chapter 3(a)

a.The undead's kiss

Chloe lingered in the doorway of the living room, her eyes tracing the outline of the man—no, the *vampire*—sleeping on the couch. His chest rose and fell in a slow, deliberate rhythm, though she knew it was merely a habit, a relic of his human past. She stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor, and draped a thick woolen blanket over him. The fabric settled softly, and for a moment, she allowed herself to study his face. Even in sleep, he looked otherworldly—his sharp jawline, the faint glow of his skin under the moonlight, the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. She felt a strange pull, a mix of curiosity and something deeper she couldn't quite name.

"Goodnight," she whispered, her voice barely audible, before turning to limp back to bed. Her ankle still throbbed, but the pain was dull now, overshadowed by the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts inevitably drifted back to him—his strength, his mysterious presence, the way he had looked at her with those piercing eyes. She wondered who he really was, what he had seen, and why he had chosen to help her.

Meanwhile, on the couch, the vampire stirred. He didn't need sleep, not in the way humans did, but he had learned long ago to mimic its rhythms to avoid suspicion. His senses, however, were fully awake. He could hear the soft rustle of Chloe's sheets, the faint hitch in her breath as she thought of him. He smiled faintly to himself, though he quickly suppressed it. Women were unpredictable, he reminded himself. Beautiful, fascinating, but unpredictable. He sat up, his movements fluid and silent, and focused on the world outside. He listened for the distant stirrings of the sun, calculating how many hours of darkness remained. But as he did, a sharp, burning sensation erupted in his stomach.

*Garlic.* The realization hit him like a blow. The dinner Chloe had prepared—it had been laced with garlic. For a vampire, even a small amount was enough to cause agony. His stomach churned, the burning spreading like wildfire. He needed to purge it, and quickly.

He moved to the bathroom, his steps hurried but controlled. Once inside, he locked the door and began searching for something to induce vomiting. His eyes landed on a tube of toothpaste, its minty scent faint but detectable. He squeezed a glob onto his finger and swallowed it, the sharp, artificial flavor making his throat constrict. But it wasn't enough. Desperation clawed at him as he opened the drawer beneath the sink, hoping for something more effective. Instead, he found a collection of daggers, their blades gleaming faintly in the dim light.

One dagger in particular caught his eye. Its hilt was ornate, engraved with the crest of the Archduke of Blackmoor—a man who had saved his life twice. The first time, the Archduke had hidden him from Count Hall Mere, a ruthless enemy who had hunted him with a small army. The Archduke had disguised him as one of his own guards, smuggling him to safety under the cover of night. The second time, the Archduke had replaced a silver coffin with a steel one, its surface thinly coated in silver to deceive his captors. That act of cunning had allowed him to escape what would have been a permanent entombment.

As he held the dagger, a wave of regret washed over him. Chloe's grandfather had been married into the Archduke's family, but it was her grandmother who carried the bloodline. The scent of the dagger confirmed it—a faint, floral aroma that matched Chloe's own. He had made a vow to never harm the Archduke or his descendants, and he wasn't about to break it now.

The burning in his stomach grew unbearable. He bit his lip, drawing blood, and drove the dagger into his abdomen just below the ribs. The pain was excruciating, but he didn't scream. Blood and stomach acid spilled out in a grotesque cascade, pooling on the bathroom floor. He pressed his hand against the wound, forcing the tainted contents of his stomach into the toilet. The relief was immediate, though the sting of the acid on his torn flesh made him grit his teeth.

He cleaned up quickly, wiping the blood from the floor and the toilet seat with trembling hands. The wound began to heal, but slowly—too slowly. He needed blood to speed the process, but the only source nearby was Chloe. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He would not break his vow.

As he stacked the dagger back in the drawer, he heard Chloe stir in her bed. Her movements were frantic, her breathing uneven. She was trapped in a nightmare, her mind conjuring horrors he couldn't see. He had to act fast. He opened the bathroom window, the cold night air rushing in, and slipped outside. His senses sharpened as he scanned the darkness for any sign of prey—a rabbit, a bird, even a squirrel. Anything to sate his thirst before it drove him to madness.

Inside, Chloe woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. The remnants of her nightmare clung to her like a shadow, and for a moment, she forgot about her guest entirely. She stumbled to the bathroom, her movements sluggish, and closed the window against the chill that had crept in. As she turned to leave, she paused, her nose wrinkling at the faint metallic scent lingering in the air. Blood? Her mind raced, but she pushed the thought aside, chalking it up to her overactive imagination.

She reached for the toilet handle, intending to flush, but the tank was empty. Odd. She turned the faucet, and water flowed freely, suggesting someone had recently flushed. That's when it hit her—her guest. She hurried to the living room, her bare feet padding softly against the floor, but the couch was empty. A cold wave of dread washed over her. The shadows seemed to close in, the house suddenly feeling vast and hollow without his presence. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every creak and groan of the old house was a predator stalking her.

Outside, the vampire crouched on the ground, his sharp eyes locked on a squirrel perched precariously on a low branch. With a fluid, almost inhuman motion, he sprang into the air, landing silently beside the creature. His hand shot out, swift and precise, and the squirrel didn't even have time to squeak. He tore into its neck, drinking deeply until the burning in his stomach subsided and his wounds healed fully. He disposed of the body with a flick of his wrist and leaped down from the roof, landing on the front porch with a soft thud.

The sound startled Chloe, who had just locked the front door in a panic. She ran back to her bedroom, her heart racing, and threw herself under the covers, her mind conjuring images of the man—no, the *vampire*—vanishing into the night. She wished he would appear out of thin air, his presence the only thing that could calm her frayed nerves.

Then she saw it—a tall, dark figure outside her window. Its form was menacing, featureless except for two glowing white eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness. She screamed, scrambling out of bed and fumbling for the light switch. When the room flooded with light, she saw it was him—Caden—knocking gently on the window.

She opened the window, her breath still uneven. "You must have locked me outside by accident," he said, his voice light, almost teasing. He chuckled softly, but Chloe wasn't laughing.

"What were you doing outside?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and relief.

"I thought I heard something and went to check," he began, but before he could finish, Chloe reached out, her thumb brushing against a smudge of blood on his lower lip.

"You might have bitten yourself," she said, her eyes scanning the crimson stain. Caden's heart skipped a beat, but he stood firm, his expression unreadable.

Chloe smiled faintly, and with Caden's help, she stepped outside into the moonlit night. The sky was a tapestry of stars, the moon casting a silvery glow over the landscape. "The sky is beautiful tonight," Caden said, his voice soft as they walked to the front porch. They sat on the bench, the cool night air wrapping around them like a blanket.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them palpable. Then, without warning, Chloe turned to him and hugged him tightly, her face buried in his chest. "I was scared," she whispered, her voice muffled. "I thought you left me."

Caden's arms wrapped around her, his touch firm but gentle. "I would never leave you," he said, his voice low and steady. "Not like that."

Chloe looked up at him, her eyes searching his. Something in his gaze—those piercing, otherworldly eyes—drew her in, and before she could stop herself, she kissed him. It was impulsive, almost involuntary, but the moment their lips met, the world seemed to fade away. Caden kissed her back, his hands sliding to her waist as the kiss deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, Chloe's cheeks flushed. "Oh my God, I'm sorry—" she began, but Caden cut her off.

"Caden," he said, his voice a low murmur. "My name is Caden."

"Caden," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm really sorry for that."

But Caden didn't let her finish. He wrapped his hand around her waist, pulling her closer, and kissed her again. This time, it was deeper, more sensual, and Chloe melted into it, her hands tangling in his hair. She moaned softly, the sound sending a shiver down Caden's spine.

"Caden," she breathed, pulling away slightly. "I want you. Right here, under the moonlight."

Caden's eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal in their depths. He lifted her effortlessly, his strength surprising her, and pressed her against the wall beside the door. "This is something you won't walk away from," he said, his voice a low growl. "Not tonight."

Chloe's breath hitched as his lips found hers again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her pulse race. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his back as their bodies pressed together. His heart beat in time with hers, a rhythm that felt almost fated.

Caden's fingers tangled in the fabric of her nightdress, and with a sharp tug, the buttons came undone. Chloe gasped as his hands found her breasts, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. She arched into him, her body responding to his every move.

He carried her to the bench, laying her down gently before reaching for the lace of his pants. His fingers trembled slightly, but Chloe reached out, her hands steady as she untied the knot with a single tug. The night air was cool against their skin, but the heat between them was enough to chase away the chill.