Grief Unspoken

AYA

^NAPLES, 1926^

The old mansion was nestled on the mountainside. I didn’t get a good look at it before I was roughly pushed through the back door. I didn’t care, though.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Throughout the long journey from Cairo to Italy, I just couldn’t find it in me to care. I couldn’t even muster the energy to want to care.

I knew Alexander was trying to reach me, trying to communicate. But I just couldn’t respond. I couldn’t speak.

I could barely think. All I could do was replay the images of my family’s faces—of their taste. I shivered.

I knew what my sisters’ blood tasted like. I had relished draining them. I wouldn’t have felt any guilt if it hadn’t been them.

I was a monster. I hadn’t always been one. Alexander had taught me to be gentle, to only take what I needed.

But I hadn’t listened. I’d been brutal. Deadly. Alexander tried to connect with me—I could see the agony in his eyes.

But how could I face him after what I’d done? We were both captives because of my weakness. How could he forgive me for that?

How could I forgive him? I was a slave. That was the only thing that was clear to me.

Alexander was assuming his role as the prince of vampires, and I was a slave. That’s how it should have always been.

How dare I dream of anything different? How dare I hope for a different outcome? Our love was doomed from the start.

After all, he was the one who took my life. He turned me into this monster. It made sense.

I was roughly guided into what appeared to be a dungeon. Cells lined the stone walls, each equipped with a cot, filled with turned vampires dressed in long, dark crimson gowns or tunics and trousers for the men.

They weren’t dull or unattractive—the royals liked their slaves to look presentable, at least, although the styles were a few centuries old. They stripped me of my clothes, my jewelry, my earrings, my headscarves, my books—everything Alexander and I had collected on our travels.

Everything that was mine. They forced me into a red gown, low-cut at the chest, cinched at the waist with a golden rope.

My hair was styled into a simple but elegant braid. Then they handed me a bundle of sage and thyme—to hide my scent from the purebloods.

Heaven forbid they smell turned vampires in their presence. They poked and prodded me until I was a polished, empty version of myself, stripped of my home and my possessions.

I looked just like all the other female slaves, who barely tried to hide their contempt. I was shown a cot near the back of the dungeon, against the damp walls, and given a day to rest.

I fell asleep almost instantly. The next evening, I was woken before sunset and put to work—cleaning the main hall.

Again, I couldn’t find it in me to care. I took my soap, water, and mop and started working.

The work kept me from tearing my own head off. Or from lashing out and killing everyone around me. I knew I was capable of it now.

I could lose control. Two female turned vampires worked with me. They only spoke Italian, not English or Arabic, so I couldn’t communicate with them.

Not that I wanted to. They spent the night talking, falling silent whenever a pureblood passed by, rushing from one task to another.

I followed them in silence. Alexander had once told me about a power some vampires had—the ability to control their emotions.

Much like his ability to sense or influence mine, some could completely disconnect from their emotions, becoming stoic, unfeeling, invulnerable.

It made hunting easier. It made being a ripper painless. I tried. I really tried to disconnect from my feelings.

But I failed. My thoughts kept spinning, trying to understand what had happened.

How had my thirst consumed me so intensely that I attacked the only people in the world I loved? How had I been so blind?

How had I lost everyone I cared about in one night? Was life even worth living anymore? I knew what I was—a ripper.

That’s what Alexander had told me. When I lost control, I was consumed by thirst. Anything in front of me—I would tear apart.

And yet, he had said, being a ripper wasn’t inherently bad. It was natural for vampires. The problem was the laws.

Despite our age and power, we were fragile beings. Sunlight and fire could obliterate us in a blink. Humans had the upper hand every single day—countless hours to evade us, to torch our homes.

And they would, without a second thought. They were as savage, as bloodthirsty as we were. History was a testament to that.

Our survival hinged on discretion. Never, under any circumstances, kill a human who might leave a historical footprint.

Never leave a trace that could be tracked. A ripper wiping out an entire village or accidentally assassinating a king—that drew attention.

That made me a risk. I was out of control. I couldn’t even see what I was doing.

The memory of my youngest sister in my arms flashed before me—her huge brown eyes, wide with fear, streaked with tears.

I couldn’t bear to think of the others. I knew what I would see in their eyes. Terror. Betrayal.

They had grieved for me. Their eldest sister. The one who had nurtured them, sung to them, read to them, played with them.

The one they had loved. Only to watch me return—and tear them to pieces.

I wept into my cot each day, my bloody tears staining the cotton sheets. Such a painful, horrific death.

And it was my fault. I hadn’t been able to restrain myself. Alexander had cautioned me—told me it was too early.

That I was still learning. There was no one else to blame. I was a violent, bloodthirsty beast. And I deserved every punishment.

I deserve to suffer. How could I even dream of freedom when I had butchered my own family?

I deserved this dungeon. I deserved to be locked up with the others. I deserved never to see Alexander again.

A dense, heavy burden of pain, guilt, and sorrow gnawed at me. Their faces haunted my dreams. Their screams echoed in my mind.

And Alexander’s voice—piercing through it all. Drawing me back from the red. Making me see.

My thoughts always wandered to him. I couldn’t shut him out. For three years, he had been my everything.

My mentor. My friend. My confidant. My lover. Those years had been filled with love, with hope, with joy—more happiness than I had ever known as a human.

Alexander had made me happy—which only made his betrayal sting even more.

For years, we had walked a tightrope. Always on the run. I knew we were running, but I never knew from what.

He never told me.

We had run across the world, but he never warned me that his mother and grandfather were hunting me—that they were ready to destroy me just to get him back.

He never taught me how to defend myself against purebloods, against their mind games, their influence—against his mother.

He wasn’t my sanctuary anymore.

He wasn’t my lover. My friend. My mentor.

Not anymore.

He had broken my heart. Shattered his promises. Betrayed me.

And there was no way my heart could ever be mended.

Too much had transpired.

Too much pain.

I was in torment.

But I deserved it.

Death would have been an easy escape.

I would reap what I had sown.

***

It didn’t take long—just a couple of weeks—before a turned vampire approached me. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and his long, light brown hair glowed in the soft candlelight. His bright green eyes assessed me as he glided toward me.

“Aya, I’m told,” he murmured.

I paused for a moment, recognizing the slight American twang in his English. I had met many Americans during our travels, but his accent was slightly different.

“Leave me alone,” I retorted, walking in the opposite direction.

His long strides caught up to me quickly.

“I’m Anthony,” he finally introduced himself. “I heard you don’t speak Italian.”

I pursed my lips. “I told you to leave me alone,” I snapped.

The corners of his lips twitched.

“I heard you. I also heard that the prince turned you,” he continued, lowering his voice.

I looked up at him. He was dressed a bit differently from me, but he was still a slave.

I nodded.

He returned a firm nod.

“I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long,” he confessed, leaning against the doorway and blocking my path.

I was forced to glare up at him. “Let me through,” I demanded.

“Heed my warning, you won’t last long,” he said, paying no mind to my protests. “I’m not usually one to sympathize with lost souls turned vampires who end up in this place,” he confessed. “But I understand you’re here to keep the prince in line. If he tries to escape again, your life is forfeit. If he steps out of line, you’re done for.”

“What about him? Will they kill him if I make a run for it?” I shot back.

His eyes widened in surprise before he threw his head back, laughing heartily. “I wish,” he managed to say between chuckles, a grin spreading across his face. “But no, they’ll only kill you.”

“I’m not afraid of dying,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Especially after you tore your own family apart,” he retorted, his words cutting deep.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt the air leave my lungs. Pain coursed through me as images of their faces flashed in my mind.

He must have seen the shock on my face because he leaned in closer. “The prince will forget you, little Aya. I know it’s hard right now; all you see are their faces, all you feel is fear and guilt, but it will fade. Just like your love for him will fade. Time heals all wounds, Aya. And we have all the time in the world.”

He straightened up, his gaze sweeping the empty corridor before settling on me, his bright green eyes piercing. “He will forget you, and so will his family. So keep your head down, do your job, and blend in. The moment he forgets you is the moment you can escape. Not a second sooner. You don’t want them to send me after you,” he warned.

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. “You were one of the vampires who captured me,” I realized.

He chuckled and nodded in affirmation. “I was. Listen to me, Aya, or you won’t last long.”

He reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “There’s more to life than loss, Aya. And one day, you’ll feel that again. Believe me, I know exactly how you’re feeling.”

Before I could question him further, he retreated into the shadows, disappearing around the corner.

I clutched my washing bucket, returning to my chores, his words echoing in my mind for the rest of the evening.