Chapter 7

Perhaps it was my mother. Maybe she had discovered that I was murdered, and her overwhelming grief resonated into the afterlife... but the voice didn't sound like my mother's. It sounded lighter, younger—like mine. The crying grew louder and louder, and I didn't like it. I wanted to flee from the noise, but an icy cold force immobilized me.

Oh God, am I in Hell?

"Kala..." a woman's voice called out to me, "Kala, help me..." Her voice distorted into a garbled, incomprehensible static. Panicking, I tried to move away, but I couldn't; I didn't know how. Then, through the darkness, I heard another voice—a man's.

He addressed me as if I were his deceased lover, calling me 'my love' and pleading for forgiveness. His voice seemed to drown out the static and the weeping woman, enveloping me in a warm embrace.

I couldn't comprehend how this was possible. I had no memory of having a boyfriend in my life. Who was this man, and what had he done to beg for my forgiveness?

I could physically feel his sorrow pressing around me, urging me back to life.

"Drink," he whispered, "drink to live. Drink to be with me forever. Drink, my love."

A foreign life force surged into my body, defying the natural order and reviving it. My heart gave a single beat, wrenching me from Death's grip and thrusting me back into my physical form. My soul painfully began to reattach, though not entirely. A fragment of me chose to remain in the blissful otherworld, the realm we enter when we die.

As I regained sensation in my physical limbs, panic and anxiety crashed over me like a freight train. I had been truly dead—beyond the reach of modern medicine. The sensation was unnatural and almost repulsive.

The first thing I felt was a metallic, fiery liquid coursing down my throat and exploding in my stomach, sending shockwaves through my body. For what seemed like a fleeting moment but could have been an eternity, there was pain that gradually subsided into awareness.

It felt as if I were awakening from a deep slumber, with all my senses slowly returning.

I became aware of the cotton sheet beneath me and the warm blanket above. Moving my fingers, I felt the warmth of another body next to mine.

Even before opening my eyes, I knew it was him—the Prince of Darkness. His heavy arm was curled around my waist, his hand spread across my stomach, holding me close. I could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against my back as he slept peacefully.

Instead of feeling frightened or disturbed, his closeness felt strangely natural and comforting, as if we were indeed true lovers.

His arm shifted slightly, just a couple of centimeters across my waist, enough to make my eyelashes flutter and my eyes open. But I couldn't see anything in the darkness.

For a brief moment, I hoped that this mysterious man who had taken me would vanish like any ordinary dream. But when his solid arm tightened around me, I realized he was very real.

Groggily, I tried to recall how I ended up in this bed with him. Fuzzy memories of Gina Harris and that ridiculous wedding dress flashed through my mind. Then, the graveyard and the Hangman's tree came back to me, along with that eerie story about the handsome man in the graveyard with his sharp teeth.

Fear gripped me, and my body stiffened.

The Prince of Darkness inhaled deeply, stirring from his sleep. His arm pulled me even closer, pressing me against his chest. In a sleepy murmur, he whispered into my ear, "I am so sorry, my love. I never wanted to hurt you."

A scream tore from my throat as I violently pulled away from him. I dug my heel into the mattress and pushed myself backward, almost flipping over the bed in my haste.

A hand reached out and brushed against my arm. "Calm down, my love," he said softly.

I yanked my arm away and blindly pushed myself further from where his voice had come.

"Stay away from me!" I screamed, panic rising in my voice.

"Okay," the soft, masculine voice replied, "I will stay away from you."

"Please, can you turn on a lamp or something? I can't see anything," I pleaded, trying to regain some control over the situation.

"I can, but it wouldn't alter the situation. My dear, you're blind to it—it's just for a short while, until the transformation is over," he whispered tenderly.

"Transformation?" I repeated, my tone devoid of emotion.

I lifted my hand towards my neck, my trembling fingers searching the spot where his teeth had pierced my skin. Gently, I traced the area, finding neither wound nor painful mark—no proof that this man had taken my life.

"Are you scared, my love?" he inquired.

"I fear you and what you've done to me," I confessed.

"What do you believe I've done to you?"

"I'm not sure, but I know I've changed," I responded.

He sighed sharply before saying, "Listen, this wasn't the best way to handle things."

"What do you mean by 'the best way'?"

"It's irrelevant now. You're frightened, and as your husband, it's my duty to address your fears."