The Marriage Game

In Which We Meet One of Our Villains

Camila dreamed of a hallway.

It was a long hallway, the end of it stretching far out into the distance until it became a small black dot. Sparse light bulbs dangled from the ceiling, bare and flickering. The walls were steel grey.

She wore a beautiful white dress, the skirts expanding like an upside-down teacup. Little lace hearts danced across the bodice.

A wedding dress.

It was strangely realistic, from the air-conditioning nipping at her skin, to the beads of cold sweat on the nape of her neck. It reminded her of the dream she'd had about Alex, when he'd managed to transport a scrap of paper into her pocket.

She heard a scream, distant, desperate, and barely audible. Camila took a step forward. Then another. The echo of her footsteps rattled down the corridor, strangely loud in the silence.

After an hour of stumbling forward in towering stilettos, her toes pinched and aching, Camila reached a simple door: bleached white, with a wooden handle and a doormat with a sketch of a smiling flower.

The hinges creaked when she opened the door.

The room was massive, rectangular, with floor to ceiling windows looking out over a vast ocean. Across the opposite wall was an intricate, unfinished painting, a bloody battleground and the towering castle above it, all painted in a rusted shade of brownish-red.

Just like dried blood.

"Beautiful, no?" The speaker turned. He was a tall man, with black hair swept back from a widow's peak. His eyes were oil-black, like a beetle's carapace. His lips were thin, his cheekbones high and dramatic, and his canines slightly elongated. He held a glass of red wine with thin, pale fingers.

Camila tilted her head, regarding the painting. "A little grim for my tastes."

"An honest response. What a rare treat." His thin lips curved upwards. "Can I call you Camila?"

"That depends," she said, adjusting her delicate silk gloves. "Who are you?"

"Dragomir."

"Sorry?"

"It's Romanian. Unusual in these parts, I suppose." He spoke with a slight, barely detectable accent. Camila couldn't pinpoint its origin.

"And what do you want, Dragomir?"

"For now? Just to talk." He took a sip from his glass. Camila noticed the liquid—which she had initially assumed was red wine—was unusually thick. "Do you like flowers, Camila?"

"I don't dislike them," she said stiffly. Something felt—she searched for the word—off about Dragomir. He didn't blink. His chest was strangely still, as if he wasn't breathing. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to get away, and every nerve burned with an irrational fear.

Dragomir smiled. His teeth were stained red. "Do you have a favorite?"

Camila ignored his question and gestured to the glass. "Are you a vampire?"

"Among other things." He eyed her with a peculiar amusement. "You're very pretty. For a wolf, of course."

Somehow, it didn't feel like a compliment.

"Cut to the chase." Camila crossed her arms over her chest. "I imagine you're not here to play games. What do you want from me?"

"Not much for small talk, are you?" Every word was articulate, drawn out with a smooth elegance. "Did your parents ever tell you about the Heart of Catalina?"

"...No. They didn't."

He pursed his lips. "That's disappointing. I was hoping to find a use for you, but you're just as useless as they are." He took another sip of the thick, red liquid. "I don't suppose you have any idea where it is?"

"I- I'm sorry. How do you know my parents?" Camila choked out.

"Well." He set the wine glass down. It clinked against the metal table. "I'm the one who decides if they live or die."

Her foot jerked backwards. Camila whirled, turning towards the door, but all she could see was the painting, the burnt red lines and blank white canvas, as if the wall had swallowed up the exit.

"Sit, please. I'm not here to hurt you." His voice was smooth as silk. He gestured towards an oak table, bracketed by wooden chairs.

Slowly, Camila sat. "If you hurt them," she said clearly. "I will kill you."

"Unfortunately, it's a little late for that. What I can promise you is their lives. If, and only if, you bring me the Heart."

"How can I trust you?"

Dragomir smiled. "Camila dear, you really don't have much of a choice." He picked up the glass and drained it in a single gulp. "You have a month. I'll see you soon."

And with that, Camila woke up.

Short chapter today, but I felt like it was time for some much needed plot stuff to happen. We'll be back to the regularly scheduled drama next chapter!

Thoughts on Dragomir? Last chance to guess at Camila's plan? Favorite TV show because I need recommendations? Thanks for reading!

-Harley