Chapter 1 : The Thousand-Year Wait
The night had long ceased to feel like a passing thing for Migo Solomon. To him, it was not a cycle, not an interval between days. It was eternity stretched thin over centuries, a black shroud that refused to lift. Humans called it darkness, but to him, darkness had become air itself—always present, always breathed, an inseparable companion.
He had lived a thousand years beneath the stars, and still, the weight of time clung to him like a cloak that could not be cast off.
The prophecy was the only ember that had ever burned in him, the single line whispered by the eldest of his clan when his eyes were still new to the curse of vampirism. You will not walk alone forever, Migo. A spouse is written for you, destined by blood and fate, whose soul will bind to yours for all time.
That had been spoken in the year of his turning. Since then, empires had risen and fallen. Kings had been crowned and beheaded. The earth had shifted, cities had grown out of swamps and deserts, and yet the prophecy had not been fulfilled.
It might have been a cruel joke, if not for the nights when he felt it—a pulse, a strange stirring in his ancient veins, like a heartbeat that did not belong to him. It was faint, elusive, but enough to remind him that destiny was not broken. Only waiting.
So he waited.
He waited through winters where the rivers froze over like mirrors, and summers where fields of wheat burned gold under the sun he could never touch again. He waited through wars where steel clashed and men screamed, hidden in the shadows as soldiers bled into the soil. He waited in cathedrals abandoned to ruin, in taverns that reeked of smoke and spilled ale, in quiet libraries where dust gathered over forgotten books.
And with every century, his patience grew thinner, but his hope remained unshaken. Hope was the only thing immortality had not stolen from him.
Yet hope was also hunger.
It gnawed at him, just as blood did. The thirst for her—not her face, not her name, but the essence of the one promised to him—burned more fiercely than thirst for any mortal vein.
Migo often wondered what form this spouse would take. Would she be vampire, noble and eternal as he was? Or a mortal woman who would accept the shadow of his curse, embrace the night as he did? He never entertained the thought that destiny could be cruel enough to weave something worse.
On one particular night, in the year that men with carriages of fire began crossing continents of steel—what the world now called trains—Migo wandered into a cemetery cloaked in mist. He did not need to breathe, but he inhaled the damp air anyway, savoring the scent of earth and stone.
The mausoleums stood like silent sentinels, their crosses crooked with age. Somewhere beyond the mist, he felt it again—the strange stirring in his veins. Stronger this time. Closer.
His steps slowed. His hands trembled though no cold could touch him. A thousand years of waiting condensed into one breath, one heartbeat that wasn’t his own.
And in the distance, a figure appeared.
Cloaked, steady, purposeful. A hunter’s gait, not a wanderer’s. Her hand rested on the hilt of a blade even as her eyes swept the shadows. She was young—too young to carry the weight she bore in her stance—but her presence struck him like lightning cleaving a dead tree.
She did not yet see him. But he saw her. And in that instant, he knew.
The prophecy had ended its silence.
Migo Solomon’s spouse had come.
And she was a slayer.
He could almost laugh at the cruelty of it. A thousand years of longing, only to discover that destiny was sharpened against him like a blade. She was the enemy of his kind, the very terror whispered among the clan. The one who spilled blood not for hunger, but for vengeance.
And yet, as he watched her move through the fog, lantern light catching on her face, he felt no hatred. Only awe.
She had eyes that pierced the dark as though she had been born for it. Not with the glow of the undead, but with a fire all her own—a fire that burned him without flame.
He stepped back into the shadows, his mind warring with itself. Logic told him to retreat, to erase this night, to vanish before she ever knew of him. The clan would despise her. They would despise him for even drawing near. And she—she would raise that blade against his heart if she ever learned the truth.
But his heart, that old remnant of humanity that refused to wither even after a thousand years, whispered another truth.
He had waited for her.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2uuVLmMBXe
He could not walk away.
And so, Migo Solomon remained in the fog, silent as stone, watching the woman who was destined to love him, yet destined to destroy him.
To wait is to suffer. To love is to bleed. To choose is to die.
Migo did not know which fate awaited him now. He only knew that the prophecy had spoken at last, and his eternity would never again be the same.
Chapter 2 : The Slayer’s Light
The night was her element, though she did not belong to it.
Gigi Crisologo had been raised on stories of monsters lurking in the dark—creatures who thrived on the lifeblood of men, women, and children. The stories weren’t just meant to frighten her to sleep; they were warnings, lessons, destinies written in old scars and inherited vows. Her family name was carved into the long history of the Order of Slayers, and from the moment she could hold a blade, her future was sealed.
Her father once told her, We are not allowed to love what we hunt. He had meant it as instruction, not cruelty. Yet even then, she felt the sting of its finality.
To hunt meant to sacrifice softness. To carry weapons meant to abandon dreams. And to slay meant to kill not just monsters, but parts of herself.
But Gigi had never disobeyed. Not until tonight.
The mist swirled around her boots as she crossed the cemetery, lantern in one hand, her dagger’s hilt in the other. She was tracking whispers—a vampire rumored to haunt the outskirts of the city, a shadow who had evaded every hunter before her. The council wanted its head. The Order wanted its ashes.
Yet when she saw him, she faltered.
He did not lunge at her. He did not bare fangs or hiss with hunger. He only stood beneath a crooked angel statue, pale against the marble, his dark eyes fixed on her as though she were something divine.
Her grip tightened on the dagger. Focus, Gigi. He is the enemy. A thousand years old or a single night turned, it does not matter. End him before he ends you.
And yet… she could not move.
His voice broke the silence first. Deep, ancient, but soft.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5bJRUHGVvn
“Gigi.”
Her heart skipped. She had never told him her name. The lantern shook in her hand, its light flickering across the gravestones. “How do you know me?”
“I have always known you,” he said. “I have waited for you.”
The words should have chilled her. Instead, they cut through her fear, leaving confusion in its place. She saw no madness in him. Only longing.
She forced her feet to move, raising the dagger between them. “Don’t speak like that. Whatever trick you’re trying—it won’t work. I know what you are.”
He inclined his head, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yes. And still, I stand here, unhidden. If I wanted your blood, would you not already be dead?”
The truth in that struck her harder than she liked. Vampires did not reveal themselves willingly. They stalked, they cornered, they devoured. And yet he stood there as if baring his throat to her.
“I should kill you,” she whispered, though her hand trembled.
“You could try.” His gaze softened, as if daring her. “But I think you will not.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Migo said, stepping closer, “your soul already remembers me, even if your mind does not.”
The dagger lowered an inch before she caught herself. “You talk in riddles.”
He studied her, his expression not of arrogance but reverence, like a pilgrim who had finally reached his shrine. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it is truth you are not ready to hear. The prophecy binds us, Gigi. You and I.”
Her blood ran cold. Prophecy. She had been warned of such things—dark bargains, curses, promises whispered by creatures who toyed with fate.
“You’re lying,” she snapped. “You think you can chain me with words? My bloodline was made to kill you, not love you.”
At that, something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Deep and unhidden. Yet instead of retreating, he stepped into the lantern’s light, letting it fall across his face. His features were striking—ageless yet marked with centuries of sorrow. There was no hunger in him, only resignation.
“Then kill me, Gigi,” Migo said simply, opening his arms as though welcoming the blade. “If that is your destiny, fulfill it. I will not fight you. But know this: if you do, you will sever not just my existence, but your own future. You were not meant to slay me. You were meant to end my waiting.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The dagger shook, then fell back to her side.
“Why?” she asked, almost to herself. “Why do you look at me like that? Why do you speak as though I… matter to you?”
“Because you are the only thing that has ever mattered.”
The silence that followed pressed heavy between them. For the first time in her life, Gigi Crisologo felt the walls of her training crack. The hunter’s heart she had built from stone trembled with something dangerously close to recognition.
And she hated herself for it.
She turned away, clutching her lantern like a shield. “Stay away from me.”
But as she walked into the fog, she could still feel his gaze, warm and unbearable, following her every step.
That night, she did not report her findings to the Order.
She told herself it was because she needed more proof. Because rushing in without knowledge was reckless. Because she would kill him tomorrow.
But deep inside, in the place where her duty could not reach, she knew the real reason.
She was afraid—not of the vampire, but of herself.
Afraid that for the first time, she did not want to kill what she was meant to destroy.
Chapter 3 : Blood and Bonds
For days after the cemetery, Gigi told herself she would not return. She repeated it like a prayer, like an oath to cleanse the weakness gnawing inside her. But every night she lay awake in her narrow bed, the lantern extinguished, staring at the cracked ceiling while his voice echoed in her mind.
I have always known you.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEPc7GxvS6x
You are the only thing that has ever mattered.
Words like those were poison, and yet she drank them still, over and over, until they burned in her chest.
On the fifth night, she found herself walking the same path again—dagger at her belt, heart pounding louder than her footsteps. She told herself it was duty, nothing more. She was hunting. She was tracking. She was not searching for him.
But when the fog parted and Migo emerged from the shadows, waiting as though he had known she would come, she could not lie to herself any longer.
“You returned,” he said softly, as though speaking too loudly might break the fragile thread between them.
Gigi kept her hand on her weapon, though it felt like a poor disguise. “Don’t flatter yourself. I came to finish what I should have done days ago.”
He smiled faintly, a trace of sorrow behind it. “Then why did you wait?”
The question lodged in her throat. She could not answer. She would not. Instead, she stepped closer, letting the mist swallow her doubts.
“Tell me,” she demanded, “why me? Out of everyone in this world, why would prophecy tie you to someone who was raised to kill your kind?”
Migo’s gaze held hers, steady, patient, unyielding. “Prophecy does not ask permission. It does not bend to what is easy. It binds what is necessary. You think you are my enemy, but you are my salvation. I have waited for centuries not for someone who would mirror me, but for someone who would challenge me. Someone whose light would burn through my darkness.”
She laughed, bitter and sharp. “Light? Do not mistake me for something pure. I kill. I destroy. My hands are not innocent.”
“Neither are mine,” he replied. “And yet, when I look at you, I see the part of myself that was lost a thousand years ago. The part that still longs for meaning beyond blood.”
Her dagger hand lowered, though she hated herself for it. “You speak as though love is simple. It is not. It cannot be. Not for us.”
“No,” he admitted. “It will not be simple. It will be war. But I would rather walk through war beside you than walk another thousand years alone.”
The honesty in his voice rattled her more than any threat ever had. She should have turned her back then. She should have left him to the mercy of her Order. But instead, she stayed.
The nights that followed were not filled with battles, but with stolen conversations. They met beneath ruined arches and forgotten bridges, speaking in whispers as though the stars themselves might betray them.
Migo told her of the empires he had seen rise and fall, of the languages he had learned only to watch them die, of the loneliness that clung to him thicker than any fog. He spoke of hunger—yes—but not of indulgence. He fed rarely, with restraint, his discipline almost monk-like.
And Gigi, against her will, found herself confessing pieces of her own life. The weight of expectation, the endless drills and oaths, the way every smile she carried was stolen rather than given. She had lived only for duty, never for herself. Until now.
It was wrong. It was reckless. But when Migo looked at her, she felt seen not as a slayer, not as a weapon, but as a woman.
One evening, she caught herself staring too long at his hands—pale, scarred, yet gentle when he traced the crumbling stone of an old cathedral wall. He noticed her gaze and said nothing, only let the silence between them stretch into something dangerous.
“Why do you not drink from me?” she asked suddenly, startling herself with the question.
His eyes darkened, and for the first time she saw hunger flicker in them like lightning. “Because I could never forgive myself for turning love into survival.”
Her breath caught. “So you… feel it too.”
“Yes.” His voice was steady, but his hand trembled when it reached for hers. “Do you think eternity has spared me the truth of what this is? It has not. It is love, Gigi. Whether we deny it or not, it will devour us both.”
Her heart thundered. Every vow she had ever made screamed at her to pull away, to end this before it was too late. But her body betrayed her. She let his fingers brush hers, the contact so slight, so fleeting, yet it ignited something she could no longer smother.
For a moment, they stood in the ruins, hand to hand, two enemies bound not by steel or blood, but by something far more dangerous.
But love did not bloom without consequence.
Unseen, the world was already shifting. Whispers traveled through the vampire clan of Migo’s strange defiance, his wandering, his refusal to feed. And among the Order, hunters spoke of Gigi’s delayed reports, her evasions, her restless silence.
Suspicion was a tide neither could hold back.
One night, as they parted ways, Migo caught her wrist, his expression heavy. “They will learn,” he warned. “Both your people and mine. And when they do, they will not forgive.”
Gigi swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing into her bones. “Then perhaps we should stop now. Perhaps it is not too late.”
His eyes searched hers, aching, desperate. “Can you truly walk away?”
She opened her mouth to lie, to say yes. But the truth broke from her lips like a confession.
“No.”
The word sealed their fate.
From that night onward, they were not just bound by prophecy. They were bound by choice. A bond woven not from destiny alone, but from the defiance of two hearts too stubborn to surrender.
Chapter 4 : The Clan’s Wrath
The night air was different when the summons came.
Migo had long known the signs: the chill that crept through his veins, the tug in his marrow that no mortal could feel. The clan was calling him, and refusal was not an option.
He followed the pull into the heart of the city, through alleys narrow as scars, until he reached a ruined chapel hidden beneath centuries of decay. Inside, shadows stirred with movement, and the air was thick with the scent of blood both old and fresh.
The council was waiting.
Seven elders, their eyes gleaming crimson in the dim light, sat in a semicircle of broken pews. They were older than him, older than memory itself. Their gazes cut into his flesh like knives as he stepped forward.
“Migo Solomon,” intoned the eldest, a gaunt figure with hair like silver threads and lips stained dark. “You are summoned because your name is spoken in whispers—whispers of betrayal.”
Migo stood tall, though his insides coiled. “Betrayal?”
The elder’s mouth curled. “A slayer walks where you walk. Her scent clings to your shadow. Do not insult us by denying it.”
The chamber filled with murmurs, voices hissing like serpents. “A slayer.” “A cursed union.” “He defies the prophecy.”
One of the younger elders leaned forward, his eyes bright with disdain. “Do you understand what danger you bring? She is bred to kill us, forged in hatred. You dare draw her near, and worse—you protect her.”
Migo’s jaw tightened. “She is not your enemy.”
“Not our enemy?” The eldest rose, his robes whispering against the floor. “Have you forgotten the Order’s hunts? The fires, the silver blades, the ash that fills our crypts? Her bloodline is soaked with our deaths. And you—our own blood—would embrace her?”
“She is the prophecy,” Migo said, his voice steady though his hands clenched. “She is my destined spouse. The bond is written in fate itself.”
The council erupted in chaos, voices clashing, snarls echoing against the stone walls.
“Impossible.”117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjFk2cHA3M6
“An abomination.”117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCZXu568vnJ
“The prophecy cannot bind us to filth.”
The eldest silenced them with a raised hand. His gaze burned into Migo’s. “Prophecy may be cruel, but it does not command us to accept weakness. If she is truly the one written for you, then fate has cursed us all. The only way to break such a curse is to destroy it.”
Migo’s chest tightened. He knew what would come next, even before the words were spoken.
“Bring us the slayer,” the elder decreed, his voice heavy with finality. “Deliver her head, and perhaps your loyalty may yet be forgiven.”
The silence that followed was heavier than stone.
Migo bowed his head, not in submission, but to hide the storm in his eyes. He gave no answer. He simply turned and left, though the echo of their demand rang in his ears with every step.
When he emerged into the night, the world felt colder. The streets blurred as he walked, the words deliver her head replaying with merciless rhythm.
He found her where he always did—waiting at the edge of the ruins, lantern in hand. She smiled faintly when she saw him, though it faltered at his expression.
“What happened?” Gigi asked, stepping closer.
He wanted to lie. To tell her nothing had changed. But lies would only buy her death.
“They know,” he said simply.
Her face paled. “Your clan?”
“Yes.” His voice was hollow, distant. “They know of you. They know of us. They demand your blood.”
The silence stretched between them like a blade. Gigi’s hand went instinctively to her dagger, but there was no defiance in her eyes—only grief.
“You should have killed me when we first met,” she whispered. “It would have been easier.”
“Easier, yes,” Migo admitted. He reached for her hand, his cold fingers curling around hers. “But love was never meant to be easy.”
Her breath shuddered. “Migo… what do we do?”
He looked toward the darkened horizon. “We run. For now, it is all we can do.”
But running was not simple.
That night, shadows followed them through the city. Eyes glowed red from rooftops. Whispers slithered through the air, carried by fanged mouths hidden in the mist.
The clan had unleashed its hunters.
Gigi and Migo fought side by side, blades and fangs flashing in the gloom. For every vampire that lunged, Gigi’s dagger found its mark. For every strike aimed at her back, Migo’s strength cast the attacker into ruin. They were enemies by nature, yet in battle, they moved as one.
By dawn, they had slain more than a dozen, their bodies left in the ruins of the alley. Gigi stood trembling, blood—both human and inhuman—splattered across her clothes.
“This won’t end,” she panted, her chest heaving. “They’ll keep coming. Yours. Mine. All of them.”
Migo’s eyes were dark, but resolute. “Then we will make an end of our own. Not theirs.”
She stared at him, her dagger lowering, her throat tight with words she could not speak. Somewhere deep inside, she knew what his promise meant. That this love, no matter how strong, was already bleeding toward tragedy.
That night, as they sheltered in the hollow of an abandoned crypt, Gigi traced the cracks in the stone wall, her mind heavy with fear. “Migo,” she whispered, “what if the prophecy was wrong? What if we were never meant to be together, but only meant to destroy each other?”
He sat beside her, his hand brushing against hers in the darkness. “Then let us destroy each other gently. Let us choose love, even if it ends in ashes.”
Her throat burned with tears she refused to shed. For the first time in her life, Gigi Crisologo—the slayer trained to feel nothing—was afraid not of death, but of losing what she had never been meant to have.
And in the silence that followed, Migo closed his eyes, the weight of the council’s decree pressing into him like chains.
To love her was to betray his blood.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXznmNau7D0
To save her was to doom himself.
But he had already made his choice.
Chapter 5 : Fugitive Hearts
The night stretched endlessly across the mountain ridges, a velvet sky pricked by cold stars. Migo carried Gigi through the thickets and stone paths as though she weighed nothing, his inhuman strength unfaltering even after hours of fleeing. Yet what truly burdened him was not her weight—it was the sound of her breathing, uneven and tired, the fragile cadence of a mortal heart that he had come to treasure more than his own immortality.
Every step away from the city was a rebellion. Behind them lay the ruins of burned safehouses, vampire tracks twisted by fire, slayers marking territories with ash and silver dust. Ahead of them stretched uncertainty, but at least it was theirs.
They stopped in a hollow, beneath a canopy of moss-draped pines. Migo lowered her carefully, his pale hands trembling against her shoulders.
“Rest here,” he whispered. His voice, usually commanding, broke with tenderness.
Gigi winced, clutching her arm where a blade had grazed her earlier. Blood seeped through torn fabric, and though the wound was shallow, Migo’s gaze lingered on it too long. His fangs pressed against his lips, an instinctive hunger he had fought for centuries.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’re not the monster they say you are.”
He turned away, staring at the forest shadows. “But I am. And the more time you spend with me, the more danger you’ll be in—from them, from me… from what I am.”
Her laughter was small but sharp, like breaking glass. “From what you are? Migo, I’m a slayer. Do you realize the irony? My entire life was trained to kill creatures like you, and yet here I am, hiding behind one.”
Silence followed. The truth between them was a wound neither dared to stitch.
Finally, Migo crouched before her, lifting her chin with a cold hand. “Do you regret it? Running with me? Turning your back on everything you’ve known?”
Gigi looked into his eyes—those ageless, sorrowful eyes—and shook her head. “No. Because for the first time, I feel like I’m choosing my life. Not my clan’s rules. Not my duty. Just… me.”
Her words undid him. The prophecy that had chained him for centuries seemed to dissolve into something more fragile, more real. Not destiny, but choice.
He wrapped his cloak around her, shielding her from the chill. “We’ll keep moving tomorrow. There are places even the clans fear to tread. I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”
“And then what?” she asked softly.
Migo faltered. He had no answer. He could hide her, yes. He could shield her for days, weeks, maybe even years. But eternity was a cruel promise. Vampires endured. Mortals withered. And hunters never forgot.
That night, as Gigi slept against his shoulder, Migo stared at the sky. The stars above had watched him for a thousand years, and they would still burn long after both their hearts ceased to beat. He had always believed love was something to be awaited, endured like penance until the prophecy fulfilled itself. But love, he realized, was also fleeting. Precious because it was doomed.
His grip tightened around her hand. He wanted to believe he could keep it forever. But in the hollow of his chest, an older truth stirred: one day, to protect her, he would have to let her go.
And when that day came, it would tear him apart.
Chapter 6 : The Last Sanctuary
The mountain air was colder than stone. Pines whispered above them, and the stars scattered across the sky seemed sharp enough to cut. Migo led Gigi through a tangle of shadows until they reached a ruined chapel, its cross long broken, its walls half-swallowed by ivy.
“This is it,” Migo murmured, pushing open the heavy wooden door. It creaked as if it, too, carried centuries of exhaustion.
Inside, moonlight fell through broken glass and fractured windows, painting the cracked altar with shards of silver. Dust rose with their steps, settling on stone benches where no worshippers had prayed for centuries.
“It looks… forgotten,” Gigi whispered, brushing her fingers against a wall carved with faded saints.
“That is why it is safe,” Migo answered. “Sanctuaries lose their holiness when men stop believing. But for creatures like me, it becomes the only place left.”
She turned to look at him, eyes soft, searching. “Is this where you’ve hidden before?”
Migo’s throat tightened. “No. I’ve never hidden. Only now.”
The fire they built crackled low, its warmth small compared to the weight of silence pressing around them. Outside, the forest breathed. Inside, Gigi sat on the stone floor with her knees pulled close, her sword leaning against the altar as though it, too, sought absolution.
For the first time in centuries, Migo allowed himself to simply watch. The flames carved her face in gold and shadow. Her humanity was a fragile miracle, and it struck him like the sharpest blade: he was meant to destroy her, or she him. And yet—he loved her.
“Why me?” Gigi’s voice cut the quiet. “Out of every soul you could have waited for… why did the prophecy choose me?”
Migo lowered himself beside her, careful not to let his cold hand brush her warmth. “The prophecy never spoke of names. Only of a heart—strong enough to end me, gentle enough to break me.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “That sounds more like a curse than fate.”
“Yes,” Migo said softly. “But a curse I would endure a thousand times, if it meant seeing you.”
Silence stretched, heavy and trembling.
At last, Gigi whispered, “I’m afraid, Migo. Afraid of your clan, afraid of what I am supposed to do, afraid… of losing myself.”
He turned toward her, his gaze dark but steady. “You do not have to be afraid of me.”
Her eyes flickered to his fangs, then back to his face. “And if the day comes when I’m forced to kill you?”
“Then I will not fight,” he said simply.
Her breath caught. The fire snapped. For a long time she stared at him, as if searching for a lie, but there was none.
The night deepened. They spoke little more, yet every silence between them carried more weight than words. In the broken chapel, Migo felt the fragile illusion of peace. He imagined, for the first time in a thousand years, what it would be like to live as something less than a monster—someone who could love without fear.
But in the distance, he heard the wind shift. The clan was hunting, and peace was only the eye of the storm.
Chapter 7 : The Price of Love
Migo had lived long enough to know that every choice carried a shadow. Yet no decision in his thousand years had ever crushed his chest with such weight as this one: to save Gigi by losing her, or to keep her near and condemn her to the clan’s wrath.
The stars were sharp above them that night, spiked like blades against the velvet sky. They had taken shelter in a forgotten abbey at the edge of the woods, its broken stained glass whispering ghostly colors into the moonlight. Migo sat against the ruined altar, his eyes burning red with hunger he had denied himself for weeks, while Gigi leaned against the cracked wall, wrapping her arms around her knees.
She was weary—her strength eroded by days of running, nights of hiding. Yet her eyes still gleamed with the fire of someone who had never let fear rule her heart. That fire had drawn him across centuries. That fire would now destroy him.
“Migo,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “we can’t run forever. They’ll find us. Your clan, my Order—they won’t stop.”
Her words lanced through him, because they were true. They had crossed rivers under moonlight, crept through abandoned cities, even buried themselves in crypts to escape the searching gaze of vampires and slayers alike. But the prophecy had chained them both: the destined union of a vampire lord and a slayer, a union that promised either salvation or ruin.
Migo rose, his cloak spilling around him like a shadow torn from the night. “I can keep you safe,” he said, though even as the words left him, he knew their emptiness. “I will bleed every rival, break every hunter—”
“No,” she cut in, her voice trembling but resolute. “If I stay with you, I become a target forever. Every clan elder will demand my head. Every slayer will call me traitor.” She lifted her gaze, her dark eyes wet with defiance. “And you… you’ll suffer for loving me.”
Migo’s throat constricted. He wanted to tell her he had endured suffering long before she was born. That eternity had been nothing but one long ache until her existence lit it with meaning. But he saw in her face the truth: she was not asking to be saved by force. She was asking him to choose.
The abbey’s silence pressed down on them. Dust fell from the rafters like ash.
At last, Migo walked toward her and knelt, his cool hand trembling as he brushed the hair from her face. “Gigi, if destiny cursed us to meet, then let me bear the curse. I will give you freedom, even if it kills me.”
Her lips parted. “What do you mean?”
“I will erase every trace of us,” he said, his voice breaking. “I will lead them astray. I will bury your name so deep in shadow, they will never know you existed in my arms. To protect you, I must become your enemy.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. She shook her head violently. “No—you can’t. Don’t you dare make me forget. Don’t you dare turn me into a stranger.”
Migo closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her—iron and earth, fire and rain. His heart, dead for centuries, pulsed once, as if mocking him with borrowed life.
“If I hold you,” he whispered, “you die. If I lose you, you live. Tell me, beloved—what price should I pay?”
She pressed her forehead to his, her sobs muffled in the folds of his cloak. “I don’t want to live without you. But I don’t want you destroyed either. How do we choose between two dooms?”
His voice cracked as he answered, “By choosing the one where you still breathe.”
They clung to each other until dawn bled into the sky, knowing it was their last embrace. When she finally drifted to sleep against his chest, Migo held her as though the warmth of her mortal heartbeat could anchor him against eternity.
Then, before the sun rose high enough to burn his skin, he left.
He stood at the abbey’s threshold, looking back one last time at the slayer who had become his salvation and his damnation. She stirred in her dreams, murmuring his name, and he carved that sound into the marrow of his soul.
“I waited a thousand years for you,” he whispered, voice breaking like glass. “And I will wait a thousand more in silence.”
With a final breath, Migo stepped into the shadows, heading toward the gathering storm of his clan. He would draw their gaze, unleash their fury, and leave a trail of false signs that led far from her. Each step was a death, but it was the only way to let her live.
The price of love was his eternity. And he would pay it gladly.
Chapter 8 : I Waited to Let You Go
The night was cruelly silent when Migo Solomon stood atop the old ruins, the moonlight gilding his sharp features like a statue carved in sorrow. Below, the city flickered with torches, and beyond the distant hills, whispers of the slayers traveled like smoke. They hunted still—relentless, merciless—and Gigi’s bloodline had marked her as prey even before she was born.
She didn’t know it yet. She couldn’t know.
Migo had ensured that.
In the shadows of her memory, he had planted distance, disguises, a carefully spun life that would keep her from recalling what had almost bloomed between them. The hardest spell he had ever cast was not the fire and blood magic of his clan, but the subtle weaving of forgetfulness—turning love into nothing more than a dream she might half-remember when the nights grew unbearably quiet.
He had waited a thousand years for her.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIbVSheaF6o
And yet, he had chosen to wait even longer, without her, for her.
When Gigi arrived at the ruins, her breath carried both weariness and fire. She had followed him despite his silence, despite the walls he had tried to raise between them. Her hand gripped the hilt of her blade, but her eyes—oh, her eyes—burned with confusion, pain, and something softer that terrified him more than any steel.
“Migo,” she whispered, her voice quivering but strong. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away?”
His throat clenched. He wanted to tell her everything—that the prophecy was never meant to be cruel, that she had been carved out of fate to stand beside him, not against him. But the truth would be a death sentence. If she knew, if she stayed, the clan would never stop until her blood drenched the earth.
Instead, he forced a smile that tasted like ashes.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvxqwF3URvT
“Because love like ours doesn’t survive the light of day.”
Her blade trembled. Her lips parted, searching for a reason, for hope, for any crack in his armor. “You don’t mean that.”
He stepped closer, close enough to hear her heartbeat thundering beneath her ribs, close enough to memorize every detail of her face in case this was the last time. His hand lifted—hesitant, reverent—and he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She leaned into his touch like it was home.
“I do,” he lied, his voice breaking in a way he prayed she would not hear.
And then, with all the strength of a man who had outlived empires, he let her go.
Days turned to months. Migo vanished into the deep, cold vaults of his clan’s forgotten catacombs. Rumors spread of the slayer who had bested even the most cunning of vampires, though no one spoke her name aloud. And somewhere far from blood and ruin, Gigi lived. She woke some nights with tears on her cheeks and no reason why. She dreamed of a face she could never fully recall, a shadow that once promised both danger and safety.
And Migo?
He lingered in silence, watching from afar, guarding her with the patience of eternity. His love was not gone—it was simply locked away, like a blade kept in its sheath. He waited, as he always had.
For fate was cruel, yes. But fate was never finished.
And in the deepest chambers of his endless heart, he whispered a vow that refused to die:
One day, Gigi. Whether in this life or the next—I will no longer wait to let you go. I will wait to come back to you.
The wind carried her name through the ruins, and the night swallowed his sorrow whole.
✨ End of Story – “I Waited to Let You Go” ✨
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