Chapter 2
DAMIEN HALE
The night hums with music and blood.
From the balcony, I watch the crowd swirl below, humans masked as monsters, monsters pretending to be human. Another year. Another Halewood masquerade.
I tell myself it’s just a party, but that’s a lie I’ve repeated for a thousand years. I host this every Halloween not for pleasure, but for possibility.
Every invitation, every flicker of candlelight, every heartbeat beneath these vaulted ceilings… it’s all for her.
My mate.
The soul the Fates promised me long before kingdoms rose and fell.
I’ve searched the world over, followed whispers, crossed oceans, buried centuries. And still, nothing.
Until now.
I step forward, hands braced on the railing as I scan the crowd. Then I see her.
She doesn’t belong here, and maybe that’s why I notice her instantly.
She’s all light. Dressed in yellow, soft curls brushing her shoulders, fairy wings trembling slightly as she steps into the ballroom. She looks like a dream that wandered into a nightmare by mistake.
My breath catches. Not because she’s beautiful, though she is, but because the moment I see her, something ancient and buried deep inside me wakes up.
It hits like fire through my veins, a thousand years of silence shattering in an instant. The tether snaps into place.
Her.
My mate.
I grip the railing until the wood creaks beneath my hand.
“Damien,” a voice murmurs behind me. Rylan, one of my oldest friends, stands in the doorway. His dark eyes flick to the crowd below. “Another year, another crowd. Still searching?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out lower than I intend. “And no.”
He frowns. “No?”
I can’t look away from her. “Because I found her.”
He follows my gaze, spots her near the entrance, and goes quiet. “She’s human.”
“I know.”
Rylan sighs. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve waited a thousand years. I’d know her heartbeat anywhere.”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You should tell the others to stand down. They’ll smell your claim.”
“I will,” I say softly, my throat tightening. “But not yet.”
Because she’s moving through the crowd, awkward and endearing, smiling at strangers while trying to disappear. She doesn’t know she’s walked into a nest of immortals. She doesn’t know half the room is watching her for reasons she’ll never understand.
She doesn’t know she just ended my search.
I leave the balcony and descend the stairs, my heartbeat syncing with hers. The sound of the party fades until it’s only her I hear.
Every movement, every breath draws me closer. I lose her in the crowd for a moment, then spot her again near the edge of the ballroom. She looks overwhelmed, clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline.
I’m only a few steps away when she turns too quickly,
and bumps right into me.
The contact is nothing at all. A brush of fabric.
And yet, it’s everything.
Her hand lands on my chest; mine goes automatically to her waist, steadying her before she can stumble. Her warmth sinks into me like sunlight through ice.
She looks up, startled, breathless, and in that instant, the bond snaps taut between us.
“Sorry,” she whispers, voice soft and unsure.
My fingers tighten on her waist, drawing her closer without meaning to. “Don’t be.”
The scent of her, vanilla and honey, with something bright underneath, wraps around me like a memory I’ve been chasing for centuries.
She blinks, dazed, her pulse skipping. She doesn’t know what she’s feeling yet. She just knows it’s something.
I lower my voice, rough and quiet. “You should be careful, sweetheart.”
Her lips part. “Why’s that?”
Because I’m not sure I could stop myself if she asked me to touch her again.
Because she doesn’t know what I am, or that I’ve been waiting for her longer than she’s been alive.
Instead, I let my hand fall away, slow and reluctant. “Because not everyone here is as gentle as I am.”
She laughs softly, uncertain, but her eyes linger on mine a heartbeat too long. I can feel her curiosity like static between us.
She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s already mine.
After a thousand years of silence, she’s the first sound that makes me want to live again.
She doesn’t pull away.
If anything, she lingers.
Her eyes search mine, curious and warm, like she’s trying to make sense of something she doesn’t have words for. The noise around us swells, music, laughter, heartbeats, but none of it reaches me. It’s all background to the rhythm of her.
I’ve stood in rooms filled with kings and killers, but I’ve never felt small until now.
“What’s your name?” I ask, my voice low enough that she has to tilt her head slightly to hear me.
“Calla,” she says softly. “Calla James.”
It’s a simple name. Beautiful. Human. But when it passes her lips, it feels sacred. The sound curls through me, filling cracks that have been empty for too long.
I let it roll off my tongue like a promise. “Calla.”
Her breath hitches. “And you?”
“Damien.”
She blinks, eyes darting down, then back up. “Like… the old movie?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Something like that.”
Her laugh is quiet, disbelieving. “Of course.”
Her heart stutters again, a delicious rhythm I can’t unhear. I should step back, give her space, but every cell in my body is tuned to her now.
Around us, people dance, drink, flirt, and shout, but we stand still, locked in this impossible calm. The world blurs at the edges, leaving only her in sharp focus.
I take a slow breath. “Can I get you a drink?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Sure.”
I extend my arm, old habits surfacing before I can stop them. A gesture from another time. “Then allow me.”
Her lips curve, amused but charmed. When she slips her arm through the crook of my elbow, the bond flares bright again, heat rolling through me like a storm breaking open.
She fits there so easily, like she was made to stand beside me.
I guide her through the crowd. People move aside without knowing why. They sense something, power, maybe. Or danger.
But she doesn’t notice any of it. She looks up at the chandeliers, the carved ceilings, the golden light catching the glitter on her fairy wings. “This place is incredible,” she murmurs.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Do you know the owner?” she asks.
A faint smile touches my lips. “Intimately.”
She laughs, unaware of how close to the truth she is. The sound sends a ripple of warmth through my chest, a feeling I haven’t known in centuries.
We reach the bar at the far end of the ballroom. She releases my arm reluctantly, her fingers brushing my sleeve. I miss the contact instantly.
“What’ll you have?” I ask.
“Something sweet,” she says, looking up at the glowing bottles like she’s in a candy shop. “Surprise me.”
I signal to the bartender, who nods immediately. Even humans sense what I am on some level, the kind of danger that doesn’t need to speak to be obeyed.
When I turn back to her, she’s studying me again. There’s curiosity there, but no fear. Not yet.
I tilt my head. “What?”
She smiles. “You just… don’t seem like the Halloween party type.”
“Maybe I’ve been waiting for the right reason to enjoy it.”
Her lips part slightly, and a faint blush rises in her cheeks. Her pulse skips, a flutter that echoes through me like an echo of my own lost heartbeat.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
The bartender sets the glass in front of her, a pale-gold drink rimmed with sugar, faint curls of citrus fogging off the top.
Calla lifts it, curiosity flickering across her face. “What is it?”
“Something sweet,” I say. “You told me to surprise you.”
She hesitates, then takes a sip. Her eyes flutter shut, and the softest sound leaves her throat, a quiet, involuntary moan.
My body goes still.
That single, unguarded noise detonates something feral inside me. I feel my fangs ache behind my teeth, the beast in me pressing against the bars I’ve kept locked for centuries.
She opens her eyes again, embarrassed, a flush warming her cheeks. “That’s… really good.”
I force a smile that feels too sharp. “I’m glad you approve.”
Before she can retreat back into the tide of people, I nod toward a shadowed alcove near the edge of the ballroom. “Come on. It’s loud in here.”
She hesitates, then nods. I hold out my arm again, an old-world gesture that always makes humans pause. She studies it for half a heartbeat before sliding her hand through the crook of my elbow.
The moment she touches me, everything else fades.
The chatter. The laughter. Even the music blurs to nothing. It’s just her hand, warm and delicate against my sleeve, and that pulse, steady, golden, alive.
I guide her through the crowd. They part without realizing why. Something in their instincts tells them not to step too close.
We reach a quiet corner, velvet seating, candles flickering low, a wall of ivy behind us. The air smells like wine and faint smoke. She releases my arm reluctantly and sits, crossing her legs, the shimmer of her wings catching the candlelight.
I take the seat beside her, close enough to breathe her in.
“So,” she says, smiling into her drink, “Damien, the mysterious Halloween host who ‘knows the owner intimately.’”
I huff a soft laugh. “Guilty.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Yes.” The word leaves me before I can stop it. Her eyes widen, so I add quickly, “Only because you’re far too trusting.”
She tilts her head, still smiling, still fearless. “And you’re not?”
“Not in a very long time.”
Something flickers in her gaze, empathy, interest, maybe both. She swirls the straw in her drink, the ice clinking softly. “Then tonight’s a first for both of us.”
“How so?”
“I never do this,” she admits. “Parties. Random guys. Sitting in dark corners with strangers who look like they belong in a history book.”
“Do I?” I ask, amused.
She laughs quietly. “You have that whole timeless thing going on. I’m guessing you don’t hear no very often.”
“I’ve heard it enough to appreciate when someone says yes.”
Her smile fades a little at that, her eyes catching mine. The tension that blooms between us is heavy and alive, humming just beneath the surface.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. She looks down at her glass, then back up at me. “You’re… different.”
“You have no idea,” I say softly.
She leans in a little, curiosity shining in her eyes. “Tell me something about you then, Damien-who-might-be-from-another-century.”
I could tell her everything, that I’m not breathing, that my heart hasn’t beat in a thousand years, that I’ve built entire empires while waiting for her to exist. But instead, I give her the truth she can handle.
“I’ve been searching for something for a very long time,” I say. “And I think I just found it.”
Her pulse jumps. I can feel it. Hear it. Taste it.
She swallows hard, smiling despite herself. “Smooth.”
I smile back, letting her think it’s charm and not prophecy. If only she knew how literal it is.
She takes another sip and sets her glass down, condensation sliding over her fingers. “So… what do you do, Damien?”
I smile faintly. “This and that.”
She grins. “That’s not an answer.”
“I’ve been around a long time. I’ve done a little of everything.”
“Okay, mysterious,” she teases. “You sound like you’re a hundred years old.”
My pulse slows. “Something like that.”
She laughs softly, assuming I’m joking, and I let her. The sound winds through me, bright, alive, irresistible.
Then the band shifts into a slower rhythm, something haunting and old. She glances toward the dance floor where couples sway in flickering gold light. “They’re good,” she says. “I love this song.”
I follow her gaze. The sight of her surrounded by others fills me with an ache so sharp it almost feels like hunger. I could dance with her right now, hold her close enough to hear every breath, every heartbeat, every whisper of blood under her skin.
But I can’t trust myself. Not yet.
So I force a small smile. “Maybe later.”
Her eyes meet mine again, curious, searching. “You ever dance?”
“Once,” I say softly. “A very long time ago.”
She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a puzzle she wants to solve. The silence stretches, and I feel her pulse pick up again. My body reacts instinctively; my senses sharpen, my hearing narrowing until all I can hear is her.
I can smell her heartbeat. Taste it.
I clench my jaw, forcing air into lungs I don’t need.
“Damien?” she says gently.
Her voice pulls me back from the edge. I blink and realize I’ve been staring too long.
“Forgive me,” I murmur. “You just… do that to me.”
“Do what?”
“Make the world go quiet.”
She blushes, her hand drifting toward her throat as if she feels the weight of my gaze there.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re intense?” she whispers.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Once or twice.”
She smiles, still holding my eyes. “I like it.”
The words hit me like lightning. My restraint splinters for a heartbeat; my vision sharpens, colors deepen, and I feel my fangs ache beneath the surface. The hunger claws up, ancient and demanding.
No. Not her. Not like this.
I look away, focusing on the flames of the candles until the ache eases.
“You okay?” she asks, brow creasing slightly.
“I will be,” I say, voice rough.
She reaches across the small table, her fingertips brushing the back of my hand. The contact is feather-light, but the effect is catastrophic. The bond roars to life again, molten and alive, flooding through me like fire under skin.
I inhale sharply, every muscle tensing. She feels it too, I see the goosebumps rise along her arms, the confusion flicker in her eyes.
“Damien,” she whispers, “what was that?”
“Fate,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her breath catches. “What?”
I force a smile, hiding the truth behind it. “Static, maybe. Or just chemistry.”
She laughs, but it’s a little shaky this time. “That’s one word for it.”
We sit in silence for a while, both pretending not to notice how the air between us feels alive. Every time she exhales, it feels like the universe exhales with her.
And for the first time in a thousand years, I wonder if the curse of eternity might finally be over.
Because she’s here. And she’s mine.