Chapter 76:A Taste of Mortality

The bell above the door jingled as Alaric stepped into the diner, his entrance sending a hush through the room. The warm scent of coffee and sizzling grease curled in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation that had, for a brief moment, faltered. Heads turned, eyes drawn as if by an unseen force, lingering on him.

He was beautiful—unearthly so. The dim lighting only heightened the effect, making his pale skin seem almost luminous against the faded red booths and checkered tile floor. Loose strands of black hair caught the glow of the neon signs outside, framing his sharp features with an effortless grace.

Alaric did not seem to notice the attention. His gaze swept the diner, absorbing the details with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, quieter. The flickering bulb above the counter, the aged jukebox in the corner, the crinkled menus with greasy fingerprints—each was a relic of a world foreign to him.

Eric leaned in, watching Alaric take it all in. A smirk played at his lips. "Not what you were expecting?"

Alaric tilted his head slightly, his eyes reflecting the fluorescent light in an almost crystalline way. "It's loud," he said finally, though his voice was quiet.

Eric chuckled. "You should see it on a Friday night."

A waitress, gripping a pot of coffee a little too tightly, cleared her throat. "Uh… table for two?" Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered over Alaric like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

Alaric did not answer. He was too focused on the people. The way they stared, the way their heartbeats quickened. A couple in the corner tried to act indifferent, but their eyes strayed back to him again and again. A man at the counter, halfway through his meal, seemed to have forgotten his fork halfway to his mouth.

Eric nudged him with an elbow. "Earth to Alaric?"

Alaric blinked, slowly, and turned back to him. "Yes," he said, though it was clear he hadn't heard the question.

Eric shook his head with a laugh. "Yeah, we'll take a booth." He grabbed Alaric's wrist—ignoring the way the man barely reacted to touch—and steered him toward the nearest open seat.

As they passed, the buzz of conversation picked up again, though hushed, whispers swirling in their wake. Alaric sat, hands folded in his lap, expression unreadable as he continued to absorb the diner's every detail.

Eric leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "So, what do you think?"

Alaric's gaze lifted to meet his, "It is… alive."

Eric grinned. "Yeah. Welcome to the real world."

The waiter returned, but her eyes barely flickered toward Eric. Instead, she was focused entirely on Alaric, her cheeks flushed as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're... stunning," she blurted out, her voice slightly breathless.

Alaric, who had been watching Eric from the corner of his eye, caught the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly against the table. Amused, he turned his full attention to the flustered woman, tilting his head as his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"How sweet of you to say," Alaric purred, his voice smooth as velvet.

Eric's eye twitched. His patience, already frayed, snapped. "Aren't you supposed to be taking our orders?" he said sharply not knowing his eyes turned a bright red for a second.

The waitress blinked rapidly, suddenly remembering why she was even there. "O-oh! Right! Um, what would you like?"

Eric didn't hesitate. "A double cheeseburger, extra pickles. A side of fries. Onion rings. A stack of pancakes with butter and syrup. A plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. And a chocolate milkshake." He paused, then added, "And a black coffee."

She quickly scribbled it down, still sneaking glances at Alaric before nodding and scurrying away. But just before she left, she placed a small folded note beside Alaric's hand, her fingers lingering for just a moment before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Alaric hummed in amusement, tapping the note with his fingers but not opening it just yet. He glanced up at Eric, whose gaze was locked on the little piece of paper like it had personally offended him.

"You're glaring," Alaric mused, tilting his head slightly. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

Eric snatched the note off the table before Alaric could even reach for it. He unfolded it, eyes narrowing at the hastily scrawled phone number. His jaw clenched. Without hesitation, he tore the paper into shreds, letting the pieces flutter onto the table and drift to the floor like useless confetti.

Only then did he turn back to Alaric, who lounged in his chair as if it were a throne meant for him. His long black hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his ethereal face, while one hand lazily draped over the back of his seat. The soft glow of the diner lights made his already porcelain skin almost luminous, like he wasn't even meant for this world.

Alaric watched Eric with mild amusement, his lips curving slightly. "Was that necessary?"

Eric's eye twitched. "Yes."

Alaric's gaze drifted past Eric, his fingers lightly tapping against the table's edge as if recalling a distant memory. Then, as if something had surfaced from the depths of his mind, he spoke.

"I couldn't get through with the man earlier but I wanted to ask you if you know about this villa-"

Eric barely registered the words before his own mouth moved, a response slipping out before he could even think.

"I know where that is."

A sharp silence fell between them.

Alaric's fingers stilled. His expression, once filled with vague amusement, went utterly blank. Emotionless. His eyes locked onto Eric.

"How do you know that?" Alaric asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

Eric's throat went dry. He hadn't meant to say that—hadn't even realized he knew. And yet, the moment Alaric had spoken of it, the place had flashed in his mind like a memory that wasn't entirely his. The rushing waterfall, the whisper of the trees, the distant flicker of firelight between wooden homes…

But he had never been there. Had he?

Alaric didn't blink, didn't shift, didn't breathe. He only stared, waiting.

Forcing a smirk, Eric leaned back in his seat, but it felt forced—strained. "Why do you care?" he deflected, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Alaric didn't answer.

Eric flinched.

"You've never been there," Alaric finally said, but it wasn't a question. It was a fact. A certainty.

And yet… Eric had no answer.

Eric felt a cold whisper coil around his mind, a voice not his own slipping between his thoughts like a shadow. It was soft but insistent, almost amused. He didn't recognize it, yet it felt disturbingly familiar.

He opened his mouth before he could stop himself. "I heard you speaking to him. Right before he died."

The words felt foreign, as though something had placed them on his tongue. He barely understood what he was saying, but Alaric's expression didn't change. He merely lifted a brow, studying Eric with the same detached amusement he always carried.

"Mortals like the place." Alaric murmured, his voice smooth and knowing.

Eric blinked. That wasn't what he meant to say—yet it was. Somehow, the response slipped out, effortless, as though plucked from a thought he hadn't yet formed. A crawling sensation settled in his chest.

"That's what I heard," he said, testing the words now, grounding himself in them. "And I was mortal for a long time."

Something flickered across Alaric's face, something sharp and edged with understanding. Then, suddenly, he smiled. It wasn't forced or guarded—it was genuine, as if he had been waiting for Eric to say those exact words.

"You're right," Alaric said, his tone warm, almost pleased.

Eric stiffened. A slow dread crept into his bones. He hadn't said that. At least, he hadn't meant to. He felt the words echoing in his head, twisted slightly from their intent, as though they had been shaped by something else. But he didn't correct Alaric. He didn't ask what he meant.

Instead, he let the silence stretch between them, watching as Alaric's smile remained—just a little too knowing, a little too satisfied.

Instead, Alaric's voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time. "Where is it?"

Eric stiffened. He didn't know why, but he knew exactly what place Alaric meant. The knowledge wasn't forced—it had always been there, lurking in the depths of his mind, waiting to be acknowledged. A place that felt... good. Not safe, but important. And within it, something he needed. Something essential.

His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "I can't say,but I will show you the way." he lied smoothly.

Alaric's gaze lingered on him, assessing. For a moment, Eric thought he might press further, but instead, Alaric simply nodded, as if he already knew the truth. "Then we'll have to find it."

The waitress returned, balancing a tray laden with steaming plates. The scent of freshly cooked food wafted through the air, rich and indulgent. Alaric's eyes lit up with an almost childlike glee, his excitement uncharacteristically raw compared to his usual composed demeanor. He leaned forward slightly as she set the plates down, his gaze flicking hungrily over the spread before him.

"Enjoy," the waitress said with a polite smile before stepping away.

Eric watched as Alaric immediately reached for a plate, his movements quick but controlled. It was almost unsettling how eager he seemed. He took a bite, closing his eyes briefly, savoring the taste. Eric found himself unable to look away. For someone who always carried an air of calculated detachment, seeing him like this—genuinely delighted—was strange.

"It's been a while since I had this much food," Alaric murmured, almost to himself, before glancing up at Eric. "A long time, actually."

Eric hesitated before responding. "You act like you don't eat every day."

Alaric chuckled, stabbing at his food with his fork. "Not like this."

Alaric bit into his cheeseburger with a satisfied hum, chewing slowly, as if he were experiencing the divine. The melted cheese stretched as he pulled the burger away, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. He picked up a golden fry next, popping it into his mouth with a pleased sigh. "Now this—this is what heaven tastes like," he mused.

Eric, sitting across from him, eyed the food with suspicion before hesitantly picking up his own burger. He took a cautious bite, his fangs barely sinking into the bun before his entire face twisted in horror. He immediately spat it out, gagging like he'd just been poisoned. "What the fuck is this?" he choked, wiping his tongue on his sleeve.

Alaric burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Oh, poor baby. I forgot to tell you that you can't eat real food." He took another dramatic bite, chewing exaggeratedly just to rub it in.

Eric glared at him, shoving his plate away like it had personally offended him. "I don't get it. It smells good! Why does it taste like actual trash?"

"Because," Alaric said between bites, "you're a vampire, sweetheart. Human food doesn't agree with you." He licked a bit of ketchup from his finger, watching Eric's growing frustration with amusement.

Eric crossed his arms, looking betrayed. "That's so fucking unfair. Why do you get to eat it?"

Alaric smirked. "Because I'm special."

Eric gave him a flat look. "No, seriously."

Alaric shrugged, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I can taste it just fine. Doesn't do anything for me, though. Doesn't keep me full. But the taste?" He picked up another fry, waggling it in front of Eric's face before eating it with an exaggerated moan. "Totally worth it."

Eric groaned and slumped back in his chair. "I hate you."

Alaric grinned. "I know."

Alaric, utterly unbothered by Eric's suffering, reached over and casually pulled Eric's rejected plate toward himself. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth into the abandoned burger, devouring it with an enthusiasm that made Eric's stomach twist—not with hunger, but with something else entirely.

Eric watched, transfixed, as Alaric took another bite, his lips parting just enough to reveal a glimpse of sharp teeth before sinking into the soft bun. The way his throat worked as he swallowed, the slight gleam of grease on his lips as he licked them clean—it was almost obscene.

Then came the fries. Alaric grabbed a handful, shoving them into his mouth in a way that should have been messy, yet somehow, he made it look effortless—sexy, even. His long fingers toyed with one, running it along the curve of his lips before popping it in, chewing slowly, savoring every bite like he was indulging in something far more sinful than fast food.

Eric swallowed hard, shifting in his seat as heat pooled low in his stomach. His mind betrayed him, the sight of Alaric's lips working over something so small sparking a thought—what else could they wrap around? Something bigger, thicker—

Fuck.

Eric clenched his jaw and looked away, scowling at nothing. "You eat like a damn animal," he muttered, though his voice came out rougher than intended.

Alaric chuckled, running his tongue over his thumb to catch a smear of ketchup. "Oh? That bothers you?" He leaned in, resting his chin on one hand, his smirk downright devilish. "Or do you like watching?"

Eric tensed, his glare snapping back to him. "Shut up."

Alaric only grinned, finishing the last fry with an unnecessary amount of flair. "You're too easy."

Eric let out a frustrated sigh, crossing his arms to hide the way his body was betraying him. He hated this. Hated how Alaric could make something as simple as eating look so sinful.

And worst of all, he hated how much he wanted to see him do it again.

Eric grabbed his coffee, desperate for a distraction. He took a slow sip, and to his relief, the familiar bitterness hit his tongue. At least he could still taste this. The warmth spread through his chest, grounding him, giving him something to focus on besides the way Alaric looked like he was practically making love to his damn meal.

Satisfied, he took another sip, but his eyes betrayed him, flicking back to Alaric. The bastard was still eating like he had been starved for weeks, licking sauce from his fingers, savoring every bite like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. His lips glistened, slightly parted as he took another bite, his jaw working in slow, deliberate movements.

Eric swallowed, his throat suddenly dry despite the coffee.

Alaric caught his stare, smirked, and deliberately sucked the salt from his fingertip. "What?" he drawled, amusement laced in his voice.

Eric exhaled through his nose, taking another long sip of coffee to cover the way his body reacted. He wasn't about to give Alaric the satisfaction of knowing what was going through his head.

But Alaric wasn't stupid.

"I see now," Alaric mused, stretching out in his seat. "You can't eat normal food, so you're just sitting there, fantasizing about putting something else in your mouth instead."

Eric choked on his coffee.

Alaric barked out a laugh, his blue eyes shining with mischief. "Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

Eric wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at him. "You're disgusting."

Alaric leaned in, resting his chin on one hand while twirling a fry in his fingers. "And yet you're looking at me like you want to devour me instead."

He rolled his eyes and took another sip of coffee, determined to ignore the way his body was betraying him. But damn it, Alaric was still licking his damn fingers, and Eric was already losing this battle.

Suddenly ,a man stopped at their table, shifting awkwardly under Alaric's unwavering gaze. He looked to be in his mid-20s, with soft, unblemished skin, short blond hair, and bright blue eyes that darted between them. There was a natural flush to his cheeks, giving him an almost innocent, untouched appearance.

Alaric, mid-sip of his milkshake, let out a thoughtful hmm as his eyes roamed over him. Then, with deliberate slowness, he licked his lips, the sweet taste of vanilla lingering on his tongue, though his attention was no longer on his drink. Actual food had arrived.

Eric, who had finally started to recover from his earlier flustered state, narrowed his eyes at Alaric. He knew that look. It was the same look Alaric had given his cheeseburger before devouring it with a sinful level of enthusiasm.

Alaric tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with interest. "And what brings you over here?" he asked smoothly, ignoring his drink completely now, like it had never even existed.

The man cleared his throat, clearly unsure of what he had just walked into. "Uh, I—I just wanted to know if you guys were done with the extra chair?"

Eric's grip on his coffee tightened, his jaw clenching as he watched the scene unfold. His once-amused mood evaporated the second Alaric licked his lips and gave the blond man that look—the same damn look he'd given his cheeseburger before practically making love to it.

The blond's cheeks darkened at Alaric's words, his blue eyes widening slightly as if flattered.

Eric saw red.

Alaric wasn't just teasing him anymore—he was flirting. Right in front of him. And worse? This nobody was enjoying it.

Eric's fingers curled around his coffee cup, barely stopping himself from shattering it. His fangs itched to drop, his whole body going stiff as a violent, irrational possessiveness took hold of him. He wanted to grab Alaric by his smug, milkshake-sipping throat and remind him who he was supposed to be paying attention to.

But instead, Alaric just smirked, clearly entertained by the stranger's reaction. "Depends," he said smoothly. "Are you looking to sit somewhere else, or would you prefer to sit with us?"

Eric slammed his cup down so hard the liquid nearly spilled.

The blond jumped, startled by the noise, but Alaric? He only arched a brow, clearly unimpressed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Eric growled, his voice laced with venom. He turned to the blond with a glare sharp enough to kill. "The chair's taken. Fuck off."