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The journey takes longer than you expect.
By the time you finally catch sight of the imposing castle at the top of the hill, night has already fallen, and you immediately understand the reason behind all the stories surrounding the place. There, surrounded by dense, dark vegetation and bathed in the moon's eerie glow, the place possesses an almost mystical atmosphere.
The village, situated in a remote corner of Romania, features dark wooden buildings with chimneys constantly belching smoke. It was cradled by deep valleys with snow-capped peaks and encircled by a dense fir forest.
As the car moves forward, the few local inhabitants appear at their windows, curious. They seem like spectral apparitions, watching your approach with expressions that mixed curiosity and apprehension.
A strange sensation washes over you. Not fear. You have been in this line of work for years and have witnessed horrors most people couldn't even imagine existed. Yet, you have to admit you feel uneasy, as if sensing the approach of danger.
Part of you believes it might simply be because this is the first time you are heading out on a mission without Leon, your longtime partner. You wonder if this was how he had felt when he was sent to Romania without you months earlier, back when, despite your insistence, you were forced to stay out of the mission due to an injury.
You constantly wonder if things would be different if you had insisted more. If Leon would still be with you.
Your fingers tighten unconsciously around the steering wheel.
It hadn't been easy to convince your superiors to send you on a mission to the very place where your former partner disappeared. It was even harder to convince them to let you come alone. But since the mission required discretion, they agreed.
The compassionate looks from your colleagues made it clear they believed this was a way for you to find closure. Perhaps they thought you were in denial, clinging to the hope of finding your friend alive. And maybe a small part of you really does hope for that. But the rational part of you know it is unlikely.
The real reason, the one you will never tell anyone, is your agreement with Leon. The one you made during a mission years ago. A mission neither of you thought you’d make it out of alive. It was there that you agreed that death was better than being infected, and that if one of you gets infected, the other will be the one to pull the trigger.
You never thought this day would come. Leon’s skills are nearly legendary within your organization. And yet, here you are in a remote village, unsure if you will find the man you have silently loved all these years dead or infected.
You don't know which of the possibilities scares you more. Both feel like a stab to the chest.
You stop in a dark street. The only sounds are your footsteps on the muddy ground and the gentle swaying of dry tree branches, stirred by the cold wind. Above you, the dark silhouette of the castle contrasts with the pale light of the moon.
"Don't look, miss." A female voice in Romanian says from behind you.
You turn around to find a woman a little younger than yourself.
"It might attract the evil things that live there."
You tilt your head with interest.
"And what exactly lives there?"
The young woman simply watches you. Her eyes sweep over your clothes, the tactical gear partially hidden beneath your coat, and the car parked a short distance behind you.
"You aren't from around here," she says, not a question, but a statement, then shakes her head. "You should leave, for your own good."
You watch, confused, as she walks away, pulling the collar of your worn leather jacket tighter, feeling the weight of the SIG Sauer holstered beneath your arm. The village is quiet. Too quiet.
You start walking in the same direction the young woman went, your boots squelching in the mud, slowly making your way along the narrow streets, which are partially swallowed by darkness. They funnel toward the village square. There’s a fountain clogged with debris, a handful of abandoned carts and a church looms at the far end, to where the residents, including the young woman who warned you to leave, are entering.
You’ve been in worse places, but as you step into the direction of the church, a strange unease settles in your gut.
Something’s wrong here.
You cross the square with measured steps, senses on edge. The church’s doors are massive, oak banded with iron, but they stand ajar, like an invitation. Inside the candlelight flickers, casting wavering shadows across wooden pews. You hide into the shadow of a stone pillar flanking the church entrnace, where you have a partial view of the interior, enough to watch without being seen.
They all stand before the altar, the tension between them is almost palpable. They cast nervous glances at one another and shift their weight from one leg to the other. Yet, everyone remains silent.
A hooded figure emerges from the shadows behind the altar. It is a pale man wearing what appear to be dark clerical robes and holding a small, ancient-looking black box in his hands.
None of the villagers dare to meet his gaze.
"You know why we are here. Another harvest must be reaped," the man's voice echoed through the place. "Tonight, the sacrifice of one of you will ensure another month of safety for all those you know and love. Our Master, whose dominion you cannot escape, grants you the chance to choose impartially the one who will sacrifice themselves for the safety of the others.”
From the shadows, you watch as the box is passed from hand to hand and each person, with trembling hands, draws out a small slip of paper. The slips are unrolled, and you hear sighs of relief until suddenly, one of them screams in horror.
He drops the paper to the ground, and you see a black mark on it. The young man begins to back away in fear, his wide eyes stare in horror at the man at the altar, who wears a cruel smile.
The people around the young man now avoid looking at him.
"Please," he begs in a weak voice, "please, don't..."
With almost superhuman speed, the man behind the altar grabbed the young man by the neck and, ignoring his desperate screams and pleas for mercy, began dragging him toward a dark staircase located behind the altar.
The screams grow fainter as the young man is taken further and further into the darkness.
Your instincts make you leap immediately from your hiding spot, lunging toward the dark entrance where the young man was taken, but you are stopped by a firm grip on your arm.
"You can't go in there," says the man, gripping your arm tightly.
"Of course I can." You break free from his grasp and stare at him, annoyed. "I can't just stand here and watch someone being taken away like that against their will."
"It is necessary," the man says. "If we don't send someone to feed them, he will come with his creatures to punish us."
"You cannot go in there, miss." said an elderly woman standing behind the man. "No one who enters there returns. There is nothing there but death."
"Trust me," you say, drawing your weapon, "this ends today."
The sight of the weapon made everyone there recoil slightly. This time, no one seemed willing to try to stop you.
You turn to face the cold and uncanny darkness of the entrance behind the altar. From it emanates a smell of wet stone and rot. You take the small flashlight from your gear and begin to descend the stone steps.
You step into a long, damp tunnel lined with burial niches. Walking down the dark corridor, you see human bones stacked like grim artwork alonge the walls of small adjoining chambers. They pile up to the vaulted celings, thought plenty of loose bones litter the floor. Inside these tombs, the intact skeletons of friars lie side by side, still wrapped in their dusty, rotting robes.
Here, several torches have been placed in a sequence clearly leading in a specific direction. You decide to follow them, but before you can take another step, cracking noises emerge from the darkness, followed by a sharp screech. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize the cracking is the sound of breaking bones and that they seem to be getting closer.
A pale hand emerges from the shadows, reaching out toward you. You fire, aiming just above the clawing fingers into the dark. Upon impact, a creature's head snaps backward, dragging the rest of its twisted body along with it.
You keep your weapon fixed on the creature's inert body on the filthy floor, but it does not rise again. Suddenly, the scraping sound of stone slabs echoes from behind you. From the opened wall niches, bodies begin to crawl out, their bloodied hands and mouths reaching toward you. You turn and run in the opposite direction, but other creatures appear from that way as well. You fire as their misshapen faces emerge before you. One of them manages to grab you from behind, and you feel its putrid breath against your skin as it tries to bite your neck.
But before it can succeed, you grab it by the arm, bend your knees, and heave it over your shoulder, slamming it onto the ground in front of you. You fire immediately and the creature's dark blood splatters across your face.
A little further on, something grabs you again, this time by the heel, causing you to lose your balance and fall face-first to the ground, cutting your lower lip.
You turn around and kick the infected creature gripping your leg in the face, forcing it to let go.
You get up quickly and run, finally reaching the end of the dark corridor, where there is a heavy, ancient door made of dark, richly ornamented wood.
You push it, and it creaks open, revealing a dimly lit space made of ancient, damp stone. The sounds of the infected creatures continue to come from behind you, drawing ever closer. You close the door, sealing them out.
You wedge the flashlight between your shoulder and your head while checking your ammunition. In your effort to fend off the creatures, you had used up almost all your bullets, leaving only one.
"Shit," you mutter.
You look around. The place seems like an extension of the crypt, but upon closer inspection, you notice something different. Cells. You are in a sort of vaulted dungeon, fortified with iron cages. Here, the air is even colder and quieter; the only sound is your heavy breathing.
You approach one of the cells with cautious steps. Behind the rusted bars lies the lifeless body of a man. Blood and viscera are scattered across the floor, and the pungent stench of decomposition makes your stomach turn. In another cell, half a body hangs from a hook in the ceiling.
You slowly back away, eyes unable to tear themselves from the corpse before you, as you realize where you are now. The place where victims are kept and drained. The place where the man you saw earlier was likely brought.
Where Leon might be.
You look from cell to cell, where various bodies in different stages of decomposition have been left, searching for Leon's familiar face. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, but you refuse to cry.
"Please, please, please don't let him be here." You repeat to yourself like a sort of mantra, without knowing for sure what the sight of Leon dead in one of those cells would do to you.
You don't know for sure how long you stayed there, amidst that labyrinth of dark cells and putrid carcasses, looking for the man you love. You turn right into a narrow entrance and come face-to-face with the cleric's ominous figure.
His hood conceals most of his face, revealing only a mouth stained with dried blood. Up close, his slender frame appears even taller than you had initially realized.
"Where is he?" You aren't sure if you are asking about Leon or the villager, but the cloaked figure merely laughs. You draw your weapon, aiming it at the man's head.
His crimson smile only widens.
You shoot, the sound echoing off the walls of that chamber of horrors, but the man dodges quickly, gripping your wrist tightly while his other hand clamps around your throat. You struggle, using your free hand to try to break free from his grasp, gasping for air, but he holds his hand firm against your neck, cutting off your air supply. Your vision darkens and your body grows heavy, the gun slips from your hand.
"He is waiting for you, you know. My master." He says in a dark tone. "He has been waiting so very patiently for his first taste of the woman he loves."
You don't have time to process the meaning of his words before darkness takes hold of you.
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You try to move, but your body feels heavy and sluggish. Your head throbs. You hear the crackle of a fire and feel its warmth. The surface beneath you is soft and comfortable. A bed.
You slowly open your eyes, gazing up at a high, light-colored ceiling adorned with gold details. Your neck aches as you turn it to examine the room you are in. The room is richly furnished with hand-carved solid wood furniture. Your gear has been removed and is on a small table near the bed.
A fireplace casts a warm, yellowish glow. Textured wallpaper featuring ornate Baroque patterns covers the walls and heavy velvet curtains adorn the enormous windows. A man stands in front of one of them. His dark silhouette stood out against the silvery moonlight streaming in. His dark clothes clung to his body, highlighting the outline of his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, shirt-sleeves rolled up. He has his back to you, but you recognize him anyway. He turns slowly, his eyes meet yours. Eyes you know well. You have seen them before, in what now seems like a lifetime ago, soft and gentle. But there is no gentleness in them now.
Leon.
Your partner, your love is alive. Relief washes over you and you let out a shaky laugh as tears gather at the corners of your eyes.
"But what..." you begin, "How..."
You shake your head slightly, unable to finish the sentence.
The words the man spoke before you blacked out come back to your mind.
"He is waiting for you, you know. My master. He has been waiting so very patiently for his first taste of the woman he loves."
"It's you," you say in a faint whisper.
Leon begins to walk slowly towards you, eyes never leaving yours. His intense gaze leaves you unsettled. Leon has always looked at you gently and softly, but now his gaze is steady. Hungry.
Your heart is pounding in your chest. This isn't your Leon. Not anymore. And you know what you have to do now. Your gaze drifts unconsciously toward your gear on the table. You might be out of ammo, but your combat knife is still there; you just need to be faster than Leon.
His blue eyes follow the direction of your gaze, and he tilts his head, as if curious to know what you’ll do next.
You lunge toward the small table, grabbing the knife and drawing it. Then, turn to face Leon. He closes the distance. Fast.
You barely have time to ready a strike before he is upon you, grabbing your wrist. You knee him and he grunts, absorbing the blow and shoving you back until your back is against the wall. He holds you there.
"I knew it would be a matter of time before the DSO sent someone," he says, his face close to yours, "but I was afraid it would be you."
"Why? Because I could kill you?" you ask through gritted teeth, struggling against his grip.
" No. Because I knew that if I saw you, I wouldn't be able to let you go."
A lump forms in your throat.
"You're infected, Leon. You know what I have to do now."
"Ah, yes," he says, guiding your hand, the one holding the knife, to his neck. "If anyone is capable of killing me, it's you."
He leans in even closer, until your noses touch. "But the question is: can you do it?" A thin trickle of blood runs down from the spot where the knife rests against his neck. Leon doesn't seem to notice; his attention is focused on you. On what you’ll do next.
You clench your jaw, gripping the knife handle until your knuckles turn white. You know you need to kill him, to fulfill the promise you made years ago, but you cannot bring yourself to do it.
Leon sees the hesitation on your face and smiles triumphantly.
"I missed you." He wishpers. "All this time I've been here, I thought of you. Of us here together, ruling this place side by side. And now you're finally here. Mine."
"I'm not yours," you say through gritted teeth.
"Yes, you are. You have no idea of how persuasive I can be."
Leon leans in, his tongue slides over the cut on your lower lip, savoring the blood there. Then he sucks at it, his hand rising to your chin to tilt your face toward his, before he captures your lips in a gentle, almost reverent kiss. You taste the metallic tang of your own blood as you let go of the knife and bring your hand to the back of Leon’s neck, deepening the kiss.
Leon's hands slide down, hooking behind your tighs, and he lifts you, pinning you against his solid chest. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your arms circling his broad shoulders. He carries you back to the bed, laying you back on the mattress.
When he pulls back, a thin sheen of your blood glistens on his lips. He looms over you, blond hair falling forward as he looks down at you.
"I've wanted this for so long." Leon confesses in a hoarse voice. He lowers his head, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat feeling your frantic pulse against his mouth.
Leon's hands slide down your body, mapping your shivering frame with possessive reverence, his hips grind against yours. His mouth finds you again. Slower, deeper.
You arch into him.
Clothes fall away piece by piece, not in a rush, but in a gradual unwinding. His jacket. Your shirt, then your bra, discarted over the bed frame. Each layer peeled back reveals a patch of skin, a scar, a story you both share. A faded burnning scar on his shoulder from a mission in Spain, where he got you both out of a burning building. A thin white line inside of your wrist from a knife cut in Prague.
When he enters you, it's slow. His forehead presses to yours, eyes closed, jaw tigh with the effort of restraint. You wrap your legs around him and pull him deeper.
There's no rush. There is only the moment the two of you have longed for for years. Years of hidden feelings and longing gazes. And Leon moving above you, his hand finding yours and pressing it to the mattress beside your head, his silky voice telling you how good you feel.
The sound of your bodies moving together fills the quiet room, punctuated by soft moans and wishpered afirmations. Time feels suspended, the rest of the world forgotten. There's only his warmth, his touch.
One of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin, and he kisses you, swallong your moans. The other slides down your back to grip your ass, guiding your hips to meet his.
You come undone under him, back arching and walls clenching around him as he follows one heartbeat later, groaning your name like a prayer. Leon burries his face in the crook of your neck, as you lie beneath him, trying to catch your breath.
"You're mine." He repeats. "But there's only one way you can be mine forever."
You tense up when you understand the meaning of his words.
"No." You say in a weak voice. You try to break free from his dark embrace but is too late. He won't let you go now.
"Shh…it's going to be ok."
Leon kisses your collarbone. The hollow of your throat. The space between your ribs, where your heart hammers steady and alive.
"Your blood calls to me like nothing else in this world."
He kisses you again, but unlike before, this kiss is intense and possessive. The rational part of you is screaming about how wrong this is, telling you to fight, to break free. But the part of you that has always loved Leon is the one that wins and you surrende once more.
Suddenly,a sharp pain pierces your chest. You pull away, looking down in horror to see your own knife buried deep inside your ribs.
"Hush, my love." Leon whispers against your skin, his grip tightening. "The human heart has to stop before the eternal one can beat."
Before you can even scream, his teeth sink deep into you neck, savoring you blood and pouring his dark eternity into your veins.