Sold to the immortal stranger

Evelyn’s POV

I always knew something was wrong with our town. The shadows stayed too long. The cold air clung to your bones even in summer. And sometimes, people just… disappeared.

But I never thought it would touch us. Not like this.

It started on a Tuesday. I came home from work, expecting to find my sister, Claire, curled up on the couch with tea and one of her worn-out fantasy books. Instead, I found her collapsed on the floor, eyes open but empty.

“Claire?” I rushed to her side, heart pounding. “Claire, can you hear me?”

Her lips were slightly parted, her skin pale like winter snow. I pressed my fingers to her wrist—her pulse was there, but faint.

I called for help. The paramedics came. They asked questions I couldn’t answer.

“No,” I said, over and over. “She didn’t fall. She wasn’t sick. She was perfectly fine this morning.”

They took her to the hospital, but the doctors were no better. Tests, scans, machines—none of it helped. She was alive. Breathing. Heart beating. But she didn’t wake up.

“She’s in a coma,” the doctor said, avoiding my eyes. “But… there’s no brain injury. No infection. Nothing we can explain.”

“So, what do I do?” I asked. My voice cracked. “How do I bring her back?”

He didn’t have an answer.

Claire wasn’t just my sister—she was everything. After Mom and Dad died, it was just the two of us. We survived off grocery store coupons and whispered promises that it would get better someday. She was the only family I had left. The only person who ever made this place feel like home. My parents had made me swore to always look out for her, to take care of her- even though I was just a kid myself when they died. I intended to keep that promise.

Days passed. Then a week. Claire stayed the same, frozen in a sleep that felt deeper than death. I stayed at the hospital every night, watching her chest rise and fall. I read her favorite books out loud. I held her hand. I begged. Nothing worked.

Then I heard the whispers.

From a nurse. From an old man in the hallway. From a woman who left flowers by every door except mine.

They all said the same thing: “If you’ve tried everything, go to him.”

At first, I thought they were crazy.

But after two weeks of silence from my sister, I wasn’t.

“Who is he?” I finally asked the flower woman. Her eyes darkened. She looked around before answering.

“His name is Gideon Blackwell,” she whispered. “He lives past the forest edge, near the cliffs. People say he can heal anyone… for a price.”

“What kind of price?” I asked.

But she was already walking away.

That night, I packed my coat, my courage, and a knife—just in case. And I went looking for a stranger whose name shouldn’t have existed.

I didn’t take the main road. The main road led to the cliffs, yes—but it ended too soon. Everyone said no one lived beyond it. But I knew better now.

The trees thickened the deeper I went. Their branches arched like arms, closing me in. Fog hung low, curling around my ankles like it wanted to drag me back.

Still, I walked.

The wind was sharp and full of whispers. My name. My sister’s name. I told myself it was just in my head. I didn’t believe it.

Then I saw it—tucked between two massive oaks, barely visible in the moonlight.

A house.

Not just any house. A mansion. Old. Black stone, tall windows like watching eyes. Vines crawled up its sides, dead and twisted. Iron gates stood open, like they were waiting for me.

My feet carried me forward before my brain could stop me.

The air changed when I stepped through the gates. Heavier. Charged. Like lightning just before it strikes.

I climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

Nothing.

I tried again. Louder.

Still nothing.

“Please,” I whispered. My voice broke. “I don’t know what else to do.”

The door creaked open on its own.

Inside, the air was warm. Too warm. The walls were lined with candles. Their flames didn’t flicker. Everything was still. Silent.

Then I saw him.

At the top of the stairs, dressed in black, pale as bone, eyes like something that had seen too much. And he was beautiful—unnaturally so. Terrible and lovely at the same time.

“You came,” he said, voice smooth as velvet.

My throat dried. “Are you… Gideon Blackwell?”

“I am.”

“You help people,” I said. “You save them. That’s what they say.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at me.

“My sister,” I continued. “She’s sick. I don’t know how or why. But she won’t wake up. The doctors can’t fix it.”

“And you think I can?”

“I was told you could.”

He stepped down, slow and graceful like he wasn’t really touching the ground. When he reached me, I felt it—cold air that hummed against my skin.

“I can,” he said softly.

Relief flooded through me. I almost collapsed.

“But,” he added, eyes glinting, “I never work for free.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t have much. But I’ll give you whatever I can.”

He tilted his head, almost amused. “Money doesn’t interest me.”

“Then what do you want?”

He walked in a slow circle around me, like a predator taking his time. “Something more binding. More permanent.”

Every instinct screamed at me to run. But I couldn’t. My sister’s face was all I could see.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered. “Whatever it is.”

His voice lowered. “You should be certain before you offer yourself to me, Evelyn Carter.”

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled.

That’s when I knew—I wasn’t just dealing with a man. Gideon Blackwell was something else. Something ancient. Cold. Patient.

He reached out and brushed his thumb across my lower lip, as if testing something. “I can wake her. Tonight. But once you agree, there’s no going back.”

My pulse thundered.

“Do you accept my terms?”

I nodded.

He leaned in—and I didn’t see his fangs until it was too late.

Pain. Heat. Darkness exploding in my veins.

I screamed.

And everything went still.

I collapsed in his arms, breath shallow, vision flickering. The last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me was his whisper at my ear—

“You’re mine now, little lamb.”