Night still clung to the edges of dawn when Scarlett Dagon fled the mansion.
The city stirred in quiet breaths; streetlamps hummed, pavements glimmered with dew. Scarlett's slippers slapped the cobblestones, her pulse a drum of betrayal and dread. She had heard her mother's voice — cold, final, merciless:
"There is no other way. Scarlett's powers must be withdrawn."
Her abilities — the luminous, terrifying inheritance that throbbed in her veins like a second heartbeat — were to be stolen from her. Not sealed. Not protected. Taken.
By her own mother.
A tremor of fear and fury moved through her small frame. If she can take power, she can take everything. Even me.
She would run to her father. Even if it meant prison bars and dark corridors. He would not strip her soul bare.
A shadow fell across her path.
A man stepped from the gloom — pale skin, brown eyes too hungry, too still. His voice was a whisper sharpened to a knife-edge.
"Little heir. My mistress has called for you. And you will answer."
Scarlett felt her power coil inside her, bright and wild — but before she could fling him into the sky, his hand seized her wrist. His touch burned with dark magic. He tore open the air itself, a wound of darkness, a doorway into elsewhere.
A dimensional gate shivered into existence — black, whispering, shuddering with cold hunger.
Scarlett gasped — in terror, in outrage at herself for faltering — and then the man convulsed. A wet sound, a sigh of death. He crumpled.
Blood glistened on the cobblestones — and on her dress.
Strong arms swept Scarlett back, firm but gentle, caging her against a broad chest. She felt fur, warm and bristling — smelled earth and iron.
A wolf. Enormous. Terrifying.
Yet familiar.
She looked up — into eyes she knew.
"You... you're Mom's strange friend," she whispered. "Are you a wolf?"
The creature shifted, bones folding and stretching, fur dissolving into flesh. In a breath, a man stood before her — powerful, breath steaming in the morning chill.
Randolf.
His voice was low, urgent.
"Close your eyes, little one. Do not look."
She squeezed them shut obediently — trembling, yet trusting.
Fabric rustled. Footsteps. A soft curse. Then:
"You may look now."
Scarlett opened her eyes to a world restored. Randolf's shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. He lifted the fallen attacker with effortless strength.
"He stinks," she murmured. "Why?"
"Rotten magic," Randolf breathed. "A vampire. Sent to take you."
Her small voice quivered.
"Is he dead?"
Randolf met her gaze, ancient sadness flickering beneath wolf-instinct and protective rage.
"Yes. And you are safe."
She swallowed, tears threatening.
"I was so afraid."
His hand settled on her trembling shoulder with surprising tenderness.
"Fear is not weakness. You faced death. And you survived."
She clung to him. A child desperate for an anchor in a storm of betrayal.
"Take me away. I can't go back. Mama wants to destroy me."
Randolf hesitated — torn between loyalty and instinct.
Then he nodded once, decisively.
"Then you will not return. Not until truth is spoken, and lies burn away."
Scarlett breathed — a shuddering, relieved breath — and followed him into the morning mist.
Mia's scream split the marble silence.
"Scarlett! Scarlett!"
Xena and Rowena ran to her. So did Kerrigan. Rooms were torn apart, corridors searched, gardens scoured — nothing but echoes and dread.
"She's gone," Mia whispered, voice cracking. "God, she's gone."
Her world caved in. Every wall, every breath betrayed her. She sank against the bannister, shaking.
"We call the police," Rowena declared.
"We search first," Kerrigan countered, eyes cold with strategy.
Mia called — voice breaking as she gave her daughter's name. The weight of guilt crushed her; she had driven Scarlett away.
Outside, sirens rose in the distance.
Scarlett sat curled on a velvet sofa, clutching a throw like armor. Randolf stood sentinel near the door — wolf instincts thrumming.
When the knock came, it was sharp, frantic. Mia burst in — wild-eyed, breathless.
"Where is she?!"
She saw Scarlett — unharmed — and choked on relief.
"My baby—"
"Don't call me that," Scarlett whispered, wounded. "You betrayed me."
Her voice cracked like glass.
"You want to take my powers. You want to break me."
Mia staggered as if struck.
"No. I wanted to protect you. I was wrong to speak without you. Wrong to frighten you."
She knelt — slowly, humbly — before her daughter.
"I will not steal anything from you. I will only help you learn to carry what burns inside you. I swear it."
Scarlett's lip trembled.
"Will you give them back if I ask?"
"They were never mine to take."
The child hesitated — innocence and power war-torn within her — then nodded and allowed herself to be gathered into her mother's trembling arms.
Randolf stepped back, watching silently, grief and longing etched into his features.
A family, divided by destiny, momentarily mended by fear.
Later, Rowena visited Ryan in prison
The cell was dim, shadows clinging like cobwebs. Rowena sat across from Ryan — his eyes hollow but lucid, storm-lit.
"I'm going to the Dark Dimension," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied. "And... I saw pieces of your childhood. I saw the belt. And Liv's hands."
He swallowed — a broken, human sound.
"I was a wounded child who became a monster. Desire and power twisted together until I could not tell them apart."
Rowena bowed her head.
"And yet you seek to unmake that darkness."
A long silence.
"I will try."
She whispered:
"Trying can be the first miracle."
Ryan closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he did not feel like a monster.
Just a man, fragile and flawed, hoping for redemption.
YOU ARE READING
DAGON MANSION
Paranormal(THE DAGON SAGA 2) DAGON MANSION IS THE SEQUEL TO FORESTVALE MANOR, A STORY WITH OVER 4.7 K VIEWS. Mia moves to the mysterious Dagon Mansion, haunted by a long-lost past. With her daughter Scarlett at her side, Mia takes on her inner battle against...
