Chapter 3 I don't know who Genevieve is

Elara's Pov

“I’m sorry!”

The words rushed out of me. He pushed himself up from the cracked stone wall. I stared at the damage his body had made to the rock. Then I looked at my own hands.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I said. I stepped back, my heart thumping against my ribs. “I don’t even know how it happened.”

His face was like ice. He straightened his clothes slowly. He didn't look hurt. He looked dangerous.

“I swear,” I said. My voice shook. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He didn't speak. He just watched me. For one second, I thought he might actually listen.

Then he moved.

It happened too fast for me to process. One moment he was standing across the room, and the next his hand struck the side of my head. The impact was sharp and disorienting, and the world tilted violently before everything went dark.

Pain woke me up.

A heavy ache pressed behind my eyes as awareness slowly returned. My body felt cold against something hard, and for a moment I couldn’t understand where I was.

Then I tried to move my hands.

Metal clanged loudly.

My breath caught as I looked up.

Chains.

Thick iron restraints bound my wrists to a stone pillar. My ankles were also secured, keeping me seated on the cold floor. The room was enormous, built of stone and shadow, with pillars rising into darkness I couldn’t fully see.

Panic rose instantly.

He stood in the center of the hall holding a young woman in his arms. His mouth was pressed against her neck, and even from where I sat I could see the blood running down her skin and soaking into her clothes.

My breath caught in my throat.

Around them, bodies lay scattered across the floor. Men and women. Some slumped against pillars, others sprawled where they had fallen, as though they had tried to escape something they couldn’t outrun.

The girl in his arms trembled once.

Then she stopped moving.

Vincent released her, letting her body fall to the floor without hesitation. A small sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.

He turned toward me.

His lips were stained red.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I pulled weakly against the chains. “Please don’t kill me.

He wiped his mouth slowly with the back of his hand as he began walking toward me.

“I cannot kill you,” he said calmly.

I swallowed hard, tears already gathering in my eyes. “Then let me go.”

He crouched in front of me, close enough that I could see every detail of his expression.

“That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “I cannot let you go.”

My body trembled.

I shrank back. He studied my face for sometime before speaking.

“What happened?” he asked. “How did you get inside her?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I said immediately.

“Do not lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” I said louder, fear rising. “I don’t know who she is. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why I look like this.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Then explain the last thing you remember.”

I hesitated.

My throat tightened.

“I was with my boyfriend,” I said softly. “Andy. It was our anniversary.”

The room felt too large for my voice.

“We were in an apartment when men broke in. They took me.”

Vincent didn’t move.

“They dragged me into a car,” I continued, my voice shaking more with every word. “They took me into the woods. And then…”

My breath broke.

“They killed me.”

Silence followed.

Even the air felt heavier.

“I remember the knives,” I whispered. “I remember dying. And then I woke up in a coffin underground.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I climbed out,” I finished. “And then you found me.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he stood.

“You expect me to believe this?” he asked.

“It’s the truth.”

“You expect me to believe a human simply woke up inside her body?”

“I don’t know how it happened,” I said helplessly.

He stared at me for a long time.

Then his voice dropped.

“What are you?” he asked. “Are you a witch like Genevieve? Did you perform a ritual? Were you sent by them?”

“I don’t even know who Genevieve is!”

His expression darkened, and he stepped closer.

But then, a low whisper filled the room. The voice chanting a rhythm. My skin began to prickle.

Vincent froze suddenly. He pressed his hands against his ears. He let out a low growl of pain and staggered back.

“Stop,” he growled through clenched teeth.

The chanting grew louder. The air in the room became heavy. My head began to spin. He dropped to one knee, breathing hard. He looked like he was being crushed by an invisible weight.

“Who dares—”

Suddenly, the chains around my wrists and ankle unlocked on their own. They unlocked and fell to the floor.

I gasped. Everything tilted. Before I could fall, strong hands lifted me up. I saw him trying to stand, fangs and claws out, growling as he turned toward the source of the chanting, but the force kept him down.

Darkness took me again. For the third time.

I woke up on a bed.

The ceiling was made of dark wooden beams. My wrists burned where the chains had been. The room smelled like smoke and dried plants. Jars and candles lined the shelves.

A man stood near the fireplace. He was stirring a pot. He was tall and wore black clothes. His features were sharp. When he turned to look at me, his eyes made me shiver. He walked toward the bed, a small smile touching his mouth.

“So it’s true,” he said. “You’re alive.”

My throat felt tight. “Do I know you?”

His expression shifted slightly, something almost like recognition flickering across his face.

“You don’t remember

me,” he said softly, “tell me something, Genevieve…”

My breath caught.

Then his smile faded.

“How did the Genevieve I killed come back to life?”