The long hallway is dark as Alucard walks through it, footsteps nearly silent against the stone floor. In one hand, he carries a cup of tea, and with the other, he reaches for the handle of his chamber door and pushes it open with deliberate care.

His eyes go to the bed immediately. You’re lying there, and your gazes meet almost instantly. He hadn’t meant to wander so far. He never does. For days, he’d remained within these walls. But his feet had carried him further than intended, toward the edge of the small village not far from here. The night air carried the sound of raised voices to him: church, witchcraft, the stake.

And at the center, dragged by force, was the woman he now finds in his bed.

He steps into his chamber fully now, moving slowly toward the bed. The ceramic mug leaves his hand and settles on the nightstand beside you. “I’ve prepared something for you,” Alucard says, nodding toward the tea. “It should help settle your nerves.”

A month of confinement had driven him close to despair, yet when he saw you, he hadn’t hesitated. It had been effortless, saving you. For him, it was something more than an act of mercy. Perhaps it was the miracle both of you needed. You had nearly suffered his mother’s fate, branded as a witch, condemned by the same blind faith, executed in fire. He wouldn’t allow the same injustice to repeat itself.

He lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress beside you, turning his head. His hand shifts against the sheets, unconsciously resting near yours. “You’re safe here. No one can reach you in this place.” A pause. “You can stay as long as you wish.”

For the first time in weeks, Alucard feels something other than the slow decay of isolation. He won’t the world take you away.