The phantom scent of roses and blood had grown oppressive, curling through Blackthorn Manor like an unwelcome shroud. Ella couldn’t escape it. It lingered in the corners of every room, clinging to her as if marking her as its own. She could feel Eloise’s presence, a malevolent whisper on the edge of her mind that grew louder with each passing hour.
After revealing her discovery of the journal and recounting the eerie frost-written message, Ella had urged the brothers to act. Lucien delved into the family archives, searching for any mention of Eloise. But no amount of reassurance from them could ease the weight that pressed against Ella’s chest, the sense that she was being watched, hunted.
The manor itself seemed complicit in Eloise’s torment. Shadows moved unnaturally, the air hung heavy, and the walls seemed to breathe. By the time Ella reached her bathroom, a deep, unnatural chill had settled over the house. Her breath fogged in the air, and her skin prickled as if an unseen force loomed just beyond her sight.
Turning the tap, Ella let the hot water run, its rushing sound breaking the silence. Steam filled the room, and for a fleeting moment, the warmth brought her a measure of comfort. She slipped into the bath, the heat soothing her tense muscles, and exhaled deeply. Her mind began to relax as the warmth seeped into her bones.
But the peace shattered in an instant.
The water around her shifted, the heat vanishing as if pulled away by unseen hands. A piercing cold enveloped her, and Ella’s eyes snapped open. The bath had turned to solid ice, cracks spidering across the frozen surface. Frost climbed the edges of the tub, spiraling outward and biting into her skin. Her body trembled violently as she struggled to move, but the ice held her fast, its grip unrelenting.
The oppressive scent of roses thickened, choking the air. A whisper slid against her ear, venomous and chilling.
“You cannot escape me, sister,” the voice hissed, its malice curling around her like smoke.
Ella’s scream froze in her throat, her body trapped by the icy grip of the bathwater. Frost trailed up her arms, leaving a stinging chill that seeped deep into her skin. The room darkened, the oppressive scent of roses and blood swirling around her. She could feel Eloise’s presence, cold and unyielding, pressing down on her like a vice.
The bathroom door burst open, and Vincent stood silhouetted in the doorway, his dark eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Ella!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence. Without hesitation, he rushed to her side.
The bond flared violently, carrying the weight of Vincent’s panic and fierce determination. He didn’t pause, smashing the thin sheet of ice encasing her with his bare hands. The shards stung his skin, but he didn’t flinch, his focus entirely on freeing her. The frozen water cracked and splintered as he pulled her from the tub, his arms wrapping around her trembling form.
Ella shivered uncontrollably, her lips a pale blue and her teeth chattering. “It was her,” she whispered, her voice fragile and broken. “She was here.”
Vincent’s expression hardened, a mixture of protectiveness and anger flashing across his features. “You’re freezing,” he muttered, his voice low but urgent. He grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it tightly around her. “Come on, we need to get you warm.”
He scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to the bedroom. His warmth seeped into her, a stark contrast to the lingering chill left by Eloise’s touch. Every movement was swift and purposeful, his strength steadying her as the bond pulsed between them like a reassuring heartbeat.
Once in the bedroom, Vincent moved quickly, bundling Ella in every blanket he could find. He rubbed her arms through the thick fabric, his hands firm but gentle as he tried to chase away the cold. The bond vibrated with his quiet desperation, a steady rhythm that anchored her as she clung to him.
“You’re safe now,” Vincent murmured, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. His dark eyes searched hers, and she saw the raw protectiveness burning within them, a fierce devotion that left her breathless.
Ella reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “For coming.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened, his expression pained. “I should have been here sooner,” he said, his voice laced with regret. “Even a moment later…”
Ella squeezed his hand, her touch a quiet reassurance.
Vincent sat on the edge of the bed, his brows drawn together in concentration as he gently rubbed Ella’s feet. The warmth of his hands spread through her frozen limbs, and though her body still trembled slightly, the chill from the icy bath was beginning to dissipate.
His touch was careful, reverent even, as if he feared hurting her, but his firm strokes brought a steady heat that eased the tension gripping her muscles.
Ella shifted under the layers of blankets, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She was all too aware of her state—damp, wrapped in a towel, and utterly vulnerable.
“You do not have to do this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vincent glanced up at her, his dark eyes softening.
“I do,” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute. “You’ve been through enough. Let me take care of you.”
Her breath hitched as she met his gaze, and she nodded, unable to muster a response. He shifted his focus back to her feet, his hands methodical as he worked to restore her warmth.
Once satisfied, Vincent reached for a fresh set of clothes he had laid out earlier, his movements careful and deliberate.
“You need to change,” he said, holding the soft fabric toward her.
Ella hesitated, clutching the towel and blanket tighter around her. Her cheeks burned with shame as she looked away.
“I can do it myself,” she muttered, her voice laced with discomfort.
Vincent didn’t move, his expression unreadable for a moment before a small, knowing smile curved his lips.
“Ella,” he said gently, “there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Trust me, if I stopped to think about how tempting you look right now, we wouldn’t leave this room until nightfall.”
Her heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling over her like a warm, intoxicating blanket. He was teasing, but the edge of sincerity in his tone left her breathless.
He turned his back to give her privacy as she began to dress, his presence still close enough to ground her. She stole a glance at him as he stared resolutely at the wall, his hands clenched into fists as if restraining himself. The quiet intimacy of the moment made her chest tighten, and she felt a surge of gratitude—and something deeper—toward him.
Before the moment could deepen further, a soft knock at the door shattered the quiet. Ella flinched, clutching the blanket tightly as the sound broke the fragile tension between them. Vincent rose swiftly, his shoulders stiffening as he glanced back at her.
One of the maids stood in the hallway, her expression nervous. “Lord Lucien requests your presence in his study,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.
Vincent nodded, his dark gaze flicking back to Ella. “We will be there shortly,” he said firmly, his tone protective.
As the maid left, he turned to Ella, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder.
“You will be all right,” he said softly, the bond pulsing with his quiet reassurance. She nodded, her heart still racing as the memory of their shared moment.
* * *
Lucien’s sharp features were set in a grim expression, his glasses glinting in the dim light. “I found something,” he said, his tone clipped. “In the archives.”
Vincent turned to him, his hand still resting on Ella’s arm. “What is it?”
Lucien placed the tome on the nearby desk, flipping through the brittle pages until he found what he was looking for. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he read. “Records of Eloise’s execution. She wasn’t just cast out—she was betrayed, hunted down by her own kin. And her death wasn’t clean. She was bound with blood magic, ensuring her soul couldn’t pass on.”
Ella shivered, her breath catching as Lucien’s words sank in. “She’s tethered here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why she won’t leave.”
Lucien nodded, his expression somber. “Exactly. The blood magic that bound her is tied to this manor. As long as it exists, so will she.”
The temperature in the room plummeted suddenly, and all three of them felt it. Vincent pulled Ella closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the icy air. Frost crept along the edges of the windows, and the scent of roses grew stronger.
“We need to regroup,” Vincent said, his tone firm. “This is getting worse.”
By nightfall, the manor’s temperature had dropped dangerously low. The fireplaces in every room seemed to do little against the creeping chill, and even the bond felt strained, its usual warmth muted by the oppressive cold.
The brothers gathered in the central sitting room, the largest fireplace roaring as they huddled together for warmth. Ella sat between Vincent and Adrian, wrapped in blankets as the others paced restlessly.
“We can’t go on like this,” Adrian said, his voice sharp. “Her presence is affecting everything—even the bond.”
“She’s growing stronger,” Lucien added, his tone clinical but laced with concern. “And if we don’t find a way to stop her, the entire manor could collapse under her influence.”
Sebastian leaned against the wall, his usual charm replaced by a rare seriousness. “So what’s the plan, then? Because sitting around freezing to death isn’t exactly working.”
“We fight her,” Adrian said, his gaze hard. “We find the source of her power and destroy it.”
Ella’s grip on the blanket tightened as the bond flared faintly. She could feel the brothers’ determination, their fear, their anger. But beneath it all, she felt something else—a growing strength within herself, a quiet resolve that refused to be extinguished.
“We’ll face her,” Ella said softly, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands. “Together.”
Ella nodded, her eyes meeting his. The intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch, the bond flaring faintly as emotions bled through—concern, protectiveness, something deeper she couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice steadying. “For coming.”
Vincent’s lips curved into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll always come for you, Ella.”
The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. But before either could say more, a knock at the door shattered the stillness.
Lucien’s voice came through, calm but urgent. “Ella. Vincent. We’ve found something in the archives. You need to see this.”
Vincent helped her to her feet, his hand lingering on her arm as if reluctant to let go. Together, they followed Lucien down the dimly lit corridors, the temperature dropping with every step. Their breaths misted in the air, and the scent of roses and blood grew stronger, clinging to the walls like a warning.
In the library, Lucien stood by a desk piled with yellowed documents. His sharp features were illuminated by the glow of a single lantern, his expression grim.
“These records confirm what we suspected,” he said, gesturing to the open pages. “Eloise was executed for attempting to overthrow the family. She used forbidden blood magic to bind herself to the manor, ensuring her revenge would transcend death.”
Ella’s stomach churned as she scanned the records. The details were gruesome: rituals involving bloodstones, sacrifices, and incantations meant to tether a soul to a specific place. Eloise hadn’t just been seeking power; she’d been trying to ensure immortality in the most twisted way possible.
“And now she’s using the bond,” Vincent said, his voice tight. “To amplify her strength.”
Lucien nodded. “The bond’s instability is giving her an opening. If we don’t find a way to banish her, she’ll tear this family apart.”
A sudden gust of icy wind swept through the library, extinguishing the lantern. The shadows deepened, and a whisper echoed through the room, chilling and feminine:
*"You cannot stop me. Blood will bind, and blood will break." *
The brothers tensed, their magic crackling faintly in the air. Ella’s pulse raced, the bond surging violently as Eloise’s presence pressed against it, testing its limits.
“She’s here,” Adrian growled, his icy-blue eyes scanning the room.
“No,” Lucien corrected, his tone sharp. “Not fully. This is a projection. A warning.”
Ella shivered, Vincent’s hand tightening around hers. “What does she want?”
“Power,” Lucien said grimly. “And vengeance.”
The whisper came again, closer this time: "Beware the bloodline. The heir shall return."
The temperature plummeted further, frost creeping along the edges of the bookshelves. Adrian stepped forward, his magic flaring like an icy beacon. “Enough of these games,” he snarled. “Show yourself, Eloise, or be banished.”
The shadows recoiled, the library settling into uneasy silence. But the damage had been done. The bond pulsed weakly, its threads strained under the pressure of the ghost’s assault.