The Sire's Invitation

The tension in the car was thick, the air charged with unspoken words. Xander sat in the driver's seat, gripping the wheel tightly as we drove through the empty morning streets.

The sky was a pale, muted blue, the early light stretching across the horizon. But despite the arrival of daylight, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease settling in my bones.

"You're sure about this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No," he admitted. "But we don't have a choice."

The weight of his words pressed against my chest, but I swallowed my fear. The so-called Sire—the leader of the feral vampires—wanted to meet me. And according to Xander, when the Sire wanted something, he got it.

The further we drove from the city, the more isolated the surroundings became. Eventually, the road turned to gravel, leading us toward an abandoned estate shrouded in thick, looming trees.

The place looked forgotten, yet there was an undeniable presence about it—like the shadows themselves were alive.

As we pulled up to the entrance, I noticed them. Two guards, both tall and eerily still, wearing dark suits and sunglasses despite the early morning light.

The moment we stepped out of the car, a strange pull wrapped around me, invisible yet suffocating.

Xander was immediately at my side.

"Stay close," he murmured.

The guards stepped aside wordlessly, allowing us to pass through the massive double doors. The moment we stepped inside, the difference was stark. The air was thick, the lighting so dim it barely illuminated the space.

Flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows along the stone walls, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unsettling.

And then, I saw him.

At the center of the vast room sat a lone figure on an ornate chair, bathed in the soft glow of the few lights that flickered around him.

Unlike the others, he wasn't wearing sunglasses, though his eyes remained hooded, almost amused. He sat with an air of quiet dominance, his presence filling the room without him even needing to speak.

I had braced myself for ugliness. I had conjured images of a hulking brute, perhaps scarred and misshapen. The reality, however, was a stark, breathtaking contrast.

He was beautiful. Not merely handsome, or even striking, but possessed of a beauty that seemed otherworldly. His hair, the color of midnight, fell around a face of sharp, almost predatory angles.

Each line, each plane of his cheekbones and jaw, seemed sculpted by a master craftsman, a touch of the divine in every curve.

His skin, though pale, possessed a luminescence, a subtle inner glow that hinted at some hidden fire. It was as if the moon itself had lent him its ethereal light.

And then there were his eyes. They weren't red like I'd expected, nor the icy blue of some ancient predator. They were dark, deep, and endless.

A slow smile curved his lips. "Leighton."

Hearing my name from his lips sent a shiver down my spine.

"You know my name?" I asked, keeping my voice even.

"So I heard about you," he mused, standing fluidly. His movements were like a whisper, soundless yet undeniable.

He descended the steps with an unhurried grace, each step sending my pulse into overdrive.

Xander tensed beside me.

"Say what you need to say, Sire."

The Sire ignored him, his gaze never leaving mine.

"You are… intriguing."

I forced myself to hold his stare.

"Because of my aura?"

He reached out then, his fingers barely brushing my wrist. A spark shot through me, not painful, but something… intense.

My breath caught.

"Yes," he murmured, studying me with something almost like wonder.

"You feel different."

"Different how?"

His lips quirked.

"That is what I intend to find out."

His fingers curled around my wrist fully now, gentle yet firm. I should have pulled away. Every warning in my mind screamed at me to move, to flee. But I couldn't.

Because beneath the danger, beneath the power that radiated from him like a force of nature… there was something else. Something personal.

He wanted me.

Not like a predator coveting prey, but as if he had found something rare, something that shouldn't exist.

Xander must have noticed because he stepped forward, forcing the contact to break.

"If you've gotten your answers, we're leaving."

The Sire didn't even glance at him.

"She stays."

Xander's stance grew rigid.

"Not happening."

Finally, the Sire turned his attention to him, his expression unreadable.

"Do you know what you're protecting?"

Xander didn't waver.

"She's not yours to keep."

The Sire chuckled, low and almost amused.

"And yet, you brought her to me."

He tilted his head, studying Xander as though he were a puzzle.

"I am not unreasonable. I am offering you a deal."

Xander's eyes darkened.

"What kind of deal?"

The Sire's voice was smooth and confident.

"Let her stay here, under my protection. No one will touch her. I swear it on my life."

The room grew impossibly still.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart hammering. The weight of his words was undeniable.

A vampire swearing on his life was no small thing—it was a vow of absolute certainty, a promise that, if broken, would bring consequences even he couldn't escape.

Xander's fists clenched at his sides.

"And if I refuse?"

The Sire's gaze darkened slightly.

"Then you make an enemy of me."

Silence stretched between them like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

My voice broke through it.

"I'm right here," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Shouldn't I have a say in this?"

The Sire's attention snapped back to me.

"You do."

His lips curled slightly, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That's why I am giving you a choice."

A choice.