The First Kiss

The abandoned cathedral loomed at the city's edge like a forgotten god, its spires jagged teeth gnashing at the storm-swollen sky. Rain lashed its cracked stone facade, streaking through broken stained-glass windows that spilled shards of color onto the weed-choked steps. Ethan Calloway stood at its threshold, soaked to the bone, his trench coat a sodden weight clinging to his lean frame. The wind howled through the arches, carrying the faint scent of mildew and something older—decay, perhaps, or secrets too long buried. He'd followed Lilith here, her cryptic trail of shadows and half-answers leading him to this forsaken place. His boots crunched on gravel as he stepped inside, the cavernous nave swallowing him whole.

The air within was thick, damp, and still, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Pews lay overturned, their wood splintered and gray, while the altar at the far end stood draped in cobwebs, a ghost of reverence. A single candle flickered on its edge—new, wax dripping fresh—its flame a beacon in the gloom. Ethan's hazel eyes, sharp with exhaustion and obsession, locked onto it. She was here. He could feel her, that electric hum beneath his skin that had haunted him since the masquerade.

"Lilith!" His voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling, raw and insistent, cutting through the silence like a blade. "I know you're here. Stop running."

A shadow shifted near the choir loft, and she emerged—Lilith D'Argento, a vision carved from midnight and starlight. Her black coat billowed as she descended the crumbling stairs, her boots silent on the stone, her raven hair a cascade framing a face both beautiful and terrifying. Those obsidian eyes met his, unreadable yet piercing, and her lips—crimson, always crimson—parted slightly, as if tasting the air between them. She stopped a few feet away, her posture rigid, a predator coiled but wary.

"You're relentless," she said, her voice velvet over steel, laced with an exhaustion centuries deep. "I told you to stay away."

"And I told you I can't," Ethan shot back, stepping closer, rain dripping from his hair onto the floor. "Not after what I've seen. Not after you saved me."

Her jaw tightened, a flicker of something—anger, regret—crossing her face. "I saved you once. Don't expect it again."

"Then why am I still breathing?" He closed the gap, his breath fogging in the chill. "You could've let that thing rip me apart. You didn't. Why?"

Lilith's eyes narrowed, but she didn't retreat. "Don't flatter yourself, Ethan Calloway. It wasn't mercy."

"Then what was it?" he pressed, voice rising. "Guilt? Curiosity? Or maybe you're not as cold as you pretend?"

Her laugh was sharp, a shard of glass in the dark. "You think you know me? You, with your mortal years and your ink-stained hands?"

"I know you're not just a killer," he said, softer now, searching her face. "I've seen you—those paintings, the centuries. You've been alone a long time, haven't you?"

She went still, a statue caught mid-breath, and for a moment, the cathedral held its breath too. Then she stepped forward, her presence a cold tide washing over him. "You see too much," she murmured, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And it will destroy you."

"Maybe," he conceded, unflinching. "But I'm not afraid of you, Lilith. Not even after the alley. I should be—I know what you are—but I'm not."

Her gaze flickered, something raw breaking through her mask—surprise, maybe, or longing. "You should be," she said, almost pleading. "I'm a monster, Ethan. A thing that feeds on life. Leave this place. Leave me."

"No." He shook his head, water flicking from his hair. "You're more than that. I feel it—every time you look at me, every time you warn me off. There's something human in you still."

"Stop." Her voice cracked, and she turned away, fists clenching at her sides. "You don't understand what you're waking."

"Then make me," he said, grabbing her arm and spinning her back to face him. Her skin was cold through the sleeve, a shock against his warmth, but he didn't let go. "Tell me who you are, Lilith. Tell me why I can't get you out of my head."

She stared at him, her eyes storm clouds roiling with centuries of pain. "Because you're a fool," she whispered, but her resolve was crumbling—he could see it in the tremble of her lips, the way her breath hitched. She yanked her arm free, but didn't step back. "You'll die for this."

"Then I'll die knowing," he said, voice low and fierce. "I'm not running from you."

The air between them thickened, charged with a tension that crackled like the storm outside. Lilith's chest rose and fell, a mimicry of life, and her eyes searched his—hazel against obsidian, mortal against eternal. She stepped closer, so close he could smell her—jasmine and earth, a scent that coiled around his senses. "Last chance," she breathed, her voice a threadbare warning. "Walk away."

Ethan didn't. Instead, he did the unthinkable—he closed the final inch, his hand cupping her face, and kissed her.

Her lips were cool, unyielding for a heartbeat, a marble statue against his heat. Then she melted, a shudder running through her as she kissed him back, fierce and desperate. The cathedral faded, the world shrinking to the press of her mouth, the tangle of her fingers in his wet hair. Heat surged through him, igniting every nerve, and she was fire too—wild, untamed, a blaze that had slumbered too long. Her hands slid to his shoulders, gripping hard, and he pulled her closer, the damp fabric of his coat soaking into her.

For a moment, it was perfect—a collision of need and defiance, a bridge across the abyss between them. Her lips parted, and he tasted her—something dark and sweet, not quite human—and it only fueled him more. She moaned, a sound so raw it shook him, and he felt her tremble, her control fraying at the edges.

Then she stiffened. A sharp gasp broke the kiss, and Ethan opened his eyes to see her fangs—ivory, gleaming, longer than before—peeking from beneath her lips. Her eyes widened, horror flashing through them, and she shoved him back with a force that sent him stumbling into a pew. Wood splintered under his weight, and he hit the ground, breath knocked out of him.

"Lilith—" he rasped, pushing up on his elbows.

She was already retreating, her coat flaring like wings as she backed toward the altar. "No," she choked out, pressing a hand to her mouth as if to hide the fangs, the hunger. "I can't—I won't—"

"Wait!" He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his ribs. "Don't run from this!"

But she was gone—a blur of shadow and silk, streaking through a side door into the night. The candle on the altar flickered out, plunging the cathedral into darkness, and Ethan stood alone, chest heaving, lips still burning with her taste. Rain drummed against the roof, a relentless tattoo, and he sank onto the broken pew, running a hand through his hair.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" he muttered, voice lost in the vastness. His fingers brushed his mouth, tracing where hers had been, and a shiver ran through him—not fear, not regret, but something deeper. Desire, yes, but also determination. She'd pushed him away, fled from whatever had flared between them, but he wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

He pulled out his notepad, the pages warped from the rain, and scribbled in the dark: Kissed her. Fangs—hunger. She's scared. Why? The pen shook, but he kept going, the journalist in him clawing for answers even as the man in him reeled. She wasn't just a story anymore—she was a force, a mystery that had sunk its hooks into his soul. And that kiss… it had changed everything.

Outside, Lilith fled through the storm, her boots splashing through puddles that mirrored the churning sky. The cathedral shrank behind her, but Ethan's warmth clung to her like a ghost—his lips, his hands, the reckless fire in his eyes. She stumbled into an alley, pressing her back against the brick, and let out a ragged breath. Her fangs throbbed, her hunger a live wire twisting in her gut, and she slammed a fist against the wall, cracking the stone.

"Fool," she hissed, to herself as much as him. She'd let him in, let him breach the fortress of her loneliness, and now she was unraveling. Centuries of discipline, of burying her heart with Lucien's ashes, undone by a mortal who wouldn't bend. She could still taste him—salt and bourbon, life pulsing beneath his skin—and it terrified her. Not the hunger, not the risk of draining him dry, but the ache it woke in her chest. She'd forgotten what it felt like to want.

Darius's voice echoed in her mind—Handle him, or I will—and she snarled, shoving off the wall. She couldn't let the coven find him, couldn't let them snuff out that fire. But staying near him… that was a danger all its own. Her coat snapped in the wind as she melted into the shadows, a predator once more, but her resolve was fractured. She'd watch him, protect him, even if it damned them both.

Back in the cathedral, Ethan stood, squaring his shoulders against the night. He'd find her again. He'd peel back her layers, fang by fang, until the truth lay bare. The storm roared, but he stepped into it, breathless and alive, chasing the woman who'd kissed him—and the monster she feared she'd become.