I Hate the Way He Feels Like Home

Chapter Five

Lior's POV

I've tasted blood from kings and killers.

Drunk from poets, liars, and lovers.

I've had bodies wrapped around mine in moonlit chaos, whispering promises they'd never keep.

But I've never felt anything like him.

Riven.

He touched me like he already knew me. Like he was meant to destroy me—and somehow, fix me too.

And that pisses me off.

I haven't been able to feed since that night. Not properly. Not without thinking of his eyes, sharp like daggers, cutting through the fog of my curse. I keep seeing his damn face every time I close my eyes.

And the worst part?

The curse hums louder now.

Like it's awake.

Like it knows he's the one it warned me about.

I sit on the rooftop of an old church downtown, staring over the city. The moon hangs low, watching like it's in on some cruel joke. My drink sits untouched beside me, thick and cold. Even blood has lost its taste.

I hate this.

I hate him.

I hate that he didn't fall under my charm. That he didn't melt when I smirked. That he didn't flinch when I told him what I was.

But most of all...

I hate the way my chest tightens when I say his name in my head.

Riven.

Like it belongs there.

A familiar energy ripples behind me, and I don't even need to turn to know who it is.

"You following me now?" I mutter.

"I wanted answers," his voice replies, calm and cool. Too cool.

I glance over my shoulder. He's standing near the edge, arms crossed, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

"And you thought this was the right time?" I ask, leaning back on my palms. "Romantic rooftop stalking?"

"I'm not here for romance," he says.

But his eyes flicker.

And I catch it.

"No," I say slowly, standing up, walking toward him. "You're here because you feel it too."

He doesn't move. Doesn't deny it.

But the air around him shifts—like he's fighting himself.

"You're cursed," he says. "I shouldn't be anywhere near you."

"Then why are you?" I whisper, stepping close—too close.

His breath catches.

For a moment, we just stand there. Enemies. Opposites. Cursed and dangerous.

But something binds us here.

Not lust.

Not love.

Not yet.

Something deeper. Older. Fated.

He pulls back before I can speak again. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Keep lying to yourself," I say, smiling bitterly. "It won't help."

And just like that—he vanishes.

But this time... he leaves a piece of himself behind. In the air. In me.

And I know now:

He's not just part of my curse.

He is the curse.

And maybe… the cure too.