I wake up to warmth.Which is ironic, considering I’m wrapped in the arms of a vampire.Valentine is wrapped around me like a possessive octopus—his arms locked around my waist, his legs tangled with mine, his face buried in my hair. It’s not just an embrace. It’s a hold, like his body is instinctively terrified I’ll disappear.I don’t remember falling asleep.The last thing I recall is the amusement park—the lights, the Ferris wheel, the sound of my laughter mixing with his. It was good. Strangely good.And now, I’m here. In his bed. Pressed against him like I belong here.I should move.I need to move.Because I really need to pee.But when I shift even slightly, his hold tightens, a low, sleepy grumble escaping his throat.I freeze.Then exhale.He’s cuddling me.The dark, brooding, insufferable prince of the night is cuddling me like a clingy cat.I bite my lip, torn between basking in this—because let’s be real, his body is unfairly comfortable—and actually listening to my bladd
It’s Friday evening, and I’m staring at my reflection, adjusting the hem of my crop top.The fabric is soft against my skin, the loose fit doing nothing to hide the sharp cut of my collarbone or the curve of my waist. Paired with my favorite boyfriend jeans and white Nike sneakers, I look… normal. Casual. Like any other college girl heading to a birthday party.Except I’m not just any college girl anymore.I sigh, running a hand through my hair before grabbing the carefully wrapped package from my bed. The weight of it feels good in my hands—solid, thoughtful. Ellie’s going to love this. She’s always talked about wanting to build her own paint collection, and now she’ll finally have the chance. Expensive brushes, assorted crayons, and a rainbow of acrylic paints—it’s everything she’s ever wanted.I grab my flannel, sling a small purse over my shoulder and head downstairs, where Achilles is leaning against his car, arms folded, with a lazy smile."You're late," he says as I approac
A sharp, pulsing pain rips through my skull as I come to. The world is too bright despite the fact that the only source of light in the room is artificial. My limbs feel heavy, my tongue dry like I’ve swallowed cotton. Everything around me is unfamiliar—the dark wooden walls, the plush navy bedding beneath me, the faint scent of something clean and crisp, almost like fresh winter air. This is not my room.Panic claws at my chest. My memories are fragmented, slipping through my fingers like sand. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to piece them together. The party. A man—tall, familiar—whispering about Ellie. A desperate chase. Ascendants.Hands grabbing me. The prick of a needle. The world tilting, then fading into nothing.I bolt upright, my breath coming in ragged gasps, but the sudden movement makes my head spin. My vision sways, and I grip the sheets, trying to ground myself.A shadow shifts at the edge of my sight."You’re awake."The deep, smooth voice sends a shiver d
The headache is finally gone. The weight pressing against my skull has lifted, leaving only a dull ache behind. The past two days have been a blur of sleep, quiet conversations, and Valentine refusing to let me move too much. But now, my body is restless. I need air. I need to move.Stepping out of the bedroom, I take in my surroundings properly for the first time. The estate was old-world elegance, grand and gothic. This place is different—sleek, modern, almost futuristic. The floors are polished black marble, smooth and cold beneath my bare feet. The walls are dark, lined with recessed lighting that casts an ambient glow. There’s a quiet hum in the air, the sound of an energy source I can’t see.I make my way through the house, running my fingers along the smooth walls. The windows are tinted, seamlessly integrated into the design. They keep the sunlight out, making it impossible to tell what time of day it is.Pushing open the glass doors, I step outside.The air is crisp, f
The thrill of the hunt still lingers in my veins, but my body hums with something else—power, potential. A hunger not for blood, but for something deeper.For control.For him.I glance at Valentine as we make our way back through the trees. His stride is effortless, his expression unreadable, but I feel the weight of his gaze on me. Always watching. Always assessing.The moonlight catches in his light hair, casting sharp shadows across his face. He looks otherworldly like this—dangerous and beautiful all at once."You’re quiet," he observes, his voice softer than I expect.I inhale deeply, steadying my thoughts. "I’m thinking."His lips twitch. "About?"I hesitate. "About what happens next."He nods, as if he already knew my answer. "Good. Because we’re not done for the night."I glance at him warily. "What do you mean?"He stops walking, turning fully to face me. When he speaks, his voice is smooth but edged with something dark. "We don't have the luxury of time with the Ascendants
I scramble to my feet, my body aching from the relentless force of Valentine’s attacks. My breath comes in sharp gasps, sweat slicking my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the frustration clawing at my chest.I glare at him, fists clenched. “I thought you loved me.”His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. A shadow. A hesitation. Then, quietly, he says, “I do.”“Then why are you doing this?” My voice cracks, my anger mixing with something rawer, something more vulnerable. “Why are you pushing me so hard? If you love me, shouldn’t you—” I swallow back the thickness in my throat. “Shouldn’t you be gentle?”His lips twitch, but there’s no amusement in it. “Sometimes love is tough, darling.”I stare at him, my heart pounding. “This isn’t tough love, Valentine. This is brutal.”He steps closer, tilting his head. “Then show me your light again.”I grit my teeth, dragging in a deep breath. He wants me to try again? Fine. I’ll try again.I concentrate, reaching fo
Pain. That’s the first thing I feel when I wake up. A dull, throbbing ache in every muscle, like my entire body is one massive bruise. I groan, shifting slightly, only to wince as my back protests.Damn Valentine and his training.I try to sit up, but even that feels like an uphill battle. My stomach growls—loudly. And it’s not the usual blood hungry vampire kind of hunger. It’s real, human hunger. My body wants food. Actual food.I roll onto my side, reaching toward the other half of the bed, expecting warmth. Expecting him. But the sheets are cold.A sinking feeling creeps into my gut. He’s been gone for a while.I force myself to sit up, rubbing my eyes. The house is eerily quiet, and something about it makes me uneasy. Pushing past the soreness, I swing my legs over the bed and stand, wincing as my knees nearly buckle.I make my way out of the bedroom, my bare feet silent against the marble floor. A low murmur of voices drifts from the living room. One of them I recognize i
The night is still. Too still.I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts that refuse to settle. The Ascendants. The Council. The fact that time is slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.Every second that passes is a second closer to them finding us.A second closer to everything falling apart.I exhale, turning onto my side. The room is dim, bathed in soft moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The sheets are cool against my skin, but my mind is restless, my body tense with the weight of everything I can’t control.We need a plan. A real one. One that doesn’t involve waiting for disaster to knock on our door.My eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion creeping in. Just as I’m about to slip into unconsciousness, the bed dips behind me.I don’t startle.His scent—cinnamon, dark and warm—fills the air before I even hear the shift of his body settling in.I sigh. “What are you doing in my room at this time?”A beat of silence. Then, his voice, smooth and lazy.
The clock on the wall reads 3:07 AM when the door creaks open.I stir, blinking against the dim glow of the fireplace as heavy boots echo across the marble floors.Then I see him.And my drowsiness vanishes.Valentine strides in like something out of a gothic fever dream, long coat dusted with grime, moonlight trailing him through the open doorway. But it’s not his dramatic entrance that has me bolting upright.It’s the girl in his arms.I stare.Her body is limp, her head resting against his chest. Her ridiculously long black hair spills past his knees, trailing like a shadow. Her lips are slightly parted, her skin almost translucent beneath the chandelier’s glow.Oh, this is rich.I exhale sharply, pressing a hand over my heart in mock horror.“Val,” I gasp. “Have you resorted to kidnapping?”His glare is immediate.I continue anyway.“Is this where we are now? You get a little lonely, and instead of asking me to take you out, you—what? Pluck the prettiest girl off the streets an
A century. A mere blink in my existence, yet it feels like an eternity when spent with him. He. He, the chaos incarnate, the walking, talking embodiment of every headache I've ever endured. Achilles. Even now, a hundred years on, he manages to fill the mansion with his incessant chatter, his ridiculous schemes, his… his presence. Tonight, I seek a reprieve. A hunt.The moon hangs heavy, a silver coin in the velvet sky. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a familiar aroma that usually soothes me. Tonight, it merely serves as a backdrop to my frustration. I stalk through the shadows of the old cemetery, my senses heightened, searching for the telltale signs of wild vampires. They’re a nuisance, these feral creatures, a stain on our kind.Then, I smell it. Something sweet. Caramel, with a delicate hint of lavender. A human scent, but unlike any I've encountered before. It draws me in, a strange, compelling pull.I move silently, a shadow among shado
If I had a coin for every time someone looked at me like I was an inconvenience, I’d probably own a nice pair of boots by now.Valentine’s mother, however, doesn’t just look at me like I’m an inconvenience—she looks at me like I’m a cockroach she’s too disgusted to crush.And I have to say, that’s not new.She says nothing when we run into each other in the halls, just gives me a long, cold stare before turning the other way and ignoring my existence entirely. But I can feel her disapproval dripping off her in waves. The king is no different—silent, unreadable, always watching me with mild curiosity, like I’m some street cat Valentine dragged in from the gutter.(Which, to be fair, is accurate. But still.)I keep my mouth shut, keep my hands to myself, but the longer I sit there in that stifling palace, the more I realize I hate it. I hate the way their presence makes Valentine tense, hate the way his mother’s sharp words cut him down without effort.So when he grabs my wrist later
Achilles is a menace.A charming, loud, dramatic menace.And somehow, against all logic and reason, I am enjoying myself.I’ve spent nearly three centuries in this world, drifting through time with the same predictable routine. Nothing ever surprises me. But Achilles—Achilles is unpredictable. A whirlwind of sarcasm and chaos wrapped in a too-thin frame, wearing my clothes as if he owns them.And now, I am taking him into the city.Paris at night is a sight to behold—cobblestone streets glistening under the glow of gas lamps, the murmur of voices spilling from cafés and carriages rolling down the avenues. The scent of warm bread lingers in the air, mixing with the ever-present perfume of the Seine.Achilles stretches his arms above his head as we step onto the street. “Ah, freedom! I can already smell the possibilities.”I give him a dry look. “That would be fresh bread, not possibilities.”He waves a hand. “Same thing.”We walk, side by side, and I notice he’s still too thin. The
I should’ve seen it coming.The ridiculous wealth. The manor that looks like something out of an ancient royal painting. The way people around here bow slightly when they see him, as if he’s made of something more than the rest of us.Of course, Valentine isn’t just an important vampire. He’s a prince.The prince of all vampires.I pause mid-step in the corridor, my brain struggling to process this absurd fact. I mean, I knew he was high up the vampire ladder—no one lives in a place this extravagant without some serious power backing them—but the son of the king and queen? This is their manor?I’m staying under the same roof as the vampire king and queen?I run a hand down my face. Holy shit.And yet, despite all this, my senses don’t go haywire. I always assumed that if I ever stood in the presence of powerful supernaturals, my body would react—some primal, deep-rooted fear kicking in. But right now, all I feel is…Well. Mild panic. But that’s normal.I shake off the thoughts and
The moment we step into the manor, I hear Achilles’ heart pick up its pace.He’s overwhelmed.It’s evident in the way his wide, dark eyes dart around, struggling to take everything in—the marble floors polished to a mirror shine, the chandeliers dripping with golden light, the tapestries lining the hallways like relics of another time.He hasn’t lived like this before. That much is clear.I don’t acknowledge his awe. Instead, I lead him down the grand hall, past the looming portraits of my ancestors who watch us with unblinking eyes. The silence between us stretches, but I don’t break it. Not yet.We arrive at the dining hall. A long, gleaming mahogany table stretches nearly the entire length of the room, fit for a feast that no one ever has.Achilles lingers at the doorway.“Sit,” I tell him.He hesitates before obeying, perching stiffly on one of the velvet chairs like he’s ready to flee at any second.I turn to one of the maids, who bows instantly. “Something hefty,” I instruct, g
Pain blossoms across my ribs as another kick lands. The crowd jeers, their shouts merging into an incomprehensible storm of voices. Blood trickles down the side of my face, the warm sting mixing with the bitter cold of the Parisian night.I try to move, but a boot presses against my shoulder, pinning me down."Filthy thief," someone spits.I close my eyes. This is it. This is how it ends. Torn apart in the streets like a rat. I don't even have the strength to shift to save my own life.The hunters—standing just beyond the mob—watch with unnerving patience, hands resting on their weapons. They’re waiting for the right moment. The moment I’m too weak to fight back.Then, a voice. Smooth, deep, unhurried.“Enough.”The weight lifts off my shoulder. The kicks stop. The crowd shifts uneasily, murmurs rising like rustling leaves.I open my eyes.A man stands there, tall and composed, golden-blond hair neatly arranged, his fine black coat barely disturbed by the night breeze. There’s some
The gas lamps outside the cabaret flicker weakly, their orange glow barely cutting through the thick fog that clings to the streets of Paris.Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of cheap perfume, spilled wine, and the faint, metallic tang of blood.The orchestra plays a frenzied waltz, the violins screeching like banshees, while couples spin across the floor in a chaotic blur of silk and sweat.I sit in a shadowed corner, a glass of absinthe in my hand, the green liquid swirling like liquid poison.Across from me, a young woman—Marie, she said her name was—chatters incessantly.Her voice is high-pitched, grating, and she’s been going on about her village, her family, her dreams of becoming a singer.I smile, though my patience wears thin.“Do you come here often, monsieur?” she asks, leaning forward, her décolletage on full display.Her French is tinged with a provincial accent, marking her as new to the city.I tilt my head, letting my lips curl into a dangerous smile. “Only when
I stand frozen, the heat of the flames licking at my skin even from this distance. The crackling of the fire is deafening, but it’s the silence in my chest that terrifies me. My mother’s voice echoes in my head, sharp and desperate: “Run, Achilles! Run and don’t look back!”I can still smell the acrid smoke, the burning wood, the charred remains of my childhood. Half of it is gone now, reduced to ash and embers. The other half stands like a hollow shell, a monument to everything I’ve lost.My legs move before I can think, carrying me away from the only home I’ve ever known. Greece. My mother’s coven. The demon. They’re all chasing me now, and I don’t know where to go. All I know is that I can’t stay here. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stumble through the dark streets. I don’t even know where I’m going. Just away. Away from the flames. Away from the coven. Away from the demon that haunts my nightmares.Away...that leads me to Paris.The stree