Grace scoffed, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips, staring at him, her mind struggling to process the words. “You’re… joking, right?”
He just stared at her, a flicker of something dark and painful in his eyes. He closed his eyes, and a visible shift occurred. Then, the change began. His skin seemed to ripple, shadows deepened around him, his skin darkened, his features sharpened, twisted horns erupted from his forehead, and leathery wings unfurled from his back, casting flickering shadows across the room. And his eyes blazed with an unholy light. The air crackled with energy, the temperature rising noticeably. He was terrifying, magnificent, and undeniably… demonic. This was no longer the Ezra she knew. It was a creature of nightmares, a being of pure terror.
Grace stumbled back; a strangled scream caught in her throat. Terror coiled deep in her stomach, constricting her breath. Her blood ran cold as she stared at the monstrous figure before her. “Stay away from me!” she cried, her voice trembling.
Just as quickly as it had begun, the transformation reversed. The horns receded, the wings vanished, and the demonic light faded from his eyes. Ezra stood before her again, pale and trembling, the remnants of his demonic visage clinging to the air like a bad dream. He looked at Grace, his expression a mixture of fear and desperation. He saw her fear and immediately reverted to his human form. “Grace! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He reached for her, but she flinched away. “Please, just listen. I know it’s a lot to take in, I swear I won’t hurt you; it’s the truth.”
Grace trembled, backing away even as Ezra stood before her, no longer the monstrous creature that had materialized before her moments ago. He was human again, but the terror lingered, a cold knot in her stomach refusing to unravel. “How... how did you do that?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
Ezra’s eyes burned into Grace’s, a stark contrast to the gentle curiosity in her own eyes. “I’m not like the garden-variety demons you might imagine,” he began, his voice rumbled low as it vibrated through the air. “I am a descendant of the Chaos God of Wrath, Blood and Skulls called Khorne, Albeit... a somewhat diluted one. My lineage grants me certain... inclinations.” He hesitated, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features. “Inclinations towards violence, towards the thrill of the fight. To cause Chaos. It’s in my blood, a constant hum I have to keep suppressed.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “As for the transformation... It’s not a pretty sight. When provoked, when my control slips, the Khornate influence takes over. My features become more bestial, my strength increases tenfold, and sometimes rational thoughts take a backseat to raw, unbridled rage. Think larger, more monstrous, and significantly less pleasant company. The horns are a dead giveaway, of course.” He offered a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Think of it as an unfortunate case of demonic puberty, only fueled by the collective anger of an ancient god.”
Grace leaned forward, her brow furrowed with disbelief and genuine curiosity. “So, you’re saying... you’re descended from Khorne? The Chaos god?” Ezra shifted uncomfortably but met her gaze. “It’s... complicated. My lineage is tied to him, yes, but it’s not like I’m running around slaughtering people for fun.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the implications of his heritage. He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.
“My grandmother used to tell me stories about the old gods. I always thought they were just stories, made up to scare children.” She said, leaning back on the sofa.
Before Grace could fully process this revelation, Ezra’s gaze softened, and he took her hand gently as he dropped another bombshell. “I have something else to tell you. Grace, you’re a witch, it’s in your blood. You are descended from a compelling line of witches.”
He saw the surprise bloom on her face, followed by a flicker of fear. Grace scoffed, a hysterical edge to her laughter. “A witch? Are you insane? “What? No, that’s impossible. I’m just...me.” He was delusional, and the thought of sharing any kind of bond, magical or otherwise, with the creature she had witnessed filled her with renewed horror. She gripped her arms, trying to ward off the chilling reality he was trying to force upon her, clinging to the normalcy she knew, the life she thought she had.
Ezra shook his head. “You’re not. It’s why I’m so drawn to you. It’s in your blood, in your aura, in the very air that crackles around you. You just haven’t tapped into it yet.” The weight of his words settled upon her, a heavy cloak of newfound truth. She looked down at her hands as if expecting them to start glowing with light.
“Think, Grace, have you ever experienced a strong connection to nature, a sense of “knowing” things without being told, have you ever experienced hunches that come true, sensed the emotions of others strongly, or had vivid dreams or premonitions? These are all signs of being a witch.” He asked, searching her face.
His words resonated with her, stirring long-forgotten feelings. The flashes of inexplicable knowledge, the empathy that often overwhelmed her, the strange comfort she found in the woods, she’d always dismissed them as quirks, eccentricities. And the stories her grandmother had told her about witches and gods—she thought they were just stories her grandmother told Grace to keep her entertained. She never imagined that they could be true, nor that she could be a witch.
Grace got up and walked to the large window that overlooked the gardens. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions and dawning realizations. Finally, Grace turned around, looking at Ezra. “Okay,” she said slowly, cautiously. “Assuming this is all true...why do you keep saying we’re soulmates?” She needed to understand the reasoning behind his unwavering belief in their shared destiny, to know if it was driven by something more than just the chaotic currents of their heritage. The answer, she realized, would determine everything.
“We’re bound by magic, our souls intertwined. I felt it the moment I saw you,” he said as he walked to Grace, taking her hands in his. You are a witch, Grace. And we are destined to be together. Together, we can become more powerful than you can imagine.”
The thought both terrified and intrigued her. “What do you mean you felt it the moment you saw me? We just met tonight,” she asked.
“Tonight, perhaps, is when we physically crossed paths. But I have been watching you for a while,” Ezra said as he looked at Grace. He could see fear in her eyes when the realization hit her; he had been stalking her.
“You…. You have been stalking me? How long? How long, Ezra, have you been stalking me?” She asked, trying not to show her overwhelming fear at the thought that he had been watching her. Her voice trembled only slightly, a testament to her attempt at self-control.
Ezra ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair, a gesture that seemed more nervous than suave. “It… it wasn’t like that, Grace. Please, hear me out.” He took a step closer, and Grace recoiled, her back pressing against the window she stood at.
She held up a hand, palm out, stopping him. “No. No, I don’t want to hear it. Just tell me how long, Ezra. Just tell me.”
He sighed, the sound heavy and laced with genuine regret. “Six weeks. Give or take. But I swear, Grace, I… I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just… I couldn’t… I had to be near you.”
Six weeks. That was six weeks of unknowingly being observed, her habits scrutinized, her vulnerabilities cataloged. A shiver ran down her spine, colder than the autumn night. She tried to figure out where he would have seen her. Going to work, while she was out shopping, visiting family and friends. Where? He had been there. Watching.
“Why?” she whispered, the word a fragile breath lost in the urban hum of the city. “Why me? What did you see in me?”
“I have been searching for you for a very long time. I felt pulled to Hemlock Grove, so I found this house and started looking for you. I saw you on the street; you were going to the coffee shop. I just knew it was you that I was looking for, so I felt our connection,” he said as he turned back to look at her.
His words, meant to be comforting, only deepened her unease. He’s a demon and says she is a witch; he says they are destined to be together, soulmates, and somehow connected. He had been following her for six weeks. She didn’t know which of his confessions terrified her most.
“Connected? You saw me from a distance, Ezra! You observed me like… like a lab rat! “You felt a connection, and you know nothing about me.” She said her voice rising.
“I know you volunteer at the animal shelter every Saturday,” he said softly. “I know you always order a black coffee at the Bean Press, and you leave a bigger tip than you can probably afford. I know you lost your mother three years ago, and you still visit her grave every Sunday. I’ve seen you cry there. You and your friends Valerie and Patti spend a lot of time together. You three love to go antique shopping.”
Grace gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. He had been there—at the animal shelter…, at the coffee… her mother’s grave…, with Valerie, Patti, and out antiquing. He had seen her most vulnerable moments.
He flinched, as if struck. “I didn’t mean to… I know it’s wrong. I know I messed up. But I couldn’t stop myself. You… you consume my thoughts, Grace. I can’t deny the pull I feel to you. We are truly soulmates.”
She shook her head, trying to process his words and actions. “This is all so overwhelming. My whole life has been upended in less than 24 hours. My husband left me for a coworker and threw me out of our home. I lost my job. I met a stranger who told me we are soulmates; he even knew my name. You tell me we are destined for greatness, and our destinies are intertwined. You promise me everything I want in this world, against all reason I go with you and come here to this palace, then you tell me you’re a demon and I am a witch, that you have been stalking me for six weeks, and I didn’t even know it....This is just too much to take in. I don’t know what to think, and I am so confused.” She says as she stares out the window, wishing the night sky could swallow her whole.
“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, but I don’t want to keep anything from you. You need to know the truth; there is so much more that I want you and need you to know.” Ezra sighed as he walked to stand beside her at the window. Grace wrapped her arms around herself as he silently watched her, wondering if he did the right thing by telling her as much as he had.
“You need to rest, we can talk tomorrow,” Ezra said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.
She wanted to ask more questions. But exhaustion was taking over. He took her hand, warm and firm, and led her toward the staircase in the foyer. They did not speak as they ascended the stairs, each creak of the aged wood a mournful sigh. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of their footsteps. The second-floor hallway was dimly lit, shadows clinging to the ornate carvings on the walls. They walked down the corridor, past portraits of stern-faced ancestors and antique sconces that cast flickering pools of light. Finally, they stopped before a massive wooden door, its surface etched with intricate floral designs.
Ezra placed his hand on the cool metal of the doorknob and turned the knob and pushed the door open. Grace gasped. The room was a symphony of conflicting emotions. It was romantic, Victorian in its ornate detailing, yet undeniably Gothic in its brooding grandeur. Shades of gold and caramel painted the walls, softened by the warm glow of several strategically placed lamps.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in heavy velvet curtains the color of burnt caramel. The posts were intricately carved with twisting vines and blossoming roses, a delicate contrast to their imposing size. A dark, imposing wooden armoire stood sentinel against one wall, its mirrored surface reflecting the room’s hazy glow. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and old wood, a strangely soothing combination. It was a room that both beckoned her in and warned her away.
Ezra stepped aside; his gaze fixed on her. “Rest, Grace. Should you need anything, I’ll be in the room across the hall.” He gestured weakly to the bed. “This room...It is our room, but I won’t share it until you are ready.” She nodded, unable to find her voice. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, a suffocating blanket. She needed to lie down, close her eyes, and process everything she had learned.
Ezra watched her momentarily, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Tomorrow, Grace, we can discuss this more. There is a nightgown on the bed. Good night, Grace, sleep well, love,” he said quietly. Then, with a soft sigh, he retreated, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
Grace stood alone, the silence within the room amplified by the echoing click of the latch. She strolled toward the bed, her fingers trailing across the smooth fabric of the velvet curtains. A strange sense of peace settled over her. She pulled back the curtains and found a nightgown crafted from the most delicate, luminous white silk. The neckline is a soft, plunging V-neck, edged with delicate, antique-inspired lace, with a floral pattern of lilies. Intricately and exquisitely detailed, this lace trim extended to the barely-there cap sleeves, adding a touch of romance. The nightgown hem was embellished with a broader band of the same beautiful lace. Grace can’t help but think that it looks like something a bride would wear on her wedding night. Shedding her clothes, she slips the luxurious fabric over her head. It flows like liquid moonlight whispering against her skin as the silk pools around her feet, and the lace creates a dreamy, ethereal effect. Reaching for the covers, pulling them back, revealing soft, cream-colored sheets.
As she sank into the plush mattress, the scent of lavender enveloped her, a gentle lullaby. She lay her head down, her eyes closing. Tomorrow, she will find the answers she needs. Tomorrow, she will be strong enough to face the truth. But for tonight, she would rest.
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