The moon cast a pale, ghostly light over the ancient forest surrounding the Volturi estate. Dean felt a mix of excitement and apprehension as she followed the winding path, each step echoing in her mind. Caius had invited her to his favorite spot—a secluded glade known only to a few. She had heard whispers about him, tales of his cold demeanor and fierce loyalty to the Volturi, but tonight she was determined to see beyond that reputation.
As she entered the glade, the tension in the air was palpable. Caius stood by a massive oak tree, his posture relaxed yet watchful. The way he leaned against the trunk suggested a sense of ownership over the space, and Dean felt a rush of nerves as if she had never been alone with him before.
"Dean," he said, his voice low and smooth, but it carried an undercurrent that made her heart race. "You came."
"I wouldn't miss it," she replied, forcing a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's beautiful here."
"It has its charm," he acknowledged, his gaze sweeping over the moonlit clearing. "But beauty can be deceiving."
His words hung in the air, and Dean felt a chill despite the warmth of the night. "What do you mean?"
He turned to her, his expression inscrutable. "This place is peaceful, but peace is fleeting. Just like everything else in our lives."
Dean took a step closer, trying to bridge the gap between them. "You don't have to be so serious all the time, Caius. It's okay to—"
"To what?" he interrupted, his voice sharper than she expected. "To pretend that everything is fine? That the weight of our existence doesn't bear down on us?"
Caught off guard, she hesitated. "I'm not pretending. I just think… there's more to you than the leader everyone fears."
Caius's gaze hardened, and for a moment, she regretted her words. "You don't know me, Dean. You see a glimpse of something you want to believe, but I'm not someone who can be easily understood."
"I'm trying to understand," she said, her voice firm despite her nerves. "I thought you agreed to spend some time with me, get to know me. Not sit there and be an ass."
Caius studied her, a flicker of something—admiration, perhaps?—crossing his features. "You're bold, I'll give you that. But boldness can be a dangerous trait in our world."
"Something tells me that I've faced danger many times. I'm not afraid." There. She was the first to broach the subject of her own impending death. And she was telling the truth, he could see it behind her beautiful blue eyes. She wasn't afraid, not of danger. She was confused, and heartbroken. For herself? For him? He couldn't tell.
"Each time you died...I shattered like glass," he admitted. "It's instinct now to 'be an ass' as you so eloquently said. I don't want to suffer through the good when the bad will hurt just the same if this ends."
Dean's gaze faltered, and the unspoken bond between them felt fragile, teetering on the edge. "Caius, I understand why you act the way you do. But pushing me away won't change anything. It won't protect you from feeling anything. "
He scoffed lightly, though it lacked his usual bite. "And what is 'real' exactly? A fleeting moment in this endless night? You think love, or whatever this is, can withstand the inevitable?"
"I don't know how I feel," she continued, ignoring his last statement. "But, I know that we keep finding each other for a reason. I keep...seeing flashes of my past lives and you're different in each one. But one things stays the same. I feel safe in every memory, happy, and loved. I want that. Even if...even if finding Hecate does nothing and I still end up dead because of it."
"And what about me?" he hissed, his voice rising with an intensity that startled her. "You'd put me through that agony on purpose?"
Dean recoiled slightly at the heat of his words, her heart pounding in her chest. "I didn't mean it like that," she stammered, her voice shaky. "I just—"
"Just what?" he interrupted, his expression a storm of emotions. "You want to chase after something that might lead you to ruin, and I'm supposed to stand by and watch?"
"Caius, this isn't just about you!" she shot back, a surge of frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm trying to understand my own past, to make sense of who I am. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't ignore what I feel, what I remember."
He stepped closer, the tension crackling between them. "But what if those memories are a lie? What if they're just echoes of something that doesn't exist anymore? You can't base your decisions on shadows of the past."
"Maybe the shadows hold the truth," Dean insisted, her voice steadying. "And if they were all lies, if you didn't want this, then why are you here? Why were you so eager to get me back? Why, Caius, if you did not want to love me and to be loved?"
"We keep going back and forth," he scoffed. "Yes, you want to love me. No you don't. Yes, I want to love you, and no, I don't."
"It's hard," she agrees. "I don't know if i can afford it, loving you. But I want to want it. I'm not afraid to die...but that doesn't mean I look forward to it."
Caius studied her, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were caught between a smile and a scowl. "So, you're saying you'd rather be torn between love and loss than not feel anything at all?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation, her heart racing. "Because feeling something, even if it's painful, is better than feeling nothing. I refuse to deny myself the chance to experience something real, even if it scares me."
He stepped closer, the air thick with unspoken tension. "You think love will be simple? That it won't come with its own set of risks? I've loved and lost before, and it shattered me. You're asking me to take that risk again."
"And I'm asking myself the same thing," she said, her voice rising slightly. "But you and I… we're different."
He looked away, the shadows playing across his features. "And what if that something leads to more pain? What if we both end up shattered in the end?"
Dean reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm, grounding him. "Then we face it."
Caius's expression softened, but doubt still lingered in his eyes. "If you die...this time, I'll have to die too. I can't...continue. Not like Marcus."
Her heart sank at his words, the weight of his vulnerability hitting her like a wave. "Caius, you can't mean that. I wouldn't want you to do that, not for me."
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and fierce. "But it's true. Marcus is a shell of who he once was, haunted by the loss of his mate. I won't live that way. If you leave this world, I'd rather go with you."
The raw honesty of his confession made her breath hitch. He continued. "It's been thousands of years, Dean. Over and over and over again this has happened. I'm exhausted. I've tried avoiding you, scaring you away...you always come back." He came closer to her and cupped his hand on her cheek. "You can't help it."
"Caius, I—"
"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted, his thumb brushing softly across her skin. "I can see it in your eyes. You feel this pull, just like I do. And that's why it terrifies me."
"Terrifies you?" she echoed, searching his gaze for answers. "Or does it excite you?"
His lips quirked into a half-smile, but the vulnerability in his eyes remained. "Both, I suppose. You've managed to crack the armor I've built around myself for centuries. It's not just fear of losing you; it's fear of what I might become if I let you in completely."
Dean swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his confession. "You're so strong. I admire you for it." Her words were breathy, her pulse calming as she enjoyed the feeling of his hand on her face. She wanted to be closer to him. So, she threw away her reservations—just for a moment—and pulled him closer.
His eyes widened minutely, but soon, a smirk spread across his face. Her gaze flickered to his lips, wondering if they would feel the same as they had in her dream. This was real, she reminded herself. This was happening, and a small part of her still felt like this was wrong, but Athenodora had given her blessing. She wanted to kiss a vampire.
The thought almost made her giggle. How the nuns back home would be wrecked. Angels, vampires, witches—the world was so much bigger than she had ever imagined. Here she was, in the arms of a vampire, yet feeling safer than she ever had in her entire life.
Dean tilted her head upward, her eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. But Caius exhaled and placed a cold finger against her plump lips. Her eyes opened to see him shake his head, stepping away just enough to create space between them, though he held her hand gently.
"Wait," he murmured, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension. He led her over to a fallen tree and guided her to sit, his grip lingering as if to pacify her disappointment.
"Why?" she asked, frustration threading through her tone. "Why not now?"
"Because this moment… it's too important," he replied, his gaze intense. "If we cross this line, I need to be sure we're both ready for what it means. I can't let it end so soon."
"Is it a kiss that triggers it? We kissed in my dream-"
"I don't know. But… I can't take the chance." His voice turned pleading, a note of desperation creeping in. "Please. Let it go for now. Let this be enough." He sat down beside her, pulling her close so she could feel the contentment of his body pressed to hers once again.
Dean nodded, feeling a mix of disappointment and relief. "So, what do we do now?"
"Now," he said, a slight smile breaking through the tension, "we enjoy this moment for what it is. Let's just be here, together, without the pressure of what's to come."
She took a breath, feeling the heaviness lift slightly. "Tell me your favorite memory of us together," she said, allowing herself to relax, if only a little.
As they sat in comfortable silence, Dean felt the connection between them still pulsing, vibrant and alive. It was a promise of what could be, even if they were stepping carefully around it for now.
"In 1450 B.C., we found ourselves in a bustling marketplace in what is now Greece," he began, his voice smooth and rich with nostalgia. "You were a healer, tending to those in need. I watched as you moved among the people, your kindness drawing them in. It was mesmerizing."
Dean frowned slightly, trying to grasp the fragments of a memory that felt just out of reach. "I was… a healer?"
"Yes," he replied, a fondness in his gaze. "You had this innate ability to soothe pain, to ease suffering. It was as if the very earth itself sang with your presence. But it was your laughter that caught my attention most. It rang out like music, drawing people together, lighting up the gloom of the day."
She smiled, even as a pang of longing tugged at her. "I wish I could remember it."
"It was a moment of pure joy," he continued, lost in his recollections. "I watched you barter with a merchant, haggling not for riches, but for herbs and salves you would use to help others. You had such a fierce spirit, standing tall amidst a world that often sought to belittle you."
"What happened next?" she urged, captivated.
"You spotted me watching, and instead of retreating or shying away, you approached with confidence. You asked me what I was doing there, and when I told you I was intrigued by your work, you laughed and offered to teach me." His smile widened, the memory lighting up his face. "I couldn't resist the challenge, so I accepted. That day, we spent hours wandering the market, exchanging stories, laughter, and knowledge."
Dean felt a warmth bloom in her chest. "I wish I could have experienced that with you."
"You did," he said, his tone earnest. "Even if you don't remember, those moments are a part of who you are."
"Was I ever not a good person?" She asked curiously.
Caius let out a bark of laughter. "You've lived many lives, Dean. Of course not all of them were...savory."
Dean leaned onto him a little more, curiosity and excitement making her feel fidgety. "Tell me," she goaded, her eyes wide with mischief.
He smirked, clearly enjoying the moment. "Very well. There was a time—oh, it must have been in the late 1500s. You were quite the character, let me tell you."
"Go on!" she urged, her interest piqued.
"You were a cunning apothecary," he began, his tone teasing. "Operating in a small village where desperation ran high. People flocked to you for remedies, and you had a knack for creating potions that would both heal and harm."
Dean raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I was a healer with a dark twist? I'm sensing a theme here."
"You sold your 'remedies' to those who were willing to pay," he explained, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "But you were also known to add a little something extra—poisons that would make your clients feel better… temporarily. When they returned for your cures, you would charm them into believing they needed more of your concoctions to survive."
"Wow," she said, a mix of horror and fascination creeping into her voice. "I was basically a fraud."
"More like a very skilled con artist," he corrected, chuckling. "You had a foul mouth and an even sharper wit. You could sell ice to an Eskimo, and you reveled in it. The villagers were both in awe and terrified of you. That's where we met for the first time in that life. I saved you, and brought you back to Volterra to be a slave."
Dean blinked, the weight of his words settling in. "A slave? You saved me, and then made me a slave?"
Caius shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "It was a different time. Your talents were too valuable to waste, even if they were of dubious nature. I saw potential in you, despite the path you were on."
"Potential?" she echoed, a mixture of indignation and intrigue bubbling inside her. "You thought I had potential as a—what? A poisoned remedy seller?"
"You had a certain flair, a charisma that drew people in," he said, his gaze steady. "Even then, you were a force to be reckoned with. I knew you could be more than just a con artist. I saw an opportunity to mold you into something else entirely."
"And what was that?" she asked, feeling the tension between them shift.
"An asset," he replied, his tone playful yet serious. "In Volterra, you learned about power and control in a way you never could in that little village. I taught you how to navigate a world where survival depended on wit and strength."
Dean couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "So, you turned me from a thief into your own personal project? What a way to show your gratitude for my survival!"
"Not just a project," he said, leaning closer, the mischief in his eyes turning earnest. "I saw your potential to rise above the life you had, to turn your talents into something formidable. And it worked, didn't it? You thrived in Volterra."
"Thrived?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Is that what you call it? I was a slave!"
"Yes, but you weren't just any slave," he countered, his voice smooth. "You were given knowledge, access to secrets, and eventually, the power to command your own fate. You learned to play the game on a much grander scale, and you slept in my bed, naked, every night until..."
"Until I fell in love," she finished for him. Until I died, is what she avoided saying. The light faded from his eyes and he understood what she didn't say, because they both knew it to be true. He nodded, stretching the moment between them. "Thank you, for sharing that with me," she whispered.
He looked down at her, feeling oddly content. "Thank you...for showing up." She smiled up at him.
"We're gonna get through this, Caius. One way or another, I'm going to make Hecate end this curse. This is the last time we have to get to know each other."
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips, wishing he could kiss them. "I hope so."