Hate to love you, Mr.Vampire King

ELARA POV

Sheets of steady rain pounded against the panes of the tavern, drumming out a steady beat on panes. I had sat back into that corner, fingers clutching in my hands my father's journal, old and worn from years of handling. A scent of aged parchment and ink rises up to meet me as I flip through fragile pages to now feel the hundredth time tracing over my father's handwriting.

Find Marcus Draven in Drakov Hollow. He is the truth.

Words stared back at me, unsettling and cryptic. Marcus Draven. Vampire King. A man, if you could even use the term, was a figure mentioned in urban legends-feared, elusory, and older than anyone could have ever fathomed. A name that was meant to be nothing more than a ghost story. But my dad had never believed in ghosts. He believed in facts, evidence. And his journal led me here.

I shifted in my seat, unbearably conscious of the weight of gazes from the tavern's handful of patrons. They knew they'd seen me this time: the outsider in this small town, dressed in a cloak far too heavy for the season to bring here, asking questions no one wanted to answer. In fact, I'd tried to keep it under wraps, but this town was already on edge. People who came looking for Drakov Hollow didn't tend to return.

"You really are going to go there, aren't you?

The tavern keeper surprised me back into my thoughts. She came up to my table, arms crossed, narrowing her eyes as if peering into the corner of its den, like a hunting bird. I nodded, shoving the journal in the bag, standing.

"I have to," I said, trying to sound steady. "It's the only way."

She narrowed her eyes. She slid out a chair and came to sit in front of me, moving all slow dance. She looked me up, mouth open slightly, as if looking for something that would suddenly make sense of my decision.

“You don’t look like a fool,” she said after a pause, her voice low. “But what you’re doing. only a fool would walk into Drakov Hollow.”

I met her gaze, refusing to flinch under the weight of her words. “I’m not a fool. I’m. desperate.”

The tavern keeper’s face softened, just a little. “You’re not the first one to come here, searching for something. I’ve seen others like you. They don’t come back.”

"I'm not like them," I whispered, though the words felt hollow. "I'll be back."

She shook her head, exhaling a tremendous sigh, as if she had said that I was already lost. "You're running from shadows. Drakov Hollow is not a place, it is the pit of death. And Marcus Draven-he's no man you'd be glad to meet.".

I lowered my voice and leaned forward. "He is the only one who knows what really happened to my parents."

Her eyes widened and she sat back in the chair, looking at me with a kind of new wariness. "Your parents?

I nodded. "They died ten years ago under. mysterious circumstances. Nobody would tell me what really happened. But I know there's more to it. My father's journal brought me here. He wrote that Marcus Draven holds the answers.".

The tavern keeper said not a word for what seemed an eternity. And then she spoke, low and hesitantly, even cautious. "There are things in this world you don't want to know, girl. Secrets that will only destroy you.". I swallowed my hump. Her words weighed upon me and she let them settle in my chest. But now, I couldn't back down; I'd gone too far, sacrificed too much. "I don't care," I said. "I need to know the truth.".

She sat in my face for what seemed an eternity, her eyes running over mine as if taking the depth of commitment. Slowly she rose, scraping the chair backward on the floor. "I cannot stop you, Elara," she said. "But be careful. Drakov Hollow does not take to strangers. And Marcus Draven. when you find him, you'll wish you hadn't.".

There was a shiver running down my spine which, for the warmth of the tavern fire, felt strange and inappropriate. I stood up, nodding thanks to her as if words of comfort left more questions in me. Going out into the rain-soaked darkness outside the tavern, there lingered within me an evil feeling as if something was hiding in the shadows beyond the faint lights of the lanterns.

It wound deep into the woods, a small trail twisted and turned in such a way that one could easily get lost. Trees closed around me as I walked, forming the branches into a canopy that blocked out what little moonlight was visible. There was silence: the soft crunch of leaves under my boots, the whisper of wind through the trees.

I walk, but my thoughts carry me away to my parents. They died when I was ten years old. I wasn't mature enough to understand the incomprehensible circumstances surrounding their deaths. For years, I heard the same story: it was an accident, they said. A tragic accident. But I never believed it. Not after the whispers, the hasty conversations overheard whenever I wasn't supposed to be listening.

And now, after all those years, was I finally going to get close to the truth.

Was I ready for it, though?

The more I traveled into that region, the more dramatic it became. The air kept getting colder and the trees even more twisted, their bark blackened as if they had been scorched by something unnatural. A heavy fog began rolling in. This was clinging to the ground like a living thing and making it harder to see what lay ahead on the path.

And there, in the distance, was it: Drakov Hollow.

Out of mist, the town rose like a forgotten memory into silhouette form against the background of the forest whose blackness appeared against the general darkness. The buildings were of stone and ancient and seemed as if their sharp sloping roofs pierced the sky. There was no light; no signs of life in this town. It was eerily silent and seemed to have been abandoned long back.

I knew better, though. This wasn't something left to rot.

I walked up to the gates, my heart pounding in my chest. Now or never. Point of no return. I stretched out an arm and pushed forward with that heavy iron gate, creaking open sounds that seemed to resonate through stillness of air. The fog grew heavy as I went inside-heavy with weight of town history draped over me like a dark cloak.

The streets were deserted. All the windows of the buildings closed, in an impenetrable darkness. Only a faint whisper of the breeze which cut through the alleys broke the silence. Every instinct within me screamed at me that I should turn back, get out of this wretched place before it was too late. But I could not. I had to keep moving. I walked deeper into the village, and the step went heavier with every step. Now I could feel people watching me, though I could not see anyone with my eye. But they watched, they waited. Then, in a sudden lull, I was still. Far, down the way of a long and empty street, stood one figure, solitary, mist-shrouded. My heart gave the somersault inside me as I looked at them, motionless.

As if they were never there, they disappeared into the mist before I could even react to what was happening. It chilled me. Whoever or whatever they were, I knew I was not alone in Drakov Hollow any more. The wind had changed, taking along with it the faintest whisper: my name. "Elara." I turned around, heart beating; no one was there.