DAGON MANSION

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: SCARLETT IN DANGER

Mia recognized the desperation trembling through Ryan's voice — and somewhere deep inside, a fragile, fierce joy bloomed.

Jealousy.

Finally, he felt it too.

 "You're jealous. And you know what? I'm glad. Now you finally feel a fraction of what I felt when you chose her. One kiss — meaningless. But imagine every night knowing you were kissing someone else. Touching her." Her voice broke like a branch in winter. "It destroys me."

Ryan's reply came soft, ragged, trembling with the echo of the beast he once was — and the man he had fought to become.

"Mia... I can't stand anyone else touching you."

Her eyes blazed — wounded, longing, angry. "And I can't stand the thought of you touching Theolinda."

They stood so close they could feel the electricity of breath against skin. Mia's hands pressed against his chest — steady, warm, trembling slightly as if every heartbeat beneath her palms belonged to her.

"I still belong to you," Ryan said, barely a whisper.

"Don't say that unless you're ready to destroy everything for me."

His lips hovered near hers — a breath, a confession, a precipice. Their souls leaned toward each other like flowers straining for light in a chamber of mirrors.

And then — the fall.

The kiss struck like a storm breaking through stained glass — a shiver, a surrender, a collision of lives and sins and unfinished vows. Their mouths moved with hunger and ache, time folding, air vanishing. Soul met soul — frantic, desperate, whole. The world held its breath. For a heartbeat, they were eternity and fire and everything they had been denied.

Then Mia tore herself away, breathless, luminous, shattered but fierce.

"I love you, Ryan. But we don't get to drown in this right now. Scarlett needs us. She comes first."

Ryan closed his eyes, steadying himself against the tempest in his chest.

"You're right."

Scarlett sat before Georgiana under warm lamplight, small hands folded, curls shadowing her eyes. The therapist laid out painted cards — bear, home, soft creatures.

"I love Mr. Bear," Scarlett whispered. "He protects me."

"And this house?"

"It's home. Like Dagon Mansion. I am safe there."

A small dog. Scarlett's eyes softened.
"Mom doesn't want pets. She says she hasn't time to care for them."

Then — the red card.

Scarlett froze. Her small face drained of light.

"No," she whispered, covering her eyes. "No blood."

"Sweetheart, it's only a color," Georgiana soothed. "Red can mean love."

Scarlett's voice fell to a tiny, hollow whisper.
"Red is blood."

Later, Mia returned. Scarlett was already home. Georgiana's expression was composed — but shadows gathered in her eyes.

"Mia," she said quietly. "Scarlett saw a red card and thought only of blood. It was instinct, not imagination. Watch her. Closely."

A chill slid down Mia's spine.

Night draped Dagon Mansion in velvety silence. Scarlett slept clutching Mr. Bear — then her hand slipped, and the plush tumbled to the floor. Dreams wrapped around her like cold vines.

A woman stepped from the darkness — pale, terrible, familiar in a way nightmares always are.

"If you want power," she whispered, offering a knife like a poisoned gift, "you must spill blood. Like your father once did."

Scarlett trembled, shaking her head fiercely. But the woman taunted, pressed, demanded.

And the child — frightened, cornered in dream logic — lifted the blade and struck.

The phantom bled. Scarlett fled through the shadows and woke.

Her small body rose from bed. Eyes open. Soul elsewhere.

She wandered the mansion's echoing halls and drifted into the kitchen. Drawers opened. A knife found her hand.

Brisa entered, breath catching.

"Scarlett?"

No answer — only that eerie, hollow stare.

Softly, Brisa moved. One swift motion — the knife gone. And the child woke with a cry, clinging to the world and to Brisa's arms.

"It's okay. You're safe. Come here, sweetheart. Let's go back to bed." Brisa murmured, carrying her back to bed. Mr. Bear returned to small arms.

"I didn't mean to. I didn't... I didn't want to," said Scarlett, crying.

"Shh. I know. You're okay. I'm here. Mr. Bear is here, too."

Brisa stayed until dawn, never once closing her eyes.

Far beyond mortal sight, Alexandra laughed — a sound like broken bells and blood-petals. She watched the sleeping child and the trembling mother's friend keep vigil.

"You will carry my mark," the vampire whispered, voice slithering through dimensions.
"You will never wield your gifts freely. And when the age of consent binds fate and flesh, you will be mine."

Lightning flickered behind her smile.

Scarlett — the dawn wrapped in night — was being shaped like a blade.

For power.

For hunger.

For destiny.

And Alexandra waited.