CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The air crackled. The bass, previously a dull throb, now felt like a physical blow. Ellie. Here.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. All the carefully constructed walls I'd built to protect her, to protect myself, had crumbled in an instant. Her presence, so unexpected, so...wrong, burned a hole through the carefully curated atmosphere of Crimson's VIP section.

Seraphine, ever the pragmatist, moved with a grace that belied the danger of the situation. She approached Ellie with a soft, almost motherly air, a stark contrast to the predatory intensity I knew she possessed.

"Come on, darling," she murmured, gently guiding Ellie closer.

Ellie's eyes darted around the room, taking in the opulent surroundings, the expensive clothes, the unsettling undercurrent of power that permeated the air. My gaze locked with hers, pleading with her silently. Run. Forget you ever saw any of this.

But she didn't. Her feet were rooted to the spot.

Lucian, the bastard, was reveling in it. His fang-baring grin was a grotesque caricature of a smile, a blatant display of the predator she had inadvertently stumbled upon. He was toying with her, enjoying the fear and confusion swirling in her eyes.

"Ellie," I breathed, my voice a mere wisp lost in the music.

Lucian's taunt sliced through the air, a cruel reminder of my earlier assessment. "She's not nearly as weak as you described, Kaelen."

"Ellie!" I said, louder this time, desperate to break through the shock that held her captive.

Her focus shifted to me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition, a ghost of the affection she had shown me. But it was quickly overridden by something else: intrigue. Confusion. And, horrifyingly, a flicker of fascination. She was piecing it together, the strange things I'd said, the moments of intense emotion, the...bite.

Lucian, ever the showman, summoned his favorite plaything, a woman draped in lace and utter subservience. He pressed his lips to her neck, the blatant sensuality a deliberate provocation aimed directly at Ellie. Her gasp, a strangled sound of horror, was like a knife to my heart.

Then the crimson trail began, a glistening river snaking down the pale skin and delicate lace. It was too much.

"Lucian!" I roared, finally breaking free of my paralysis.

I moved without conscious thought, my body fueled by a primal protectiveness I hadn't known I possessed. I gripped Ellie's arm, pulling her away from the spectacle, away from Lucian's cruel game.

Her eyes were wide, ping-ponging between my face and Lucian's, a silent scream trapped in their depths. I punched the elevator button, dragging her inside as the doors slid open.

The ride up to my apartment was suffocatingly silent, the air thick with unspoken questions and barely suppressed panic. I kept my eyes fixed on the numbers above the door, counting down the seconds until we reached a semblance of safety within my own walls.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to know. And now...now everything was irrevocably changed.

The elevator doors hissed open, and I practically hauled Ellie into my apartment. The stark contrast was immediate, jarring. Crimson's opulent darkness, all reds and blacks and the glint of forbidden pleasure, was replaced by...nothingness. White walls, white floors, grey furniture strategically placed to fill the cavernous space. Bare. Utterly, painfully bare. A reflection of the emptiness I'd cultivated inside myself.

Ellie's gaze swept over the apartment, a silent question marking her face. "Not what I would expect from a vampire," she choked out, the words fragile, like glass about to shatter.

I just looked at her. She must be in shock. Processing what she'd seen, what she'd said. Did she not realize the gravity of those words? Vampire. Out loud.

"Water," I managed, my voice rough. She needed water. Something to ground her, to anchor her in reality.

I left her standing just inside the doorway, the threshold between her old life and whatever this new, terrifying reality was. Swiftly, I moved to the kitchen, grabbing a glass cup, filling it with ice, and running tap water over it. A simple, mundane act in the face of utter chaos.

I brought the cup back to her, but she wasn't by the door anymore. She was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window that formed one entire wall of the living room, gazing out at the sprawling city below, a seemingly endless tapestry of lights and shadows.

I held out the cup. "Here."

She took a tentative sip, her eyes never leaving the cityscape. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, amplifying the hum of the city far below. It felt like an eternity before she finally spoke.

"Kaelen?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," I answered, the word a breath of air in the oppressive silence.

Then, she turned to face me, her eyes searching my face, as if trying to decipher a complex code. She reached up, her hand trembling slightly, and touched my cheek. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me, a spark of something I hadn't felt in centuries.

I stayed still as stone, afraid to scare her off with the slightest movement, to break the fragile connection we had. Her fingers moved slowly across my skin, tracing the angles of my jaw, the curve of my cheekbone, until they rested on my lips.

"Let me see," she said, her voice a plea.

For the first time, I felt true fear. Not of Lucian, not of the consequences of my existence, but of her reaction. Once she saw, once she truly understood, she would run. Screaming. And I wouldn't blame her.

"Please," she repeated, her eyes pleading.

Reluctantly, my heart hammering against my ribs, I parted my lips just enough for her to see my teeth. My fangs were retracted, hidden from view, but she would see the slight difference in my canines.

She ran her finger over the tips of them, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down my spine. My instincts screamed at me. Protect. Hide. I pulled my face back just in time as my fangs instinctively sprang out, lengthening and sharpening with terrifying speed.

Ellie gasped and flinched, her body recoiling slightly, but she didn't move away. Instead, she reached her hand forward again, her fingers brushing hesitantly against the sharp, ivory points of my fangs. She was careful not to touch the tips, as if afraid of being pricked.

She was fascinated.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, she drew her hand back and looked me directly in the eyes. "Tell me everything," she said, her voice steady, resolute.

I took a deep breath, the air catching in my throat. She should have run. A normal, sane person would have. Instead, she was here, in my sterile, empty apartment, wanting to know my story. And, against every instinct I possessed, I was going to tell it to her.