Reggie filled the doorway, his massive frame unchanged—six-foot-six of solid muscle, bald head gleaming in the porch light, pale skin lined only slightly more than they remembered. His expression shifted from guarded hostility to shock, his eyes widening.
"Holy shit," he breathed, his deep voice sending vibrations through the floorboards. "Holy SHIT."
And then they were enveloped in his arms, crushed against his chest in a bear hug that would have broken human bones. "You crazy sons of bitches," he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "You actually made it back."
When he finally released them, they saw his eyes were wet. "Five years," he said, shaking his head. "Five goddamn years we waited. Nana never gave up. Said you’d be back. Crazy old woman was right."
"Reggie," Rose’s voice broke. "Celena?"
His expression softened. "Inside. Safe. Growing too damn fast." He stepped back, gesturing them in. "Come on. There’s a lot to tell you, and not much time to tell it."
The interior of the house was much as they remembered—antique furniture, walls lined with books, the scent of Nana’s herbs and candles. But new elements had been added: heavy blackout curtains over the windows, a sophisticated security system panel by the door, and—most jarring—weapons. Crossbows, stakes, vials of what appeared to be some kind of toxin, all displayed on a rack near the entrance.
"Had to adapt," Reggie explained, following their gaze. "World’s changed."
From deeper in the house came the sound of footsteps—light, quick, excited.
Rose froze, her entire body tensing. Blake squeezed her hand.
A girl appeared in the doorway to the living room. Not the toddler they had left behind, but a child on the cusp of adolescence. Celena had always been accelerated—vampire children developed faster than humans, reaching physical maturity around age fifteen before their aging slowed dramatically. At chronological age seven, she appeared closer to fifteen.
Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, framing a face that was Rose’s in miniature. But her eyes—those were Blake’s, intelligent and intense. She wore jeans and a sweater with a cartoon character they didn’t recognize, and her feet were bare.
For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.
Then Celena tilted her head, studying them with the careful consideration of a much older soul. "You came back," she said simply, her voice soft but clear. "Nana said you would."
The sound of her voice—so different from the baby babble they remembered, yet unmistakably her—broke the spell. Rose moved forward, dropping to her knees before her daughter, hands shaking as she reached out but stopped short of touching her, afraid Celena might pull away.
"Do you... do you remember us?" Rose asked, her voice barely audible.
Celena looked at her mother, then at her father, who had moved to stand behind Rose. Her serious expression cracked into a smile, revealing the dimple in her left cheek that had been there since birth.
"Of course I remember you," she said. "Nana and Uncle Reggie showed me pictures every day. And sometimes... sometimes I could feel you. Here." She touched her chest, over her heart. "Especially when the moon was full."
Rose made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Can I hug you, Celena?"
Instead of answering, Celena stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. Rose enfolded her daughter, clutching her as if she might disappear.
Blake knelt beside them, his arms encircling them both. His family. Whole again.
"I knew you’d come back," Celena whispered against Rose’s shoulder. "I dreamed about it."
From the doorway, a new voice spoke—warm, aged, with the hint of a Creole accent. "The child has visions. Like her grandmother."
Nana stood watching them, her hands clasped before her. She had aged—her brown face more lined, her black hair now streaked with silver—but her eyes were as sharp as ever, missing nothing.
"Told you," she said to Reggie with a small smile. "Told you they’d come back tonight. Dreamed it last week."
Rose and Blake rose, Celena keeping a firm grip on her mother’s hand. "Nana," Rose said, stepping forward to embrace the older woman. "Thank you. For everything."
Nana returned the hug, then pulled back to examine Rose with critical eyes. "You’ve been through the veil," she observed. "Both of you. It leaves marks." She touched Rose’s face gently. "Not all of them visible."
"We have so many questions," Blake said, embracing Nana in his turn.
"And not much time for answers," Reggie interjected, checking his watch. "Patrol comes through in about forty minutes. We need to get you registered or hidden before then."
"Registered?" Blake frowned.
Reggie and Nana exchanged a look. "Much has changed," Nana said gravely. "The world you left is not the world you’ve returned to."
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"We saw," Rose said, her arm around Celena’s shoulders. "The city... what happened?"
Reggie sighed heavily, his massive shoulders sagging. "Salvador happened. And your sister, Elena. And that ex of yours."
"Damien?" Rose’s eyes widened. "They’re working together?"
"Come," Nana said, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Sit. Eat. The child has waited five years for her parents. Give her some time before the darkness closes in again."
They followed her to the kitchen—warm, bright, smelling of spices and the blood-infused pastries Nana had perfected for her vampire family members. Celena never let go of Rose’s hand, and Blake kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, as if afraid she might vanish if he lost contact.
Reggie poured dark red liquid into glasses while Nana set out a plate of pastries. "Synthetic," he explained, noticing Blake’s hesitation. "Best we can get these days unless you’re high-rank."
As they settled around the table, Celena climbed into Rose’s lap despite being far too old for such things. Rose didn’t mind, wrapping her arms around her daughter, breathing in her scent—changed, but still fundamentally her.
"You’re taller," Rose murmured into Celena’s hair. "And your hair is longer."
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"Nana lets me wear it how I want," Celena replied, then added quickly, "but I’d let you cut it if you wanted."
"No," Rose said, stroking the dark waves. "It’s beautiful like this."
Blake reached across the table, taking his daughter’s small hand. "Tell us about you," he said. "Everything. What you like. What you don’t like."