Chapter 2: Mysterious woman

The alley was quiet now, but not the kind of quiet that felt empty. No, this silence was alive, pulsing with the weight of what had just happened. I stood there, my wrist still tingling from his touch, the ghost of his fingers imprinted on my skin. He'd vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving behind only a faint chill in the air and the echo of his question: What are you?

I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't every day a vampire—an ancient, apex predator—was left speechless. And by me, no less. A human. Or at least, something that looked human. The thought amused me more than it should have. There was something deeply satisfying about turning the tables on a creature who'd spent centuries thinking himself untouchable.

I leaned against the brick wall, crossing my arms over my chest. The city hummed faintly in the distance, a low, steady thrum that felt almost comforting. I could've walked away, disappeared into the labyrinth of streets and alleys, leaving him to wonder what I was. But something about the way he'd looked at me—confused, intrigued, maybe even a little afraid—made me want to stay. To see what he'd do next.

He didn't disappoint.

One moment, the alley was empty. The next, he was there, standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He looked different now, less like a predator and more like… well, a man. A very handsome, very dangerous man, but still. There was a casualness to his posture, a deliberate attempt to appear nonchalant that I found almost endearing.

"You're still here," he said, his voice smooth, like velvet over steel.

I raised an eyebrow. "So are you."

He tilted his head, studying me with those dark, endless eyes. "Most people would've run by now."

"Most people don't have the luxury of immortality," I replied, my tone light, almost teasing. "Running seems a bit pointless when you can't die."

He didn't respond right away, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even a hint of amusement. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking its prey. But I wasn't prey. Not anymore.

"What are you?" he asked again, his voice softer this time, almost gentle.

I shrugged, feigning indifference. "I told you. Wouldn't you like to know?"

He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could feel the cold radiating off him, but not so close that it felt threatening. "You're not human."

"No," I agreed. "But I'm not like you, either."

He frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of me. "Then what are you?"

I smiled, slow and deliberate, enjoying the way his confusion deepened. "That's the question, isn't it? What am I? What are you? What's the point of it all?" I pushed off the wall, stepping closer to him, close enough that I could see the faint lines of his face, the way his jaw tightened as I spoke. "Maybe I'm just a figment of your imagination. A dream you can't quite remember."

He didn't back away, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides. "You're real," he said, his voice low. "I can feel it."

"Can you?" I asked, tilting my head. "Or are you just telling yourself that because the alternative is too terrifying?"

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, to my surprise, he laughed. It was a low, rich sound, one that seemed to echo in the empty alley. "You're playing with me."

I grinned, unable to help myself. "Maybe. Is it working?"

He shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his lips now, one that softened the sharp edges of his face. "You're unlike anyone I've ever met."

"I get that a lot," I said, my tone dry. "Usually from people who are about to try to kill me."

He raised an eyebrow. "And do they succeed?"

"Not so far."

He chuckled again, and I felt a strange warmth spread through me. It wasn't often that I found myself enjoying the company of someone else—especially not someone like him. But there was something about him, something that made me want to keep talking, to keep teasing him, just to see how he'd react.

"You're not afraid of me," he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.

"Should I be?" I asked, my tone light.

He considered that for a moment, his gaze never leaving mine. "Most people are."

"I'm not most people."

"No," he agreed. "You're not."

We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between us, heavy with unspoken questions. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seemed to pierce through me, searching for answers I wasn't ready to give. But I didn't mind. Let him wonder. Let him try to figure me out. It was a game, and for the first time in a long time, I was enjoying myself.

"What's your name?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Aurelia," I said, without hesitation. There was no point in lying. He'd find out eventually, if he didn't already know.

"Aurelia," he repeated, as if testing the sound of it. "I'm Lucian."

"Lucian," I said, mimicking his tone. "Nice to meet you."

He smiled, a real smile this time, one that reached his eyes. "The pleasure is mine."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're not what I expected."

"Neither are you."

We stood there for a moment longer, the tension between us shifting, changing. It wasn't just curiosity anymore, or even amusement. There was something else, something deeper, that I couldn't quite put into words. But before I could figure it out, he stepped back, his expression turning serious.

"Be careful, Aurelia," he said, his voice low. "There are things in this world—things even I don't understand. And if you're not careful, they'll find you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you warning me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over my face, as if searching for something. "Because I don't want to see you get hurt."

I smiled, though I wasn't sure why. "That's sweet of you."

He didn't respond, just turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he'd come. I stood there for a moment, watching the spot where he'd been, a strange warmth settling in my chest.

Be careful, he'd said. But I wasn't sure I wanted to be. Not if it meant missing out on moments like this.