Chapter Text
Aro had grown tired of humans.
Not the kind of weariness that came from exertion but the deeper fatigue of endless disappointment. Mortals were unreliable by nature: brief lives breeding short vision, ambition rotting into incompetence before it could mature. He sat upon his throne of stone and ivory, fingers tapping once, twice, against the armrest, listening to the sound echo through the chamber.
Eternity was not cruel. It was dull.
“Have you decided on an interview date?” Aro asked lightly, turning his gaze toward his brothers.
Marcus sighed, the sound empty and distant, as though the question had been asked a thousand times before. He did not answer.
Caius laughed. “Let Heidi find someone.”
Aro’s smile thinned. “She found the last one.” A pause. “We remember how that ended.”
Silence settled again.
Aro’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Isabella Swan.
The girl’s mind remained stubbornly closed to him, a small irritation he had never quite forgiven. Yet resistance invited curiosity, and curiosity rewarded patience. Santiago’s investigation had uncovered what the Cullens had neglected to mention.
A sister.
Holly Swan.
She lived across the country, far from rain and vampires, buried in routine and anonymity. A young secretary. A life defined by order and restraint. She was, Aro decided, exquisitely vulnerable in her independence.
Useful.
She would serve the Volturi well. And if not…blood bound families more effectively than promises ever had. More leverage over the Cullens was not something he would turn his nose up at.
“Never mind,” Aro said softly. “I have someone in mind.”
Marcus looked at him then, interest flickering like a dying flame. “And what do you intend?”
Aro smiled.
“Nothing excessive,” he replied. “Only something… small.”
The phone beside Holly buzzed, startling her from a shallow Sunday sleep.
She frowned, disoriented. It wasn’t her work phone. That one never slept. This was personal, rarely used and rarely needed.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Holly!” Charlie Swan’s voice was too loud, too hopeful. “How’ve you been? When are you coming to visit?”
She hesitated just long enough to recalibrate. “I’ve been good,” she said. “Busy with work. I’ve got an internship. I’ll visit soon.” A pause. “Did you need something?”
“Well…yeah. You’ve got mail sent to this address. I need to forward it to you.”
“Oh.”
She’d never lived in Forks. Never truly belonged there. California had been her refuge in her aunt’s home a quiet alternative to a fractured family. When Bella was born a mere eighteen months later, there had been talk of reunification, but it had dissolved quickly. Holly had been easier to let go of than to reclaim.
She gave Charlie her address. They exchanged polite, careful goodbyes.
When the call ended, Holly stared at the blank screen, a faint guilt threading through her chest for the father who had tried, for the sister she barely knew, for a past she had chosen not to revisit.
Habit reasserted itself and she opened her laptop.
Work spilled across the screen in endless columns and reminders. Holly Swan was very good at what she did and competent enough to be on track for a personal secretary position for the Fortune 500 company her internship was with. Thanks to a generous rewards scheme her apartment was comfortable. Her life was stable.
She leaned back against the sofa, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and frowned.
Stability, she realised, had quietly become stagnation.
“You need to invite her to the wedding,” Charlie said, glancing at Bella. “And your Aunt Kath.”
Alice entered without knocking, smile already in place. “Invite who?”
Bella sighed. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“I always hear everything,” Alice replied cheerfully.
Charlie gestured between them. “Bella’s sister.”
Alice stilled.
A sister?
She had seen nothing. No visions. No shadows. Edward had heard no thoughts. Bella had never spoken of her. The absence felt wrong like a missing note in a familiar song.
“Oh,” Alice said, recovering quickly. “What’s her name?”
Bella looked away.
“Holly Swan,” Charlie answered, pride warming his voice.
Bella remained silent, already regretting the invitation she had yet to send.
And far away, in a city that never slept, Holly Swan sat staring at her screen unaware that her name had just been spoken in a place that did not forget its intentions.
Morning found Holly before her alarm.
Light spilled across the city in pale sheets, sliding through the narrow gap between buildings and pressing against her curtains until sleep released her. She rose without resistance.
The apartment was quiet, immaculate, impersonal. She moved through it with practiced economy, tying her hair into a low knot, smoothing concealer beneath her eyes, leaving her freckles unhidden. She paused briefly before the mirror, studying the face reflected there. Pretty, yes but more than that, composed. Controlled. She had learned long ago how to make herself look unassailable.
The knock at the door fractured the stillness.
Holly’s hand stilled mid-motion. She exhaled, reached for the green silk robe draped over the chair, and pulled it on before opening the door.
Jonathan stood on the other side, smiling too quickly.
“Holly,” he said. “I brought your mail.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she replied, warmth settling into her voice like a mask. He handed her the letters, their fingers brushing. His eyes lingered. She stepped back.
“I’d invite you in,” she added lightly, already angling the door closed, “but I’m running late.”
Jonathan didn’t move.
His gaze dipped slow and deliberate.
The door shut with a sharp click.
Holly leaned against it, pulse thudding once, twice, before she straightened. She would not give him that satisfaction. She carried the mail to the kitchen counter and flipped through it without interest until a familiar return address caught her eye.
Forks, Washington.
Her father’s handwriting.
She sat.
The letter inside was not from Charlie.
It was formal. Polished. Impersonal.
An invitation.
Italy.
An interview.
Immediate relocation.
She read it twice, then a third time, the words sharpening rather than softening. Volturi Enterprises. Junior Secretary. All expenses paid. The finality of it was what unsettled her most not the audacity, not the distance, but the certainty. As if her agreement were assumed.
A first-class ticket slid from the envelope and came to rest against her palm.
Holly laughed quietly, once, without humor.
She had spent her life cultivating safety. Predictability. Control. And yet something in her chest stirred with recognition. As though the letter had named a restlessness she had never allowed herself to acknowledge.
She searched the company. Art. History. Tourism. A castle open to the public. A town older than consequence. Everything looked clean. Legitimate. Empty.
Four days.
Four days to decide whether she would remain exactly where she was or step into something that refused to explain itself.
She made the call before doubt could catch up with her.
The woman who answered spoke Italian, smooth and efficient. Holly responded in kind, her grandmother’s voice echoing faintly in memory. There were no questions. No hesitation. Just confirmation.
When the line went dead, Holly stared at her phone.
The unease did not leave.
But neither did the pull.
⸻
Bella Swan stared at her own phone as though it had betrayed her.
Alice had told everyone. Of course she had. Secrets were an offense to her nature.
“I still don’t understand,” Esme said gently. “A sister?”
Bella folded her arms. “We don’t have a relationship.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t one to be had,” Carlisle replied, his voice soft with reason.
Bella’s annoyance flared. “And what happens when I change? When she notices I don’t age? That I disappear? No. She can come to the wedding. That’s it.”
Edward said nothing at first. Then, quietly, “Just invite her..”
Bella dialed the number.
“Holly?” Her sister’s voice was calm, distant, familiar in the way of strangers.
“I’m getting married,” Bella said. “I want you to come. Stay for a few days before.”
“Congratulations. I’ll try,” Holly said. “I may be leaving the country. A job opportunity.”
Bella felt something twist. “Of course.”
The call ended quickly.
“She doesn’t care,” Bella said to the room.
Alice said nothing, eyes unfocused, lips parted as if she were trying to see something that stubbornly refused to appear.
The flight to Italy passed in fragments with sleep broken by turbulence, a glass of wine dissolving the edges of anxiety. Holly changed in the airport restroom, smoothing the navy summer dress she’d packed with intention rather than hope.
She looked composed.
She felt anything but.
When no sign bearing her name appeared, panic bloomed sharply and then died as a woman stepped into her path.
Pale. Beautiful. Inhumanly so.
“Miss Swan,” the woman said. It was not a question.
“Holly,” she replied automatically.
“I’m Heidi. Come.”
The woman moved with purpose, and Holly followed, breath shortening as they crossed the terminal. The world seemed to narrow around her.
“You’ll be working closely with me,” Heidi continued. “Tour schedules. Bookings.”
“I haven’t been hired,” Holly said.
Heidi smiled. “You will be.”
They reached a black SUV. A man with dark skin and dreadlocks opened the door without a word.
As the car pulled away, Heidi turned, her voice lowering, shedding warmth like a discarded skin.
“There are things you won’t understand here,” she said. “You shouldn’t try. The castle and its inhabitants are old.”
Holly watched the city give way to stone and hills, unease settling deep in her bones.
Volterra emerged slowly, as though it had always been there and was only now allowing itself to be seen.
The car climbed through narrowing streets, stone pressing in on either side, history layered so thick it felt physical. Holly watched from the window as modernity dissolved, shops shuttered, voices disappeared, and the air itself grew still.
“You won’t need to leave the city,” Heidi said lightly. “Everything you require is here.”
Holly nodded, though something in her tightened at the phrasing.
The gates opened without ceremony. The castle rose above them, severe and ancient, its walls bearing the weight of centuries without apology. It was beautiful in the way cliffs were beautiful and indifferent to those who stood beneath them.
Inside, the temperature dropped. Stone corridors swallowed sound, torchlight burning steady and smokeless. Holly’s footsteps echoed too sharply, then vanished, as if the building itself refused to remember them.
“You’ll meet them now,” Heidi said.
The chamber Heidi led her to was vast and circular, its symmetry unsettling. Pillars climbed into shadow. Three thrones stood at its center like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence long since written.
The man on the middle throne rose as Holly entered.
He studied her openly not as one might assess a potential employee, but as something rarer. Something that had arrived precisely when expected.
“Miss Swan,” he said warmly. “Welcome to Volterra.”
His voice carried effortlessly, soft yet absolute.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Holly replied. Her posture was straight, her expression composed. She did not look away.
“You may call me Aro,” he said, descending the steps. “These are my brothers, Caius and Marcus.”
Caius watched her with open disdain. Marcus’s gaze was distant, unfocused, as though the present moment bored him.
Aro circled her slowly.
“You’ve reviewed our offer,” he said. “You understand what we ask of you?”
“I understand the position,” Holly replied. “What I don’t understand is why I was selected.”
There it was. The question she had held since the letter arrived.
Aro stopped in front of her and smiled with interest.
“Because you are precise,” he said. “Because you understand how to manage power without mistaking it for your own. And because you are… unnoticed.”
Holly stiffened slightly. “You don’t know me.”
Aro chuckled softly. “On the contrary.”
He extended his hand.
The gesture was casual. Polite. Entirely unremarkable.
“May I?” he asked.
Holly hesitated - not from fear but instinct. Then she told herself not to be foolish and placed her hand in his.
Aro saw everything.
A childhood divided between households. A mother’s instability. A father’s quiet absence. A sister growing up without her. Years of discipline mistaken for indifference. Intelligence honed into silence. Loneliness mistaken for independence.
He saw her choices. Her restraint. Her hunger for purpose and love she had never felt.
She spoke quietly, "Have I offended you, Sir?"
The white haired man, Caius, snorted as if she'd said something funny.
Aro answered her, "No, of course not, my dear child. You merely surprised me."
"I don't recall doing anything," Holly said, a little more defensively than she would have liked.
"I don't..." Caius started to speak loudly and Holly jumped at the sudden noise. Faster than her eyes could see Aro was whispering something in his ear and Caius' eyes widened.
The quiet man, Marcus, held his hand out as he spoke, "Brother, there is more."
Aro turned to him.
Marcus’s eyes, distant and unseeing, finally focused. “She is bound to you.”
Caius scoffed. “Nonsense.”
Marcus ignored him. “ you have seen it before. I think after millennia we are being rewarded.”
Aro did not smile.
He looked thoughtful.
Aro held this man's hand and then all eyes were on her, her heart began to beat faster, thrumming in her ears. Something wasn't right and in that second Holly longed for her dull life in New York. She wanted her boring job, boring house and boring stalker neighbour.
Holly spoke up, "If it is okay, I wish to leave." She had already begun taking steps back towards the door.
Then the man Aro was next to her once again, he put a hand on her shoulder and some of her panic dissipated, like somebody had calmed her. "My dear Holly, you cannot leave. Welcome to Volterra Castle, your new home."
Holly stepped back from Aro, the distance between them feeling suddenly fragile, inadequate.
“This is insane,” she said, the words coming faster now, sharpened by panic. “I don’t know who you think you are, but my home is in New York. I didn’t come here for this.”
Aro regarded her quietly.
He did not advance. He did not raise his voice. He merely folded his hands together, patient as stone.
“No one is going to harm you here,” he said at last. “Least of all me.” His tone was gentle, almost indulgent. “But you are frightened. That is understandable. Sit with me, Holly. Let me explain.”
The room seemed to soften around his voice, the sharp edges blunted. Against her will, she hesitated. Then carefully she allowed him to guide her to a table at the edge of the chamber. Marcus and Caius withdrew without comment, their absence heavy with intention.
Aro waited until she sat.
“What I am about to tell you,” he began, “was not part of my original design. You were meant to be introduced to your duties and allowed time to adjust. However…” His gaze lingered on her. “You are not what I expected.”
Her hands curled into fists. “You invited me here under false pretenses.”
“No,” he defended easily. “We did invite you here for a secretary position.”
“My brothers and I are vampires,” he continued. “We lead the Volturi. We govern our kind.”
Holly surged to her feet. “That’s not funny.”
Aro’s hand closed gently over hers not restraining, not forceful. Simply there.
“Please,” he said. “Listen.”
And she did.
He spoke of immortality, of covens and law, of the balance between secrecy and survival. He demonstrated - not theatrically but decisively. Strength without effort. Speed without sound. Truth without apology.
When he finished, Holly remained seated, breath shallow, the world rearranged around her.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why tell me any of this?”
Aro studied her, then asked softly, “Why did you not live with your parents?”
She stiffened. “I was happy with my aunt. That’s all.”
“And you never wondered why?” he pressed. “Why the distance came so easily?”
Her frustration snapped. “They never mattered to me.”
“Yes,” Aro said quietly. “I know.”
He took her hand again as he spoke, “Something exists between us that none of us expected. You are not ready to understand it. Neither, I suspect, am I.”
Holly shook her head violently. “No. This isn’t - this is manipulation.”
“My wife, Sulpicia,” Aro said, ignoring the interruption, “has waited centuries for what you represent. I will not allow harm to come to you. Nor will I allow you to wander unprotected into a world that would use you once it understands what you are.”
She stood abruptly.
“I came here for a fresh start,” she said.
Aro rose with her. “Then take a night,” he said after a moment. “Return to your apartment. Gather yourself. Say goodbye to the life you think you are leaving.”
Relief struck her too fast to trust.
“You’ll let me go?”
“For one night,” Aro replied. The word let was unmistakable.
Her heart sank even as she nodded.
“I won’t escort you,” he added. “Jane.”
The girl appeared instantly.
Holly did not hear what Aro said to her in Italian. She did not miss the way Jane smiled.
The city felt different as Holly walked through it. Jane’s presence was light, almost bored, yet unshakably precise.
“You are fortunate,” Jane said at last. “Many would envy your position.”
“I don’t,” Holly snapped.
Jane glanced at her. “You will.”
At the gates, Jane stopped. “This is where I leave you.”
Freedom waited beyond the stone.
Holly did not look back.
She returned to her apartment, took only what mattered—passport, wallet, phone—and left everything else behind. By the time the taxi reached the airport, her resolve had hardened into something brittle and desperate.
She bought the ticket without thinking.
Boarding was called.
She stepped onto the plane.
The doors closed.
For the first time since Volterra, Holly allowed herself to breathe.
The plane never left the ground.
Holly realized the delay slowly, the way dread creeps rather than strikes. The engines had quieted. The cabin lights dimmed, then brightened again. Minutes stretched, shapeless and wrong.
A flight attendant murmured something into a phone at the front of the cabin.
Then footsteps stopped beside her seat.
“Miss Swan,” a man said quietly. “Would you come with us, please?”
Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Why?”
“There’s been a change in your travel authorization.”
“I’ve already boarded.”
“Yes,” he said, not unkindly. “That’s the issue.”
She stood on shaking legs. Passengers stared with polite curiosity as she was led down the aisle, off the plane, and back onto the tarmac. The night air hit her like a slap.
That was when she saw them.
A burly dark haired man stood beside the black car like an executioner carved from stone, massive arms folded, expression unreadable. Santiago, the driver she met, waited near the open door, composed as ever.
“No,” Holly breathed, backing away. “I’m not going with you.”
The large man moved first.
He caught her arm easily, iron fingers closing around her wrist as she twisted and struck uselessly at his chest.
“Let go of me!” she cried, panic shredding her composure. “You can’t—!”
Santiago’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and precise. “Please don’t struggle. It will only make this unpleasant. Felix - “
“I said no!”
Felix lifted her as though she weighed nothing, her feet leaving the ground. The world tilted violently as she kicked and sobbed, fury and terror tangling until she could no longer separate them.
They placed her in the back seat of the car and shut the door. The sound was final.
Holly pounded against the glass until her hands hurt, until her voice broke. Her feet kicked at the door. Felix sat beside her, immovable. Santiago took the drivers seat.
The car pulled away.
She cried the entire drive back to Volterra, rage burning herself out into something raw and aching. At one point her violet fury reignited and she attempted to thwart Santiago’s ability to drive but Felix simply dragged her backwards and held her in a gentle but immovable embrace. By the time the gates appeared ahead of them, her resistance had collapsed into shaking silence and her head lolled against felix’s chest.
The castle doors opened.
Aro was waiting.
He did not stand at a distance. He stepped forward the moment she crossed the threshold.
“Holly,” he said softly.
She tried to step back.
He didn’t allow it.
Aro pulled her into his arms, firm and unyielding, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed against her spine. For a moment, she stiffened, every instinct screaming to fight—
And then the bond tightened.
Warmth flooded her chest, sudden and disorienting. The sharp edges of fear dulled. Her racing heart slowed. Her thoughts softened, heavy and distant, like waves retreating from shore.
She sagged against him, breath shuddering once before evening out.
“There,” Aro murmured, holding her close. “You’re safe.”
Tears slipped free, silent now. She hated herself for the relief. Hated him for how easily he could give it.
“You frightened me,” he said quietly, his voice threaded with something dangerously close to tenderness. “You cannot do that again.”
“I wanted to leave,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied, brushing her hair back with infinite care. “And I forgive you.”
The word forgive landed heavier than punishment ever could have.
He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her as though she were fragile rather than furious moments before.
“You will stay here,” he said. “With me. With Sulpicia. You will learn what you are and why the world outside cannot have you.”
Her protest never came.
The bond held her still, calm wrapping around her like velvet chains.
He carried her through winding corridors softened by torchlight, stone giving way to carved archways and frescoed ceilings. The castle seemed to change as they moved deeper into something quieter. As though this section of Volterra existed apart from the rest.
Her fear had dulled, wrapped in something thick and placid that pressed gently against her thoughts. She was aware of it now—not fully resistant, not fully surrendered. Just… slowed.
They stopped before a set of double doors.
Aro pushed them open.
The room beyond was breathtaking.
High ceilings painted in muted golds and creams. Heavy curtains framing tall windows. A four-poster bed draped in pale fabric, its linen untouched and inviting. To one side, an arched doorway opened onto a balcony, beyond which lay a private courtyard garden stone paths winding through greenery, a small fountain murmuring softly in the center.
It was beautiful in the way sanctuaries were meant to be.
Aro set her down gently, hands lingering only long enough to ensure she was steady. She swayed, then caught herself, fingers brushing the bedspread.
“This is yours,” he said. “This section of the castle is reserved for myself, my brothers and our wives.”
She swallowed, gaze flicking toward the balcony, the garden, the illusion of openness. “Who is Sulpicia?”
Aro’s expression changed - not softened, but warmed, like stone retaining heat after fire.
“She is my wife,” he said. “My mate. And she has waited a very long time for you.”
Holly’s stomach tightened. “Waited for me?”
“For this,” he corrected gently. “For family.”
She shook her head, the movement small. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Aro’s voice lowered. “The bond decides.”
He watched her closely, as if measuring how much truth she could withstand.
“She will be very excited to meet you,” he continued. “But not tonight. Tonight is for rest.”
Holly laughed weakly. “Maybe if I sleep I will wake up and this will all be a dream.”
“We will be here when you awake,” he said.
Not a threat but a promise.
He reached out to smooth her hair back from her face, fingers impossibly careful. The bond responded immediately, warmth blooming again, heavy and soothing, pressing down the sharp edges of her thoughts.
She hated how easily her body leaned into it.
“How are you doing that?” she whispered.
Aro did not answer directly. “You are overwhelmed. Your mind is protecting itself.”
“No,” she said, blinking slowly. “You are.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I will not use it without need,” he said finally. “But I will not allow you to suffer when I can prevent it. That is what the bond is for.”
Her eyes burned. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
He met her gaze steadily. “I get to decide that you survive this.”
He stepped back, giving her space at last.
“You may change,” he said. “There are clothes prepared. If you wish to walk in the garden, it is private and secure. If you wish to be alone, you will be.”
He moved toward the door.
“Aro,” she said.
He paused.
“If I ask you to let me go,” she continued, voice barely steady, “will you?”
For a moment something like sorrow crossed his face.
“No,” he said quietly.
The doors closed behind him without a sound.
Holly stood alone in the center of the room, surrounded by luxury that felt undeserved and dangerous. Slowly, she crossed to the balcony and stepped outside.
The garden breathed softly below her, contained and immaculate.
She wrapped her arms around herself, the calm still humming beneath her skin, and wondered how long it would take before she could no longer tell which feelings were real.
The calm did not last.
The door had barely settled into silence before the panic surged violent in its return. It clawed up her spine, stealing her breath, hollowing her chest as if something essential had been torn away the moment Aro left.
Holly pressed a hand to her sternum.
Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up, nerves screaming for proximity, for warmth, for him. For them. A pull deep in her bones, irrational and humiliating, like a newborn ripped from skin it had never learned to live without.
“No,” she whispered, pacing the room. “No, no—”
The garden beyond the balcony blurred as tears welled. Her hands shook. Her heart raced, then stuttered, then raced harder. She dragged in breath after breath that refused to feel like enough.
This wasn’t normal panic.
Her gaze snagged on a door she hadn’t yet opened and found the bathroom.
She fled into it like a lifeline.
The space was vast and gleaming: marble floors warm beneath her bare feet, gold fixtures catching the light, mirrors tall enough to reflect a version of herself she barely recognized.
She turned the shower on too hot at first, then too cold, fumbling until steam filled the room and blurred the edges of everything. When she finally stepped beneath the spray, the water struck her skin hard enough to hurt.
Pain was grounding.
She slid down the tiled wall until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, water soaking her hair and clothes alike. Her breath came in uneven gasps, then shuddering sobs she couldn’t stop.
Her body kept reaching outward—where are you, where are you—a silent scream echoing through her veins.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Time lost meaning.
Eventually, the water cooled. Her tears did too, leaving behind that hollow ache, quieter but heavier. Exhaustion crept in, bone-deep and merciless.
She forced herself to stand.
The mirror caught her again as she dried off, skin flushed, eyes rimmed red. She wrapped herself in a thick towel and moved unsteadily back into the bedroom.
Laid out on the bed was a nightgown.
She hadn’t noticed it before.
Floaty and white, soft as moonlight with delicate lace tracing the neckline and capped sleeves, the fabric thin but modest. Like something chosen for comfort rather than seduction.
She stared at it for a long moment. Wondered who had put it there.
Then she dressed.
The gown slipped easily over her body, cool against overheated skin. It smelled faintly of lavender and soap.
She climbed into the bed like a child seeking refuge. The canopy above providing sanctuary from the vastness of the bedroom.
The mattress cradled her instantly, impossibly soft, the sheets cool and smooth against her legs. She curled onto her side, knees drawn up, fingers twisting into the fabric at her chest.
Her breathing slowly evened out.
The pull remained.
Not as sharp now. A low ache urging her toward something just out of reach. Toward stone halls and ancient arms and a presence she told herself she did not want.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Sleep hovered, heavy and uncertain.
Holly stared into the dim, heart still aching with a need she did not understand and finally let herself drift, the last conscious thought a quiet, frightened hope that she would not wake alone.
She did not sleep long.
The nightmare dragged her under without warning—dark and visceral, all stone corridors and closing walls, voices echoing just beyond reach. She was small in it, unbearably so, calling out until her throat burned, until the sound broke apart inside her chest.
Holly woke with a sharp gasp.
Her body jolted upright, heart hammering, sheets tangled around her legs. The room was dim, moonlight spilling in through the balcony doors, silvering the floor and the pale curve of her hands.
She was not alone.
A woman stood near the foot of the bed.
Holly froze, breath caught painfully in her lungs. For one terrifying second she could not move, could not scream, every instinct locked between flight and collapse.
The woman was tall and willowy, her presence soft where Aro’s had been overwhelming. Dark hair fell loose down her back, glossy as ink, framing a face that was achingly beautiful and deeply, unmistakably sad. Her eyes were ancient and fixed on Holly with an expression that made something twist painfully in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said quietly. Her voice was low, warm, touched with an accent that lingered like music. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
Holly swallowed. “Who… who are you?”
The woman took a careful step closer, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My name is Sulpicia.”
The name landed strangely. Something in Holly’s chest tightened in response, an echo of the same pull she’d felt all evening, only gentler now. Less command. More ache.
“You’re… his wife,” Holly whispered.
Sulpicia inclined her head. “Yes.”
Fear flickered again, but it did not bloom. Not fully. There was no sharp edge to this woman’s presence - no suffocating weight. Instead, emotion rolled off her in quiet waves: concern, longing, something almost fragile.
“I felt you,” Sulpicia continued softly. “Your sorrow. It called to me.” A pause. A trace of regret crossed her features. “Aro asked me to wait. But I could not.”
Holly’s hands trembled as she drew the sheets tighter around herself. “I had a nightmare.”
“I know.” Sulpicia moved to the side of the bed and sat, careful not to touch her yet. “You cried out.”
That undid her.
Holly’s breath stuttered, tears spilling over before she could stop them. She pressed a hand over her mouth, humiliated by the sound that escaped her.
Sulpicia did not hesitate this time. She reached out and gathered Holly into her arms.
The embrace was warm and solid and real.
Holly stiffened for half a heartbeat, then collapsed into it, clinging like she might fall apart if she let go. Sulpicia held her without restraint, one hand smoothing over her hair, the other firm and steady at her back.
“There,” she murmured. “I have you. You are safe.”
It was different from Aro’s calm. Less imposed. More earned.
Holly’s sobs quieted, melting into soft, exhausted breaths. She could feel Sulpicia’s cheek rest briefly against her hair, a gesture so achingly human it hurt.
“I have waited a very long time for you,” Sulpicia said, so quietly it was almost a confession. “I never thought I would be given this.”
Holly pulled back just enough to look at her. Up close, Sulpicia’s eyes were luminous with unshed tears.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Holly admitted hoarsely.
Sulpicia smiled—a small, trembling thing. “You don’t need to. Not tonight.”
She shifted back onto the bed and gently guided Holly with her, drawing the covers up around them both. Holly hesitated only a moment before curling instinctively into her side, her head finding a place against Sulpicia’s shoulder as if it had always belonged there.
The panic ebbed.
The ache softened.
Sulpicia brushed a kiss against Holly’s hair—light, reverent.
“Call me mamma,” she whispered. Not a command. A plea.
The word caught in Holly’s throat. Logic screamed at her to resist, to pull away, to remember how impossible this all was.
But her body knew better.
“…Mamma,” she breathed.
Sulpicia’s arms tightened, just slightly.
Holly slept again—not deeply, not perfectly—but held, and for the first time since arriving in Volterra, not alone.
Holly woke alone.
The bed was vast and indulgent, its linens cool and impossibly soft, the kind of comfort that felt borrowed rather than earned. For a few seconds she lay still, staring at the pale canopy above her, listening to the faint hush of water somewhere beyond the walls. Birds, perhaps. Or fountains. The illusion of peace was almost convincing.
Then the bond stirred.
It came like a hollow ache beneath her ribs, subtle but insistent, a restless pull that reached outward without direction. Her chest tightened, breath shortening as unease bled into panic. She pressed a hand to her sternum as if she could still it.
Someone knocked.
Before she could answer, the door opened quietly and two humans entered—staff, she realised dimly. A man and a woman, heads bowed, movements careful. Neither met her eyes. They moved with the practiced reverence of people accustomed to serving power they did not question.
A small table was set beside the balcony doors. Fresh fruit, warm bread, porcelain cups steaming gently. Breakfast.
“Buongiorno, signorina,” the woman murmured, already retreating.
The door closed.
Holly sat up slowly, the sheet slipping from her shoulders. She was still dressed in the vintage nightgown Sulpicia had chosen for her—white cotton, lace-soft, the kind of garment meant for innocence or surrender. She wrapped herself in it and moved to the table, hunger only registering once she began to eat.
She ate alone.
The food was exquisite. That somehow made it worse.
When she finished, she stood and dressed herself deliberately, choosing a long, casual summer dress from the wardrobe—light fabric, loose sleeves, modest and practical. It felt important to choose something herself, even if everything else had been arranged.
She had barely finished when the knock came again.
This time, she knew who it would be.
Aro entered as if summoned by her thoughts.
He looked rested, composed, eternal. His dark robes fell neatly, his expression warm with a familiarity that unsettled her more than open menace ever could. His gaze flicked briefly to the empty breakfast table, approval softening his smile.
“You ate,” he said. “Good.”
She folded her arms. “I didn’t know refusing was an option.”
“Most things are options,” Aro replied gently. “Few are consequences.”
He moved further into the room, stopping a careful distance away. The bond surged immediately at his presence, relief washing through her so abruptly she had to steady herself against the chair. He noticed. Of course he did.
“I wanted to speak with you while you were rested,” he continued. “And to address what you experienced last night.”
Her jaw tightened. “Your wife.”
Aro’s smile softened, something almost reverent touching his features. “Sulpicia,” he said. “Yes. She was… overjoyed.”
“She scared me,” Holly admitted, then hesitated. “And she didn’t.”
“She feels deeply,” Aro said. “More than most of our kind. When she sensed your distress, restraint became… difficult.”
“You told her not to come.”
“I did.” He inclined his head. “And she disobeyed me.”
That surprised her. “And you let her?”
Aro regarded her carefully. “I understood why.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not hostile.
“She will want to see you today,” he added. “Properly. She considers you a gift.”
The word sat uncomfortably in her chest.
“I asked for my phone,” Holly said, the words abrupt, desperate. “You said you’d arrange one.”
“I will,” Aro replied smoothly. “It takes time. Volterra is… particular.”
She searched his face for deceit and found none. That frightened her more than if she had.
“I won’t keep you isolated,” he said, as though reading her fear. “But you must understand—your safety comes first.”
Before he had crossed half the room, the pressure beneath Holly’s ribs eased. Her breathing slowed against her will, every taut muscle recognising his presence long before he stood within arm’s reach. She hated it. Hated that relief came before permission.
“There,” he murmured. “Better.”
She hated how right he was.
“Sulpicia will collect you shortly. Felix and Corin will accompany you.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why guards?”
Aro smiled. “Because you are precious.”
He left without another word.
Not long after, Sulpicia arrived.
She was radiant in the daylight, dressed in pale fabrics that caught the sun, her expression openly delighted when she saw Holly. Where Aro commanded stillness, Sulpicia overflowed—touching her arm, smoothing her hair, speaking softly and often.
“My poor girl,” she murmured. “So much change. So quickly.”
Holly stiffened at first, then—against her will—relaxed. Sulpicia’s presence eased the ache the bond had left behind, not by quieting it, but by answering it.
They walked the palace together, not outside but within its endless halls—marble corridors, vaulted ceilings, rooms steeped in history and shadow. Felix followed at a respectful distance, enormous and silent. Corin walked closer, her presence oddly soothing, her smile gentle and knowing.
“You will learn these halls,” Sulpicia said. “They are yours now.”
Holly swallowed. “I didn’t agree to that.”
Sulpicia squeezed her hand, not unkindly. “You will.”
As they walked, Holly felt it—the slow, subtle closing of distance between who she had been and what this place expected her to become. The panic lingered, yes, but beneath it now lay something else.
A dangerous, traitorous calm.
Charlie stood at the kitchen sink, mug of coffee forgotten in his hands as he stared out across the grey yard. Water streamed down the glass, blurring the trees into dark silhouettes.
Normally, he liked the rain.
Today it only made the house feel quieter.
Bella wandered into the kitchen, tying her hair into a loose knot. She paused when she saw him still standing exactly where she’d left him twenty minutes earlier.
“You alright?”
Charlie glanced over his shoulder.
“When was the last time Holly spoke to you?”
Bella frowned.
“The phone call about the wedding.”
“And nothing since?”
She shook her head. “I thought she’d be busy.”
“So did I.”
He looked back out of the window.
“She said she was flying out for a new job.” His brow furrowed. “I figured she’d at least send a text saying she’d landed.”
Bella leaned against the counter.
“Holly’s not exactly the chatty type.”
“No.” Charlie gave a humourless smile. “But she checks in.”
That was the thing.
Holly had always kept people at arm’s length, yet she’d never simply disappeared. A birthday message. A Christmas card. A brief phone call every few months.
Small things.
Reliable things.
Silence wasn’t like her.
Charlie picked up his mobile and scrolled until he found the number he’d only ever used a handful of times.
Kath.
The call connected after three rings.
“Charlie?”
Her voice carried the familiar warmth he’d always associated with Holly. Calm. Practical. Steady.
“Morning.”
“Everything alright?”
He hesitated.
“I was wondering if you’ve heard from Holly.”
The pause on the other end lasted just a little too long.
“…No.”
Charlie’s grip tightened around the phone.
“She hasn’t called you?”
“I’ve been trying to convince myself she’s simply settling into the new job.” Kath let out a quiet breath. “She promised she’d ring once she’d arrived.”
“And she didn’t.”
“No.”
Charlie exchanged a glance with Bella.
“I’ve tried her mobile,” Kath continued. “It goes straight to voicemail every time.”
“So does mine.”
“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” Kath admitted. “It’s only been a few days.”
“But?”
“But Holly doesn’t leave people wondering.” Her voice grew quieter. “Especially not me.”
Charlie closed his eyes for a moment.
He remembered Holly at six years old, hiding behind Kath’s legs the first time he’d visited after the custody decision. She’d barely spoken a word to him.
Kath had never tried to replace him.
She had simply… been there.
Every school play.
Every birthday.
Every scraped knee.
She’d been the one constant in Holly’s life.
If Holly hadn’t called her—
Something wasn’t right.
“What exactly did she tell you about this job?” Charlie asked.
“Very little.” Kath sighed. “She said she’d been approached by a company overseas. It sounded prestigious, all expenses paid, immediate start. She thought it might be the opportunity she’d been waiting for.”
“You didn’t think that sounded odd?”
“I did.”
“So why didn’t you stop her?”
“I tried.”
There was no defensiveness in Kath’s voice. Only regret.
“You know Holly. Once she’s convinced herself something is the sensible thing to do…” A sad laugh escaped her. “She’s always believed she can solve every problem on her own.”
Bella looked between the rain-streaked window and her father.
“Dad…”
Charlie nodded slowly.
“I think I’m going to make a few enquiries.”
Kath was silent.
“You think something’s happened.”
“I think,” Charlie replied carefully, the policeman in him speaking before the father could stop him, “that a young woman doesn’t vanish without telling the person who raised her she’s safe.”
The words hung heavily between them.
Finally, Kath spoke.
“If she calls me…”
“You tell me immediately.”
“I will.”
After they ended the call, Charlie remained standing in the silent kitchen.
Bella watched him carefully.
“What are you thinking?”
Charlie looked down at Holly’s contact on his phone.
“I’m thinking…” he said quietly, “…that I’ve spent twenty years convincing myself Holly was safer without me.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“And I’ve got a feeling I was wrong.”