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Chapter Text

Ashford, England 764 -

Death waited like a patient thing at the threshold—an unwelcome guest that had come to collect sooner than Kylo had expected. He lay amid the ruin of battle: a grisly quilt of mud, ash, and the dark crust of dried blood. His abdomen burned where a blade had found him; when he pressed his hands to the wound the taste of iron filled his mouth.

All around him the field was a graveyard of broken men. Bodies lay twisted beneath splintered shields and shattered banners; the low groans and feeble coughs of the dying were swallowed by the wind. They had crossed the sea to conquer, to carve an empire from this strange land, but the English had met them with more than stubbornness—they had met them with fate.

Pain flared through Kylo in white, stabbing tongues. He swallowed it down and forced himself up. He planted the point of his longsword into the sod like a stake, using it as a crutch. Each movement was a ledger of agony, but stubbornness—something harder even than pain—drove him to his feet.

A sudden howl tore across the field. Kylo wheeled to meet it and found an Englishman lunging from the trees, sword raised and eyes wide with that last, animal fear. Kylo met him with the last of his strength, and iron found its mark. The man collapsed with a ragged, gurgling sound, red flooding his linen as if the field itself had been punctured.

Kylo slid down against the fallen man, vision smudging at the edges. The wound in his side burned with a heat that was at once foreign and intimate; his breath came in ragged, desperate pulls. He tasted smoke and gunpowder and mud on the back of his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk,” a voice said, thin and amused as a blade’s whisper.

He turned. A shape glided from the shadow of the trees—clad in tattered black, a hood swallowing the face. It moved with a stealth that the living do not possess, as if it owed the earth no allegiance.
“Are you Hel?” Kylo croaked, though he knew nothing of gods and realms now. “Are you here to take me to the dead?”

“Not yet,” the figure replied, the voice like dry leaves. It approached with the patience of winter reclaiming ground. “Not yet.”

“What are you?” Kylo rasped. “A demon? A monster?”

The thing laughed softly and peeled back the hood. Beneath, the face was a map of old violence—scars like riverbeds, skin pulled tight over angles where bone showed through. Its eyes, though, were the thing that rooted him: not human, not animal, but ancient as a storm.

“My dear boy,” it said, and the words were honey and rust, “I am your salvation.”

Kylo didn’t understand. The world narrowed to the quick ache of his wound, the steadying of his breath. He had been born to swordplay and raids; he had not bargained with bargains.

“What could you give me?” he asked, voice thin as a reed. He tried to imagine a way back to his home, to the life he had left—his wife, his child—and the thought of them pulled like a hook at the ragged edges of consciousness.

“Everything,” the being answered simply.

Images surged through Kylo then: strength returned, enemies felled, banners planted where none had dared to plant them before. He saw himself standing tall among those who had fallen, unbowed. He wanted that more than he feared the price.
“I want to be strong again,” he said, each syllable a prayer and a command. “I want to avenge my brothers, to destroy those who stand against us. I want to go home—protect my wife and child—and return here and take what is mine.”

The being inclined its head, as if granting permission to an invisible audience. “Very well. You shall have all the strength you require to conquer this land—and all lands after. You will strike down enemies and feed fear into the hearts of men. Your hunger will be…insatiable.”

Pain flared like a forge. Kylo dropped to all fours and screamed, raw sound torn from him and swallowed by the sky. Fire crawled through his veins, a bright, vicious heat; his muscles tightened and repaired themselves beneath his hands. The wound at his side stitched shut with a sick, wet sound that made his teeth ache. Scabs melted, blood receded, and his skin knit smooth with the careless cruelty of the unnatural.

Not only did the pain recede—the world sharpened. Sounds layered and multiplied: the distant rattle of a cart’s wheel, the wet rattle from a dying throat, the staccato of a bird’s wing. He could hear the thin, terrified heartbeat of the fallen near him; he could smell the iron-sweet tang of blood from across the churned field. Sight, too, became a blade: shapes defined themselves with impossible clarity, colors folding into meanings he’d never known.

He rose, not as the man who’d fallen but as something other. Power thrummed in his limbs; his sword felt light, as if it had always been an extension of bone. There was an animal clarity to his hunger now, a single-minded, immediate thing that thrummed beneath his ribs.

He did not spare thought for consequence. He stalked to the nearest prone figure, an Englishman huddled and shivering beneath a broken shield. Kylo seized him by the collar, exposed the pale, dust-smeared throat, and bit. The flesh gave; the blood came hot and alive. It coursed into Kylo like oil into a flame. He drank with an appetite that felt less like survival and more like worship. When he let go, the body slumped, emptied of warmth and sound.

More followed. It hardly mattered whether the fallen were kin or stranger; the new instinct drowned everything else. Blood was the language the being had taught him, and Kylo learned it fast. After he had fed his fill—an experience that left his body humming with cold strength—he moved to find the shade that had given him this terrible gift.

The hooded figure waited at the fringe of the battlefield, as if it had merely been supervising a pageant.

“What did you make me?” Kylo demanded. His voice was changed—deeper, softened at the edges by something that had not existed before. He could feel things that had been blind to him: the quickened beat of a fox in a far hedgerow, the slow drum of the earth.

The creature smiled, a thin, dangerous crescent. “I made you the perfect warrior. You cannot die by the hand of man, nor will they overthrow you easily. You will conquer, you will command fear. But Nature is a ledger; for what is given, something must be owed.”

Kylo’s fingers curled into the damp earth. “I will be immortal then?”
“In a fashion,” the being said. “You will endure as men endure in their tales—longer than they do. But there is balance. You will hunger for blood. That hunger will not be slaked by sleep or solace. It will gnaw and never cease. You will do whatever it takes to quiet it, and each taking will leave you hungrier still.”

The word hunger echoed in Kylo’s skull and settled there like a stone. He tasted it—bitter and addictive—and felt, for the first time, the contours of the life the bargain would carve out for him: triumph threaded with endless thirst, victory smeared at the edges by the thing he would become.

Around them the field smoldered under a sky the color of old bruises. The living and the dead lay mingled, a testament to a single night’s fury. Kylo stood amid it all, newly whole and monstrously altered, and for a breath he allowed himself to savor the power—then, as if from some deeper place that still remembered vows, the thought of home, of a wife and child, pried at him again.

The creature watched him with patient amusement. “Go,” it said at last. “Hunt. Rule. Remember your promise to them—if you can.”

Kylo’s jaw worked. He had promised to protect; he had promised to return. Now those promises would be given new shape by teeth and shadow. He should have felt horror, yet something colder moved beneath his ribs: resolve, sharpened by a hunger that would remake him into legend—or into a curse.

Ashford, England 1835

The village slept beneath a quilt of fog that never quite lifted, as if the sky itself mourned something long forgotten. The moors stretched endlessly beyond the crooked stone cottages, and the church bell, rusted and weary, tolled only for funerals now.

On the edge of the village stood a cottage of mossy brick and ivy, where the light of a single candle glowed each evening. It belonged to Maz Kanata, the eccentric apothecary whose remedies were said to mend both body and soul. Some called her a witch, though never to her face. Beside her lived the young woman she had raised from infancy — Rey.

Rey had no memory of her parents, only the whisper of a lullaby she sometimes heard in dreams. Maz had found her one winter’s night on the threshold of the cottage, wrapped in a tattered blanket and half-frozen, the snow around her unmarked by footprints.
Now, at nineteen, Rey was the image of quiet strength — eyes the color of storm clouds, hair bound loosely at her neck, hands calloused from long hours gathering herbs and tending to the sick who came seeking Maz’s aid.

She was known in Ashford not only for her beauty but for her curiosity, a trait that often led her into the forest where few dared to tread.

That morning, mist clung to her skirts as she crossed the moor with a basket hooked over her arm. She hummed absently, collecting wolfsbane and foxglove, unaware that the forest was watching her.

From the shadows between the trees, a presence stirred — ancient, unseen. The air seemed to hold its breath.

Maz had always warned her: “There are things in this land older than the church, older than men. They walk at dusk, and they remember the taste of warmth.”

Rey never laughed at such tales, though she never feared them either.

When she returned to the cottage, the air inside was thick with the scent of lavender and smoke. Maz sat at her worktable, spectacles perched on her nose, grinding herbs into powder. She looked up with a mischievous smile as Rey set down her basket.

“Did you hear, child?” Maz asked, her voice warm but carrying that familiar spark of mischief. “Lord Dameron is hosting a ball at the manor this weekend. A celebration of the harvest — and perhaps,” she added slyly, “a fine opportunity for certain young ladies to be seen.”

Rey rolled her eyes and began hanging bundles of herbs to dry. “You know I’ve no interest in such things, Maz.”

“You’ve no interest in anything beyond these walls,” Maz replied, wagging a finger. “You work too hard. A little dancing would not kill you.”

“It might,” Rey muttered, half under her breath, “if the townsfolk keep staring at me like I’m one of your potions gone wrong.”

Maz chuckled. “They stare because you are lovely and you do not hide it well. But perhaps they are right to stare — there’s something about you that does not belong to this place.” Her tone softened. “Still, you should go. You’re young. The world won’t come to your doorstep forever.”

Rey turned toward the window, watching the fog twist around the trees. “I have no gown. No shoes fit for a manor floor. And besides, Lord Dameron and his friends care nothing for girls without names or fortunes.”

Maz leaned back, studying her with those sharp, knowing eyes. “You have more worth than all their fortunes combined, my dear. But if you will not go for them, go for yourself. There are people beyond this village — strangers who might change everything.”

Something in Maz’s voice made Rey pause. She glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “You speak as if you’ve seen it.”

Maz smiled faintly, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Let’s just say I know when the winds of fate are shifting.”

Rey shook her head with a small laugh and began sweeping the floor. “If fate wishes to find me, it knows where I live.”

Chapter Text

The manor blazed with light. Every window spilled golden warmth into the fog-soaked evening, its glow stretching across the wet fields like the reflection of some distant fire.

The people of Ashford had not seen the great hall of Lord Dameron so alive in years — laughter rippled through the air, the musicians’ bows flicked across strings like wings, and servants darted between clusters of chatter, carrying silver trays heavy with wine and sugared fruit

.
Rey stood at the threshold of the ballroom, heart thudding like a nervous bird. Her gown — a soft gray-blue that Maz had conjured from a trunk of forgotten things — clung to her modestly, the hem mended and the lace around her throat slightly frayed. She felt out of place among the silk and perfume, though the glow of the chandeliers made her seem more ethereal than plain.

Maz’s words echoed in her ear: “Go for yourself, not for them.”

She forced herself to step forward. The scent of wax and wine mingled in the air. Laughter rose and fell like waves breaking against a distant shore. She moved carefully through the crowd, offering a polite nod here and there, though few noticed her.

Few — but not all.

“Miss Rey,” a voice said, smooth and self-assured.
She turned to find a tall man with auburn hair and the sharp smile of someone who had never been told no. His clothes were impeccable — every button gleaming, every cuff arranged with military precision.

“Captain Hux,” she said politely, inclining her head.

He bowed slightly, his pale eyes raking over her with thinly veiled appraisal. “You honor the manor with your presence. I was beginning to think you meant to avoid us entirely.”

“I prefer quieter company,” she said.

He smiled, though it did not touch his eyes. “A shame. A woman such as yourself could make a fine impression in Ashford’s finer circles. Perhaps you only need a… proper introduction.”

Rey stiffened. “I have no need of introductions, Captain. Nor ambitions beyond my work.”

Hux’s smile faltered, replaced by a faint sneer. “A healer’s apprentice, was it? Charming. But even the humblest flower deserves to be… plucked, when the right hand reaches for it.”

Before Rey could reply — perhaps with the sharp words forming on her tongue — a ripple passed through the crowd. Conversations faltered. The musicians’ tempo stuttered, faltered, and then resumed in a lower, slower rhythm.

A new arrival had entered the hall.

He moved through the throng with the unhurried grace of someone who had never been touched by time. Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in black that absorbed the candlelight rather than reflected it, the stranger seemed carved from shadow. His hair was dark as pitch, his eyes — when they caught the light — glimmered with something neither warm nor cold, but ancient.

“The new Lord Ren,” someone whispered near Rey’s shoulder. “Arrived only last month. Purchased the old castle beyond the moor.”

Another voice murmured, “Odd sort. Keeps to himself.”

Lord Ren’s gaze swept the room, and when it landed — it was as if the air itself forgot how to breathe. Rey felt it before she saw it: a pressure, like the weight of a storm pressing against the windows. His eyes — dark, fathomless — met hers across the ballroom.

Something in her chest stuttered.

He did not move at once, but when he did, the crowd seemed to part without understanding why. He crossed the polished floor in a slow, measured stride, each step soundless despite the echoing hall.

Hux noticed. His posture straightened, pride bristling. “Ah. The new lord himself,” he said under his breath. “Allow me to—”

But Ren was already before them.

“Captain Hux,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though there was a note beneath it — something colder than disdain, sharper than courtesy. “You’ve made yourself well known this evening.”

Hux bowed stiffly. “Merely doing my duty, my lord.”

Ren’s gaze flicked from Hux to Rey, lingering with quiet intensity. “Indeed,” he murmured. “Though I suspect not all duties are honorable.”

Rey felt the faintest spark of amusement threaten her composure.

Hux’s jaw tightened. “I believe we have not been introduced, my lord. This is Miss Rey — an apothecary’s apprentice.”

Ren’s eyes did not leave hers. “Miss Rey,” he said, and her name in his voice sounded like something older, heavier — as if it had been spoken before, long ago.

He bowed his head slightly. “You have my condolences.”

“Condolences?” she echoed, startled.

“For having to suffer such company,” he said, glancing briefly — and with clear dismissal — toward Hux.

The captain colored, his lips thinning. “My lord—”

But Ren was already turning away, the faintest ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Do enjoy the evening, Captain.”

As he walked away, Hux seethed. “Arrogant foreigner,” he muttered, “thinks his title gives him leave to insult anyone he pleases.”

Rey wasn’t listening. Her gaze lingered on the dark figure moving toward the far end of the hall, the crowd once more swallowing him whole. For a reason she could not name, the candlelight seemed to dim in his wake.

Maz had told her once that fate often came wearing borrowed faces.

Rey suspected she had just met hers.

Chapter Text

The ball was over.

The laughter, the perfumed chatter, the endless parade of empty smiles — all of it had faded into the fog that now blanketed the fields below Dameron Manor.

Kylo’s carriage rattled away from the hilltop, its wheels whispering over damp earth. Inside, the air still reeked faintly of candle smoke and mortal perfume. He leaned back against the seat, jaw tight, gloved fingers drumming against the windowpane.

He had endured an evening among them — the breathing, the fragile, the foolish. Pretending to be one of their kind was a far greater torment than the centuries of solitude he had already known. They had asked questions he did not care to answer: about his estate, his lineage, the reason for his seclusion. He gave them half-truths and they accepted them eagerly, like flies drawn to spilled wine.

But what he could not endure — what lingered even now, poisoning the quiet — was him.

Captain Hux.

The arrogant little vulture had hovered around Rey all evening, wearing that false smile and the scent of pomade thick enough to choke. Kylo had watched the way the man leaned too close, the way his gloved hand brushed her sleeve as if he owned the right. Rey had borne it with grace, as she did all things — eyes steady, shoulders square, mouth composed — but Kylo had seen the discomfort beneath it. The faint tension in her breath. The way she shifted just out of reach.

Hux had noticed her reluctance, of course. It only fed him.

Kylo’s fingers curled against the armrest until the leather creaked. He could have broken the man in two — lifted him by the throat and left him to bleed beneath the manor’s roses. It would have taken less than a breath. But the eyes of Ashford had been upon him. He could not afford that kind of truth, not yet.

Still, the memory of it burned. The way Hux’s laugh had grated in his ears. The way Rey had looked at him once across the ballroom — not with fear, not yet, but curiosity. Something in her had seen him, and he hated how it had undone him.

He had not felt the weight of another’s gaze in centuries.

The coach slowed as they reached the outskirts of the village. Kylo rapped twice on the roof, signaling the driver to stop. “I’ll walk from here.”

The man hesitated. “My lord, it’s a fair distance to the castle—”

“I said I’ll walk.”

The coachman fell silent. Kylo stepped down into the mist. The horses shifted uneasily; they always did around him. He shut the door and the carriage rolled away, swallowed by the fog.

Ashford slept uneasily under a sky the color of pewter. The streets were slick with dew, the lamps guttering. Kylo walked without sound, the night itself parting for him. The air was thick with the scent of human rest — cooling hearths, wine on breath, sweat, and dreams.

He hated them all for being warm.

He passed the tavern, its door ajar, laughter still leaking faintly from within. The sound scraped at him. Hunger, too long ignored, gnawed at the edges of his restraint. His throat burned; his senses sharpened until he could hear the thud of every heart inside.

He paused at the threshold, inhaling deeply — and there it was again. Her.

Rey’s scent. Subtle, fading, but unmistakable: wild herbs, rainwater, and candle wax. She had walked through this very street hours before, returning from the manor. The memory of her voice drifted through him like the echo of a hymn he could not forget.

He clenched his jaw. She had spoken to him — polite, cautious, curious. He had seen the question in her eyes, the faint quickening of her pulse when he drew near. He had smelled the warmth in her skin, the rhythm of her blood, and for one unbearable moment he had wanted to taste her more than he wanted to despise her.

That, too, angered him.

“Foolish,” he muttered to himself, stepping away from the tavern door. “She’s nothing to you.”

But the hunger did not agree.

He turned down a narrow lane, the stones slick under his boots. Behind the tavern, shadows pressed thick as velvet. Two men stumbled from the side door, drunk and laughing, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. The sound tore through his nerves like glass.

He followed them without thinking.

In the alley, their laughter faltered. One turned, eyes squinting into the fog. “Who’s there?”

Kylo’s voice came soft, smooth, the tone of command that had outlived kingdoms. “You will be silent.”

The man’s mouth closed. The other blinked in confusion but said nothing. Compulsion settled over them like a shroud.

“Come here.”

They obeyed.

He moved between them, swift as the turning of a page. Teeth found flesh; warmth flooded his mouth. The blood came sweet, and for a moment, the fury ebbed — the noise, the ache, all of it drowned in that crimson peace.

When he let them fall, the alley was silent save for the distant drip of rain.

He leaned against the wall, breath steadying, eyes fixed on the faint outline of Dameron Manor on the hill. She was just a girl, a mortal fleeting girl, and yet he felt something. Something human inside of his cold dead heart.

Chapter Text

The morning came late to Ashford. The fog lay heavy over the moors, slow to lift, as if the night had left behind a secret it was not yet ready to surrender. The bells from the chapel tolled dully through the mist, their sound swallowed almost as soon as it began.

Rey woke with the remnants of the ball still tangled in her mind — the music, the heat of too many bodies in too small a space, the faint sting of Hux’s words, and above it all, the memory of him.
Lord Ren.

Even thinking the name sent a small shiver through her. There had been something about him — not merely his beauty, though he had that in cruel abundance — but something beneath it. A stillness. A gravity. As though the air itself had bent to make way for him.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and busied herself with the morning chores, but his eyes haunted her — dark, knowing, almost sorrowful. Maz noticed, of course.

“You’re quiet this morning,” the old woman said, peering over the rim of her spectacles as she poured boiling water over a bundle of herbs. “Did the dancing wear you out, or was it someone you met there?”

Rey busied herself tying bundles of dried lavender, avoiding her gaze. “I didn’t dance.”

“No?” Maz’s tone carried mischief. “Then you were too busy looking.”

Rey flushed. “I wasn’t—”

Maz only chuckled. “Ah, to be young and think I don’t recognize that look. Whoever he is, he is blessed to have caught your gaze.”

Rey smiled faintly but said nothing. When Maz handed her a small list scrawled in ink — flour, salt, oil, and fresh root vegetables — she was almost relieved for the excuse to escape.

“Off to the market with you,” Maz said. “And keep to the main road. The moor’s been strange of late — I heard the shepherd’s dogs whining half the night.”

Rey nodded, slipping her cloak over her shoulders. “I’ll be back before sundown.”

-

-

The market square was a patchwork of noise and color — vendors shouting prices, the scent of bread and damp wool, carts creaking under the weight of late autumn produce.

Rey moved through the throng, her basket already half full, when she caught the tail end of a conversation behind her.

“—found them this morning in an alley,” a woman whispered, her voice low and breathless. “Two of ‘em, pale as bone. Marks on their throats, and the blood—gone. Drained clean.”

A second voice — older, gruffer. “Foxes, maybe. Or wolves.”

“Don’t be daft, Robert. Wolves don’t leave bodies like that. And both men were strong as oxen yesterday. Now they look like old parchment.”

Rey slowed her steps, pretending to examine a row of apples. The chill that ran up her spine had nothing to do with the weather.

“Did they say who they were?”
“Just travelers, I heard. Stopped at the tavern last night. Had too much to drink I reckon.”

“Who could do that to a man, let alone two?”

“I don’t know, but I’d keep a sharp eye out from now on.”

Rey paid for her goods quickly, her thoughts a restless tide. She was halfway across the square when a familiar voice called out behind her.

“Miss Rey!”

Her heart sank before she turned. Captain Hux strode toward her, immaculate as ever despite the damp, his boots polished to a mirror shine.

“Captain,” she said politely, clutching her basket a little tighter.

He smiled — a smile practiced and hollow. “Out so early? I admire a woman of industry. May I carry that for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Nonsense.” He took the basket from her before she could object, weighing it idly in his hand as if to prove something. “Allow me at least to escort you. These streets aren’t always safe.”

Rey’s jaw tightened. “I’ve walked them my whole life.”

“All the more reason for company,” he said lightly, ignoring her tone. “It happens I was meaning to call upon you — perhaps this evening, if you’re free? Supper, perhaps? I’d like to speak further, away from the noise of the manor.”

“I—thank you, Captain, but I don’t think—”

He tilted his head, smile sharpening just enough to make her skin crawl. “I insist. It would be… unkind to refuse, don’t you think?”

Rey forced a polite smile, though every instinct screamed to run. “If you wish.”

“Splendid,” he said, clearly satisfied. “I’ll call at seven.”

He handed her the basket again once they reached the edge of town, tipping his hat before striding off toward the barracks, leaving her staring after him.

Rey stood in the square for a long while, listening to the muted hum of the market around her. The gossip about the drained bodies still echoed faintly in her ears.
She began the walk home, the weight of the basket pressing into her arm and the uneasy feeling that the world had tilted — just slightly — since the night of the ball.

Chapter Text

The fire in the hearth crackled low, its light flickering across the polished surface of the supper table. The cottage, usually warm and cluttered with the scent of herbs and beeswax, felt suddenly small under the weight of its guest.

Captain Hux sat upright in his chair, his every movement deliberate. His crimson coat had been brushed to a shine, and his pale hands rested neatly atop the tablecloth as though he feared to wrinkle it. Rey sat across from him, trying to summon a polite smile.

Maz had set the stew before them — rabbit and leek, simmered all afternoon — and poured a modest glass of wine for each. She hovered nearby under the pretense of tidying her workbench, though her sharp eyes missed nothing.

“You’ve a fine home here, Miss Rey,” Hux said, taking a careful sip. “Simple, but… quaint. I must admit, I hadn’t expected such refinement outside the manor.”

“Maz’s doing,” Rey replied, her voice even. “She makes the best of what we have.”

“Indeed.” His gaze slid toward Maz, then back to Rey. “Still, one wonders how long a young woman like you intends to remain in such… circumstances. You could have a finer life, you know. More suitable to your talents.”

Maz cleared her throat, though it sounded suspiciously like a growl. “We’re quite content with our lives, Captain. The people here need Rey far more than any manor does.”

Hux smiled tightly, unfazed. “Yes, yes, the healer’s heart — admirable. But think of what you might accomplish with the right means, the right connections.”

Rey set down her spoon. “Captain—”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes bright with something between ambition and possession. “Rey,” he said softly, “forgive my boldness, but I must speak plainly.”

Maz’s hands froze over her herbs.

Hux continued, his voice gaining confidence. “You are a rare woman — intelligent, composed, and beautiful in a way that does not shout but commands notice. I’ve thought of little else since the ball. I would be honored if you would consider becoming my wife.”

The words fell like stones into the silence.

Rey’s breath caught. Marriage. She hadn’t expected this — certainly not from him. Her pulse fluttered, not from joy but from the shock of it. “Captain, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing for now,” he replied quickly, misreading her hesitation for modesty. “Think on it. I know it’s sudden. But I am a man of resolve, and when I see a future worth building, I act.”

Maz’s voice, calm but edged, broke the quiet. “A proposal made over stew — that’s a first in this house. How very modern of you, Captain.”

Hux’s smile faltered. “I meant no disrespect, Madam. I merely wished to speak before… others took notice.”

Maz arched an eyebrow. “Others?”

“Lord Ren, for instance.” His tone darkened slightly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her. A man like that is not to be trusted.”

Rey stiffened. “You’ve no right to speak of him so.”

“Ah,” Hux murmured, “then you have noticed him.”

Maz’s chair scraped softly against the floor. “Captain,” she said, her voice deceptively mild, “perhaps that’s enough conversation for one evening. Miss Rey will give your offer the thought it deserves.”

Hux rose, taking her meaning. He bowed stiffly, though his eyes lingered on Rey longer than courtesy allowed. “Of course. I’ll await your answer, Miss Rey. I trust it will be a favorable one.”

When he was gone, the cottage seemed to exhale.

Maz muttered something sharp in another tongue before turning to Rey. “That man’s ambition could curdle milk. Be wary, child.”

“I know,” Rey murmured, rubbing her temples. “I only need air, Maz. Just for a moment.”

Maz hesitated.

“I won’t be long.”

Rey pulled on her cloak and stepped outside.

-

-

The last of the day’s light sank into the moor, swallowing the path in violet haze. The cobbled streets of Ashford were nearly empty now, the market long closed, its stalls shuttered like tired eyes.

Rey walked with her hands deep in her cloak, the cool air prickling her cheeks as she tried to make sense of the tangle of her thoughts.

Captain Hux’s words still echoed — my wife — and though they should have filled her with pride or excitement, they only brought a dull, aching confusion.

She had not wanted this, not from him. His ambition frightened her, as did the way his gaze seemed to see a possession rather than a person.

Her boots brushed against fallen leaves, the faint rustle the only sound besides the soft creak of the wooden signs swaying above the shuttered shops.

She paused at the edge of the square, breathing in the damp air, trying to clear her mind. But instead, another face came to her — dark eyes, unblinking and fathomless.

Lord Ren.

She could not name what it was about him that drew her thoughts so stubbornly back, again and again. He unsettled her, yes, but not as Hux did. There was something sad about him, something that pressed against her chest like the memory of a dream she

couldn’t quite recall.

She turned down a narrow lane that wound toward the river. The lamps burned weakly here, their light smudged by mist. The air carried a chill, and yet — a warmth crept up her neck at the thought of Ren’s gaze, the way it had lingered at the ball, unflinching and strangely reverent.

Foolish, she scolded herself. He is nothing to you. And you, nothing to him.

A sound broke through the mist — soft, deliberate, close.

Rey turned sharply, heart quickening. “Who’s there?”

No answer. Only the faint shuffle of boots on damp stone. She backed up a step, clutching her cloak tighter.

Then, a voice — low, measured, unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t wander alone, Miss Rey.”

She spun, and there he was — Lord Ren, half-shadowed by the mist, his coat dark as the evening itself. He moved with an unnatural quiet, his presence both startling and strangely inevitable, as though the night had summoned him on her behalf.

“By the stars,” she breathed, hand to her chest. “You startled me.”

He inclined his head. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to. But I couldn’t let you roam unguarded — not with what’s been happening.”

She frowned. “You mean the killings.”

He stepped closer, the lamplight catching the faint gleam in his eyes, and a faint hint of crimson red. “Yes. It’s not safe after dusk.”

His voice carried something that wasn’t just concern — it was command, tempered with an edge of fear he didn’t seem to realize he’d shown.

“I had to think,” Rey said softly. “I needed to get away.”

“From Captain Hux,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Her breath caught, surprised. “How do you know about that?”

He gave a small, humorless smile. “I've heard rumor he was seeking your hand.”

Rey looked away, her voice thin. “He asked me to marry him.”

Ren was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone had cooled. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I needed time.”

His jaw tightened slightly, though his eyes softened. “A prudent answer.”

They began walking side by side down the mist-laced lane. The silence between them was not uncomfortable — it thrummed, charged with something neither could name.

Rey glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “May I ask you something, my lord?”

“You may ask anything.”

“Why are you here — in Ashford? You said nothing at the ball, only that your estate lies beyond the moor. But no one seems to know you. Not where you came from, or how long you mean to stay.”

For a moment, he said nothing. The question hung in the air like a tether.

Finally, he answered — carefully. “It has been a long time since I’ve called any place home. I… once knew this land, many lifetimes ago, it seems. When I returned, I found it changed — yet unchanged enough to haunt me. I thought a change of scenery might quiet certain… restlessness.”

His gaze lingered on the distant church steeple, barely visible through the fog.

“You sound as though you’ve come back from war,” she said softly.

His lips curved, almost bitterly. “In a way, I have.”

Rey studied him. “You speak like someone older than you appear.”

He met her gaze, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Do I?”

“Yes. It’s as if you’ve seen more than most ever will.”

He smiled then — a real smile this time, fleeting and devastating. “Perhaps I’ve simply listened more closely.”

Her chest fluttered at the sight of it, and she quickly turned her face away, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But he had.
“You’re different,” he said quietly. “Most people hide their thoughts behind fear or pretense. You let yours roam freely.”

Rey flushed. “You make that sound like a flaw.”

“It’s a rare virtue,” he said. “And a dangerous one.”

They had reached the edge of the lane where the cottages began again, their windows flickering with hearthlight. Maz’s roof was just visible through the fog.

He stopped. “You’re home.”

Rey turned to face him, hesitant. “Will you come in? Maz—”

He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

For a moment they stood there in the dim, misted glow, neither willing to break the quiet. Finally, he bowed slightly. “Goodnight, Miss Rey.”

“Goodnight, my lord,” she whispered.

He lingered a heartbeat longer, eyes tracing her face as though trying to memorize something precious — then turned and disappeared into the fog.

Rey watched until the dark shape of him was gone, her breath shallow. She told herself it was the cold that made her heart beat so fast.

Chapter Text

Daylight lay weak upon the land, filtered through a veil of cloud that dulled the sharp edges of the world. Ravenrock Castle stood against it all — a vast fortress of black stone and silver spires, built upon the cliffs that overlooked the sea.

The castle seemed born of the mountain itself, its towers rising like jagged spears into the mist. Vines clung to the old walls, ivy creeping through cracks older than memory.

From within its halls, one could hear the sea’s breath — a low, constant roar as waves broke against the rocks below. When the wind shifted, the scent of salt and pine filled the air, threading through the heavy stillness of the grounds.

Kylo walked the outer path that circled the castle, his boots crunching on the gravel. The sun touched him faintly, and though it did not burn, it pressed against his skin like a weight, a subtle ache beneath the surface.

He had lived long enough to endure it, but daylight still felt like something unnatural to him — a reminder of what he was not.

The servants of Ravenrock moved through their tasks within the keep, silent and diligent. They did not question his long absences, nor his strange hours.

Their minds were guided by a will not their own, the compulsion that kept them obedient and unknowing. They believed their master eccentric, private, and reclusive — and that illusion suited him well.

Kylo paused by the rose garden — once the pride of Ravenrock, now half-wild. The bushes tangled together, thorns and blooms intertwined, red petals scattered across the stone path like drops of blood. It was beautiful still, in the way that abandoned things often were.

He had not thought of beauty in years. Not until Rey.

Her face rose unbidden in his mind — the steady courage in her eyes, the warmth of her voice, the faint tremor when she spoke Hux’s name. The thought of that man’s hand reaching for her again made something primal stir within him.

He turned away sharply, his breath catching in his chest. The world blurred for a moment, and the weight of centuries pressed down. He gripped the edge of the stone balustrade, closing his eyes — and the past came flooding back.

It was the winter of 742, and the air had smelled of blood and smoke.

He remembered the crunch of snow beneath his boots as he came upon his home — the longhouse where his wife and child had lived — now a blackened ruin. The rafters had collapsed inward, still smoldering. The cold was bitter enough to burn the lungs, but the smoke was worse.

Astrid.

He saw her where she had fallen near the hearth, her body curled protectively around their son. Her hair — once bright as sunlight — was darkened with soot. Erik’s small hand rested against her neck, his face still, his skin blue with the cold.

Kylo had dropped to his knees, his mind blank, his throat raw from a soundless cry. He had not known how long he stayed there. The world had become a blur of snow, flame, and silence.

When he rose again, something inside him had shifted — something final.

He had tracked the raiders north through the fjords, his senses sharpened by the new hunger that had begun to awaken within him.

The gift — the curse — had been offered upon him weeks earlier, when he sold his soul to that demon. He should have perished, but instead he rose changed — his wounds gone, his heart still but his strength multiplied.

The raiders’ camp had been loud with celebration when he found them — firelight and laughter, the scent of ale and roasted meat. They never heard him coming.

He attacked with no mercy. His fangs ripping into every generous throat. His tongue coated with delicious garnet blood.

By dawn, there were no fires left burning. No laughter. Only silence and the soft hiss of the tide carrying away blood into the sea.

He had slaughtered them all — every man, every voice that had once called itself human.

And when the sun rose over the ice, he felt nothing. Not satisfaction. Not grief. Only emptiness — the kind that seeps into the marrow and never leaves.

Kylo opened his eyes slowly, his breath uneven. The scent of roses and sea air filled his lungs, grounding him once more in the present.

Centuries had passed, kingdoms had fallen, and still the memory clung to him like a scar that refused to fade. He had vowed never to love again — for love had been the death of all he once was.

And yet, in the quiet of this mortal century, he had met a woman whose courage reminded him of Astrid’s warmth, whose gaze stirred something long thought buried.

Rey.

He whispered her name, barely a sound, as though the very walls might betray him.

He had no right to her — no right even to want her — and yet the thought of Hux’s hand upon hers roused a fury so deep it frightened even him.

He turned from the garden and climbed the marble steps back toward the keep. Ravenrock’s doors loomed high. The great hall beyond was cool and dim, sunlight filtering through high stained glass windows, scattering crimson light across the floor.

Kylo stood at the base of the stair and let his eyes wander the expanse of his domain — the arched ceilings, the tapestries faded with time, the cold beauty of it all.

“Never again,” he murmured under his breath, though even he didn’t believe it.

For the first time in centuries, he felt the stir of something other than hunger. A pull not of blood, but of fate.

He would see Rey again.

And if the world sought to harm her — as it once had harmed all he loved — then heaven itself would tremble before he allowed it.

Chapter Text

Morning came softly to the edge of the woods. The sun crept through the thatched eaves of Maz’s cottage, painting the small room in muted gold. The air smelled of damp earth and herbs drying from the rafters, and the faint sound of birdsong drifted through the open window.

Rey sat at the table, a cup of tea cooling in her hands. Her gaze wandered to the window, to where the forest shimmered with dew. For the first time in days, her heart felt lighter, though she could not have said why aloud.

Maz bustled about the kitchen, muttering to herself as she crushed herbs in a mortar. The small woman’s gold-rimmed spectacles sat crooked on her nose, her sharp eyes glancing every so often toward Rey with quiet suspicion.

At last, she set the pestle down with a deliberate clack.

“You’re smiling,” she said, her tone equal parts curiosity and accusation. “That’s dangerous in this world.”

Rey blinked, surprised by the remark. “Smiling?” she repeated, as though she hadn’t noticed it herself.

Maz crossed her arms. “Last night you came home pale as a ghost and quiet as a mouse. And this morning—” she gestured vaguely toward Rey’s face “—there’s a glow about you. So what’s changed?”

Rey hesitated, her fingers tightening around the cup. The memory of the previous night slipped into her mind unbidden — the dark street, the startled moment she had seen him, the shadowed face and the glint of red that had flashed in his eyes. Lord Ren.

She could still hear the low cadence of his voice, the strange calm it brought even when she should have felt fear.

“I met someone,” Rey said at last, unable to keep the faint smile from her lips.

Maz’s brows shot up. “Someone? Not that dreadful Hux again, I hope.”

Rey shook her head quickly. “No. Not him.”

Maz gave a slow, knowing hum and began to stir the contents of her bowl again. “Then who?”

Rey hesitated, feeling warmth rise to her cheeks. “A gentleman. Lord Ren.”

Maz looked up sharply. “Ren? From Ravenrock?”

Rey nodded, tracing a fingertip along the rim of her cup. “He appeared on the road last night. I hadn’t expected to see him again after the ball, but there he was. He… frightens me a little, but not in the way one should fear.”

Maz’s expression softened into something between concern and curiosity. “And what sort of way is that?”

Rey looked toward the window again, her eyes unfocused. “It’s as if he sees straight through me. As if he’s lived a thousand lives and still finds mine worth looking at. I cannot explain it.”

Maz chuckled quietly under her breath. “You sound enchanted, child.”

“Perhaps I am,” Rey admitted. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. There’s something—unusual—about him. And yet…” She trailed off, uncertain of the words.

Maz came to sit opposite her, folding her small hands on the table. “Be careful with ‘unusual,’” she said softly. “That sort of man usually carries more shadows than light.”

Rey’s brow furrowed. “He’s kind, Maz. Reserved, but kind.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Maz replied with a smirk. “Still, kindness and mystery are a dangerous brew. You’d best mind your footing.”

Rey laughed, but it was a quiet sound, almost wistful.

After a pause, Maz tilted her head. “And what of Hux? You haven’t answered him yet, have you?”

Rey sighed, her smile fading. “No. He’s been patient, but… I don’t know what to say. He’s good and proper, everyone says so, but I feel nothing when I’m with him.”

Maz made a thoughtful sound. “He’s expecting an answer soon, I’d wager. Men like Hux don’t enjoy being kept waiting.”

“I know,” Rey murmured. “But it doesn’t feel right. Accepting would be… dishonest. And rejecting him feels cruel.”

Maz poured herself a cup of tea, studying Rey over the rim. “Perhaps you’re meant for something else entirely. Perhaps for someone else.”

Rey met her gaze, her heart giving a strange little tremor.

Maz leaned back in her chair, eyes twinkling despite her tone. “If this Lord Ren intrigues you so, why not invite him here? Supper tomorrow evening, perhaps. Let me see what sort of man has you smiling before breakfast.”

Rey’s eyes widened. “Invite him? Here?”

Maz shrugged. “If he’s a gentleman, he’ll accept. If not, we’ll know soon enough.”

Rey hesitated, then smiled shyly. “He might think me forward.”

Maz chuckled. “Good. It’ll unsettle him. Keeps men honest.”

Before Rey could reply, a knock sounded at the door. It was brisk, polite — unmistakably formal.

Maz exchanged a look with her and went to answer it. A young courier stood on the step, hat in hand. He bowed slightly and extended an envelope sealed with red wax.

“For Miss Rey of Ashford,” he said.

Rey took it, thanked him, and watched as he turned and disappeared down the path. The seal bore Hux’s family crest — the fox and sword.

She broke it open and unfolded the parchment.

//My dearest Miss Rey,

I trust you are in good health and spirits. I would be most honored if you would accompany me to a dinner hosted by the Williams family this coming Saturday. They are dear friends and merchants of notable wealth and influence — it would please me greatly to have you as my guest.

With the utmost respect and affection,

Armitage Hux//

Maz watched her read, eyes narrowing slightly. “And what does the fox want now?”

Rey sighed, setting the letter down. “He wishes me to attend a dinner with him. The Williams family, he says.”

Maz pursed her lips. “Wealthy folk, from what I hear. Traders. They like to show off their finery and gossip until dawn.”

Rey folded the letter neatly, her mind far from the inked words. “It would be rude to decline again.”

Maz tilted her head. “It might also be wise.”

Rey smiled faintly, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Perhaps. But something tells me I won’t enjoy the evening half as much as last night’s walk.”

Maz said nothing, only watched her for a long, knowing moment before turning back to her herbs.

The morning light caught Rey’s hair as she looked once more out the window, toward the distant forest where the shadows gathered between the trees. Somewhere beyond them lay Ravenrock — and the man who had changed everything with a single look.

Chapter Text

The day waned slowly over the cliffs of Ravenrock, painting the sky in strokes of muted gold and violet. Within the great hall, Kylo sat before the tall arched window that looked out upon the sea, the letter in his hand a delicate contrast to the weight of the black stone around him.

The wax seal had already been broken, the faintest trace of her scent lingering on the parchment — lavender and rain.

He read the words once more, though by now he could have recited them from memory.

Lord Ren,
It would bring me great happiness if you might join Maz and me for supper this evening at our cottage. You have shown me much kindness, and it would please me to return it in some small way.
—Rey

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over her name.

There was no guile in her handwriting — each line carried warmth and sincerity. He had not received such a letter in centuries, nor felt this faint stirring in his chest at the thought of seeing someone again.

He rose, crossed to his writing desk, and dipped his quill into ink. His script was bold and deliberate, an echo of an older age.

Miss Rey,
It would be my honor to accept your invitation. I look forward to the evening, and to your company once more.
—Kylo Ren

When he set down the pen, he caught sight of his reflection in the darkened window — the faint red shimmer in his eyes, the pallor of his skin. A ghost among the living.
And yet, he thought, she had invited him all the same.

-

-

Night fell quickly over Ashford, the air cool and sweet with the scent of pine and hearth smoke. The cottage windows glowed with lamplight, a small beacon in the shadowed woods.

Rey smoothed the hem of her dress for the third time, glancing toward the door as Maz stirred the pot over the fire.

The aroma of roast and herbs filled the air, mingling with the warm scent of bread and wine.

Maz eyed her knowingly. “You’ve been looking at that door so long, you’ll wear a hole through it.”

Rey flushed. “I just… hope he received the letter.”

Maz chuckled. “He’ll come. Men like that don’t ignore invitations from pretty girls.”

Before Rey could reply, there came a knock — slow, deep, deliberate. The sound seemed to vibrate through the walls.

Maz raised a brow. “Speak of the devil.”

Rey opened the door.

Kylo stood upon the threshold, tall enough that he nearly filled the frame. The candlelight caught on his dark coat, on the polished silver clasp at his throat.

In one hand, he held a small bundle of wildflowers — simple, white and fragrant.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I hope I’m not too early.”

Rey blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Not at all,” she said softly. “You’re… just in time.”

Maz stepped forward, her expression polite but measuring. “Lord Ren, welcome. Please, come in — though I fear you’ll have to duck a little.”

Kylo inclined his head and stepped inside. The low beams of the cottage forced him to stoop slightly, and Rey couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her.

The sight of such a towering man attempting not to brush the ceiling was almost endearing.

He extended the flowers to her. “For you.”

She accepted them with a shy smile. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

Maz took them briskly and set them in a small jar, muttering something about “a man with manners” before returning to her roast.

When they sat to eat, the table looked warm and inviting — bread, roast beef still pink at the center, a dish of greens, and a decanter of red wine that glowed like garnet in the candlelight.

Kylo’s gaze lingered on the meat, and when he served himself, he chose only the rarest cuts, slicing them with deliberate care.

Rey noticed how he seemed to savor each bite, as though tasting something ancient and necessary.

Maz poured the wine. “I hope you find our cottage humble but comfortable, Lord Ren.”

“It’s perfect,” he replied quietly. “Far more inviting than the halls of Ravenrock.”

Maz gave a short laugh. “A castle is for ghosts and kings. A cottage is for the living.”

His eyes flicked toward her at that — a faint spark of amusement, or perhaps understanding. “Then perhaps I’ve spent too long among the dead.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire.

After a while, Kylo turned his gaze to Rey. “I realized, Miss Rey, I know little of your family. Are they here, in Ashford?”

The question caught her off guard. She set down her fork, her smile faltering slightly. “I… don’t have a family. Not by blood, at least.”

Maz’s expression softened. “She was left on my doorstep, one winter night nearly twenty years ago. A baby wrapped in a wool blanket and nearly frozen. No name, no letter. I gave her one.”

Kylo’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “Rey,” he murmured. “It suits you.”

Rey smiled faintly, though her heart ached with the memory of that story. “Maz raised me as her own. We’ve managed well enough.”

“Better than well,” Maz said proudly, patting Rey’s hand. “She’s clever, and kind, and far too good for most of the fools in this town.”

Kylo’s lips curved slightly. “I don’t doubt that.”

The silence that followed was a comfortable one — filled with the sounds of clinking cutlery and the soft pop of the fire. But soon Maz’s eyes gleamed mischievously.

“So,” she said, “what of this proposal, Rey? The one from Hux?”

Rey froze, her fork hovering midair. “Maz—”

“What?” Maz shrugged. “If the man wants an answer, he ought to have one. You can’t leave him hanging forever.”

Kylo’s gaze sharpened, though he said nothing.

Rey sighed, setting her fork down. “I don’t know what to do. He’s kind enough, but I feel… trapped. He deserves someone who truly loves him, and that isn’t me.”

Kylo’s tone was soft, but his eyes burned faintly. “Then do not accept him out of pity.”

She met his gaze and saw something fierce there — not anger, but a strange protectiveness that unsettled and warmed her at once.

“I’ve been invited to the Williams’ dinner,” she said after a pause, as if to change the subject. “Hux asked me to accompany him.”

Kylo’s mouth quirked faintly, almost a smile. “Then it seems we shall see each other there. I too have been invited.”

Rey’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

He nodded. “The Williams family trades with my estate. I seldom attend their gatherings… but I believe I’ll make an exception.”

Relief washed over her, so strong she could not hide it. “I’m glad,” she said softly.

Maz looked between them, her shrewd eyes glinting. “Well then,” she said, pushing back her chair, “I’d say supper has gone rather well.”

Kylo inclined his head politely, though his gaze never left Rey’s.

In the flickering candlelight, the shadows played along the sharp lines of his face — beautiful and haunting, like something carved from old stone and half-remembered dreams.

And Rey, though she could not name the feeling rising in her chest, knew one thing with sudden certainty:

When he looked at her, she did not feel like an orphan.

She felt seen.

Chapter Text

The Williams estate glittered like a jewel at the edge of Ashford, its tall windows spilling light into the night. Music drifted faintly through the trees — the sound of violins and laughter, of wealth and indulgence.

Carriages lined the drive, and the air was thick with perfume, roasted meats, and the faint tang of smoke from the torches that lit the path.

Rey stepped from the carriage beside Hux, her gloved hand resting in his. His uniform gleamed under the lamps, the red trim sharp against the black.

He had insisted on bringing her himself, and though she had agreed, her heart was not entirely present. She found herself glancing past the guests, searching the crowd even before she realized for whom.

“Don’t look so nervous,” Hux murmured as they ascended the marble steps. “We have many to impress.”

She smiled politely, though her thoughts were elsewhere.

Inside, the hall was a riot of color — gold chandeliers, mirrored walls, the din of conversation. Servants weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne.

The great dining room beyond shimmered with candlelight, a long table laden with silver and crystal.

Lord Dameron stood near the head of the table, his easy charm commanding the attention of several young ladies. He greeted Rey warmly, clasping her hand. “Miss Rey! Ashford is all the brighter for your presence. And you, Hux—still chasing promotions and pretty company, I see.”

Hux forced a tight smile. “One must stay ambitious, Lord Dameron.”

Dameron’s grin widened, but his eyes flicked beyond them. “Ah. And there’s our elusive Lord Ren. I wasn’t sure he’d grace us tonight.”

Rey turned sharply, her heart skipping.

Kylo stood in the doorway, tall and composed, dressed in black as ever. The candlelight caught the edge of his jaw, the smooth line of his hair tied back neatly. His presence seemed to darken the room, drawing every gaze for a moment before the chatter resumed.

When his eyes found Rey’s, she felt the world still.

He approached with that same quiet intensity, offering a polite nod to Dameron before speaking to her. “Miss Rey. You look radiant this evening.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, my lord. I wasn’t certain you would come.”

“I made a promise,” he said simply.

Hux’s jaw tightened. “Lord Ren. I didn’t realize the reclusive master of Ravenrock dined among common folk these days.”

Kylo’s gaze flicked toward him, expression unreadable. “When the company is worth it, I make exceptions.”

Rey’s breath caught at the faint tension in his voice — steel wrapped in civility. Dameron cleared his throat, ever the diplomat. “Well, let’s all sit before the roast goes cold. Williams has spared no expense tonight.”

The meal was lavish — a parade of dishes that dazzled the senses: roasted pheasant, glazed apples, whole trout dressed with herbs, and pies sweet enough to make the air thick. Servants poured wine that caught the candlelight like blood in crystal.

Rey sat between Hux and Kylo, the placement decided by Mrs. Williams herself. Dameron was across from them, laughing easily at some anecdote about the garrison.

Kylo barely touched the food, save for the rarest slices of beef and the deep red wine that never left his hand. He sat with stillness that unnerved even the loudest guests — a quiet authority that did not need to be spoken.

Rey could sense his discomfort, though he hid it well. His gaze drifted often to the window, to the darkness beyond, as if the walls pressed too tightly around him.

Around them, conversation buzzed. Lord Dameron leaned back in his chair, gesturing broadly. “It’s all anyone talks about lately—the killings. Another body found by the river yesterday morning. Drained of blood, they say.”

The laughter and chatter faltered slightly. Mrs. Williams shuddered theatrically. “Oh, do stop, Dameron! You’ll frighten the ladies.”

But others leaned closer, eager for the thrill of gossip.

“They say it’s the work of a beast,” said one merchant’s wife. “Or a demon that walks by night.”

“A demon?” Lord Dameron chuckled. “Nonsense. Likely a murderer or thief. Though… the wounds are strange.”

Rey, unsettled, glanced at Kylo. His expression had darkened, his jaw tight, the wine glass motionless in his hand.

The merchant’s wife noticed too. “My lord, you’re quiet. What do you think of these killings?”

Kylo’s gaze rose slowly, his voice soft but cutting. “I think people are quick to call monsters what they do not understand.”

A hush followed. Even Dameron looked unsure how to reply.

Hux cleared his throat, seizing the moment to sneer. “That’s rather philosophical for dinner talk, Lord Ren. Though perhaps such tales suit you — brooding alone in that crumbling fortress of yours.”

Rey’s stomach twisted. “Hux—”

But Kylo merely turned his head, meeting Hux’s gaze with chilling calm. “You speak often, Lord Hux, yet say very little.”

Hux flushed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Kylo set down his glass, his tone measured but unmistakably sharp. “It means you know nothing of how to treat a remarkable woman when she stands before you.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Rey before returning to Hux. “You wear your pride like armor, but underneath it, you’re still a frightened boy playing soldier. You call yourself brave, yet you hide behind rank and reputation.”

The table went still. The fire crackled.

Hux’s voice trembled with restrained fury. “Careful, Lord Ren.”

“Careful?” Kylo’s lips curved faintly. “That word comes from men who have something to lose. I’ve already lost everything worth fearing.”

Dameron, sensing the storm, raised his glass with forced cheer. “Well then! To Ashford — and to peace returning soon, hm?”

The tension eased, laughter returning in fragments. Yet Rey felt the air charged between the two men like the hush before thunder.

She dared a glance at Kylo. His eyes had softened when they met hers, the anger gone, replaced by something that made her pulse quicken — a kind of sorrow, almost regret.

He leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “You shouldn’t be near men like him.”

Rey swallowed. “And yet here I am.”

“Not for long,” he murmured, taking another sip of wine.

When the evening finally waned, music swelled once more and laughter filled the hall. Yet Rey felt apart from it — the taste of unease and fascination lingering both.

As the guests rose to dance, she glanced toward Kylo, who stood by the window now, half-hidden in shadow. His expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met hers, the noise of the room seemed to fall away.

Chapter Text

The carriage ride back to the cottage was suffocatingly silent. The only sounds were the rattle of the wheels over the uneven road and the sharp, controlled breaths of Captain Hux beside her. Rey kept her gaze fixed on the darkness outside, the memory of the dinner—the tension, the candlelight, the dark intensity of Lord Ren’s eyes—still thrumming beneath her skin.

“You embarrassed me this evening, Miss Rey,” Hux said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet like a shard of ice.

Rey turned, startled by his abruptness. “I don't know what you mean, Captain.”

“Don't you?” He scoffed, a tight, unpleasant sound. “You hung on that foreigner's every word. You allowed him to speak to me—your host, your suitor—with such disrespect. It was a poor showing of loyalty.”

“He was insulted,” Rey said, her own voice cooling. “You provoked him, Captain.”

“I spoke the truth! The man is a recluse, a ghost. And you defended him with your gaze. That is not the behavior I expect from the woman I have offered to make my wife.”

The carriage slowed, the dim lights of her cottage visible through the trees.

“I have told you, Captain. I need time.”

“My patience is not infinite,” Hux snapped, his composure finally breaking. He climbed out and offered her his hand, but his grip was stiff, his eyes cold in the lamplight. “Think carefully, Rey. An orphan girl does not get such an offer twice. Good evening.”

He was back in the carriage before she could reply, the door slamming shut with finality.

Rey watched him go, a knot of dread and frustration tightening in her stomach. She pushed open the cottage door to find Maz sitting by the low fire, nursing a cup of tea.

“Well?” Maz asked, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “How was the fox's den?”

Rey sighed, slipping off her cloak and hanging it by the door. “It was dreadful. Hux was… insistent.”

“And?” Maz prompted, seeing there was more.

“And Lord Ren was there.”

Maz’s eyebrows shot up. “Was he now? And I suppose Hux enjoyed that.”

“He insulted him,” Rey murmured, coming to warm her hands by the fire. “In front of everyone. He called him a brooding ghost and made light of his home.”

“Hmph,” Maz grunted. “That man's ambition will be his ruin. What did our Lord Ren do?”

A faint warmth crept into Rey's cheeks, despite the chill of the evening. “He told Hux he didn't know how to treat a remarkable woman.”

Maz chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. “Did he now? So, the ghost has a bite. Good. Hux needed to be put in his place. He won't like that. He won't like that at all.”

“He didn't,” Rey confirmed, thinking of the cold carriage ride. “Maz, I… I don't know what to do.”

“For now, child,” Maz said, getting to her feet, “you sleep. The morning will make things clearer. Or,” she added with a glint in her eye, “at least, it will make them louder.”

Miles away, the halls of Ravenrock were anything but calm.

Kylo slammed the heavy oak door of his chambers shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the stone fortress. He ripped his formal coat from his shoulders and threw it to the floor.

Frightened boy playing soldier. The words had been true, but they hadn't been enough. The memory of Hux’s pale, sneering face, his proprietary hand on Rey’s arm as he led her into the hall, the way his eyes appraised her—it lit a fire in Kylo that was centuries old and twice as volatile.

His gaze fell on the fireplace, where a low fire barely beat back the chill of the sea air. He seized the heavy, wrought-iron poker, his grip tightening. The metal, designed to withstand the heat of a forge, groaned under the inhuman pressure of his hands.

With a guttural snarl that was more beast than man, he snapped the poker in two, the sharp crack of the metal splitting echoing the fracture of his control. He hurled the broken pieces into the hearth, where they clattered against the stone, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

A soft, hesitant knock came at his door. “My lord?”

Kylo froze, the rage vanishing instantly, replaced by an icy, familiar stillness. He knew that voice.

“What is it, Rose?” His own voice was low, controlled, betraying nothing.

“I... I heard a sound, my lord,” she said, her voice muffled by the thick wood. “Are you... are you quite all right?”

Rose was the only servant in this fortress who knew. The only one who had seen him after a hunt, the only one who understood the true nature of the hunger that kept him bound to this castle. She was the only one who he never compelled.

He turned from the fire, disgusted by his own lack of control. He would not be seen as weak, not even by her. “I am fine. Do not disturb me again.”

A pause, then: “Yes, my lord.” He heard her soft footsteps retreat down the stone corridor.

Alone once more, Kylo let out a slow breath he didn't need. The anger receded, leaving only the vast, cold emptiness of his existence, now pricked by a single point of light.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, moving to the high-backed chair that faced the hearth. He undid the stiff collar of his shirt, pulling the fabric loose, and then unfastened the top buttons, baring the pale skin of his collarbone to the fire's heat. He rolled the sleeves of his white linen shirt up to his forearms, the restless energy still thrumming in his limbs.

He sank into the chair, the ancient wood groaning softly. The firelight danced over his face, catching the edge of his scar, glinting in the dark depths of his eyes.

He thought of Rey. He thought of her warmth in the cottage, the shy smile when he gave her the flowers, the courage in her eyes when she'd spoken of being an orphan. She was light. She was life. She was everything this cold, dead world was not.

And the thought of Hux, with his petty ambitions and grasping hands, daring to claim her...

A low growl rumbled in his chest. Hux could not have her. He would not allow it.

Kylo Ren had not truly wanted anything in centuries. He had hungered, yes. He had endured. But he had not wanted.

He wanted her.

He closed his eyes, the image of her face clear in the darkness. He wanted her to himself. And whatever it took to make that happen, he would do.

Chapter Text

Dusk settled over Ashford, blurring the edges of the village in a soft, gray haze. The tavern, The Sly Fox, was an island of noise and light. Inside, the air was thick with smoke, the smell of spilled ale, and the low murmur of tired men.

Kylo sat in the darkest booth, a tankard of ale—untouched—on the table before him. He didn't come here for this type of drink; he came to listen, to feel the thrum of the human life that was no longer his. He watched the patrons: the farmers complaining about the damp, the merchants counting coins, the serving girls dodging rough hands.

The door swung open, bringing a gust of cold air and the sound of boisterous, self-important laughter.

Captain Hux entered, flanked by three of his soldiers. His crimson coat was immaculate, his pale eyes scanning the room as if he owned it. His gaze landed on the shadows of the back booth and met Kylo’s.

A beat of silence passed between them—a challenge given and received.

Hux sneered, a small, dismissive gesture, and then turned his back. He led his men to a table near the center of the room, their chairs scraping loudly against the floorboards as they sat down to drink.

Kylo’s hand tightened on the wooden table.

The ancient oak groaned under his grip, threatening to splinter. He could hear Hux’s grating voice, the boasts, the sharp laughter. The proximity to the man, combined with the hot, close smell of so many living bodies, made his gums ache. His fangs yearned to be free.

He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the instinct down. He would not lose control here.

After several agonizing moments, the pressure was too much. He rose, dropping a few coins on the table for the ale he hadn’t touched. He stalked out of the tavern, not looking at Hux, and turned toward the quiet solace of the woods.

Hux watched him go, his eyes narrowed. He took a long drink from his tankard, then slammed it down. “Wait here,” he said to one soldier, then nodded to the other two. “You two, with me. Let’s see where our lordly ghost is slinking off to.”

He and his comrades followed Kylo out into the deepening twilight.

The mist was heavier among the trees, muffling his footsteps. Kylo breathed in the cold, clean air, letting the rage from the tavern seep away.

“Running back to your shadows, my lord?”

Kylo stopped. He turned slowly.

Hux and his two soldiers emerged from the mist, fanning out to circle him. Hux’s face was flushed with drink and malice.

“Is this what you do when the candlelight is too bright?” Hux taunted, drawing closer. “Run and hide in the dirt like the animal you are?”

“You should have stayed in the light, Captain,” Kylo’s voice was dangerously low. “It’s the only thing that makes you look brave.”

“Brave?” Hux laughed, though his eyes were sharp. “I’m not the one slinking into the shadows and stealing a man's intended. You’re a coward, Ren. A foreigner hiding in a crumbling castle, pretending to be better than us. You’re nothing.”

"Intended? Is she intending on saying no? Because I have yet to see a ring grace her fingers."

“What is going on here?”

The voice, clear and sharp, cut through the tension. Rey emerged from the path, a small parcel wrapped in brown paper clutched in her hands. She had been to the tailor to retrieve a mended dress. Her eyes darted from Hux’s sneering face to Kylo’s rigid stance.

“Rey!” Hux’s demeanor shifted, becoming falsely solicitous. “You shouldn't be out here. We were just… escorting Lord Ren. He seemed to have lost his way.”

“It looked like you were harassing him,” Rey said, stepping forward, her fear overshadowed by anger.

Kylo watched her, a new, protective instinct warring with his rage.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hux denied, stepping toward her. “I am an officer.”

“Please, you're a boy playing dress up,” Kylo said, his voice flat.

That snapped Hux’s control. Enraged at being insulted again, especially in front of her, Hux lunged. A knife, drawn from his belt, flashed in the twilight, slashing at Kylo’s outstretched hand.

Rey screamed.

Kylo didn't flinch, but the sight of the blade near her, the flash of Hux’s unhinged violence, broke his restraint. He tackled Hux, moving with a speed that was almost human, but only just. He deliberately held back the inhuman strength that could have ended the man in a heartbeat.

They crashed to the muddy ground. Kylo landed a heavy blow to Hux's jaw. Hux grunted, bringing the knife up, but Kylo caught his wrist, smashing it against the ground until the weapon fell. Hux, fueled by adrenaline, landed a wild punch to Kylo's ribs.

“Get him off!” Hux sputtered, his nose now bleeding.

The two soldiers, finally snapping out of their shock, grabbed Kylo by the shoulders and hauled him off their captain.

Hux scrambled to his feet, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. He was disheveled, bleeding, and utterly humiliated. He glared at Kylo, then at Rey, his chest heaving.

“You will regret this,” he seethed. He picked up his knife and motioned to his men. “Come on.”

They walked away, casting one last sneering, hateful look over their shoulders before the fog swallowed them.

The woods were suddenly silent.

“My God,” Rey whispered, rushing to Kylo’s side. “He cut you! Let me see your hand!”

She grabbed his hand—the one Hux had explicitly slashed with the knife. She turned it over in the dim light, searching for the wound.

There was nothing. Dried blood, no cut, not even a scratch. The skin was pale and unbroken.

Rey stared, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But... I saw it. The knife... he cut you.”

Kylo gently retrieved his hand, his touch sending a shiver through her. “He missed,” he lied, his voice a low vibration. “The blood you saw was his. He’s clumsy when he’s angry.”

She looked from his perfect hand to the dark path where Hux had disappeared, her mind unable to reconcile what she had seen with what she was seeing.

Kylo’s expression softened as he looked at her. “You are not safe. Let me escort you home”.

Rey, still dazed, nodded. She let him take her parcel, and they walked in silence, the only sound their footsteps on the path, leaving the violence and the mystery behind in the mist.

Chapter Text

The following afternoon, Rey found herself on the winding, fog-dampened path to Ravenrock. The fortress loomed before her, a fortress of black stone and silver spires that seemed less built upon the cliffs than torn from them.

The wind was a constant companion here, carrying the roar of the sea and the scent of salt and pine. In her hands, she clutched a basket.

Inside lay a bottle of deep red wine from the market, a wheel of sharp cheese, and a small, leather-bound book of poetry.

She felt a nervous tremor in her hands. This was a fool's errand. But the memory of Hux’s drunken malice, followed by Kylo’s quiet, dangerous defense, had settled in her heart.

She had to come. She had to apologize for the village, for Hux, for all of it.

Rey raised the heavy, cold iron knocker and let it fall. The sound was swallowed by the stone.

Moments later, the heavy door creaked open, revealing the young woman with dark, kind eyes she had seen in the village. The woman was drying her hands on an apron.

“May I help you, miss?”

“I… I am Rey. I’m here to see Lord Ren, if he is available.”

The woman, Rose, looked surprised, but a small, genuine smile touched her lips. “Of course, miss. Please, come in. The master doesn't receive many guests. I will summon him”.

Rey stepped inside. The great hall was vast and cold, silencing her. High, stained-glass windows, dark with age, scattered muted jewel tones across the stone floor. The air smelled of old wax, sea salt, and something ancient, like dust and dried herbs.

Before Rose could take a step, a voice echoed from the grand staircase.

“Rey.”

She looked up. He stood at the landing, not in the formal black coat she was used to, but in a simple white linen shirt and dark trousers. He looked less like a lord and more like a man startled from a long revery. He descended the stairs, his movements fluid and soundless.

“I hope I am not disturbing you,” Rey said, her voice sounding small in the vast hall. She held up the basket. “I brought this. As… an apology. For Captain Hux. His behavior was unforgivable”.

Kylo stopped a few feet from her. His gaze fell to the basket, then rose to her face. A strange, soft expression crossed his features.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Rey. He is the one who should be begging your forgiveness.” He took the basket, his fingers brushing hers.

The touch was cool, but it sent a jolt of warmth through her. “This is… very kind. Thank you.” He looked at Rose. “Please, take this to the kitchen. And prepare supper for two.”

Rose nodded, her eyes wide with curiosity, and disappeared with the basket.

“Supper?” Rey stammered.

“You came all this way. The least I can do is offer you a meal. Please,” he said, gesturing to the hall, “allow me to show you my home”.

He led her through the echoing corridors. The castle was a library of lost time. Ancient tapestries, their colors muted to soft blues and grays, depicted stark Northern landscapes and brutal sea battles. Heavy longswords and battle-axes, far older than any in Ashford, hung on the stone walls.

“These are all yours?” she asked, awed.

“They have belonged to my line for... a very long time,” he murmured.

He led her into a long gallery, dim and cool, lined with portraits. Most were of stern-looking men and women in dark, archaic clothing.

But Rey was drawn to one at the very end, set apart from the others. It was painted in an older style, the canvas cracked with age. It depicted a beautiful woman with hair like bright sunlight, her arm wrapped protectively around a small, solemn-faced boy.

“They are beautiful,” Rey said softly. “Your ancestors?”

Kylo froze. He stared at the painting, but his eyes were seeing something else—a memory of smoke and smoldering rafters, of a cold that burned.

“Something like that,” he said, his voice suddenly hollow, distant. “They… were killed long ago. Her husband was away at war when a rival Viking tribe attacked. He was too late to save them. Or so the story goes…”

He turned away abruptly, the warmth he had shown her moments before gone, replaced by a chilling grief. “The dining hall is this way.”

Rey, sensing the sudden, deep well of his pain, said no more and followed him.

The dining hall was vast enough to host an army, with a ceiling lost in shadow. But in front of the massive, roaring fireplace, a small table had been set for two, creating an island of intimate warmth in the cold expanse. Rose served them—roasted chicken, warm bread, and the very wine Rey had brought.

Kylo ate, not with the hunger she’d seen hinted at, but with a quiet appreciation. They spoke, and she found him easy to talk to.

She told him of her life with Maz, of gathering herbs, of her dreams of seeing the world beyond the moors. He, in turn, listened. He truly listened, his dark gaze fixed on her, making her feel as if she were the only person in the world.

“You are not like them, Rey,” he said, his voice low. “You see the world as it is, not just as you are told to see it.”

After supper, he stood. “The moon is bright. Walk with me”.

He led her out into the gardens. They were wild, half-overgrown, the paths lined with the thorny skeletons of dormant roses. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and the sea. The constant roar of the waves on the rocks below was a low, soothing thunder.

They walked in silence for a time, the silver moonlight illuminating the path.

“It’s beautiful here,” Rey said, pulling her shawl tighter. “But so lonely.”

Kylo stopped, looking out over the dark, churning sea. “I have... grown accustomed to lonely.” The ache in his voice was so profound it made her heart hurt.

He had vowed, centuries ago, never to feel this again. Never to let the warmth of a mortal life touch the cold, endless winter of his own. Yet here she was. This brave, bright, ordinary woman. And he felt it—a terrifying, protective, consuming pull . It was not hunger. It was love.

Rey felt it too, a warmth spreading from her chest, a connection that defied all reason. She stopped and turned to him.

“Lord Ren,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I must tell you. I cannot marry Captain Hux”.

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and intense. “I know.”

“He is expecting an answer. He… I feel trapped. I don't love him.”

Kylo took a step closer, the space between them thrumming. “Then do not marry him,” he said, his voice a low, fierce command. “You are not a prize to be won by an ambitious fool. You deserve more.”

He raised his hand—the one she had seen Hux slash, the one that had borne no wound. His fingers, cool to the touch, gently traced the line of her jaw. “You deserve... everything”.

He leaned in. Rey’s breath caught in her throat. His dark eyes, so full of sorrow and shadow, were all she could see. She could feel his breath, smell the faint scent of wine and the cold night air. Her eyes fluttered closed.

But the kiss never came.

She felt him freeze. A look of profound conflict, of sharp self-hatred, crossed his features. He dropped his hand as if her skin had burned him and took a staggered step back.

“It is late,” he said, his voice suddenly rough and formal. “The roads are not safe. I will have my carriage take you home”.

-

-

The carriage ride was a blur. Rey’s heart fluttered. Being with Lord Ren today. Has solidified her feelings for him.

She bid the driver goodnight and slowly entered her home.

She gently shut the door and found Maz dozing by the fire.

“You’re back,” Maz said, her eyes snapping open, sharp as ever. “You were gone a long time. And you look… rattled.”

Rey sank into the chair opposite her, her heart too full to be still. “Oh, Maz. His home... it’s like a beautiful, sad tomb. And he is…”

“He is what?” Maz prompted gently.

Rey looked up, her eyes shining with a confusing mix of joy and tears. “I think I am falling in love with him, Maz”.

“Tomorrow I will find Hux, and tell him I am refusing his proposal.”

Chapter Text

Morning broke clear and brittle over Ashford, the kind of cold light that made everything seem sharper, crueler. Rey stood at the writing desk by the window, her quill hovering over the parchment. Her heart thudded, the ink trembling at the tip.

The words came simply, though they burned as they formed.

Captain Hux,

I have given your proposal much thought. You are a man of standing and purpose, but my heart cannot answer yours. It would be dishonest to accept, and I will not deceive either of us.
I wish you peace and happiness, wherever it may find you.

—Rey

She sealed it quickly before she could lose her resolve, then called for the courier who made morning rounds through the village. The letter left her hands with a weight that felt like both freedom and fear.

Maz watched quietly from her chair. “So, it’s done.”

Rey nodded. “It’s done.”

Maz exhaled through her nose, as though she had expected nothing less. “Good. Now the fox knows the swan won’t be his dinner.”

Rey tried to smile, but her stomach churned. “He won’t take it kindly.”

“Let him stew,” Maz said briskly. “He’s had his pride bruised. That’s all men like him ever truly love.”

By afternoon, word had reached the garrison — and by evening, all of Ashford. Hux had been seen at the tavern, drinking harder than usual, his voice loud and cutting. His men laughed when he did, but uneasily, like those who knew a storm was gathering.

-

-

That night, the Dameron manor glittered again with light. Lord Dameron had decided to host another gathering — smaller, more intimate — to “lift the village’s mood,” as he said. The Williams family, the Damerons, the Phillips, and a few others of the local gentry were invited.

Rey would not have gone, not after the letter, but Maz insisted.

“Show your face,” she said. “Let the village see you’ve no shame in choosing your own path.”

And so Rey went.

The ballroom was awash in warmth and chatter, the candles throwing gold light across the polished floor. Rey kept to the edges, her heart thrumming uneasily, her eyes drawn again and again to the tall figure dressed in black near the far balcony doors.

Kylo.

He stood apart from the others, his profile half lost in shadow, a glass of wine untouched in his hand. His gaze flicked briefly toward her — a wordless acknowledgment that sent a shiver down her spine.

Lord Dameron was speaking too loudly at the table, Mrs. Williams fussing with her pearls. Rey tried to keep her composure, though she could feel eyes upon her — curious, judgmental, or pitying, she couldn’t tell.

Then, a hush rippled through the room.

Hux had arrived.

He was immaculate, as always, but his pallor was waxen, his smile forced and brittle. His eyes found Rey instantly, and though he bowed politely to the hosts, his stare was sharp enough to draw blood.
He drank. He laughed too loudly. The humiliation burned beneath his fine manners.

-

-

Later, when the dinner was through and the music began, Kylo slipped quietly out to the balcony. The cold air was a mercy after so much noise, and the stars shone faint through the fog.

He gripped the railing, his thoughts dark and restless.

A moment later, the door opened softly behind him.

“My lord,” Rey said, her breath clouding in the night air.

He turned, surprise flickering across his face. “Miss Rey.”

“I… needed air,” she said. “And to tell you—I refused him.”

His expression shifted, something almost like relief crossing his face, though he masked it quickly. “You’re brave to do so.”

“It didn’t feel brave,” she murmured, looking out at the gardens below. “He’ll hate me for it.”

Kylo’s voice softened. “Then he is a fool. A man who would rather be obeyed than loved deserves neither.”

Her lips parted, but whatever reply she meant to give vanished at the sound of a door slamming behind them.

Hux stumbled onto the balcony, his face flushed, his breath thick with wine.

“Well, isn’t this touching,” he drawled. “The lady and her shadow.”

“Hux,” Rey said sharply, “you’re drunk.”

“Am I?” He took a step closer, sneering at Kylo. “I suppose you’re pleased, my lord. You’ve won. The little orphan has chosen you over me.”

Kylo’s voice was low, even. “You should go home, Captain.”

“Don’t you command me.” Hux’s words slurred, but his hatred was clear. “You think yourself untouchable — some noble ghost who can say what he likes and walk away unscarred. But I saw it. That night in the woods. I cut you.”

Kylo’s eyes flickered crimson beneath the torchlight. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw you bleed!” Hux spat, his voice trembling with madness. “And yet — there was no wound. What are you?”

Rey stepped forward, alarmed. “Hux, stop—”

“Stay out of this!” He shoved her aside roughly, and Kylo’s composure snapped.

“Enough,” Kylo said, his voice ringing with quiet authority. “You’re drunk, and you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Oh, am I?” Hux’s hand went to his belt. “Let’s see if the monster bleeds now.”

The pistol’s crack split the night.

Rey screamed.

Kylo staggered back, clutching his side. Blood — dark, almost black — bloomed through his coat. He sank to one knee, his breath hissing between his teeth.

Hux froze, the smoke from the barrel curling in the cold air. His expression flickered between triumph and dawning horror.

Rey ran to Kylo, dropping to her knees beside him. “No—no, no—stay with me!”

Kylo’s hand found hers, his voice strained but calm. “It’s nothing.”

Guests were rushing out now — Lord Dameron, the Williamses, startled faces crowding the doorway.

“What happened?!” someone cried.

Hux’s men seized him, dragging him back as he shouted. “He’s a devil! I tell you, he’s not human—!”

“Get him out!” Dameron barked. “Now!”

Rey pressed her hands to Kylo’s wound. There was too much blood — or not enough. It was thick, strange, not quite right. “You need help,” she whispered. “Maz can—”

“No.” His voice was weak but firm. “You mustn’t—”

“I won’t let you die,” she said fiercely, tears streaking her cheeks. “Please. Come with me.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he nodded once — a small surrender.

As the carriages rolled away and the chaos inside resumed, Rey helped him to his feet. The night air seemed to bend around them as they slipped into the misted road, away from the manor’s lights.

-

-

When they reached the cottage. Maz threw open the door, eyes wide with shock.

“By the gods, child—what happened?”

“Help him,” Rey gasped. “He’s been shot.”

Maz looked once at the dark stain on his side, then at the man himself — he showed no expression of pain.

“Right, let me gather my medicinals. Hold on there Lord Ren, I’ll have you feeling right as rain soon enough.”

Chapter Text

The cottage was cloaked in shadows when Maz and Rey half-carried Kylo inside. The fire had long since burned down to embers, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke. Rey’s heart pounded as she guided him toward her narrow bed in the corner of the room.

“Here,” she breathed, “lie down.”

He hesitated only a moment before lowering himself onto the small mattress. The wooden frame creaked beneath his weight, the bed far too small for him; his legs hung past the end, boots thudding softly against the floorboards.

The lamplight brushed over him — pale skin, streaked with blood. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to the hard lines of his chest. Rey’s hands trembled as she reached to unlace the front of it.

“I must see the wound,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

He didn’t protest. His dark eyes followed her, unreadable, as she peeled the bloodstained fabric away. It came free with a soft tear, leaving his chest bare to the cool air.

Her breath caught.

He was… beautiful.

Not in the fragile, polished way of noblemen, but in the carved, unyielding way of old statues — a body built of strength and battle, scarred yet flawless.

Every line of him seemed alive with restrained power, as though he could rise at any moment and strike down death itself.

Rey swallowed hard and forced her eyes back to the wound.

The blood had dried in thick, dark streaks down his side, the color nearly black. Yet when she pressed the cloth to clean it, she found no wound beneath. Only smooth skin.

Maz entered quietly behind her, carrying a bowl of warm water and a jar of thick green paste. “Move aside, girl.”

Rey obeyed, stepping back as Maz dipped the cloth into the water and began to clean.

The blood came away easily, smearing red into the water. Maz leaned close, her brows knitting. “Strange,” she muttered. “No break in the skin. No mark at all.”

Rey frowned. “That can’t be. I saw it — the pistol fired, he fell—”

“Then the shot must’ve grazed him,” Maz said smoothly, her voice. “The wound is shallow.”

Maz shot him a skeptical look. She took a handful of the herbal paste and spread it over his side, the scent of sage and resin filling the room.

“There,” she said, tying a bandage loosely around him. “You’ll live. Rest for a while and thank whatever gods favor you.”

Kylo inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment.

Maz turned to Rey. “Boil some water. I’ll wash these rags.”

Rey nodded, but her mind was a storm. She kept glancing at him — at the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the slow, steady rise of his chest. It didn’t make sense. The sound of the pistol still echoed in her ears, the sight of him staggering, bleeding—
And yet he looked untouched.

When Maz finally left the room, muttering about fetching more herbs from the cellar, the silence thickened.

Kylo shifted on the bed, turning toward her. His voice was soft. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

Rey startled, realizing she’d been staring. “I— I wasn’t—”

He almost smiled. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She busied herself with wringing out the cloth, refusing to meet his gaze. “You should rest. Maz says you’ll be fine by morning.”

“I’ll be gone by morning.”

She turned to him sharply. “You can’t travel in your state.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the movement slow but deliberate. Rey took a step forward, torn between anger and worry. “Where will you go?”

He looked toward the window, where the moonlight spilled pale across the floorboards. “Home.”

Before she could argue, he stood — tall and silent, fastening his coat with steady hands. His eyes met hers, and for a heartbeat, the air between them felt alive.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For tending to me.”

Rey wanted to ask him to stay. To tell her the truth. To stop pretending he was only a man. But the words caught in her throat, and then he was gone — the door closing softly behind him.

-

-

The night beyond the cottage was colder than before, the fog curling low over the fields. Kylo walked without haste, each step sinking lightly into the damp earth. The hunger that always slept beneath his skin had begun to stir again — sharp, insistent.

He was still angry. The sting of the pistol’s shot, the sight of Rey’s fear, the arrogance of Hux — it all pulsed through him like poison.

Voices reached him from the outskirts of town. Male laughter. Coarse. Cruel.

He followed it.

Near the edge of the woods, two soldiers in red coats cornered a young woman against a crumbling stone wall. Her basket lay overturned, apples rolling into the dirt.

“Come now, sweetheart,” one of them jeered, “no need to run off. We just want a kiss for the captain’s sake.”

The woman’s frightened plea was cut short when one of them grabbed her wrist.

Kylo’s voice came from the darkness.

“Let her go.”

The soldiers turned, startled.

“Who’s there?”

Kylo stepped into the light of the lantern swinging from their cart. His face was half shadow, his eyes catching the faint red gleam of the flame.

“Run,” he told the woman.

She didn’t hesitate. She tore free and fled into the fog, her sobs fading into the trees.

The taller soldier cursed. “You’ve no right to interfere!”

Kylo smiled — a slow, humorless curve of his lips. “No right?” His voice was calm, almost amused. “You speak of rights after what you meant to do?”

“Mind your business!” the other shouted, drawing his knife. “We’ll gut you where you stand!”

Kylo moved before the man’s next breath. He caught the soldier by the throat and lifted him clean off the ground. The knife clattered uselessly to the stones.

“Then try,” Kylo whispered.

The man choked, kicking, his face turning purple. Kylo’s fangs flashed, pale and merciless, as he sank them into the soldier’s neck.

The sound was wet, sickening — a gurgle swallowed by the night.

The second soldier froze, watching in horror as his comrade went limp. When Kylo dropped the body, it hit the ground with a dull thud.

The remaining man stumbled back, his voice shaking. “What— what are you?”

Kylo looked up slowly, blood still glistening at the corner of his mouth. His eyes burned like coals in the dark.

“I’m what you feared was hiding in the dark all along,” he said softly. “A monster.”

The soldier turned to run.

Kylo was faster.

He seized him by the hair, jerked his head back, and silenced his scream with a single, brutal bite.

When it was done, Kylo stood amid the bodies, the hunger quieted but not gone. The night around him was still again, save for the whisper of the wind through the trees.

He wiped the blood from his mouth and glanced once toward the distant glow of Maz’s cottage.

Rey’s scent lingered faintly in the air — clean, warm, alive.

He closed his eyes.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, and vanished into the fog.

Chapter Text

Morning hung thick and gray over the Ashford barracks. The smell of gun oil and wet earth filled the yard, where soldiers gathered in uneasy clusters, their murmurs carrying through the cold air.

Captain Hux stood at the center of it all, his jaw set, eyes rimmed red from too little sleep and too much rage. A half-empty flask sat on his desk beside a folded report — the ink still fresh.

Two men. Dead.

Found in the outskirts beyond the moor, pale as chalk and bloodless.

The marks were clean, deliberate — a predator’s work.

“They were good men,” one of the lieutenants said, his voice low. “No thief or beast did that. The bodies were— drained.”

Hux’s eyes burned with vindication. “Then we know who’s to blame.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the barracks. No one dared to say it aloud.

“Ren,” Hux said, spitting the name like poison. “He came to this town, and suddenly men vanish, pale as ghosts. And now two of my soldiers are found like livestock.”

He slammed his fist on the table, the flask rattling. “It started when he arrived.”

The men exchanged wary glances. The captain’s fury was a dangerous thing, but so was the name he spoke. Lord Ren was a man of wealth and power — and something else no one dared define.

Hux straightened, pacing the length of the room. “He’s not what he seems. I saw it that night — the blood, the wound that vanished, the eyes that glowed like embers. The man’s a monster, I swear it.”

“And what will you do, sir?” one soldier asked cautiously.

Hux’s lip curled. “What I should’ve done the moment he set foot in Ashford. Expose him. Destroy him. And when he’s gone, the girl will see what kind of creature she nearly fell for.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. He’d told himself it was about justice, about protecting Ashford — but deep down, he knew it was jealousy that drove him.

Rey had refused him. And he would not be refused twice.

He turned to his men, eyes sharp. “We’ll draw him out. Tonight. At the docks — the fog will hide us, and no one will hear what happens there.”

He reached for a scrap of parchment and began to write.

My lord,

I must see you. There are things I must tell you — things I fear to put in writing. Please meet me at the docks, an hour before midnight. Come alone.

—Rey

Hux smiled coldly as he sealed it with wax. “Deliver this to Ravenrock,” he ordered. “Be sure it reaches his hands by dusk.”

Then he reached for another sheet of paper.

My dearest Rey,

I have thought of nothing but you. Meet me tonight by the docks, and I will tell you everything.

—Kylo

When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair, the smirk never leaving his lips. “By dawn,” he murmured, “the truth will be ours — and the beast will be ash.”

Night fell heavy over the harbor.

The docks were half-drowned in fog, the sea whispering against the pilings below. Lanterns swayed in the wind, their light dim and sickly.

Kylo arrived first, his dark coat stirring with the cold breeze. He moved silently through the mist, his senses sharp, every sound amplified — the distant creak of wood, the crash of waves, the faint beat of human hearts.

He frowned. Something was wrong.

There was no scent of her here. No trace of lavender, no warmth. Only the smell of gunpowder and salt.

Then — movement.

Figures emerged from the fog. Half a dozen men, rifles glinting under the lantern light. Hux stood at their center, a pistol in one hand and a thin smile on his lips.

“Good evening, my lord,” he said mockingly. “Out for a stroll?”

Kylo’s eyes darkened. “You lured me here.”

Hux stepped forward, every inch the officer now. “I wanted to see the demon for myself.”

Behind the stacks of cargo, Rey crouched in silence, breath caught in her throat. She had come moments earlier, heart pounding, clutching the letter that had claimed to be from Kylo. But what she found was something else entirely — Hux and his armed men waiting in ambush.

She ducked lower behind the crates, unseen.

Kylo’s voice cut through the fog. “You’ve made a mistake, Captain.”

“Have I?” Hux’s smile sharpened. He pulled a knife from his belt and drew it across his palm. Blood welled instantly.

The scent hit Kylo like a spark to dry tinder. His pupils dilated; the red in his eyes flared to life, burning through the mist.

The men drew back instinctively. Hux stared, horrified. “Gods above,” he whispered. “It’s true.”

From her hiding place, Rey gasped, her hands clapped over her mouth. The faint lantern glow caught the crimson glint in Kylo’s eyes.

He turned away, forcing the hunger down, his voice rough with restraint. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Monster!” Hux spat, backing up. “Abomination!” He yanked a small silver cross from his coat and held it out, trembling.

Kylo regarded it with mild disdain and laughter. “You really think that holds any power of me?”

The cross remained motionless in Hux’s shaking hand.

“Fire!” he barked.

The soldiers raised their guns, but Kylo didn’t move. He only smiled faintly. “You’d better pray you aim well.”

Hux gestured sharply. “No. He’s mine.”

He drew a sword — the ceremonial blade at his hip — and stepped forward, the steel catching the lantern light.

Kylo arched an eyebrow. “You bring a toy to a war, Captain?”

Hux lunged. Steel met flesh with a dull clang as Kylo caught the blade in his bare hand, twisting it aside effortlessly.

“Pathetic,” Kylo murmured. He struck once, his palm slamming into Hux’s chest, sending him sprawling onto the dock. The sword clattered away.

Kylo stood over him, his fangs glinting in the fog. “You wanted to see the monster,” he said quietly. “Now you have.”

He bent low, eyes burning, ready to end it —

“Kylo, stop!”

Rey’s voice cut through the night like a bell.

He froze. His head snapped toward the sound, disbelief flashing across his face. “Rey?”

From the shadows, she stepped into the light, tears shining in her eyes.

Hux’s men hesitated, startled. Then, at his frantic gesture, they raised their rifles again.

Kylo turned back to them, fury blazing anew. He moved faster than sight — a blur of motion and shadow. Shots rang out, wood splintered, men shouted.

When the smoke cleared, Kylo was gone.

Rey felt a rush of air, then the world tilted as strong arms swept her off her feet. She barely had time to gasp before the docks and fog vanished behind them.

The wind whipped past her face as Kylo carried her through the forest, moving faster than any horse could run. His coat flared behind him like wings, his breath steady and unbroken.

When at last he stopped, they stood in the dark hush of the woods, the moonlight silvering the leaves. He set her gently on her feet.

Rey stumbled back, shaking. “You— you’re not human.”

Kylo’s face was pained, his voice low. “Rey—”

Her tears fell freely now. “The soldiers. All of the bodies of late — it was you, wasn’t it? You killed them?!”

He said nothing, and his silence was answer enough.

Rey pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “Were you going to kill me, too?”

His expression broke — shock, then sorrow. “Never. I would sooner die again than harm you
.”

She shook her head, stepping back. “You fed on them— like a monster—”

“Because I have too,” he said, voice raw. “Because I cannot always choose what I am. But you—” He reached for her, then stopped himself. “You make me wish I could.”

Rey’s chest ached with confusion and fear. She couldn’t look at him — not with those eyes, not with the blood still drying on his sleeve.

“I can’t— I can’t stay here.”

He nodded slowly, as if he’d expected it. “Then come to Ravenrock. For the night. I’ll answer what you wish to know. And then— if you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Rey hesitated, tears glimmering in her lashes. The forest was silent around them, and in the dim silver light, Kylo’s face looked both terrible and heartbreakingly human.

She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

He offered his hand, not to command but to guide. She took it — trembling — and together they vanished into the dark.

Chapter Text

The journey to Ravenrock was silent save for the whisper of the wind and the soft clatter of hooves on the forest road.

The mist clung to the trees like ghosts unwilling to leave, parting only as Kylo’s black carriage rolled through it. Inside, Rey sat opposite him, her hands clasped in her lap, her heart a tangle of dread and wonder.

She tried not to stare at him, but every time she looked up, she found his dark eyes watching her in turn — calm, patient, unreadable.

When the first towers of Ravenrock came into view, she caught her breath.

The castle loomed high upon a cliff overlooking the sea, its spires piercing the silver sky. Ivy crawled up its black stone walls, and hundreds of narrow windows flickered with candlelight. The great iron gates opened without a sound, as though the very building had been waiting for them.

When the carriage stopped, Kylo stepped out first and offered her his hand. “You’ll be safe here,” he said, his voice low and steady. “No one will find you unless I wish it.”

Rey hesitated before taking his hand. His skin was cool, but his touch was careful — almost reverent. The great oak doors opened as they approached, revealing a vast entrance hall lit by chandeliers of wrought gold and crystal. The marble floors gleamed beneath their boots, and the scent of old books and salt air drifted through the corridors.

A woman was waiting at the foot of the grand staircase — Rose, the head housekeeper. She was middle-aged, composed, and dressed in dark blue velvet. When her eyes met Rey’s, there was no surprise, only quiet understanding.

“Lady Rey,” Rose said softly, bowing her head. “Your room is prepared.”

Rey followed her through candlelit halls and past tall, arched windows that opened to sweeping views of the sea. Portraits lined the walls — men and women of long-forgotten eras, all bearing a resemblance to Kylo in one way or another. She felt their painted eyes follow her as she walked.

When they reached the guest wing, Rose opened a heavy wooden door. The room beyond took Rey’s breath away.

A great canopy bed stood at its center, its curtains of soft cream and gold. A fireplace crackled in the corner, the scent of cedar wood filling the air.

The walls were draped with rich tapestries, and a balcony overlooked the mist-shrouded cliffs below. On a nearby table, a vase of pale roses perfumed the air with something sweet and melancholy.

Rose placed a folded nightgown upon the bed — fine silk, soft as water. “If you need anything, my lady, ring the bell by the hearth,” she said gently. “Lord Ren will speak with you in the morning.”

Rey turned as Kylo entered the room, the light from the fire throwing amber across his face. “You’ll rest here,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow, you may ask anything you wish of me, and I’ll answer truthfully.”

She nodded, unable to find words. His presence filled the room, and yet she sensed restraint — as though he feared to draw too near. For a moment, their eyes met, and she felt her fear soften into something far more dangerous.

“Goodnight, Rey,” he murmured. Then he turned and was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

-

-

That night, Rey lay awake in the grand bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin. The storm outside had faded, leaving only the distant sound of waves breaking against the rocks below. She turned on her side, staring into the firelight that danced upon the ceiling.

When sleep finally came, it was restless and full of strange dreams — flashes of crimson eyes, the glint of steel, the taste of fear and blood.

She saw him standing beneath the moonlight, the creature within him laid bare, terrible and beautiful. And though part of her trembled in horror, another part, deeper and more reckless, ached for him still.

When dawn broke, the castle was quiet. Rey woke to sunlight filtering through lace curtains, soft and golden. The scent of the sea and blooming ivy filled the room. She dressed quickly and followed the faint sound of footsteps through the corridor until she reached the atrium.

It was a stunning room of glass and marble, opening onto a terrace where autumn vines clung to the stone. The garden beyond was alive with October color — amber leaves and crimson flowers drifting in the cool breeze.

A servant laid out a magnificent breakfast upon the table: fresh bread, honey, fruit, cheese, and warm tea. Across from her sat Kylo, dark-clad and silent, his gaze drawn toward the sunlight streaming through the glass.

“You don’t eat,” Rey said after a moment, her voice soft but curious.

He looked up at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I can, if I wish. The food has taste, texture, beauty. But it doesn’t sustain me.”

“Then… what does?”

“Only blood,” he said simply. “It is the one thing that keeps my body alive — or what passes for life.”

Rey’s pulse quickened. “I’ve heard stories,” she whispered. “Of creatures like you. I never thought them true.”

“Most stories twist the truth until it serves human fear,” he replied. “But not all lies are false.”

She hesitated, then asked, “That night — the knife, the gunshot. I saw the blood, and then it was gone…”

“I heal quickly,” he said. “My body repairs itself within moments of injury. No blade or bullet can end me now. My strength, my senses — they’re not mortal any longer.”

Her eyes widened. “How old are you? If I may ask”

His gaze drifted toward the sea, far away. “I was born in the year 735,” he said chuckled. “I have seen a thousand harvests come and go. Empires rise, crumble, and fade. I have walked through centuries as the world forgot my name.”

Rey’s mouth fell open slightly. “My gods…” She felt a pang of envy and awe. “You’ve seen everything. All the things I’ll never live to see. And not a gray hair on your head.”

His expression was thoughtful, almost humorous. “And yet, for all I’ve seen, I would trade it for a single human lifetime lived with meaning.”

Rey studied him, her fear melting into quiet sorrow. “You’re cursed,” she murmured.

He smiled faintly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply what I was meant to become.”

She leaned forward, curiosity overcoming her unease. “Tell me, then — what are your weaknesses? What do you fear?”

Kylo’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “Long ago, I started the rumors myself — that crosses burn me, that holy places drive me away, that garlic poisons my blood. All falsehoods. They amused me, and they kept mortals at bay.”

Rey blinked. “So none of it is true?”

“No. I can walk in a chapel, hold a crucifix, and eat a plate of roasted garlic with delight.” His mouth quirked. “Though wine still tastes better.”

She laughed softly, surprised by the warmth in his tone. “Then what does harm you?”

His gaze darkened, thoughtful. “Honestly, I don’t know. I have been slain before, but I always come back.”

Rey stirred her tea slowly. “Do your servants know what you are?”

“Only Rose,” he said. “She has been with me the longest. The others think me reclusive, eccentric — nothing more.”

“Why her?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

He paused, his expression unreadable. “Because once, long ago, I saved her life. And she didn’t fear me, only offered herself to serve me as thanks.”

Rey didn’t press further. The silence that followed was gentle, filled with the sound of the sea and the rustle of autumn leaves outside the glass. She felt strangely at peace in his presence, the earlier fear softened into something fragile and uncertain.

At last, she looked up. “I should return home. Maz will worry.”

Kylo’s expression tightened, though he nodded. “As you wish. But be wary, Rey. Hux will not rest after what he’s seen. He knows enough now to be dangerous.”

Rey shivered, remembering the docks, the guns, the look in Hux’s eyes. “What will you do?”

“I will deal with him,” Kylo said quietly. “Soon.”

She rose from the table, her heart pounding, torn between gratitude and fear. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

He stood as well, his height casting a shadow across the golden morning light. “It is I who should thank you,” he said. “For not running sooner.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, with a faint smile and a touch of sadness, Rey turned away and walked toward the waiting carriage, the sound of the sea following her down the marble hall.

Kylo remained in the atrium, watching until she was gone. The sun caught the edge of his face, and for an instant, he looked almost human again.

Almost.

Chapter Text

The ride back to Ashford was long and quiet, the autumn wind whispering through the trees. By the time Rey reached the edge of town, the streets were alive with murmurs.

Doors cracked open as she passed; men spoke in low voices at corners; and the tavern windows glowed with the light of gossip.

When she stepped through Maz’s door, the older woman looked up from the hearth, her face lined with worry.

“You’ve heard, haven’t you?” Maz said at once. “The fool’s gone mad.”

Rey set down her cloak. “Who?”

“Hux,” Maz spat. “He’s calling for a witch hunt. Says Lord Ren is a demon sent from hell itself — says you’re under his spell.”

Rey’s stomach tightened. “That’s absurd.”

Maz shook her head. “He’s been to every tavern in Ashford since dawn, shouting it to any man who’ll listen. Says Ren bewitched you to turn against him. Some of the townsfolk laugh and call him a drunk, but others…” She lowered her voice. “Others are starting to listen.”

Rey felt a cold prickle of fear. “He’s lying.”

“I know that,” Maz said gently. “But lies are easier to believe than the truth when fear takes root. Be careful, child. Don’t wander after dark. Not until this nonsense dies down.”

Rey nodded, forcing calm into her voice. “I’ll be careful.”

Maz watched her a long moment, as though suspecting there was more left unsaid, but said nothing. She only added another log to the fire and muttered, “You always did find trouble in strange places.”

-

-

That night, Rey lay upon her bed, her head turned toward the window where the moonlight spilled through the glass.

The quiet of Maz’s cottage felt strange after the vast halls of Ravenrock. The scent of cedar and roses still clung to her clothes, and when she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the sea.

Her thoughts drifted to him — to the way his voice softened when he spoke her name, to the flash of pain in his eyes when she had asked if he’d ever meant her harm.

She remembered the way his hand had felt in hers, cool but steady, as if it carried both power and restraint in equal measure.

He was a monster, perhaps. But he was also a man — one who had bared his truth to her without disguise.

Rey turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her pulse quickened as the memory of his body rose before her mind’s eye — the hard lines of muscle beneath pale skin, the way the firelight had slid over his chest that night when she had tended him.

She pressed her hands together, trying to still the flutter in her stomach. It was wrong to think of him that way — and yet she couldn’t stop.

Every thought of him pulled her deeper: his voice, his gaze, the quiet strength that made her both frightened and safe at once.

A sigh escaped her lips, soft and trembling. She rolled onto her side, her cheeks flushed, the sheets warm against her skin. The moonlight caught her face, pale and wistful.

She dipped her hand to her folds and caressed there. She shouldn't be doing this, it was wrong. But she needed too, she felt a dampness appear between her fingers. She thought of Lord Ren’s hands, how he would touch her.

How he would pleasure her, and she him. His naked body, sculpted like marble, hovering over hers. His dark eyes would rake down her body and he would kiss her neck viciously.

She even thought of those white fangs, on the brink of breaking her skin. Begging to be invited in.

She didn’t care if he was a creature of night or something worse. Whatever he was, she knew he had already claimed a part of her heart — and that no rumor or priest or frightened villager could undo it.

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, the church bell tolled. Rey closed her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined she felt his presence — the brush of unseen eyes in the dark, the pull of something ancient and irresistible.

And though she knew it was madness, a smile ghosted across her lips.

Chapter Text

The Sly Fox Tavern was crowded that afternoon — thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and woodsmoke. The murmur of gossip rolled beneath the clatter of mugs and the sharp laughter of card players.

Kylo sat alone at a corner table, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, a hood shadowing most of his face. A tankard of ale sat untouched before him, the froth long gone flat. He loathed the taste of the stuff, but in times like these, appearance was everything.

Hux’s rumors had spread like wildfire through Ashford — whispered first in the taverns, then in the market, now in every home that dared to speak his name. Ren, the cursed lord. Ren, the demon in human skin.

The nonsense of a drunken officer, yes — but nonsense repeated often enough could take on the weight of truth.

He could hear them now — the farmers and merchants huddled by the hearth, their voices low but not low enough.

“...they say his reflection doesn’t show in the glass.”

“Aye, and he never eats at the manor dinners. Only wine.”

“Red wine,” another added, with a nervous laugh.

Kylo’s fingers tightened on the mug. He forced himself to drink, the bitter liquid burning against his throat. He could not afford anger — not here, not now.

He needed to appear human.

When he finally stood, his chair scraped across the floorboards, and the nearby whispers died. He paid his tab with a silver coin, nodding curtly to the barkeep.

Outside, the autumn air bit colder, cleaner. The streets of Ashford bustled as always, but there was a subtle shift in the air — glances that lingered too long, doors that closed too quickly.

Kylo ignored them all. His path led him to the heart of town — to a small, tidy shop with golden letters painted across the glass: Miller & Sons Fine Jewelry.

The bell above the door chimed as he entered. The air inside smelled faintly of metal polish and lavender oil. Mr. Miller, a portly man with wire spectacles, looked up from behind the counter and beamed.

“Lord Ren! You’ve come at the perfect time. The piece is ready, just as you asked.”

Kylo’s dark eyes softened a fraction. “You’ve outdone yourself, Miller. I trust it meets my expectations?”

Miller’s hands trembled a little as he opened the small velvet box. Inside, the diamond caught the light like a captured star — large, pure, flawless. The setting was simple but elegant, a perfect balance of grace and strength.

Kylo studied it for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then nodded. “It’s beautiful. She’ll love it.”

“I’m honored, my lord. For Miss Rey, yes?”

Kylo’s lips curved faintly. “For her.”

He pressed a pouch of coins into Miller’s hand — far more than the jeweler dared expect. “My thanks,” Kylo said quietly. “You’ve done well.”

As he stepped out into the afternoon light, he looked down at the ring again, the stone catching the sun’s faint glow. The thought of her — the warmth of her eyes, the sound of her laughter, the way she’d whispered his name that night — stirred something fierce and tender within him

.
Tonight, he decided. Before the sun set. He would ask her to be his — to choose him, despite what he was.

-

-

By the time Kylo arrived at Maz’s cottage, the sky had turned amber with the waning day. The carriage gleamed black and polished at the gate. When Rey stepped out to greet him, her shawl drawn close against the chill, her surprise was evident.

“Kylo,” she said softly. “I didn’t expect you.”

He smiled — the kind that reached only his eyes. “I thought we might drive awhile. The air is good this evening.”

Maz eyed him from the doorway, arms folded. “You’re stirring the pot, my lord. The whole town’s already talking.”

“I know,” he said calmly. “And I’ll handle it.”

Maz didn’t argue, though her gaze lingered suspiciously as Rey took his hand and climbed into the carriage.

-

-

The ride through the countryside was quiet, peaceful. The sun dipped lower, setting the fields aflame with gold and crimson. Rey looked out at the horizon, wondering at the calm in his face. For once, he seemed almost mortal — thoughtful, even gentle.

When the carriage finally stopped, they had reached the coast — a secluded inlet where the sea stretched wide and endless, the water glowing with reflected fire from the sunset. Waves lapped against the shore in slow rhythm, and gulls called faintly overhead.

Kylo stepped out first, offering her his hand. “Come,” he said softly. “I want to show you something.”

She smiled, curious, and let him lead her down a narrow path of rock and sand. The air was cool and carried the scent of salt and pine. When they reached the edge of the water, she stopped, breathless at the beauty of it all — the sun melting into the sea, the light haloing his dark figure in gold.

“Kylo,” she said, laughing lightly, “what is all this?”

He turned to her then, and the world seemed to still. “Rey,” he said quietly, “there are few things left in my life that hold meaning. But you — you’ve become the one thing that does.”

Before she could answer, he drew a small velvet box from his coat and knelt. The sunlight caught the diamond, scattering a thousand sparks across the water.

Rey gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Will you marry me?” Kylo asked, his voice rough with emotion. “Share eternity, or whatever time the fates allow us?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Kylo.”

For a moment, he simply looked at her — as if trying to memorize the sight of her joy — then he rose, caught her by the waist, and lifted her effortlessly into the air. She laughed through her tears as he spun her once, then pulled her close and kissed her, deep and fierce and full of promise.

The sea roared behind them, the wind tangling her hair, the taste of salt and warmth between them. For a brief instant, there was no curse, no fear, no Hux — only the two of them against the dying light.

When they finally parted, Kylo pressed his forehead to hers, his voice low. “There’s something we must speak of,” he said. “Hux.”

Her joy faltered. “What about him?”

“He’s dangerous. I know what he’s plotting — the man won’t stop until he’s either silenced or dead. If I let him live, he’ll rally others. If I kill him, his blood will stain both our names.”

Rey shook her head, fear creeping into her voice. “Kylo, no. You can’t. Murdering him would only prove his madness right.”

“Then what would you have me do?” he asked, frustration tightening his jaw. “He threatens us both. He would see me burned and you branded a witch.”

Rey looked out over the water, the waves darkening with the dusk. “There must be another way,” she said softly. “You’re not the monster he says you are. Don’t become one for him.”

He took her hand, his thumb brushing over the ring now gleaming on her finger. “Then perhaps we leave this place. Elope. Disappear before his poison spreads further.”

Rey’s heart twisted. “You’d give up everything for me?”

“I already have,” he said simply.

The last light of the sun faded into the sea, leaving them cloaked in twilight. Rey leaned against his chest, torn between fear and devotion, the diamond on her hand catching what little light remained.

“Then whatever comes,” she whispered, “we face it together.”

Kylo nodded, his arm tightening around her. The waves crashed gently against the shore — a rhythm as ancient as time itself — and above them, the first stars began to pierce the night.

Chapter Text

Rain had begun, a fine, persistent sift that left the gardens smelling of wet stone and dark earth. Kylo sat alone in the high-backed chair of his study, sleeves rolled up, a cluster of maps and ledgers spread across the oaken table like a constellation of possibilities.

Candlelight trembled in the tall windows; beyond them, the sea’s steady voice underscored the hush of the castle.

He traced routes with a slow, careful finger. Names rose from the parchment — towns he had not visited in decades, estates that once belonged to cousins long dead, a cold Bavarian keep with narrow windows and a winter orchard that smelled of apples and smoke.

Ravenrock had been sanctuary and prison both; now it felt like a stage set, with every whisper from Ashford a footlight trained on his life.

The trouble had arrived in small, poisonous threads: a drunken officer’s slanders at the tavern, merchants repeating the talk because it made them feel safe, neighbors who once nodded and now crossed the street.

Hux had been the kindling. The rumors were the blaze. Exposure was a risk Kylo could not bear any longer — not for himself, and not for Rey.

He pushed aside a folded sheet that listed the names of his other properties until the words stared back at him: Schloss Eberau — Bavaria. Far from the moor and the market’s thin loyalties, cold stone and fir-lined roads that kept secrets well.

He pictured Rey there: the heavy shutters closed against curious neighbors, a garden where Maz’s herbs could grow in peace, a hearth large enough for the two of them and the long nights to come.

A soft knock at the study door made him start. Rose glided in without waiting for a reply, hands tucked primly into her apron.

She was immaculate as always; the years had only steeled her. She set a steaming cup on the table and stood with both palms folded.

“Congratulations, my lord,” she said simply.

Kylo turned, the weight of the ring suddenly luminous on his hand. He had not yet allowed himself the small luxury of believing in the engagement — not while Hux’s poison frothed at Ashford’s edges.

Yet the sound of Rose’s voice made the life he imagined for Rey feel a fraction more real.

“Thank you,” he said, low.

Rose, who had watched him since before his name meant dominion to the staff, inclined her head. “She is a good woman. You are lucky, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

Kylo could have told her the truth — that luck had little to do with it — but he only huffed. “I did not come here to be spoken of in taverns,” he muttered. “If Hux intends to turn the town, he will have to be answered.”

Rose’s mouth thinned. “Answer carefully,” she advised. “But distraction is a tool even scoundrels fear. A grand evening, here at Ravenrock, would put the eyes back upon something splendid and away from him. Give the townsfolk music and roast and gossip of a civil sort — let them trade one spectacle for another.”

He made a face. Hosting had always been a ceremony he tolerated at best. The pomp, the parade of flattering voices, the need to mask himself in courteous smiles — it was all the very thing he loathed. Still, Rose’s reasoning had the blunt, sensible mind of a woman who’d seen darker moments than his temper.

“And you think a party will hush them?” he asked.

Rose nodded. “They love a festival. They love to be seen and to say they were seen by those in power. Give them an evening where they feel included, and their anger often dissolves into vanity. It will not undo Hux. But it will buy us time.”

He folded his hands and stared at the maps again. In the corners of his mind the more dangerous thoughts — the ones that rose unbidden when he imagined Hux laughing at a hearth while the town turned — hardened like ice.

He could imagine confronting Hux in a hundred ways: public exposure that would shove the captain to his knees, a legal ruin, a humiliation so thorough it would peel the man’s venom away.

He could also imagine the last, darker option, the one that had a quickness to it that made his pulse sharpen. He pushed that thought down as one pushes a thorn from a glove; he did not need to plan the means here, only to admit, in a private place, that something in him hummed at the possibility of finality.

“Very well,” he said at last. “We will hold a ball. Send invitations to the Williams, Damerons, the merchants, Hux’s officers — everyone. Let it be splendid enough that the taverns will be empty out of respect or curiosity.”

Rose’s eyes softened. “I’ll have the kitchens and the band. The servants will prepare. Would you like—”

Kylo cut her off with a thoughtful, almost reluctant smile. “And if Hux shows his face, let it be with everyone watching.”

Rose studied him a beat longer. “You mean to confront him, then.”

“I mean to ensure he can no longer harm her,” Kylo answered, cautious of the exact shape of the promise. He closed his hand around the ring at his finger as if it steadied him. “And whether we stay or leave after, I will have already arranged for our departure. Schloss Eberau will receive my trunks. Send word to have the things packed. If we must go, we will go cleanly and quietly.”

A flash of something — shame, excitement, the admitted hunger for control — crossed his face. “He will not take her from me.”

Rose’s coolness cracked into a small, wry smile. “No, my lord. He will not.”

He lingered over the maps a moment longer, tracing a route that would take them northward through safe roads, imagining trunks shipped and servants briefed, imagining Rey waking beneath unfamiliar beams and smelling pine instead of peat.

He knew, with an unsteady candor, that Rey would despise him if he chose the darkest path. She had already said as much: she would not have blood on her hands. He had heard the moral steadiness in her voice.

It was precisely because of that moral steadiness, because she could not abide needless cruelty, that the other thought made the back of his neck prickle with forbidden eagerness.

“Begin the invitations,” he said finally, his voice even. “Make the evening grand. Tell the kitchen I want pheasant, and have the orchards’ apples for dessert. Ask the Williams to lend their silver. And Rose — see that the lads at the gate are ready. If Hux shows, I want witnesses.”

Rose dipped her head. “It will be done.”

As she left, Kylo folded himself into the shadows and let the rain’s steady hiss fill the study. He was both planner and predator that night — choosing the pageant because it masked his movements, plotting a future that might require him to be monstrous, and already dreaming, in a furtive corner of his heart, of the moment when the last of Hux’s threats would fall silent.

The thought made him taste iron on his tongue and, unexpectedly, a prelude of triumph.

He did not yet know whether he would take that final step. He only knew he could not remain in a village where whispers shaped destinies.

He would move Rey away if he had to. If he could avoid it, better. If not, then Bavaria awaited, fires and stone and a winter that could teach the world to forget.

Chapter Text

The great ballroom of Ravenrock shone like a world made of fire and glass. Hundreds of candles blazed from golden chandeliers, their flames mirrored in the polished marble floor. Musicians played in the far gallery — violins weaving soft threads of melody above the hum of conversation and the clink of crystal. The scent of perfume and wine thickened the air, blending with the faint salt carried from the sea.

Rey stood beside Kylo at the head of the room, her gloved hand resting lightly in his. She wore a gown of deep green silk that shimmered like emerald under the candlelight. The color made her eyes glow — vivid, alive, impossible not to see. Around her neck gleamed the diamond he had given her, the stone bright as the night sky’s first star.

Guests flowed around them, a blur of color and noise. Ladies curtsied, gentlemen bowed, and every tongue seemed to have a congratulation ready.

“The match of the year,” some whispered.

“A strange pair, but what beauty she brings to the house of Ren.”

Kylo smiled where politeness required it, inclining his head, murmuring the same words of thanks over and over. His patience thinned by the minute.

If one more powdered noblewoman pressed close with the scent of too much lavender and murmured how “lucky” Rey was to have stolen “the most handsome man in all of Ashford,” he thought grimly, he might do something regrettable.

He imagined, with dark amusement, his hand plunging through a lace bodice, fingers curling around the offending heart, and setting it on a platter for the next simpering guest.

He had endured far worse, but never for so long while pretending to smile.

Rey, for her part, was radiant — gracious, composed, thanking everyone who offered congratulations. Yet she felt the strain in Kylo’s stillness, the restrained coil of his body as though he were a predator forced to dance among lambs.

Lord Dameron and his wife came to them first, followed by the Williams family. Maz arrived later, leaning on her walking stick but dressed splendidly, eyes sharp and assessing. “Quite the spectacle,” she muttered as she kissed Rey’s cheek. “And you look divine, my dear. Try not to faint before the wine runs out.”

The orchestra shifted to a waltz. Kylo, resigned to the role, guided Rey to the floor. When he drew her into his arms, the music seemed to soften around them. He was taller than everyone else in the room; when they turned, his dark coat flared against her gown like night meeting spring.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Rey whispered, teasing.

“I despise this,” Kylo replied under his breath. “Every painted fool here smells of envy or deceit. And the men keep staring at you.”

“That’s because I’m wearing your ring,” she said, smiling. “It shines too brightly to ignore.”

He almost laughed, the sound brief and low. But before he could answer, the ballroom doors opened again, and a hush passed through the crowd.

Captain Hux had arrived.

He stood in the threshold, coat immaculate, hair slicked, a hint of drink on his breath but his step steady. Conversation faltered as eyes turned toward him. For a moment, even the music seemed unsure whether to continue.

Hux’s lips curved into a sharp, humorless smile as he strode toward the couple. “Lord Ren,” he said loudly enough for those nearest to hear. “Miss Rey. Congratulations on your… union. A fine thing indeed. Though I must say,” he added, his gaze flicking to Kylo’s, “I never imagined something like you could charm such beauty.”

The words hung between them, heavy with implication.

Kylo’s face remained unreadable. “Thank you, Captain,” he said in an even tone. “Enjoy the evening.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Hux replied. “A man should always drink to the happiness of others — even if it damns him in the process.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the refreshment table, signaling for brandy. He did not stop watching Kylo all the while.

Rey’s fingers tightened around Kylo’s arm. “Ignore him,” she whispered.

Kylo smiled faintly. “I intend to.”

But inwardly, the calm he showed was little more than ice over a storm.

The evening crawled onward. Guests laughed, musicians played, and the servants wove between them with trays of champagne and sugared fruit. Kylo endured it all until he could bear no more. As soon as conversation shifted elsewhere, he excused himself and slipped through the side doors to the terrace.

The cold air hit like relief. The gardens stretched below, silvered in moonlight. The noise of the ballroom became a distant hum behind glass. He leaned against the railing, drawing in the quiet, his eyes tracing the black line of the cliffs beyond.
He heard the door open again before he turned.

“Running away so soon?”

Hux’s voice was full of mockery. He stepped onto the terrace, brandy glass in hand, the lamplight glinting off his uniform buttons. “I should have known. The mysterious Lord Ren prefers solitude to celebration. Or perhaps,” he added with a grin, “you’re waiting for me.”

Kylo regarded him calmly. “Careful, Captain. I doubt the brandy improves your wit.”

“Oh, I think it sharpens it,” Hux said, taking another sip. “You’ve got the whole town fooled with your charm and your mystery, but not me. I know what you are. I’ve seen it. And I wonder—” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “—what would happen if I tore that mask away in front of them all?”

Kylo’s expression did not change, but his patience had thinned to a knife’s edge. “You’ve been warned once,” he said softly. “Leave it at that.”

Hux laughed — a harsh, brittle sound. “Oh, no. You want me here. I can see it in your eyes. You’d like nothing more than an excuse.”

Kylo’s mouth curved faintly. “Perhaps.”

That flicker of amusement, that calm composure, enraged Hux more than any insult could have. He lunged forward, brandy sloshing, knife flashing from his belt. Kylo made no move to stop him. The blade bit into his shoulder — shallow but enough to draw blood.

Kylo looked down at the wound, then up at Hux, and smiled. “Satisfied?”

Hux froze. “You— you should be on your knees. You disgusting creature.”

“I should,” Kylo said softly. “But I’m not.”

Hux jabbed his blade into Kylo’s ribs this time. Dragging the blade so it sliced more of the skin. Kylo winced but after 1,000 years of battle and bloodshed, this was nothing.

His voice dropped, dark as thunder. “Do you know what I wish? I wish I could tear into your throat and drain the hatred from you drop by drop. Relish how your warm fresh blood would taste. But I’ll be merciful.”

Before Hux could speak again, Kylo’s hand shot out. He moved faster than sight, faster than breath — a blur of motion and strength. There was a sickening crack. Hux’s body went limp, the knife falling from his hand.

Kylo caught him before he hit the stone, lowering him to the terrace floor. Blood spread beneath them, black in the moonlight.

For a moment, the world was silent except for the distant music still drifting through the open doors. Then, inside, someone screamed. The doors burst open, and a dozen guests poured out, their faces pale and shocked.

Rey was among them.

“Kylo!” she cried, running forward. She knelt beside him, her skirts gathering blood from the tiles. “What happened?”

Kylo’s voice was calm, almost weary. “He attacked me. He was drunk — you saw how he was tonight. I had no choice.”

The onlookers murmured. Lord Dameron stepped forward, glancing from the knife to the body. “He’s right,” Dameron said grimly. “Hux has been unhinged for weeks. This… this is no one’s fault but his own.”

A ripple of agreement spread. Within minutes, the servants had been sent for, and the body covered. The orchestra’s music faltered, then fell silent. The party dispersed in uneasy murmurs, guests whispering that the captain’s madness had finally undone him.

Rey stayed by Kylo’s side until the last of them had gone. Maz appeared briefly, her expression unreadable, but her words few. “I’ll take my leave,” she said. “You two need the night.”

When the hall was quiet again, Rey turned to Kylo. “You meant to do it, didn’t you?”

He met her eyes without hesitation. “Yes.”

Her breath caught. “You plotted this.”

“I protected us,” he said simply. “He would never have stopped otherwise.”

Rey looked away, torn between fear and understanding. The logic of it was unassailable — but the ease in his tone frightened her more than the act itself.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Then say nothing,” Kylo murmured. “Not tonight.”
He reached out, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Rest. I’ll have Rose prepare your room.”

She nodded faintly, too exhausted to argue. As she turned to go, she looked back once, seeing him still kneeling beside the covered body, the moonlight cutting a cold silver line across his face.

When she reached her chamber, she closed the door and leaned against it, trembling.

He did it for me, she thought. And yet… he enjoyed it.

Outside, the sea crashed against the cliffs, and in the vast, echoing halls of Ravenrock, the music of the night was gone. Only silence remained — heavy, and absolute.

Chapter Text

A soft knock stirred Rey from sleep.

“Miss Rey?” Rose’s gentle voice drifted through the door. “Breakfast is ready. His Lordship is already downstairs.”

Rey rubbed her eyes, the weight of the previous night pressing faintly at her chest. The memory came back in broken pieces—the shouting, the flash of a blade, Kylo kneeling in blood. The shock of it still trembled in her bones.

She rose, washed quickly, and dressed in one of the simple gowns the servants had pressed for her, its pale fabric smelling faintly of lavender. When she stepped into the corridor, the castle felt oddly still, as if it too were recovering from the night’s violence.

-

-

The breakfast hall was warm with morning light. The tall windows looked out over the misty gardens where dew clung to the roses like glass beads. A fire burned low in the hearth, the scent of bread and berries mingling with smoke.

Kylo stood near the window, dressed in simple black—no coat, no gloves, no armor of ceremony. His hair was unbound, a dark wave falling over his shoulders. In one hand he held a goblet of crimson liquid that gleamed like garnet in the light.

He didn’t turn immediately when she entered, but his voice carried softly through the quiet.

“You slept?”

“I did,” Rey replied, taking her seat at the table. Rose appeared, placing a plate of eggs, fruit, and warm bread before her. Rey murmured a thank you and began to eat, though her appetite lagged behind her curiosity.

Kylo joined her at the table, his movements measured, almost human in their ease. He took nothing from the platters save for the glass in his hand.

When she dared to look at him, she saw a faint smear of red at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away absently, as though it were wine.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Strange,” she admitted. “Relieved, perhaps. But… it doesn’t sit right. The way it ended.”

His eyes lifted to hers—steady, unreadable. “You think me cruel.”

“I think you’re capable of cruelty,” she said quietly. “But not without reason.”

He inclined his head, as though conceding the point. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Rey looked up from her plate, startled. “Now?”

“Yes. It’s better said than avoided.”

-

-

They walked together down the long eastern corridor, sunlight slanting through the tall, arched windows. She knew where he was leading her before they arrived.

The painting hung in its familiar place—the woman and the child, rendered in fading oils. She had paused before it once before, struck by the gentleness in their faces.

Kylo stopped beside her. For a long moment, he only looked. Then, quietly, he spoke.

“I told you once they were my family,” he said. “But I didn’t tell who they really were.”

Rey’s hands folded before her. “You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

He stared at the figures in the frame—the woman’s soft smile, the child’s wide eyes. “When I was turned, I thought I could return home, protect them with what I’d become. I was wrong. I came back to ash. Raiders had found the village before I did. My wife, my son—they were gone. I found their bodies by the hearth.”

His voice did not waver, but there was an old hollowness in it that made her chest ache.

“I hunted the men who did it,” he went on. “I tore their camp apart. Every one of them died by my hand. I thought I was avenging them.” He paused, the memory darkening his eyes. “But I was only feeding the thing I had become. It felt… good. Terribly good. And that is what frightened me most.”

Rey turned to face him. “You think that’s what you’ve become again.”

Kylo met her gaze. “It’s what I feared would happen to you. Hux was a man who took what he wanted, no matter the cost. He would have destroyed you, as others once destroyed everything I loved.”

“And yet,” Rey said softly, “you still enjoyed ending him.”

A faint, bitter smile crossed his lips. “Yes. And that is my curse. I take pleasure in the ruin I cause, even when I tell myself it is justice.”

He stepped closer then, his presence filling the air like a shadow that hummed with warmth. “But you’ve changed that. For the first time in centuries, I wanted something other than destruction. I wanted peace. I wanted you.”

Rey’s breath caught. The words were raw and unpolished, pulled from some place he had long buried.

He looked at her then—not as a lord, not as a creature of legend, but as a man who had suffered too long. “We can’t stay here. The town will speak, and I have no wish to see you tangled in their fear. I own an estate in Bavaria, high in the mountains. It’s quiet there. The world forgets itself. Come with me.”

Rey stared at him, hardly breathing. “You mean to leave Ashford?”

“Yes.” His voice softened. “And if you’ll have me… we’ll marry there. In two weeks’ time.”

Her lips parted, trembling between disbelief and something far deeper. “Married?”

He nodded once. “Under the snow and the pines. Far from all this.”

For a long heartbeat, she said nothing. Then her expression gentled. “I’m ready to see the world,” she whispered. “And if you’ll have me, Kylo… I’ll go gladly.”

His eyes closed briefly, as though steadying something that threatened to break him. When he looked at her again, it was with a quiet, reverent smile. “Then it’s settled.”

-

-

That evening, Rey returned to the cottage beneath the soft fall of dusk. The lamplight through the windows was warm and familiar. Maz was there, perched at her table with a cup of tea, her spectacles catching the firelight.

“So,” Maz said without looking up, “you’ve got that look about you again. The kind that says the world just tilted under your feet.”

Rey set down her cloak, unable to hide the tremor of emotion in her voice. “We’re leaving, Maz. He’s taking me to Bavaria.”

Maz’s eyes lifted, the lines around them deepening. “Leaving Ashford.”

“Yes. He’s asked me to marry him there.”

For a long moment, Maz said nothing. Then she nodded slowly. “I suppose I knew this day would come.”

Rey knelt beside her, taking her hand. “You could come with us. He would welcome you.”

Maz gave a soft laugh. “No, my dear. Ashford still needs its healer, and I’ve no taste for cold mountains or brooding lords. You’re in love. Go where love calls you. But remember—love’s not always gentle. It burns, and it tests. Don’t lose yourself to it.”

Rey felt tears gather in her eyes. “I’ll write to you.”

“I know you will,” Maz said, squeezing her hand. “Now go on. Before dawn changes your mind.”

Rey embraced her tightly. When she stepped out into the mist, the moors stretched silver under the rising moon. Somewhere beyond them waited the road to Bavaria—and the strange, uncertain promise of forever.

Chapter Text

The morning sun cast long ribbons of light over the road, glinting off dew-soaked fields and the slow curl of river mist.

For days now, Rey and Kylo had been traveling south—through wooded hills, cobbled villages, and quiet farmlands that rolled out like an endless tapestry of green. Ravenrock was behind them, its windows shuttered, its silence sealed.

The castle that had watched over Kylo’s long solitude was now nothing more than a shadow on the coast.

Rey, sitting by the window of the carriage, could hardly contain her wonder. Every turn brought something new: the smell of roasting chestnuts in the square, the sight of shepherds calling to their flocks in the distance, the laughter of children running barefoot down sun-warmed lanes.

Kylo sat beside her, cloaked in dark linen, his posture relaxed yet distant. He had not spoken much that morning, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though measuring how far from the past they had traveled.

-

-

By midday, they stopped in a small town nestled along the banks of a river that glittered like glass under the sunlight. The market square was alive with color—vendors selling fruit and ribbons, a fiddler playing near the fountain, and townsfolk bartering in lively bursts of French and German.

Rey’s face lit up as she stepped from the carriage. “Oh, Kylo, look at this place!” she said, turning in a slow circle. “It’s like something from a painting.”

He smiled faintly. “You sound like someone seeing the world for the first time.”

“Perhaps I am.”

They found a tavern near the edge of the square—a cheerful building with ivy curling around its door and the sign of a golden fox swinging lazily in the breeze. Inside, it was warm and crowded, filled with the scent of spiced meat, bread, and mulled wine.

Rey ordered roast chicken and ale, while Kylo requested only a goblet of “wine”—the tavernkeeper didn’t question the dark red liquid poured discreetly from a flask he carried himself.

Rey tore off a piece of bread, smiling over the rim of her cup. “You could at least try something,” she teased.

Kylo’s expression softened. “And risk the insult of grimacing through every bite? I’d rather not ruin your meal.”

“You sound as though you’ve forgotten how to enjoy it.”

“I remember,” he said quietly. “Salted fish, black bread, mead that burned going down. In my first life, those were joys worth fighting for. But now…” He looked down at his glass, watching the dark liquid catch the light. “Once you’ve tasted blood, everything else turns hollow.”

Rey shivered but smiled gently. “You make even horrific things sound poetic.”

He gave her a look that might have been amusement—or warning. “Monsters often have the best words.”

-

-

After they ate, Rey convinced him to walk through the marketplace. The air outside was thick with sound and scent—spices, smoke, river water, laughter.

She darted from stall to stall, her curiosity bright as sunlight. Kylo followed a step behind, tall enough that his shadow stretched over her like a quiet guardian.

When she spotted a small bookshop tucked beside a bakery, she gasped. “Please, can we stop here?”

He sighed, but his lips curved slightly. “I should have known lunch wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you.”

Inside, the shop smelled of parchment and ink. Dust drifted through narrow beams of light, and the shelves bowed under the weight of old tomes. Rey brushed her fingers along the bindings, whispering titles under her breath.

She stopped when her hand fell on a faded spine stamped in gold: Of Blood and Shadow: Theories of the Supernatural and the Undead.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she said, holding it up. “Look what I found.”

Kylo groaned softly. “Do you intend to insult me before we reach Bavaria?”

Rey ignored him, opening to a chapter titled Of Vampyres and Their Habits. Her tone turned mockingly dramatic as she read:

“The creature of the night, known commonly as the vampire, is a corpse restored to motion by unholy rites. It must rest in a coffin lined with the soil of its homeland, for without this connection it will wither. The sun burns it to ash, it casts no reflection, and it shuns all bodies of water, for it cannot cross them without aid of dark enchantments.”

Rey looked up, fighting a grin. “You must admit, it’s rather thorough.”

Kylo gave a soft snort. “It’s absurd. I sleep in a bed, not a coffin. I need no dirt to keep me alive, and I cross rivers quite easily.”

Her eyes danced with amusement. “But you don’t like water, do you?”

He hesitated, then smirked. “I never said I liked it.”

“Oh?” she teased, flipping another page. “It also says you have no reflection and that you turn into a bat when startled.”

Kylo rolled his eyes, stepping closer until the dust in the air shimmered between them. “If I had no reflection, how would you explain my impeccable fashion sense?”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said, trying not to smile. “Although you need to broaden your color choices.”

He leaned down slightly, his voice a low murmur. “And sacrifice my reputation for dark and broody, never.”

Her heart skipped. “You’re insufferable.”

He took the book from her hands, flipping through it with disdain. “Grotesque fabrications. Romanticized fears of men who never met what they feared.”

Rey tilted her head. “Then tell me—what is true?”

Kylo closed the book gently. “The hunger. The strength. The loneliness.” His gaze flicked to hers. “The rest are fairy tales written by frightened men—and women who secretly wanted to be bitten.”

Rey flushed, laughing softly. “Now who’s romanticizing?”

“Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me,” he said, placing the book back on the shelf.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other. The dusty air seemed to thicken, their proximity narrowing the world to just the space between them. Rey cleared her throat first. “I still think the coffin part is entertaining.”

“Then you can have one lined with rose petals,” he said dryly. “I’ll keep my bed.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

-

-

By dusk, they had left the town behind and reached the coast. The sea stretched out before them—vast, restless, endless blue beneath the dying light. A chartered ship waited at the dock, its sails tied and crew bustling.

Kylo paused at the foot of the gangway, staring out over the rolling expanse. The breeze tugged at his coat, and the faint salt of the air made his expression tighten.

“I used to love the sea,” he said quietly. “When I was mortal. I was born on the fjords of Norway—long before these lands were mapped as they are now. I could feel the pull of the ocean in my blood. It was freedom… power. The wind in my sails, the creak of the ship—it was everything a man could want.”

Rey watched him, her heart softening at the distant ache in his tone. “What changed?”

“The sea doesn’t belong to the dead,” he said simply. “The salt burns my senses now. The scent of brine feels like fire in my lungs. And the confinement…” He glanced toward the ship’s narrow decks. “Vampires don’t care for small spaces. We are creatures of control. Out there”—he nodded to the water—“you surrender it to the waves. It makes us uneasy.”

Rey stepped closer, her hand brushing his sleeve. “Then I’ll enjoy it for both of us.”

His mouth twitched, half amusement, half surrender.

They boarded as the last light of evening stretched across the water, the waves lapping against the hull like a heartbeat. The ship groaned as it set sail, leaving the harbor behind.

Rey stood at the railing, the wind tangling her hair, her eyes bright with wonder. “It smells like freedom,” she murmured.

Kylo joined her, his gaze on the horizon. “To me, it smells like fish, salt, and unwashed clothes.”

For three days they sailed beneath the open sky. Rey loved the rhythm of it—the cry of gulls, the shimmer of moonlight on the water, the hiss of foam breaking against the bow.

Kylo stayed below deck during the day, emerging only at dusk when the light softened and the stars began to burn overhead.

On the third morning, Rey woke to find the horizon changed. Mountains rose from the mist, their peaks capped with snow and shadow.

Kylo stood beside her, his dark hair stirred by the wind, his voice low and steady. “Bavaria,” he said. “The heart of the old world.”

Rey smiled, eyes alight. “Then let’s see what waits for us there.”

And together, they sailed toward the white cliffs and the promise of a new beginning.

Chapter Text

The journey through the Bavarian countryside ended at dusk. The mountains rose before them like ancient guardians, their peaks brushed with snow and shadow.

A narrow road wound through dark pines and spilled out into a valley of silver mist where the roar of falling water echoed endlessly.

There, nestled against the cliffs, stood the castle.

Rey leaned forward in her seat, her breath catching. “Oh… Kylo.”

It rose from the stone like something carved by gods—tall, gothic spires reaching toward the clouds, its walls veined with ivy and time.

Arched windows glimmered with faint candlelight, and beside it, a vast waterfall tumbled down the mountainside, crashing into a lake so clear it mirrored the moon. Mist hung over the water, soft and ghostly, wrapping the castle in a shroud of silver.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Kylo, sitting beside her, smiled faintly. “It’s endured. That’s something.”

“How long have you had it?” she asked, unable to tear her eyes away.

He considered a moment, his gaze distant. “Three hundred years… give or take. I built it after the wars, when I thought I might live quietly. It’s been empty for decades now. Likely dusty.”

The carriage rattled over the bridge that crossed the narrow river feeding the lake. When they reached the main drive, the tall gates creaked open as if in welcome. Firelight flickered in the sconces along the courtyard walls, and a single figure stood waiting at the great doors.

“Rose!” Rey called as she stepped out of the carriage, the cold mountain air stinging her cheeks.

Rose descended the steps quickly, her face lighting in genuine delight. “Miss Rey! My lord! You’ve made it safely.”

Rey smiled warmly. “It’s good to see a familiar face.”

Kylo moved to the back of the carriage, effortlessly unloading trunks as though they weighed nothing. His strength, quiet and fluid, made Rey glance at him with a mixture of awe and affection.
“Let me—” Rey began.

He shook his head, lifting the final chest with one hand. “I’ve got it.”

Rose chuckled softly. “Still as stubborn as ever, my lord.”

“Efficient,” he corrected dryly, setting the luggage down.

Rey’s gaze swept over the castle again as they entered. The great doors opened to a hall vast and magnificent—vaulted ceilings carved with angels and wolves, candlelight glinting off marble floors veined in dark silver.

Stained glass windows filtered the waning daylight into shards of ruby and gold. The scent of old books and woodsmoke filled the air.

It made Ravenrock feel small—almost modest in comparison.

“Kylo,” Rey whispered, turning in slow wonder. “This place is—”

“Overcompensating?” he offered with a teasing half-smile.

She laughed. “Grand. Absolutely grand.”

He watched her, amused, as she turned in a slow circle beneath the chandelier. The sight of her wonder stirred something warm and strange in him.

Rose clasped her hands together. “I’ll see to tea and some supper. You both must be weary from the road.”

“Thank you, Rose,” Kylo said.

As the servant woman departed down a side corridor, Rey lingered near the great hearth, her eyes dancing in the firelight. “Rose asked about our journey,” she said when Kylo joined her. “I told her about the book you wouldn’t let me buy.”

He sighed, feigning long-suffering patience. “That ridiculous vampire nonsense again?”

“Yes! The one about soil in coffins and bats.”

Rose, returning briefly to set down a tray of pastries, chuckled. “Oh, I’ve read versions of that, too. It makes for good reading, if not good research.”

Kylo arched a brow. “Whoever wrote it did neither research nor traveling. If they had, they might’ve realized vampires are far too dignified to sleep in dirt.”

Rey grinned. “But perhaps less dignified about criticism.”

He smirked. “You wound me, sweetheart.”

Rose laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll leave you two to settle in. Tea will be ready shortly.”

-

-

As the echoes of her footsteps faded, Rey wandered the corridors, marveling at every detail. The castle was alive with history—the whisper of tapestries in the draught, the soft hum of unseen corridors. She traced her fingers along the carved stone banister, peered into rooms with tall arched windows, and found portraits so old the paint seemed to dream of life.

At last she reached the upper hall. One of the doors stood ajar, and she pushed it open.

Her room took her breath away. The bed was vast, draped in gauze and velvet, with a window that overlooked the waterfall below. Candlelight flickered against pale stone, catching on crystal and brass. It felt like stepping into a storybook.

And there, beside the wardrobe, stood Kylo, quietly unpacking her things. His dark hair fell loose over his shoulders, his sleeves rolled to his elbows as he folded a gown carefully into a chest.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rey said softly from the doorway.

He turned, a small smile touching his lips. “I wanted to.”

Rey stepped forward, her heart fluttering as the sound of the waterfall filled the silence. “You’ve thought of everything,” she murmured. “Even here.”

“It’s been a long time since this place had life in it,” he said. “You make it feel like a home again.”

Her breath caught. She moved closer, until she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Then I’ll try not to disappoint.”

He laughed under his breath. “Impossible.”
Rey reached up, brushed a strand of hair from his face, and kissed him. It was soft at first—tentative, grateful—but deepened with the weight of everything left unspoken: the journey, the promise of what lay ahead, the fragile hope that even monsters could find peace.

When she finally pulled back, she smiled. “I’m so happy to be here.”

Kylo’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Then we’ve done something right.”

Outside, the waterfall thundered beneath the stars, and within the ancient castle’s walls, for the first time in centuries, there was laughter, warmth, and the faint, unsteady heartbeat of love returning to the living.

Chapter Text

The October afternoon had settled over Bavaria in soft gold and silver. The waterfall roared faintly in the distance, and sunlight glimmered off the lake like a thousand broken mirrors. Rey wandered through the castle gardens, her skirts brushing the autumn leaves, following the warmth of the light and the low hush of the wind until she saw him.

Kylo was lounging on the stone terrace, his long frame stretched lazily across a carved bench near the balustrade. His shirt was dark, open at the collar, his hair unbound and catching threads of sunlight. A book rested across his chest, though he didn’t appear to be reading. His eyes were closed, face angled toward the afternoon sun, utterly still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Rey smiled softly. He looked otherworldly—beautiful, and somehow both powerful and at peace. She lingered at the edge of the terrace, quietly admiring the sight, unwilling to disturb the stillness.

Without opening his eyes, Kylo said, “You’re staring.”

Rey blinked, caught. “I’m admiring. There’s a difference.”

“It’s creepy,” he murmured, lips curving faintly.

She scoffed playfully. “It’s romantic.”

He opened one eye, gray and gleaming. “There’s a fine line between romance and stalking, little one.”

Rey laughed and came closer, sitting beside him on the edge of the lounge. “You don’t seem to mind.”

He turned his head toward her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Not when it’s you.”

For a while, neither spoke. The waterfall’s rhythm filled the silence, blending with the rustle of leaves. Rey let her gaze wander to the sunlight pooling over his hands. “It doesn’t hurt you, does it? The sun?”

“No,” Kylo said quietly. “It doesn’t harm me.” His tone softened, thoughtful. “It harms the lesser ones—those who were sired after me. Their blood isn’t as strong. They burn if they linger too long beneath the light. I don’t.”

Rey tilted her head, intrigued. “And you’re sure of that? You’ve been out here for quite a while.”

He smirked faintly. “I’ve tested it. Haven’t burned to a crisp yet.” His gaze turned distant, shaded by memory. “I didn’t know I could sire others until I learned by accident. A comrade of mine had fallen in battle centuries ago, mortally wounded. I kneeled over him, blood from my lip dripped into his mouth. I found him the next night… changed.”

Rey’s eyes widened. “You discovered it by chance.”

Kylo nodded. “Yes. I had no idea what I’d done. Until I tested it. Vampires born of my blood. But they were weaker. They lacked… what I am.” His voice turned lower, measured. “There are others scattered through the world, I’m sure. But none quite like me. I am the oldest. The strongest.” he said with pride.

Rey studied him quietly. “Does it ever frighten you, knowing that?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. But it reminds me what I am capable of. And why I choose restraint.”

The sunlight caught his profile then, casting his face in amber and shadow. Rey felt a strange mixture of awe and tenderness. “You’ve lived through so much,” she said softly. “And yet here you are, sitting in the sun.”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “Even the damned deserve a quiet afternoon.”

Rey laughed gently, brushing her fingers against his arm. “And a wedding.”

At that, Kylo turned his gaze toward her, his expression softening. “Ah, yes. The wedding.”

“It’s nearly here,” Rey said, her voice brightening. “Rose tells me the gownmaker will have my dress finished by tonight.”

“I’ve already chosen the place,” Kylo said, his tone low and certain. “There’s a ledge just beyond the cliffs, above the lake. It faces west—at sunset, the entire sky burns with light, and the water turns to gold. We’ll marry there.”

Rey’s breath caught, her imagination already painting it. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It is,” he murmured. “I used to stand there and think of nothing. Now I think of you.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Two days,” she whispered. “It hardly feels real.”

Kylo’s eyes lingered on her face. “It will be. The ceremony will be simple—just you, me, and the mountain wind as our witness. Rose has arranged for the chapel bells in the nearby village to ring at dusk. I thought it fitting.”

Rey smiled, her heart full. “It’s perfect.”

He leaned back again, one arm resting behind his head. “You’ll be the first light this place has seen in centuries.”

“And you’ll be the shadow beside it,” she teased gently.

His lips curved, amused. “I’ll take that.”

She looked at him fondly. “You seem calm, but I think you’re more excited than you let on.”

He tilted his head, feigning thought. “Excited, yes. Though perhaps not for the same reasons you are.”

Her brow furrowed playfully. “And what reasons would those be?”

Kylo’s mouth twitched into a slow, devilish smirk. “The wedding night.”

Rey blinked, heat rising to her cheeks. “Kylo—”

He gave a quiet laugh, rich and low. “I’m eager to see you in our bed. I’ve imagined it more than I should admit.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” she said, though her voice was warm, not scolding.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his tone silk and sin.

Then his smile faded into something quieter, more contemplative. “You make restraint difficult,” he said softly. “I’ve had centuries of control—centuries of keeping the hunger in its place. But you…” His voice trailed off.

Rey turned to him, eyes searching. “Is it hard for you? To resist?”

He met her gaze, steady and honest. “Yes. Always. The craving never leaves, only lessens. I’ve learned to master it. But when you’re near—when I can hear your pulse, smell your skin—” He paused, his eyes darkening. “It becomes… harder.”

Her throat tightened, not with fear but with the weight of what he confessed. “And yet you stay in control.”

“I must,” he said simply. “Because what I want from you isn’t just blood. It’s everything else, too.”

The wind moved through the terrace, carrying the scent of pine and mist. Rey reached out, her fingers brushing his hand. He turned his palm upward and laced their fingers together, the contrast of her warmth against his cool skin grounding them both.

For a long while, they sat like that, hand in hand, the sunlight painting the world around them in gold.

“Two days,” Kylo said finally, his voice quiet, certain.

Rey smiled softly. “Two days.”

The waterfall thundered below, the lake shimmered with reflected fire, and somewhere far above, the chapel bells began to toll faintly in the distance—as though the mountains themselves were waiting for the moment they would speak their vows.

Chapter Text

The Bavarian sky opened wide and pale over the lake, where the water mirrored every drifting cloud. The castle stood high above, its ancient towers of white stone rising like spires from a dream.

From its balconies one could see the sweep of dark forest below, and beyond that—the cliffs. There, where the grass gave way to wildflowers and the air carried the cold sweetness of mountain wind, Lord Ren waited.

He stood at the edge of the precipice overlooking the lake, the wind teasing the black of his coat and the dark fall of his hair. Behind him, the castle’s great shadow stretched long across the grass, but he looked forward, where sunlight trembled on the water’s surface. In one hand, he held a single garnet ring; in the other, nothing but stillness.

Rose stood a short distance behind him, her gown simple, her hands clasped around a small velvet box that held Rey’s matching band.

No other souls attended. No banners, no choir—only the whisper of wind through wild heather, the cry of swallows, and the eternal sound of the lake.

Then the doors of the lower terrace opened, and Rey appeared.

She moved slowly down the stone steps, every movement deliberate, the long lace train of her gown brushing the grass in a trail of ivory. Her veil caught the sunlight like spun glass, and beneath it, her face was radiant with calm and wonder.

The lace sleeves trembled faintly in the breeze, the hem dusted with petals that the wind had strewn along her path. She carried no flowers. Her hands were bare, and yet she held something far greater than ceremony: a serenity that seemed to silence even the wind.

Lord Ren’s breath stilled as she came near. Centuries of waiting, of loss and shadow, seemed to collapse into this single instant. She stopped before him, her veil lifting gently as the wind passed between them. For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

Then she smiled.
“I never would have thought,” she whispered, eyes bright with mischief, “that I’d be marrying such an old man.”

A low laugh, rare and deep, escaped him. “And yet you’ve chosen to,” he murmured. “Do you know what forever truly means, little one?”

Rey tilted her head, the faintest smile curving her lips. “If it means standing here with you, then yes. I think I do.”

The compelled priest—an old man with eyes clouded by Lord Ren’s will—began to speak. His voice carried softly over the cliffs.

“Before the open sky and the still waters, we gather to bind two souls—Lord Ren of Bavaria, and Miss Rey of Ashford—in vow eternal.”

The wind pressed against Rey’s veil, lifting it like breath itself. Rose stepped forward, holding out the small box. Her eyes glistened as she offered the rings—silver circlets, each set with a garnet that glowed like the heart of a dying star.

“What did you do to the priest? He looks entranced” Rey Whispered.

Kylo chuckled lowly, “Did I forget to mention my abilities of compulsion?”

Lord Ren took the first ring and slipped it gently onto Rey’s finger. His voice was low, but it carried, deep and certain.

“I swear upon the centuries that have carried me here: I will protect you, love you, and walk with you through every dusk and dawn that time will allow. You are my light, and I am your shadow—and together, we will endure.”

Rey’s hand trembled only slightly as she took his ring in return. “And I,” she said softly, “will be your warmth when the world grows cold. I will not fear your darkness, my lord, for it is where I have found my heart.”

The priest lowered his head. “By will and word, you are bound.”

Lord Ren reached forward, lifted her veil, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was long and reverent, the sort of kiss that sealed not just vows, but lifetimes. The lake below shimmered with light; the wind softened into silence as though the world itself bowed in witness.

When they parted, his hand lingered against her cheek, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The faintest smile touched his lips. “You are mine,” he said quietly. “And I am yours.”

Rose wiped her eyes, laughing softly through her tears. “It’s done,” she whispered. “You’re truly wed.”

Rey turned her face toward the lake, the sunlight spilling over them both. The wind tangled her hair and his coat alike, binding them in wildness, in freedom, in a kind of eternity that no prayer could name.

-

-

The sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the lake in rose and gold. The celebration was small—just the three of them at a table set near the western balcony. Rose poured wine and laughed until her cheeks flushed. The servants had been dismissed; this joy was theirs alone. Lord Ren lifted his goblet of blood-dark wine but drank little, content to watch his bride’s laughter ripple across the twilight air.

When the evening faded and Rose retired, the halls fell to silence. The castle glowed in the moonlight, its corridors hushed, its towers brushed by mist.

Rey stood by the tall windows of the bedchamber, her gown unfastened at the back, her veil folded on the chair beside her. The lake gleamed beyond the glass—silver, endless, and still.

Lord Ren crossed the threshold, the sound of his boots soft against the stone. He came to her side, his reflection joining hers in the glass. “From now on,” he said quietly, “you sleep here—with me.”

Rey turned toward him, her eyes luminous in the candlelight. “And if I wake before you?”

His mouth curved faintly. “Then you will wake me. Eternity can wait.”

He gathered her into his arms, and the last of the candlelight flickered low, the lake outside shimmering with the same quiet fire as the garnets on their hands.

“And now, for the part I have been yearning for.” Kylo spoke with sin dripping from his tongue.

Before Kylo could continue slipping off her gown Rey stopped his wicked fingers.

“Kylo, I must inform you, I am quite foreign in this certain marital matter.” Rey said with blush blooming her cheeks.

Kylo hummed softly in her soft hair. He released her from his hold and she sat up locking eyes. He could feel her embarrassment.

“My sweet, don’t be embarrassed. In fact, I am quite happy that you have no such experience.” he consoled, before turning his smile wicked, “For that means I get to ruin you in the most delectable way possible.”

Rey’s breath hitched. She could feel her heart flutter against her chest. Kylo began to peel the layers off of himself.

“Don’t be afraid my love, I will be gentle….at first.”

Kylo stalked up Rey’s body. She felt so small underneath his hulking frame. He began to slip off the sleeves of her dress once more. His eyes never left hers. He then slid off of her and stood at the base of the bed. She could catch a glimpse of the protrusion forming in his trousers.

“And now my sweet Rey, allow me to begin.”

Kylo grabbed her by her delicate ankles and with little effort dragged her toward the edge of the bed. He hitched her gown and brushed her folds with his rough fingers.

“Oh Lord Ren, you are insatiable.” Rey remarked.

“Lady Ren, I am hungry.” Kylo spoke with sin and passion.

He began to thrust his fingers into her. Rey gasped, never having felt such pleasure before. Ren eagerly pumped his digits into her, savoring those beautiful moans of hers.

He continued his pace until he felt her orgasm draw closer. He then added a third finger to her and she all but screamed. Kylo relished the sounds of his wife. His inner predator enjoyed every scream and tear she produced.

Once Rey came down from her first high Kylo withdrew his hands and brought them to his trousers. He slowly unfastened them and tore off his breeches. Rey gasped, she was always shielded from seeing such private things.

Kylo took her small hand and brought it close to his leaking member.

“This is what you do to me my love. I have been thinking of this very moment for so long.”

Kylo’s chest heaved the feeling of Rey’s delicate fingers caressing him, sending him over the edge.

“That’s right my sweet, move your hand up and down, just like that. Good girl.” Kylo threw his head back, dark strands sticking to his forehead, trapped in sweat.

Once he was satisfied with her work and lined up at her entrance. His thick cock, pulsing with blood and need.

“Now, this will hurt but the pain will fade and you will feel nothing but pure bliss. I will stop if you ask, but I hope you don’t.”

Rey nodded her head in approval and held her breath. Kylo began to push in, coating himself in her juices. Rey fisted the sheets around her.

“Kylo oh gods, it’s so much.” Rey stammered.

“Just breathe my love.” Kylo huffed out. The feeling was euphoric. He missed this feeling. He can’t even remember the last time he had a woman crying on his cock.

“Gods Rey you are so tight, so perfect.”

Her silken heat strained to adjust to his size but he would not back down now. He needed this, and so did she.

Once he was finally at the hilt he began to pump in and out. He lowered himself so Rey could get a hold of his shoulders. Her nails digging into the meat of his flesh. She whimpered but that only fueled Kylo’s hunger.

He began to thrust faster. Shifting Rey up the bed. She winced more and cried out in pleasure as she orgasmed once more. Kylo could feel his fangs descend, he was almost to the breaking point. His eyes shifted to the velvet red color when he was ready to feed, locking onto her pale delicate neck.

Once he felt himself near climax he thrust harder and harder. Until finally he was at that moment of euphoria, that delicious high that he chased. He bit into her neck, fangs breaking through her warm salty skin.

And her blood. Her blood was everything he dreamed off. Sweet and metallic, like copper coins and fresh fruit mixed together to create the most perfect flavor. He felt his hips shudder as he spilled his seed into her.

Pumping in every last drop he could into her velvet heat. Rey screamed again and felt herself released with him until she was spent. Kylo finally unlatched his fangs, already missing the taste of his Lady. He then withdrew his softening cock from her.

“Rey, my love, are you alright?” He said with the utmost worry.

“I am quite well, a little sore and…bloody, but I suppose that is to be expected when you marry an ancient vampire.” Rey was still coming down from the high, “I never thought I could feel so...alive and good.”

“And this ancient vampire intends to make you feel that for as long as time permits us.”

Kylo’s hand rose to her neck, his fingers brushing against the thin line of blood that glistened on her skin. He watched, transfixed, as the crimson clung to his fingertips before lifting them to his lips. The taste bloomed across his tongue—rich, intoxicating—and his eyes fluttered shut as he let the sensation consume him.

“Does my blood please you, my lord?” Rey asked softly, her voice trembling between curiosity and invitation.

A low chuckle escaped him, dark and reverent. “Rey,” he murmured, opening his eyes to meet hers, “your blood is the finest indulgence I have known in all my years… a taste I would crave until the end of eternity.”

Chapter Text

The morning dawned pale and quiet over the Bavarian hills. Thin mist clung to the castle towers, curling around the black spires like ghostly ribbons. Inside the study, the scent of parchment, ink, and burning cedar filled the air.

Lord Ren sat at his desk, the tall windows behind him spilling a dull gray light across the polished surface. He was bent over a ledger—columns of numbers, signatures, and seals from faraway ports: Venice, Lisbon, Calcutta. To any who glanced upon them, it might seem mere trade, yet every line told a far more intricate story. These were his empires—trading companies built under a dozen different names, sustained for centuries by the careful illusion that they were run by generations of mortal men.

The scratching of his quill paused. He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the cold light outside. The weight of endless time pressed against his shoulders like a familiar cloak. It was not the work that wearied him—it was the deception. He had been too many men to count.

The door creaked softly.

Rey appeared in the threshold, her hair unbound, dressed in a pale gown that made her seem a vision drawn from morning mist. “You’ve been in here all night again,” she said gently, approaching the desk.

Kylo set down his pen. “There’s much to oversee. The ports in Marseille and Trieste await payment, and a new fleet leaves Copenhagen next month.”

She tilted her head, curiosity glinting in her eyes. “Why use different names? I saw the letters on your desk—Lord Rhen, Sir Corvin, and someone called Edmund Vale. You can’t be all of them.”

His lips curved faintly. “And yet, I am. The world does not take kindly to men who never age. If the same name continues to own ships and land for hundreds of years, people begin to whisper. So I build new faces, new lineages. I die on paper and am reborn under another seal.”

Rey’s brow furrowed. “You’ve lived so long in shadow, haven’t you?”

“Long enough to know that truth is a dangerous luxury.” He leaned forward, eyes softening. “You must understand, Rey—immortality is not a gift one flaunts. It must be disguised, or the world will turn against it.”

She reached out, touching his hand lightly. “Then I suppose I shall have to learn your secrets as well.”

He smiled faintly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You already are, my love.”

After breakfast, Rey wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and turned toward the door. “I think I’ll walk through the forest,” she said. “The morning is too lovely to waste indoors.”

Kylo’s gaze darkened with caution. “Stay close to the path. Do not wander too deep. These woods are old—older than the castle itself. There are dangers that even I cannot always foresee.”

She laughed softly. “I’ll only be gone a short while.”

“Rey.” His voice was low, firm. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said with a smile, and then she was gone.

-

-

The castle’s grounds were still wet from the night’s storm, the grass jeweled with dew. The path through the forest unfurled like a ribbon of gold and brown leaves, leading into the soft murmur of birds and the distant rush of the lake.

Rey moved lightly along the trail, her basket swaying at her side. She plucked wildflowers — white and violet, their petals trembling in the breeze — and paused often to watch rabbits dart through the underbrush or a stag pause among the birches.

The forest seemed peaceful, ancient, alive with its own quiet rhythm. She almost forgot Kylo’s warning.

Almost.

A low sound drifted through the trees — laughter, rough and unfamiliar. Male voices.

Rey froze, crouching slightly behind a thicket. Ahead, where the path curved toward a fallen oak, three men loitered near the roadside. Their clothes were ragged, their faces unshaven and hard. One carried a musket slung over his shoulder; another idly sharpened a knife on a whetstone.

“Not much traffic today,” one of them muttered. “But the lord’s wagons’ll be coming through soon enough. Fat with wine and coin.”

“Aye,” the second said, spitting into the dirt. “We’ll take what we need and leave the rest for the crows.”

Rey’s breath caught. Bandits.

She began to step back, slowly, careful not to rustle the leaves — but a twig snapped beneath her foot.

The sound cut through the air like a shot.

All three heads turned.

“Well, what’s this?” the knife-wielding man drawled. “A doe strayed from the herd?”

Rey’s pulse thundered as they closed in, their boots crushing the undergrowth.

“Please,” she began, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her chest. “I mean no harm. I was only walking—”

“Alone?” the tallest one interrupted, circling her like a wolf. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “No chaperone? No guard? You’re a bold one.”

The third man reached for the wildflowers spilling from her basket and let them fall, one by one, into the mud. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t wander,” he sneered. His hand brushed her sleeve.

Rey jerked away, but they laughed — a coarse, ugly sound.

Then one of them caught sight of the ring on her finger. “Married, are you?” He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. “Your husband’s a fool, letting you out here alone.”

“Stay back,” Rey warned, her breath shaking.

The tallest man stepped forward and caught the edge of her skirt, tugging sharply until the fabric tore. “We’ve been too long without company,” he said. “A woman’s warmth might do us some good."

Rey stumbled backward, heart hammering, but before she could cry out — the wind shifted.

A coldness swept through the trees. The air thickened, stilling every sound.

The bandits hesitated. The birds had gone silent. Even the leaves seemed to tremble.

Then, from between the trees, something moved.

Kylo emerged like a shadow given flesh — tall, terrible, and silent. His coat whipped in the wind, his eyes burning with a faint, unnatural red.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

Then the tallest bandit barked a laugh. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Kylo’s voice was a growl wrapped in calm. “Touch her again,” he said, “and it will be the last thing you ever do.”

The man sneered and raised his musket — but he never fired.

Kylo was upon him in less than a breath. The sound was sickening — bone breaking, a strangled cry cut short. The musket clattered to the ground.

The second man lunged with his knife, but Kylo caught his wrist mid-strike, twisted, and plunged the blade into the man’s throat. Blood sprayed the ferns in a crimson arc.

Rey could not look away. The air reeked of iron and death, and still Kylo moved, unstoppable — a creature of fury and vengeance.

The last bandit stumbled backward, stammering a prayer. Kylo’s eyes flared red. He crossed the distance in a blur, his fangs bared, and sank them deep into the man’s neck.

The scream was short-lived.

When it ended, Kylo stood among the bodies, his mouth stained with blood, his chest heaving though he did not breathe.

Rey pressed a hand to her lips, trembling.

He turned to her then, the fire in his eyes fading, replaced by something else — horror, fear, shame.

“Rey,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head, unable to find words.

Kylo crossed to her, scooping her into his arms with care, though his hands were still smeared with crimson. “You’re safe now,” he murmured.

As he carried her through the forest, the scent of smoke and iron lingered behind them. The sun broke briefly through the clouds, glinting on the surface of the lake beyond the trees.

By the time they reached the castle, Rey had buried her face against his chest, her heartbeat steady against his still one.

He crossed the threshold of the great hall without a word, his boots leaving dark tracks on the marble floor. The servants scattered at the sight, though none dared question him.

In the dim light of the corridor, he stopped and looked down at her.

“You are safe now,” he said quietly, voice low and raw. “No one will ever touch you again.”

And though his tone was calm, the crimson still flickered in his eyes—proof of the storm that raged beneath.

Chapter Text

Winter had come in full to Bavaria. The courtyard lay buried beneath a white hush, snow glittering like powdered glass beneath the pewter dawn. The skeletal trees that lined the walls were weighed heavy with frost, their branches bending toward the earth as if in reverence to the stillness of the season.

In the center of that frozen expanse stood Kylo Ren—bare to the waist, unbothered by the cold, his breath a slow, ghostly mist. He wielded his great sword in smooth, lethal arcs, each motion so precise it was as though he carved the very air itself.

He was restless. The immortal never slept well when the world grew quiet. When centuries of memories pressed too near, he found peace only in the rhythm of the sword—the swing, the parry, the old dance of war that had once defined him. He did not feel the chill that would have bitten flesh from mortal men; the cold could not touch what had long since ceased to be warm.

Above, in the east wing of the castle, Rey stirred. The bed beside her was empty, the sheets cool where her husband should have been. For a moment she lay listening, the hush of the snow-muffled morning wrapping around her. Then she rose, drawing one of Kylo’s dark cloaks about her shoulders, the fabric smelling faintly of pine and steel.

She searched the corridors, her footsteps soft on the ancient stone. The castle was vast and silent, its corridors lined with candle sconces and frost-bitten windows. When she passed Rose in the gallery, the maid merely nodded toward the great window overlooking the courtyard.

“He’s been at it since before dawn,” Rose said, half smiling.

Rey followed her gaze—and stopped.

Below, in the white courtyard, Kylo was a moving shadow against the snow. His muscles flexed beneath his pale skin, each motion fluid and deliberate. The snow swirled around him as though afraid to touch him. She pressed her hand to the glass, breath catching at the sight. He was terrifyingly beautiful—ancient, powerful, otherworldly—and somehow hers.

When he turned, she realized he knew she was watching. He always knew. His dark eyes lifted toward her window for the briefest moment before he resumed his practice, the faintest hint of amusement curling his mouth.

A strange warmth spread through her chest. She wrapped the cloak tighter and made her way down.

The courtyard greeted her with the clean sting of cold air. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she crossed to him. Kylo halted mid-swing, resting the flat of his black sword against his shoulder as he looked at her with an unreadable expression.

“You’ll catch your death out here,” he said quietly, voice roughened by exertion.

She smiled, her breath misting. “I might say the same to you. But death seems to have misplaced you.”

His smirk deepened. “One of the few benefits of being what I am.”

She hesitated, then spoke before she could lose her courage. “I came to ask something of you.”

“Anything,” he said, lowering the sword.

“I want you to teach me.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Teach you?”

“To fight,” she said firmly. “To defend myself. After the bandits in the forest… I keep thinking—if you hadn’t come, I’d be dead. I can’t bear to be so helpless again.”

Kylo studied her for a long moment, the wind lifting his dark hair. Then he laughed softly, not unkindly. “You, my love, are under the protection of a thousand-year-old immortal who could tear armies apart with his bare hands. What danger do you imagine could reach you here?”

Her chin lifted. “You won’t always be beside me. And I won’t always want to hide behind you. Please, Kylo. I want to learn.”

Something flickered in his gaze—admiration, perhaps, or reluctant indulgence. At last he sighed. “Very well. If it eases your heart, come.”

He led her down to the armory beneath the castle—a vast chamber lit by torches, the air thick with the scent of oil and iron. Blades of every make and age lined the walls: Viking axes, Ottoman sabers, French rapiers, and massive two-handed swords that gleamed like captured lightning.

Rey’s eyes widened. “You’ve collected all these?”

“Collected,” he said with a faint smirk. “And claimed. Most from men who didn’t deserve to wield them.”

Her gaze caught on one weapon displayed alone on a pedestal—a great black sword, its edge etched with crimson runes that pulsed faintly in the firelight. “That one,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

Kylo approached it, his tone softer. “It’s mine. Forged in another age, for a war long forgotten.”

She reached to lift it—and nearly dropped it. The weight shocked her wrists.

“How—?”

He took it easily, swinging it through the air with graceful strength, resting it over his shoulder. “You forget, little one,” he said, teasing, “I am not like you. What is heavy for mortals feels light to me.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Show-off.”

He chuckled and set it back upon its stand, then chose a smaller, slender blade and offered it to her hilt-first. “Try this. It suits your hand.”

“This is a letter opener, how do you expect me to cross blades with your hulking sword?”

Kylo spoke softly and with sin, “Then I suppose you best beg for mercy on your knees.”

They returned to the great hall, now cleared of furniture, its marble floor gleaming in the torchlight. The cold air smelled faintly of snow drifting in from the courtyard.

Kylo stepped behind her, his hands guiding hers along the hilt. “Grip it here. Firm, but not stiff. The sword is an extension of you—if you fight it, it will betray you.”

His breath brushed her ear, warm and distracting. She swallowed, trying to focus as he continued, “Now, footwork. Balance on the balls of your feet. Anticipate your enemy’s weight before they move.”

She turned to face him, raising her blade. “And if my enemy is you?”

He grinned—sharp and dark. “Then I suggest you pray.”

They began. Her strikes were clumsy at first, driven more by determination than technique. Kylo moved around her with effortless grace, his movements so fast she could barely track them. When she lunged, he sidestepped. When she swung, he caught her blade between two fingers—two fingers—and flicked it aside as though it were nothing.

“Unfair!” she gasped. “You’re using your powers.”

He tilted his head. “Would you rather I pretended to be weak?”

“I’d rather you fought fair.”

“Fair?” He smirked. “My sweet, in battle there is no such thing.”

She lunged again, frustration sharpening her focus. He parried lazily, clearly toying with her. “You’ll have to do better,” he taunted. “Mortals are quicker to bleed than to learn.”

“Arrogant vampire,” she shot back.

He laughed, the sound rich and dangerous. Then, faster than thought, he was gone from her front—and behind her. One arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. The cold press of steel grazed her shoulder; the other hand brushed the hair from her neck.

His fangs glimmered at her skin. “Careful, little warrior,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-dark. “You tempt a predator when you bare your throat.”

Her pulse stuttered, heat rushing to her face. “You’re teasing me.”

He smiled against her skin. “Perhaps. But all this sparring has made me rather… ravenous.”

Rey twisted, trying to swing at him again. He dodged easily, laughter in his tone. “You fight better when you’re angry,” he said.

She feinted left, then drove the blade forward. The point struck his abdomen—not too deep, but enough to pierce skin. Kylo’s eyes widened in brief surprise.

“Kylo!” she cried, horrified, dropping the sword. “I didn’t—oh gods, I didn’t mean—”

But he only looked down at the blade protruding from his shirt, then began to laugh—low and delighted. “You’ve drawn immortal blood, my fierce wife.”

He wrapped his hand around the blade, pulled it free with a sickening sound, and tossed it aside. The wound closed before her eyes, the torn fabric already damp with red.

“I liked that shirt,” he said mildly.

Rey gaped at him, torn between fury and relief. “You’re impossible.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance until she could feel the heat radiating from his body, he pointed the tip of his blade under her chin and leaned in closer. “And you,” he said softly, “are dangerous.”

Before she could retort, he dropped his sword and swept her off her feet and pinned her gently to the floor, his weight hovering above her, his grin both wicked and tender.

“So,” he murmured, fangs gleaming faintly, “now that you’ve slain your vampire foe—what will you do next?”

Her breath caught as he lowered his head to her neck, his lips brushing her skin. “Maybe I’ll finish the lesson,” she whispered, half trembling, half smiling.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against her throat. “Then let’s see what you’ve learned.”

Rey reached for his trousers, tugging at them. Her husband locked eyes with her, smiling that devilish smile of his.

He raised a brow once she got what she was after, his hardening cock, weeping with need and envy.

She never broke eye contact, her breaths fell heavy as her little fingers stroked him. A deep beastly groan escaped Kylo’s throat. He decided that she indeed will finish her lesson.

He yanked her up with his incredible speed and strength, positioning her on her knees before him. One hand fisted into her tied back hair.

“Kylo, what—are you doing?” Rey gasped.

“I told you my little warrior, that I’d have you on your knees…begging for mercy.” He said lowly. He then stroked his member, chest heaving and pre-cum beginning to bead at the tip.

“Open your mouth my sweet, it’s time for your last lesson.”

Rey obeyed her husband, her small mouth gaped as he guided himself into her. The feeling was so foreign to her. Feeling the velvety skin graze her mouth. She used her tongue to lick underneath and she earned a satisfactory hum from her vampire lord.

“Gods, Rey, you’re taking me so well.” Kylo huffed between heavy breaths.

She began to choke when he hit the back of her throat, a sound most pleasing to him. He so enjoyed seeing her like this, submitted to him on her knees, pretty mouth stuffed full of his cock.

He began to thrust into her, withdrawing his member and then spearing her once again. Tears began to form as he thrusted. He even caught her hand reaching to pleasure herself underneath her skirt.

“I’m glad to see you enjoy this wife.”

Rey couldn’t give him a reply, unable to speak. Kylo thrusted into her throat until she started to choke and cough on him, drool escaping the corners of her mouth.

Kylo pulled out and savagely ripped her dress off, as if he were tearing parchment in half.

“Kylo!” Rey screamed in disbelief.

“I’ll buy you another.” He muttered, he needed to be inside her now. He laid her back on her torn dress and used the wetness from his cock to lubricate her entrance. He spared no time in spearing himself into her glorious cunt.

Rey screamed in both agony and pleasure. Her husband brought his wicked fingers to her sensitive nub to draw out an orgasm as he attacked her lips with his.

“Oh Rey, fuck you feel so tight.” He seethed.

After she clenched and milked him, he flipped her over with ease and thrusted into her from behind. Rey had no idea what was happening, her mind dazed with bliss and pleasure.

Kylo continued to savagely sink in behind, their sweating bodies slapping against one another in perfect unison. Rey felt another orgasm build up. Kylo gave a proper smack to her arse, leaving a large handprint behind.

After a few more minutes of vigorous fucking, Kylo felt himself near climax. He sank his cock in as deep as he could and finally spilled his ropes of cum into his wife. She howled in pain in front of him.

Kylo drank in the screams and his fangs itched to be free. He gave into the dark desire and bit the shoulder of his wife. He wasn’t rough, just deep enough to pull her succulent blood.

He withdrew after a moment, letting her fall back into his muscular arms.

“I wasn’t too rough was I?” He seeked, dark eyes boring into hers.

Rey took a breath and replied, “My lord, I’d be cautious to ask if you are capable of being even more rough with me.”

Kylo grinned, blood stained teeth glittering over his fangs.

“Perhaps you’ll see after our next lesson.”

Chapter Text

The firelight glowed low across the long oak table, casting amber shadows upon the stone walls of Castle Ren’s great hall. Outside, the wind howled through the mountain passes and rattled the shutters like restless spirits; within, warmth and candlelight prevailed.

The table was set with an elegance that bordered on the archaic—silver goblets polished to a mirror shine, fine linens laid with precision, and dishes of roasted meats and glazed fruits. Rey had seen such finery only in noble estates or books of legend.

And yet before Lord Ren himself, the plate bore only slices of near-raw venison, red and glistening, arranged beside a dark goblet of wine so rich it looked almost black.

Rey sat opposite him, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I don’t understand how you can eat that,” she said, eyeing the rare meat. “It’s barely cooked.”

Kylo smirked faintly, swirling his wine. “The flavor is… truer this way.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Truer? You mean bloodier.”

His lips curved. “Perhaps.” He leaned back, studying her across the candlelight. “You mortals disguise the world’s taste with fire and spice. I prefer things as they are.”

Rey laughed softly. “You say that as if you’re not part of this world.”

“I’m not,” he said, almost to himself.

Before she could reply, Kylo’s head tilted slightly. The shift was subtle—his eyes narrowing, the humor draining from his face.

“What is it?” Rey asked, her voice low.

He stood slowly, listening. “Men,” he murmured. “Five of them. Coming up the drive.”

Rey blinked, startled. “From this far away? How can you possibly—”

A heavy knock thundered against the doors, echoing through the rafters like a bell tolling for the dead. Rose startled and nearly dropped her candle as she hurried to the entrance.

Kylo rose with deliberate grace, every motion precise and controlled—like a predator conserving its strength.

When the doors opened, a gust of cold air swept through, snuffing several candles. Five men stood framed in the torchlight—cloaked figures with frost in their hair and mud on their boots.

The man in front carried himself with the weight of command; his sharp jaw and piercing eyes burned with grief and fury—the same fire Rey had once seen in the late Captain Hux.

“Lord Ren,” the man said, his voice like struck iron. “I am General Brendol Hux. I have come to discuss the death of my son.”

The silence that followed was suffocating; the only sound was wind pushing faintly against the windows.

Kylo regarded him with the calm of a man who stands before a storm that cannot touch him. Finally he gestured toward the table. “Then you have come far, General. Sit. You and your men must be famished.”

The invitation—perfect courtesy, perfect mockery—pressed on Brendol like a gauntlet. Pride forced him forward; his men followed, eyes darting at Kylo and the spread. Rose shut the doors; the warmth of the fire fluttered uncertainly in the draft.

They sat. Kylo returned to the head of the table, lounging with aristocratic ease, one elbow draped along his chair. His dark eyes watched them with quiet amusement.

Rey felt her stomach knot.

Brendol broke the silence first. “You’ll forgive me if I speak plainly, Lord Ren, but I’ll not waste time with courtesies. After my son’s death, I went to Ashford. I heard the stories—the whispers about you. They say you’re no man at all.”

Kylo tilted his head, the faintest mockery on his lips. “And yet you came here willingly. How brave.”

A few of Hux’s men shifted. One glanced down at his goblet and frowned. “Sir… is this wine? It looks—”

“Like blood?” Kylo finished smoothly, amusement threading his tone. “You have a good eye. I assure you, it tastes the same either way.”

The soldier set his goblet down and refused to look up again.

Brendol’s face reddened. “You ended my Armitage because he saw you for what you are!” he snarled. “He told me of your unnatural strength, your cursed vitality—how no wound could harm you.”

Kylo smirked. “He said that, did he? Perhaps he was much more perceptive than I gave him credit for.”

“Enough games!” Brendol barked. “I want the truth.”

“I told you,” Kylo said, lifting his glass, “he was foolish enough to threaten me. He drew his weapon first.”

Brendol’s voice rose. “And you slaughtered him like an animal!”

Kylo’s gaze darkened. “No,” he said evenly. “I ended him as one ends a nuisance.”

Brendol slammed a fist on the table; the goblets rattled. “I have seen men like you before,” he hissed. “In the old wars. The villagers spoke of demons—unholy things that walked at night and fed on blood. They burned their victims and called it purification. You may hide behind your titles, Lord Ren, but I know what you are. Demon.”

“Vampire,” Ren corrected, the single word falling like a knife.

The word hung heavy. Rey froze; Hux’s men stiffened and traded fearful glances.

“No matter what you are,” Brendol said through gritted teeth, “nothing is truly immortal. I’ve killed your kind before.”

Kylo laughed, low and rich. “My kind? You’ve met fledglings—half-made creatures who burn in sunlight and cower at the cross. I am older than your country, General.”

Rey tried to keep the peace, voice trembling. “Kylo, please—”

He ignored her, eyes fixed on Hux. “Go on, then. You’ve come all this way to prove a point. Prove it.”

Brendol’s rage broke like a dam. He rose and wrenched a pistol from his belt, leveling it across the table.

Kylo didn’t move. He smiled. “Careful, General. It’s rude to shoot your host.”

Hux’s hand trembled. For a heartbeat his gaze flicked to Rey, then hardened. “Let’s see if monsters bleed when they lose something precious,” he spat, voice cracking with fury.

Rey gasped. The pistol fired.

The crack split the hall. Time thickened—smoke curled, the muzzle-flash painted faces in white fire. The bullet cut the air—until Kylo disappeared.

In the blink of an eye he was there, in front of Rey. The bullet stopped an inch from her face, caught between his fingers.

Gasps rose from the soldiers. Rey sat frozen, the table trembling beneath her hands. Kylo stood over her, towering; his eyes glowed faintly red in the firelight.

He turned the bullet between his fingers, inspecting it like a curiosity, then squeezed. The tiny round flattened and dropped onto the table with a metallic clink.

The silence that followed was absolute.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Kylo said at last, voice low—ancient and deadly.

Brendol staggered backward, pale as ash. “So my son was right,” he whispered. “You are the devil himself.”

Kylo’s gaze hardened. “Your son was right about one thing—I am to be feared.”

Brendol’s hand shook as he lowered the pistol. He turned to Rey, his expression twisted between grief and disgust. “I’m sorry, madam—sorry I almost harmed you. But you chose him over my son—a creature who sees humans as cattle. He will drain you when he grows bored. That’s what monsters do.”

“Enough,” Kylo snarled. The flames roared higher as if answering him.

Kylo took a slow step forward. “Your son called me monster. You call me devil. I call myself patient.” He towered over the general, shadows twisting about his shoulders. “And my patience is running thin.”

Brendol glared, defiant even now. “You’ll see me again, Ren. My men are already in the village. The army will come for you—for justice.”

Kylo stepped back, arms outstretched with deliberate insolence, a cruel smile curving his mouth. “Then bring them. I'll be sure to leave the front door unlocked.”

Brendol turned, barked orders to his men, and they fled—boots thundering, cloaks like fleeing shadows—slamming the great doors behind them.

Silence hung in the wake of their departure. The hearth hissed. Rey’s breath came fast; her gaze remained on Kylo—the impossible man who had caught a bullet and spoken of patience as though it were a thing he could wield.

“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, voice small. “You… you stopped the bullet.”

“I told you, I will not allow anyone to harm you,” he said simply, the promise calm and ironbound. And he planted a kiss on her forehead.

Chapter Text

The storm had quieted to a low, persistent wind whispering through the mountains. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, its glow spilling across the dark stone of the bedchamber. Shadows bent and swayed with the flames, flickering over carved beams and rich draperies.

Rey sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a fur blanket, her silk nightgown pooling softly around her. The warmth of the fire couldn’t seem to touch the chill that lingered in her chest. Hours had passed since Brendol Hux and his men had stormed into the great hall, but her heart still raced when she thought of it—the glint of the pistol, the echoing shot, the sudden rush of air when Kylo appeared before her and caught the bullet in his hand.

She watched him now from across the room. Kylo stood before the fire, still in his dark dinner clothes, the buttons of his shirt undone, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His bare forearms gleamed faintly in the firelight, his veins dark beneath his pale skin. In his hand was a glass of wine so red it looked like blood, swirling slowly with every tilt of his wrist.

His jaw was tight, the tension visible in the hard lines of his shoulders.

Rey finally broke the silence. “I still can’t believe it,” she said quietly. “He actually tried to shoot me.”

Kylo didn’t move at first. Then he said, low and edged, “He didn’t try. He meant to. And I am becoming irrevocably irritated with Hux men pointing pistols at me.” He turned to his wife and sighed.

She shook her head, her fingers tightening around the blanket. “He looked right at me—his hand didn’t even shake.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kind of hatred before. It was like I wasn’t even a person to him—just a means to hurt you.”

Kylo’s jaw flexed. “That’s exactly what you were to him.” His voice was low, clipped. “He wanted to see if the rumors were true. If the ancient monster still bled when his heart was pierced.”

“And his men…” Rey said, shaking her head. “The way they looked at me—at you—it was as if they were sitting at the table with death itself.” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “One of them couldn’t even bring himself to drink the wine. They were terrified.”

“They should have been.” Kylo’s tone was flat, but under it burned a restrained fury.

“They trespassed into my home, insulted me in front of my wife, and their commander dared to draw a weapon on you.”

He turned slightly toward her, the light catching in his eyes, turning them molten. “Do you understand what that means, Rey? He tried to murder you in my hall.”

Rey winced slightly at the venom in his tone. “He’s not thinking clearly, Kylo. He lost his son—”

“He lost his son because his son tried to kill me,” Kylo snapped, his voice rising. “Armitage was a fool who thought he could challenge what he didn’t understand. His death was his own doing.”

He lifted the goblet, and for a moment, the firelight trembled in its reflection. “He should thank the gods I let him leave alive.”

“Please don’t say that,” Rey murmured. “I don’t want any more killing.”

Kylo’s hand tightened around the goblet’s stem, his restraint splintering as he muttered, “He fired a gun at you.” The stem cracked, then snapped. The goblet shattered in his hand, shards scattering across the stone floor. Red wine spilled down his palm, mingling with thin streaks of blood.

“Kylo!” Rey hurried to him, catching his hand before he could dismiss it. “You’re bleeding—”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, his jaw tight, still seething. “I barely felt it.”

Rey caught his hand and pulled him toward the bed, ignoring his protest. “It’s not nothing.”

She pressed him down to sit, then fetched a cloth from the nightstand. “For someone who claims to have walked through wars, you’re very bad at avoiding self-inflicted wounds.”

A low sound escaped him, something between irritation and reluctant amusement. “You scold me as if I were a reckless boy.”

“You’re acting like one,” she said, carefully blotting the blood from his palm. “Brooding, breaking things, threatening to kill generals—really, you’re the very picture of composure.”

That earned the faintest smirk from him. “You think me unreasonable for wanting vengeance against the man who nearly murdered you?”

“I think,” Rey said, dabbing at his skin, “that you’re terrifying when you’re angry, and that’s precisely why Brendol lost control. He wanted to see the monster people whisper about.” She looked up at him. “Don’t prove him right.”

“Honestly,” she muttered, still dabbing carefully at his palm, “you’ve lived for over a thousand years, and you still can’t control your temper.”

His gaze softened slightly as he looked down at her. “I’m not accustomed to being… provoked under my own roof,” he said quietly. “Not by men who think they can harm what’s mine.”

Rey’s movements slowed. “I’m not a possession, Kylo.”

He met her eyes. “No,” he said after a pause. “You’re not. But you are my heart. And they aimed at it.”

She swallowed hard, pressing the cloth more gently to his hand. “You caught the bullet before it even reached me,” she said. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

“They shouldn’t have come at all,” he murmured. “Hux brought death into my hall tonight, and I nearly gave it to him in return.”

Rey looked up at him with quiet concern. “But you didn’t.”

His jaw flexed. “Because you were there.”

“Good,” she said, trying to coax a smile from him. “Because murdering dinner guests—uninvited or not—doesn’t make for a peaceful home.”

He gave a low sound—half sigh, half reluctant chuckle. “You make light of everything.”

“Someone has to,” she teased, wrapping a fresh bandage around his palm. “Otherwise this castle would be all gloom and brooding.”

Kylo raised a brow. “I don’t brood.”

Rey smiled mischievously. “You absolutely do. You have an entire range of brooding expressions. There’s the ‘thinking about vengeance’ brooding, the ‘no one will understand my eternal suffering’ brooding, and my personal favorite—the ‘I’ll murder someone if they speak again’ brooding.”

Kylo huffed a laugh, low and rich. “You’ve grown impertinent.”

“I’ve been impertinent since the day you met me,” she said, leaning back slightly to inspect her work. “You’re just finally noticing it because I talk too much for your gloomy silence.”

“You call it gloom,” he said, smirking faintly, “I call it patience.”

She gave him a playful look. “Patience? Is that what we’re calling centuries of scowling now?”

Kylo huffed a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth curling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are,” she countered, lifting his hand once more to inspect her work. “Still letting me patch up your immortal fingers.”

He regarded her for a long, silent moment—the way the firelight played over her hair, the warmth in her eyes, the softness that seemed to melt even the cold that had lived in him for centuries. “You tend to me,” he said softly, “as though I were something fragile.”

Rey smiled faintly. “Maybe you are. Just a little.”

He leaned closer, voice low. “You’d be the death of me, if that were possible.”

She arched a brow. “And yet, somehow, you’ve survived my nagging so far.”

A laugh—low and real—rumbled from his chest. “Barely.”

Satisfied, she patted his bandaged hand. “There. Good as new. Try not to crush any more glass in your fits of eternal torment.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

Rey climbed back onto the bed and pulled the furs around herself. “Come to bed,” she said, her voice softening. “You can brood silently beside me if it helps you think.”

“I can’t sleep when war is brewing,” he murmured, glancing toward the snow-dusted windows.

“Then just lie with me until I do,” she said, smiling gently. “You can plot your world domination afterward.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, then joined her beneath the covers. She curled against him, her head resting on his chest. His arm came around her, heavy and protective, his cool skin warming slowly against her own.

For a long moment she listened to the even beat of his heart, then looked up at him, eyelids heavy. “What will you really do about Brendol?” she asked quietly, not sure if she wanted an answer—or the comfort of him pretending he had one.

His mouth curved into a dangerous half-smile and he idly stroked a fang with his tongue. “Oh, the obvious,” he said softly. “I’ll invite him to supper, seat him at my table, carve him a place by the hearth… and then perhaps I will eat him.”

Rey stiffened, a faint laugh escaping before she could stop it. “Don’t say that,” she murmured, though her tone carried more knowing than disbelief.

Kylo’s gaze dropped to her lips, his voice lowering to a purr. “You think I jest. But I’ve always had a taste for men like him—the kind that walk in here believing themselves righteous. Pride and hatred… they always leave a flavor behind.” He smiled faintly, wickedly. “I could bottle his men instead. Label them by rank, keep them down in the cellar like fine wines. The arrogant ones never age well, but fear tends to preserve the rest.”

Rey exhaled through her nose, half-scolding, half-shaken. “You’re horrible.”

He chuckled darkly. “And you love me for it.”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, curling closer.

He pressed his lips to her hair, his words brushing her ear. “Sleep, Rey. Let me think on how to make them disappear quietly.”

Her eyes closed against his chest, his voice a steady hum beneath her. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she whispered.

“I’m always careful,” he lied gently, pulling her closer. “Now sleep, my heart.”

And she did—drifting slowly beneath the rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, and the echo of his dark promise lingering in the quiet like a prayer.

When Rey’s breathing had evened, Kylo rose with the silence of a creature born to the night. He crossed to the balcony, pushing open the heavy doors. The cold poured in, clean and sharp, brushing over his bare feet and exposed chest.

Snow drifted down from the black sky, settling along the stone railing. Far below, torchlight burned in the valley—Brendol Hux and his soldiers, still encamped in the village, too proud or too foolish to retreat.

Kylo gripped the railing, his bandaged hand flexing. “You dared come into my home,” he whispered to the wind, his voice low and venomous. “You aimed a gun at my wife.”

The snow swirled harder, whipped into a spiral around him, the storm bending to his breath. His eyes glowed faintly red in the dark, twin embers against the pale drift.

“You should have stayed away, General,” he murmured. “You’ve come to my door, and now you’ll see what waits behind it.”

Behind him, the firelight spilled through the doorway—warm, golden, alive—where Rey slept, peaceful and unknowing, while the ancient monster who loved her stood sentinel against the cold, silent and still as the mountains themselves.