TAMING THE HEARTLESS VAMPIRE (ENGLISH)

Chapter 2

Darkness.

That was the first thing I noticed. Not the ordinary absence of light—this was something heavier. A suffocating, velvet thickness that felt like being buried alive. I had no sense of my own body. My limbs felt weightless, yet I was anchored to nothing. I seemed to be floating in a place I couldn't comprehend—a boundless, breathless void.

Silence. Total, absolute silence. No cars, no rain, no sound of my own heartbeat.

Then, gradually, I felt it—the cold. The temperature was jarring, a sudden bite against my skin that dragged me back to reality.

The memories crashed over me all at once.

The bridge. Climbing the railing on trembling knees. The last breath I had drawn before letting go. The fall.

My eyes flew open underwater. My vision was murky, bubbles dancing around me as I sank deeper into the river's throat.

I'm still alive. That was my first coherent thought. The impact should have shattered my bones. The cold should have paralyzed my lungs. Yet here I was, sinking slowly, the air in my chest burning as my body's instinct for survival warred against my intention to end. My limbs felt heavy. Sluggish. Giving up.

Then—something broke the surface above me.

A figure. The water exploded in a burst of white foam and bubbles. A form descended with terrifying speed, driving downward through the dark water as though the current were nothing. At first I thought it was a hallucination—an angel, or Death himself, come to collect me.

But as it drew closer, the form became clear.

A man.

He didn't struggle against the currents. He moved with a fluid, predatory grace that no human swimmer could replicate—precise and effortless, like a shark scenting blood. It wasn't natural. It wasn't possible.

I stared at him as he closed the distance. Through the dark silt of the river, his face became visible.

He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous.

And then I saw his eyes.

Gold. Not merely yellow—metallic, gleaming like hammered coins beneath the moon. Even in the lightless depths of the river, they shone. I felt hypnotized. Despite the lack of air, despite the fact that I was dying, I couldn't pull my gaze away.

In an instant, he was in front of me. He reached out, his hand wrapping around my waist with the strength of a steel vice. His expression was blank as he stared at me—utterly devoid of emotion or pity.

Then he smiled.

A cold, predatory curve of the lips. And I saw them—the fangs. Long. Pointed. Gleaming even in the dark water. Those were not human teeth.

Terror seized me. Every instinct screamed to flee, but I was paralyzed. Before I could react, he moved with lightning speed and lunged. The last thing I felt was the sharpest, most precise sting against my neck.

Then—nothing.

✦ ✦ ✦

I bolted upright in bed.

My ribs ached from the force of my own lungs expanding. I gasped, dragging air in frantic, shallow pulls, as if trying to reclaim every breath I had lost in the water.

I looked around, heaving.

My own bedroom. The old electric fan humming on the nightstand. The small cabinet crammed with books. The window with its thin, faded curtains.

I pressed my hands against my temples, feeling a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. "Was that a dream?"

Everything had felt so real—the taste of the river water, the freezing cold, those gold eyes. But as I gathered my thoughts, the last memories I had before the dream came flooding back.

The bridge. The fall.

I had jumped. I was certain of it. I could still feel the sensation of wind rushing past my ears as I plunged. My eyes went wide. I checked my clothes—old cotton pajamas. Dry. Clean. Not even damp.

I rapped my knuckles lightly against my own skull. "Are you losing your mind, Aria? What were you thinking?"

I exhaled and sat back on the mattress, heart still racing. If I really had jumped and it wasn't a dream... how had I gotten home? Why did I remember nothing after the bite?

I had no answers. The room was utterly quiet—just the low hum of the fan and a distant rooster crow from somewhere far away. I shook my head hard, trying to dislodge the lingering dread.

"Maybe I fainted on the bridge before I could actually jump. Maybe someone found me and brought me home. No—that doesn't make sense either."

I tried to convince myself I was simply exhausted. Overwrought. Irrational. But as I reached for my bag on the side table, a white envelope caught my eye, half-tucked beneath my notebook.

My stomach dropped.

Medical documents.

I sat back on the bed and opened the envelope with slow, careful hands, reading through the papers one by one, hoping—praying—this part was the dream.

Diagnosis. Test results. Doctor's notes.

Stage four cancer. A few months to live.

So the illness was real. The diagnosis was real.

My phone buzzed from the nightstand. I reached for it and saw a notification on the screen.

A message from Aaron.

My chest tightened. I opened it slowly, my thumb hovering.

Sorry.

That was all. One word. No explanation, no remorse, no reckoning—just a single, pathetic word after everything. But it was enough to bring it all crashing back. The condo. The woman on top of him. The cold, ugly things he had said as I fell apart in front of him.

Tears rose in my eyes, but I wiped them before they could fall. The emotion that replaced the grief was sharper, cleaner.

Anger.

I was done crying for that man. If I had any time left—however little—I was going to spend it on the one person who actually deserved it.

Adrian.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence.

Not from the hallway. Not from outside.

From every corner of the room at once.

"Welcome to my world, Aria."

I lurched to my feet so fast I nearly dropped my phone. The hairs on my arms stood on end. My skin erupted in goosebumps.

"My thrall..."

"Who's there?" I demanded, spinning around, scanning every shadow. "Adrian? This is not funny!"

The curtain by the window stirred—though outside the morning was perfectly still.

An ice-cold draft entered the room, colder than anything the weather could produce.

"I'm not afraid of you! Show yourself!"

Then came the laugh—low, smooth, and silken. It vibrated in the air as though the sound itself had physical weight.

"Aria! What happened?!"

The bedroom door burst open. Adrian stumbled in, still in his house clothes, eyes wide with alarm.

I was panting. "Was that you? Were you playing a recording?"

"What? Why would I scare you?" He crossed the room and gripped my shoulders. "What's going on? Why are you standing in the middle of the room looking like that?"

I looked around the room one more time—behind the cabinet, under the bed. Nothing.

I pulled Adrian out into the hallway. I needed the light. I needed to be away from those corners.

"I think something's wrong with my room," I said, trying to make it sound like a joke even though I was genuinely terrified.

"Ghosts," he said, deadpan, then grinned. "Probably Mom and Dad coming to check up on you."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If only he knew.

He didn't know about the cancer. I still hadn't found the words to tell him he was about to lose the last person he had.

"Wait," I said, grabbing his arm. "Did you see me come home last night? What time did I get here?"

He shook his head as we walked toward the kitchen. "No. I waited until eleven, but I crashed on the sofa after that. When I woke up early this morning, you were already in your room. Why?"

"No reason. Just couldn't remember locking the door."

He headed for the bathroom, and I heard the faucet turn on.

I stood alone in the kitchen, the quiet pressing in around me. If I had truly jumped off that bridge... how had I survived? How had I ended up here, in dry clothes, in my own bed, with not so much as a bruise on my body?

And who had brought me home?

"It was me."

I flung the wooden spoon across the counter. The voice was back—soft, unhurried, and completely inside my skull.

"Stop it!" I pressed my back against the sink. "Who is that? Where are you?"

I jammed my palms over my ears. It didn't help. The voice wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from within.

"That's right. Because you are now bound to me, Aria. Forever."

"Who are you?" I whispered to the empty kitchen. "What do you want from me?"

"You were already dead, Aria. Your heart had stopped. Your soul was leaving."

I froze. The memory of cold water filling my lungs felt more real than the kitchen floor beneath my feet.

"But I gave you a new life. A gift of blood and shadow. And you owe me everything. You owe me your life."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't process any of it. I slid down the cabinet until I was sitting on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to my chest, holding my own head.

Breathe, Aria. It's a side effect of the illness. It's the tumor. You're hallucinating. You have to be.

Adrian emerged from the bathroom, towel in hand, and found me on the floor.

"Are you okay? Why are you sitting down there? And you haven't even started cooking—I thought you were hungry."

I scrambled upright. "I got a little dizzy. I'm fine. Sit down, I'll make omelets."

He sat at the table, watching me, clearly unconvinced.

As I sliced tomatoes, I had to ask. "Adrian... do you hear anything strange in this house lately? Any weird sounds? Any voices?"

"No," he said, munching on a piece of bread. "Everything seems normal to me. Though I heard you screaming from inside the bathroom just now. What's going on with you? You've been acting off all morning."

"Just stress," I said, staring at the knife. "I guess that's what happens when you know you're about to die."

I stopped. The words were out before I could catch them.

"Don't say that!" he snapped, his voice rising with sudden alarm. "That's not funny, Aria. Knock on wood. Don't talk like that."

He looked at me with those eyes—their mother's eyes. "You can't leave me. I'd be completely alone in this world without you. Who's going to yell at me about my grades?"

My chest hollowed out. The guilt was a stone in my stomach. I moved behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, resting my chin on his head. "That's exactly why I love you so much," I said softly.

But inside, the grief was unbearable. I was carrying a secret that was slowly crushing me.

"Okay, you're being way too emotional," he grumbled, though he smiled. "I'm going to be late."

"Right—here, sit, eat."

I reached for the onion. The knife was sharp, and in my hurry and shaking state, my hand slipped.

"Ouch!"

I hissed. The blade had caught my index finger. Blood welled up immediately—but something was wrong. The color was off. Darker. Nearly black, like black cherry juice.

"Aria! You need the first aid kit—" Adrian started to rise.

"I'm fine, stay there! It's tiny."

I wrapped my hand in my apron and moved to the sink. When I turned on the tap and held the cut under the stream, I braced for the sting.

Nothing. No pain at all.

I stared. I should have felt something. Even the smallest wound stung. But my nerves were silent.

I reached for a paper towel, and what I saw stopped my breath entirely.

The blood wasn't smearing. It was retracting—slowly drawing back toward the wound. The dark red faded. Before my eyes, the edges of the cut began to knit themselves together. Skin cells folding toward each other with methodical, impossible precision. Within seconds, the wound had closed completely.

No mark. No scar. No pain.

My knees buckled. I gripped the edge of the sink to keep from falling. This isn't real. This is impossible.

The voice returned. And this time it didn't echo through the kitchen. It breathed directly into my ear, as close and cold as a grave.

"That's my gift to you, Aria."

Low. Intimate. The voice of a predator who had finally claimed its prey.

"A gift you can never escape."

A pause.

"Welcome to the night."