless. “Another body! In the woods!”
Nathaniel was already moving.
So was Evelyn.
---
The body lay near the edge of the Crooked Grove. A young woman this time—barefoot, face pale, lips blue. The same mark on her chest. Only this time, it pulsed.
Faintly.
Like it was alive.
Evelyn staggered back. Nathaniel caught her arm.
“Don’t look too long,” he warned. “Or it looks back.”
She swallowed hard. “What is this?”
Nathaniel hesitated. “A curse. Or a message. Depends who you ask.”
“And who would I ask?”
He looked at her then—not just with his eyes, but with something deeper. Something old.
“You,” he said. “You don’t remember yet. But you’ve seen this before.”
“What?”
“In a dream. A memory. A life you don’t speak of.”
Evelyn blinked, and the image of the mark blurred. And for one terrifying moment, she did remember. Not everything—but a glimpse.
A bell. A scream. Red eyes that were not his.
And something else: a vow.
- Writer
