Shadowkissed (A Hemlock Grove fan fiction)

some old wounds never heal

Though it’s only November, the cold snap of the past month is nearing a pinnacle of ice and below-freezing temperatures, but Ivana has long since stopped being a victim to these things. Still, merely for aesthetic purposes, she digs her hands further down into the bright red pea coat and huddles closer to it like a small rodent burrowing a hole in the ground. The material offers her what little comfort it can, though it isn’t very much. 

Ivana has always been a good liar, but the catch is that her skills have never been put to such a test as the one she’ll go through today. What she did for Roman and the human girl—if Darya discovers that it was her beneath the dark hood—could bring her the Death. It was a betrayal against her own kind, and that’s hardly forgivable.

She isn’t exactly sure what it is that draws her to Roman this way—though she’s loved many Upirs in her lifetime, it’s never felt this way. This feeling she has for him is more protective than it is loving. Ivana will do whatever it takes to keep him from self-destructing, even if it nearly kills her—and that’s what scares her the most. Upirs are by nature only supposed to care for themselves, selfish and cruel to the very core, but the bond she feels toward Roman is almost involuntary. Whether she wants to be or not, she is tied to this boy, now and forever.

On the steps of Saint Anthony’s church is a human bodyguard, sent by the Republic to protect this sanction. When Ivana approaches, he holds out a keypad for Ivana to press her finger to. When she does, it comes away red but heals quickly. 

“Miss Antonia,” the guard says monotonously. He presses a few buttons on the keypad, and the doors behind her open with grating precision. Home sweet home, she thinks.

Inside, the arguments are just beginning. A group of Elders are huddled towards the front of the chapel, standing in all places on the altar, while other lesser-known Upirs are watching in silence, scattered among the pews. Ivana pulls her coat closer to her body and sinks into the nearest empty seat, closest to the door.

“We needed the necromancer to finish the binding spell!” shouts an Upir with long, reddish-blond hair. Ivana recalls that this one came into her own only a decade ago, though she holds her head as high as if she were a thousand years old. “Without her, we’ll never get to the child.”

“She’s protected,” argues another irritably. “We’ll have to find another way.”

“What other way? There aren’t any more necromancers in this shithole of a town, much less Shadowkissed.”

In the center of the debate is Darya sitting primly upon her almost queen-like throne, though she doesn’t say a word. Her green eyes bounce from one side of the bickering like watching a tennis match, hungry and preying on their strife. Since Ivana never had anyone but Alyxander, her surrogate father, Darya has been something of a mother figure to her ever since the early 1500s. It’s not known by many how old she is, but Ivana knows the truth. She was one of the first Upirs to walk the earth.

A body slides into the pew next to her. “Ivana,” Christo del Toro murmurs. He holds her gaze with eyes as cold and hard as ice, and in that moment Ivana realizes he knows. He knows everything. So why hasn’t he gone to the Republic? 

Or maybe he already has, she wonders. A fit of panic flashes through her before realizing that if the Republic or even Darya was aware of her betrayal, she would be exterminated already. “Christo,” she replies, trying hard to keep the fear from her face. Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up. You’ve made it this goddamned far; you’ll make it even farther if you can just keep your mouth shut and your face straight.

He smiles. “You look quite spritely this morning.”

“Well, the morning is beautiful. Remember when our kind were unable to walk in sunlight? Now we bathe in it. It’s quite extraordinary.”