Vampire Brides

A commotion erupted in the Bridget household that morning. Margaret burst into her daughter’s room, only to find the bed untouched. The covers were still neatly folded, as if Amelia had never returned the night before. The window was open, letting in a cold breeze that made the curtains billow like ghostly arms.

“Amelia?” Margaret’s voice trembled as she stepped into the empty room.

Panic surged through her. Her heart pounded wildly as dreadful thoughts filled her mind. She rushed through the hallway, calling her daughter’s name, hoping to find her curled up on the couch or perhaps in the kitchen making tea—but the house was silent.

“She’s not here! Oh God… where could she have gone?” Margaret’s voice cracked with fear.

Philip Bridget, Amelia’s father, was already pulling on his coat. The rain outside had slowed to a light drizzle, but the roads were still slick from the night’s downpour.

“I’m going to look for her,” he said urgently, grabbing a raincoat from the rack.

Margaret clutched his sleeve. “I’m afraid she went to the castle, Philip. After what she heard at the cemetery yesterday… I’m terrified she did something reckless.”

Philip paused. He had heard the same rumors—grisly tales whispered among the tombstones. “You think she believed them?”

“She’s curious. You know that. What if she wanted to see for herself?”

“We’ll find her,” Philip promised, but even he couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at his gut.

“If you don’t find her anywhere else, you must check the castle,” Margaret insisted, her voice tight with dread. “My heart tells me she’s there.”

Philip hesitated. “Let’s pray she isn’t. If the villagers find out she broke the rule, they’ll want us gone. That law has stood for centuries.”

Margaret’s voice broke. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Philip didn’t go alone. His brother, John, joined him as they ventured out into the quiet, rain-soaked morning. The muddy path made walking treacherous, and every step was filled with tension.

They searched the nearby fields and the edge of the forest. They circled back toward the cemetery, checking Amelia’s grandmother’s grave.

“Amelia!” Philip’s voice rang through the mist, but no answer came.

His chest tightened with dread.

Could she really have gone to the castle?

“John! We need to search somewhere else.”

“Where?” John panted, catching up to him.

“The castle,” Philip said grimly.

John stared at his brother in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

“We’ve looked everywhere else. I’m afraid she went there.”

“But that’s insane. No one goes there, Philip!”

Philip’s jaw tightened. “And yet, here we are. What if something happened to her? What if she’s lying in there right now, needing help?”

John hesitated, then sighed in resignation. “All right. But we go together.”

They approached the castle grounds cautiously. The imposing structure loomed in the distance, its silhouette shrouded in mist. Philip’s heart pounded like a war drum. He didn’t want to find her here—but more than that, he didn’t want to lose her.

Just before they reached the rusted gate, John stopped. “Wait… is that someone—under that tree?”

Philip turned sharply. A figure lay slumped beneath an ancient oak, partially hidden by the thick roots and fallen leaves.

“Amelia?” he whispered, then ran.

They reached her together, and Philip dropped to his knees. It was her.

“Amelia!” he cried, shaking her gently. Her skin was cold and pale, but she was breathing. There were no wounds—no bite marks on her neck.

“She fainted,” Philip muttered in relief, lifting her into his arms.

John hovered close. “She’s alive?”

“She’s going to be all right. We need to get her home—now.”

As they turned back toward the village, neither of them noticed the shadow watching from the edge of the woods. Hidden by the trees, Griffon Xander stood silently, his eyes fixed on the girl he had protected. He had stayed to make sure no one else found her first—no one who would harm her. And now that she was safe…

He vanished into the mist.

—

Margaret stood by the window, wringing her hands. Minutes crawled by like hours. She told herself she’d wait just ten more—and then she’d search herself, rain be damned.

When she finally saw her husband returning, someone in his arms, she bolted outside.

“Amelia?” Her voice caught in her throat.

She ran, slipping on the wet stones but catching herself quickly. Her feet were soaked, her nightgown clung to her legs, but none of it mattered. “Is she alive?”

“She is,” Philip said gently. “She fainted, but she’s breathing.”

Margaret cried out, tears running freely as she rushed to her daughter’s side. Her hands trembled as she checked Amelia’s neck. No marks. No wounds. Only the chill of the rain.

“What happened to her?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But we need to get her warm.”

Margaret turned and ran inside. “I’ll prepare hot water!”

They changed Amelia’s clothes and wrapped her in thick blankets. A warm compress was placed on her forehead. Her lips were still bluish, her body weak, but color was slowly returning to her face.

Margaret never left her bedside.

“Where did you find her?” she asked once more.

“Near the castle,” Philip replied. “Under a tree. We were about to go in when we saw her.”

“Not inside?” Margaret frowned. “Then… was she heading there?”

Philip exhaled. “I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything yet.”

They waited.

As dawn gave way to morning, Amelia stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked at the ceiling as if trying to place where she was.

“Mom…” she whispered.

Margaret jolted awake and leaned over her. “Amelia? Are you all right?”

Amelia nodded faintly. Her voice was hoarse. “I… I think so.”

“What happened to you? Why were you out there? Were you going to the castle?”

Amelia froze. Images flickered behind her eyes—a haunting blue gaze, the cold brush of death, a whisper in the dark. It had felt like a dream… but she remembered his face.

“No,” she lied softly. “I don’t know how I got there. I went to bed after dinner… and the next thing I remember is waking up here.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes. “You’re sure?”

Amelia met her gaze, masking the turmoil inside. “Yes.”

Margaret said nothing more, but the worry never left her face.

She stepped out of the room quietly. Amelia turned toward the window, watching the rain.

She would return.

Not yet—but soon.

She had to know the truth about that man.

About Griffon Xander.

And why she couldn’t stop thinking about him.