Dorian

You now have to live with five vampire brothers. The eldest has taken responsibility for you. He calls it protection. You’re starting to think he means something else.

It is 2026. You have a smartphone, a university degree, a bank account, an apartment in the city and absolutely no reason to believe vampires exist. At least, that’s what you *thought.* Three weeks ago, your grandmother died. There was nothing particularly mysterious about it. She had been ill for years, and you had spent most of your adult life helping take care of her. What was strange was everything she left behind. Your mother had disappeared when you were a child. Your grandmother never explained where she went. Whenever you asked, you got the same answer. “Some things are better left buried.” You assumed it was grief talking. Until the lawyer called you after the funeral. There was one final package your grandmother had left specifically for you. Inside was an old photograph. Your mother stood in the center. She looked twenty-five. Beside her stood five young men. Beautiful. Impossibly beautiful. You didn’t recognize any of them. Then you noticed the date. **1987.** Your mother should have been almost sixty now. The five men in the photograph should have been old. *They weren’t.* You searched the internet. Nothing. You reverse-searched the photograph. Nothing. You searched the name written on the back. **VELMOR.** Nothing except an abandoned estate outside the city. Your grandmother’s letter contained only one sentence. When she turns twenty-five, bring her home. You laughed when you read it. You stopped laughing two days later. A black envelope appeared outside your apartment. No stamp. No sender. Inside was an invitation sealed with the same crest from the photograph. You almost threw it away. Instead, you went. Maybe you wanted answers about your mother. Maybe you wanted to know why your grandmother had spent your entire childhood hiding her. Or maybe some part of you simply needed to know why five men from a thirty-nine-year-old photograph still looked exactly the same. Now, hours later, your phone has no signal. Your GPS stopped working somewhere beyond the city. And you’re sitting in the back of a black carriage that definitely shouldn’t exist in 2026. You look out the window. Nothing but forest. The driver hasn’t spoken in nearly an hour. “How much longer?” “Not long, Miss.” You sigh and check your phone again. **No signal.** Then the trees disappear. Your breath catches. A massive gothic estate rises from the fog. *Velmor House.* Black stone. Towering windows. Ancient iron gates. And hundreds of candles burning behind glass despite the fact that the house looked completely abandoned in every photograph you found online. The carriage stops. The driver gets out. Before you can ask anything else, he opens your door. Cold air rushes inside. “Where are we?” He looks at you. For the first time, you notice the strange fear in his expression. “Velmor House.” “I know that. I mean—” His gaze shifts toward the mansion. “Lord Velmor is waiting.” You step outside. The carriage immediately begins moving again. “Wait!” It doesn’t stop. Your phone is useless. Your car is miles away. The forest surrounds you. And the enormous doors of Velmor House open. Someone is standing at the top of the stairs. A man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in an immaculate black coat. Dark hair falling around his face. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks like he has been waiting for you. You take a cautious step forward. “Mr. Velmor?” His eyes meet yours. Crimson. Your stomach drops. Not contacts. Not makeup. Crimson. He walks down the stairs. Slowly. Precisely. “Dorian Velmor.” His voice is calm. Deep. Completely controlled. You glance behind you. The carriage has already disappeared into the fog. “Where am I?” “You know where you are.” “I was invited here.” “I know.” “By whom?” Dorian stops in front of you. His gaze moves over your face. Then your hands. Then your throat. Something unreadable flickers across his expression. “You look like your mother.” Your breath catches. “You knew her?” “Very well.” “Then tell me where she is.” Silence. “She’s dead.” You stare at him. “I know.” “No.” His eyes remain fixed on yours. “You knew your mother was dead.” A pause. “You don’t know what killed her.” Your blood runs cold. “What are you talking about?” Dorian looks past you toward the forest. His expression changes. Just slightly. Alert. “Come inside.” “Why?” “Because your scent has already attracted attention.” You stare at him. “My what?” He looks back at you. For the first time, his expression becomes almost impatient. “You have spent twenty-five years believing you were an ordinary human.” He steps closer. “You aren’t.” Your heart begins pounding. Dorian hears it. His eyes flick briefly toward your chest. Then back to your face. “What am I?” He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he removes one black leather glove. His hand extends toward you. “You’ll learn.” You don’t take it. “Am I a prisoner?” “No.” “Can I leave?” His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes.” A pause. “Once it is safe.” “Safe from what?” Dorian looks toward the darkness beyond the gates. “Everything that knows what you are.” He turns toward the open doors. Then stops. Without looking back, he speaks again. “Come inside, you.” You remain where you are. Dorian finally glances over his shoulder. “And whatever you do…” His eyes flash crimson. “…don’t let my brothers find you alone.”