When Callum woke, he blinked a few times, then sat up with a groan. His mouth was dry and his whole body ached. He rubbed his face and let out a long breath.
The room was dark and cool, the only light coming from the embers in the fireplace. Callum lay back down and closed his eyes, but couldn’t seem to go back to sleep.
He sighed and got out of bed. He collected his clothes from where they’d been tossed on the floor and dressed quietly.
Bram was fast asleep. He breathed softly, the blankets pulled up over his bare waist. He had faint scratches on the back of his shoulders, and Callum’s face got hot as he tore his gaze away from his body.
He didn’t bother trying to wake Bram—he didn’t even know what time it was. He finished dressing and slipped out of the room in silence.
Callum didn’t want to leave without saying anything, so he occupied himself with Bram’s study for a while. The grandfather clock showed that it was still relatively early in the morning, so he would wait for Bram to wake while he examined his vast collection of books.
There wasn’t much that Callum found terribly interesting. It was mostly encyclopedias and field guides, and other tomes that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. They weren’t dusty—Mary took good care of the manor—but some of them were so stiff and stuck in place that he was sure Bram hadn’t been reading them.
On one of the shelves behind Bram’s desk, there was one book that appeared out of place. It was a different size and color than most of the others, and it didn’t have a title on the spine.
He chuckled to himself as he reached for it. It reminded him of the old detective novels he read as a child. In those stories, he’d pull the book out of place, and it would cause the whole bookshelf to move, revealing a secret passage or a hidden room. He was sure Bram had no use for secret rooms in such a large manor where he lived alone.
As he slid the book out, it didn’t open any secret passages. The cover fell open, though, revealing that it wasn’t a book at all—it was a box. Papers and other items clattered to floor at his feet, and he sighed.
He knelt down to pick everything up, and two items in particular caught Callum’s eye. He gathered it all up and piled it on Bram’s desk before he sat and put on his reading glasses.
The first item was a piece of paper, dated over 300 years earlier. It was the deed to the Shelley Estate, signed by Crown Prince Edgar III and Bram Shelley.
Callum remembered the deed he’d seen in the library when he’d first come to Umbra Harbor. Was that one a forgery? Or was it this one? Why would the document be forged in the first place? Was it because Bram was a sex worker, having regular interactions with the Crown Prince?
Then again, Crown Prince Edgar III was long-gone. Why would a forged document be dated so far back? Bram had said himself that the Crown Prince gifted him Umbra Harbor in exchange for his silence about their relations, so it couldn’t be that Bram was just a descendant, right? There was no way that Edgar III would have been alive to give it to him. Was it a mistake? A smudged bit of ink or poor handwriting? Maybe it was Edgar VI.
Perhaps Bram Shelley was the original owner of the county, and instead of signing it over to the Bram that Callum knew, he just assumed his identity.
The thought of that made Callum feel sick, his heart racing. If Bram wasn’t the real Bram Shelley, who was he?
The second item that caught his attention was a necklace. It was some kind of vial, filled with a red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. Bram condemned Van Helsing and his superstitions, so it seemed strange that he would own something like that. Perhaps it was something sentimental, but then what was the liquid inside? He hoped it wasn’t really blood. Whose blood would it even be?
His heart was pounding frantically while he flipped through the other items from the box. They were mostly invitations from the Crown, demanding Bram’s attendance for meetings or balls. The dates ranged from decades to centuries, and it seemed no one had any suspicions as to who Bram Shelley really was. At what point did Bram take over the man’s identity? Did he just pass himself off as a descendant of the real Bram Shelley to keep up the lie?
“You’re a fucking fool, Callum Harker,” he told himself, taking off his glasses. He couldn’t believe how easily he’d been taken in by Bram’s charm. Whoever Bram Shelley was, it wasn’t the man Callum knew, and the thought of it sent a shudder through his body. He’d spent the night in bed with a complete stranger.
“Are you having fun, snooping through my personal effects?”
Callum startled, dropping all of the papers onto the desk with the necklace, the empty box clattering onto the floor. Bram was standing in the doorway to the study, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.
“What is all this?” Callum asked, holding up the deed to the estate. “Who the hell are you?”
“It seems you already know the answer to that question,” Bram said. “Or did you need to hear if from me directly? Do you think I’ll have a different answer for you than anyone else who’s been trying to shove it down your throat this whole time?”
Callum furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what the hell Bram was talking about. What was anyone else trying to tell him?
“What’s missing is the number of signs you’re refusing to see that point to Bram Shelley, because you think he’s pretty.”
Callum took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Vampires aren’t real,” he stated. “I want the truth. Tell me who you are!”
Bram went over to where Callum was, and he sat in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. He leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk, and Callum practically held his breath, waiting for an answer.
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“There’s probably nothing I can say to convince you otherwise,” he said. “I was born in Intuneric in 1503. My parents died in 1513, and I lived in the orphanage until I was too old. I worked in a local brothel for about 17 years until a man named Vladimir hired me for the night. He paid an extravagant amount of money to get into my bed. I didn’t enjoy it—he was aggressive and pushy, but I was young and I needed the money. He told me he was a vampire and that he wanted to keep me for himself. He wanted me to accept his blood and become his Thrall.”
“Stop it,” Callum demanded, closing his eyes again. He didn’t want to hear something so insane.
“I thought the man was a lunatic,” Bram continued, “and I made the decision to end our appointment. He was furious, saying he’d never been refused, and he wasn’t about to start. He turned into a monster. It was the most terrifying moment of my life.”
“Vampires aren’t real,” Callum repeated. He couldn’t believe how dedicated Bram was to his lie. Was he mad too?
“That was the night I had my throat slashed,” he said, covering the scars on his neck with his hand, and he scowled. “He used me for sex and then left me to die on my bedroom floor. When I came to, I had been Turned. He kidnapped me, brought me to his castle, far north in Inghet, and kept me in chains for decades.”
Bram rolled up his sleeves, showing off the scars that Callum had seen once before.
“I fled here, to Otravire, after he was executed by the local townsfolk. I spent some time in the Capital City in another brothel, and as I told you before, I was gifted this county in exchange for my silence about my ‘business arrangements’ with the Crown Prince.”
Callum let out an angry huff and stood, leaving the papers and the necklace scattered across the desk.
“I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re obviously not the real Bram Shelley. If you won’t come clean, I’ll figure it out for myself, and when I do, all of Umbra Harbor will know who you really are.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me, Callum Harker,” Bram growled as he stood, towering over him. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
He looked and sounded angrier than Callum had ever seen him, even after his encounter with Renfield. It frightened him, and he took a fearful step back, glad to have the desk between them.
“At least tell me your real name,” he demanded, his fists clenched tightly to stop them from trembling. “If you’re going to keep lying to me, I should be able to curse you out properly.”
“You already know my name,” Bram said with a sigh, all of his anger seeming to dissipate. “Curse it all you want.”
“This paper says Bram Shelley came here over 300 years ago!” Callum held up the deed to the estate again. “Stop lying to me. Vampires are not real. You belong in a fucking asylum with Renfield if that’s the story you’re sticking to!”
He tried to leave, but Bram went after him, grabbing him firmly by the arm.
“Callum, wait. If you’d just—”
“Keep your hands off me!” he demanded, yanking his arm free. “Fuck you, lunatic.”
Callum left without another word, and Bram didn’t follow.
He felt like a fool. He’d been taken in by Bram’s charm and let himself get caught up in it all. He didn’t even know who Bram really was. He felt dirty and manipulated, a tight ball of frustration in his chest the entire walk down the forest path back to town.
Tears ran freely down his face, and he struggled to catch his breath.
I’m done, he told himself. He decided that enough was enough. As soon as he got back, he was going to pack up and get on the train back to the Capital City. He couldn’t do it anymore, not in a town full of nothing but strangers and their dark secrets.
By the time he returned to the tavern, he was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally. He didn’t even want to eat breakfast—he just wanted to go back to bed and pretend like nothing had ever happened before he went home.
As his foot reached the first stair, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to just walk by and not even say hello.”
“Quinn!”
Callum rushed over to embrace his friend, and couldn’t help but feel a bit rejuvenated. He hadn’t seen him in weeks, and he felt so alone in Umbra Harbor. He hugged him tightly, and Quinn gently patted his back.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you all right, Cal?”
He released him and cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure.
“What are you doing here? I thought the force wouldn’t let you go?”
“I can be persistent,” he said with a wink. “I’m only here for a couple of days. How are things going?”
“It’s… complicated.” Callum sighed and gestured for Quinn to follow him up to his room.
“You don’t have to feel so shitty about sleeping with him, you know,” Quinn told him. They’d been talking for hours, and Callum told him everything, including his night with the Count. “He manipulated you—that’s not your fault.”
“I still shouldn’t have slept with him.” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “He’s been a suspect since I got here, and I let him charm me into his bed. How could I be so fucking stupid? I don’t even really know who he is!”
“So, what do you plan to do? You must have enough evidence by now to say he’s the Bloodsucker, don’t you?”
“I don’t know…” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Most of it is circumstantial at best. The fact that he lied to me about who he is doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“You really have been charmed, haven’t you?” Quinn asked, and he rolled his eyes. “Come on, Cal. I know you’re smarter than this. Use your head. Look at everything that’s happened and how it revolves around the Count.”
Callum let out a heavy sigh as he put on his reading glasses, then fished a notepad and pencil out of his suitcase. He would make a list of everything that pointed back to Bram.
First, Bram was the Count. That simple fact alone could be enough. Nobles with land and titles had many privileges, and their word was law—no one could hold him accountable for his crimes because no one was above him in the eyes of the law. Even Callum trying to bring him to justice would be difficult since it was Bram’s county.
Secondly, Bram had no solid alibi. The only one who could corroborate anything he said was Mary, who was his loyal servant for decades. While there was definitely a point where Bram was bedridden, there was no way to prove if it had happened before or after Abraham had been killed.
Then there was the matter of the man who showed up on Callum’s balcony. If it wasn’t a dream, there was no way Bram wasn’t involved. He’d told Callum to stay away from Shelley Estate, and only Mary and Bram lived there. What else could it possibly mean if Bram had no connection to the Bloodsucker? The man dressed like a noble too, and most nobles only interacted with other nobles.
And now, there was the situation regarding Bram’s true identity. Callum froze, his pencil against the paper, and his heart beat hard in his chest. Thinking back on his night with Bram, knowing that he truly knew nothing about him, sent a shudder across his skin. He swallowed hard, his eyes and throat burning as he willed himself not to cry. He had grown to care for Bram, but what was Callum to him?
“Cal?” Quinn asked tentatively. “You okay?”
Callum exhaled a long, shaky breath. Was he okay? He put his pencil down and covered his face with his hands.
“I’m so fucking stupid,” he said, and when he exhaled a breath, it sounded more like a sob.
“Hey…” Quinn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who lied and manipulated you. Don’t blame yourself for things outside your control.”
“It wasn’t outside my control.” Callum threw his glasses down in frustration and rubbed his face. “I should have listened to my gut and just kept to myself. I should have listened to Van and just focused on the investigation.”
“Cal…” Quinn sighed. “You’ve been here for months. Even if you really wanted to, there’s no way you could possibly just keep to yourself all that time. I know you’re hurt, but what’s done is done. Stop blaming yourself and focus on the task now.”
Just then, there was a knock at Callum’s door. Van was there, and he had a grim look on his face.
“Don’t tell me someone else has been killed,” Callum said.
“I don’t know yet,” Van told him, and he gave him a confused look. “The Count has gone missing.”