Chapter 14
Nadia
Iwoke up with a vampire on my mind.
Boy, would my therapist have a field day with that the next time we met.
I stretched, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling. My brain immediately jumped to Cristian. To his voice, his control, the way he looked at me like I was something he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. My stomach fluttered, which was rude.
Sitting up in bed, I did my affirmations before my mind could wander further.
“I am not too much. I am me. I choose rest without earning it. I am allowed to feel good things without setting myself on fire afterward.”
Some of that even felt true today. Progress.
I reached under my pillow and pulled out the linen shirt I’d stolen. It still smelled faintly like him—clean, something old and grounded, like the kind of warmth that doesn’t fade. I held it to my chest and took a slow breath.
I was fine. Totally fine. A woman can appreciate the scent of a centuries-old vampire and not make it weird. Probably.
I needed to talk to Lena.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and texted her.
Me: Need to process vampire situation. Are you in?
I stared at the screen, waiting for the three dots. Nothing.
Right. She was probably saving actual lives or threatening someone’s ex with a scalpel. I tossed my phone back on the bed.
Outfit for emotional regulation and snack retrieval: navy shirt-dress with pockets, camel blazer, pearl drop earrings that jingled when I moved, combat boots for practicality and menace.
Then, because I could feel my brain starting to spiral into “What does it mean that he looked at me that way?” territory, I did the adult thing and scheduled a therapy session. Shockingly, my therapist had a last-minute cancellation and was able to see me quickly.
Five minutes later, the video call came through on my laptop.
“Hi, Nadia,” Dr. Patel said, smiling in that calm, devastatingly stable way of hers. “You look… rested?”
“That’s generous,” I said. “I look like someone who had an existential crisis and then moisturized.”
She chuckled. “Let’s start there. How have you been feeling since your summer break started? I know you had requested some space to practice what we’d been working on.”
I hesitated. “Complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“There’s a man in my house.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “All right. How do you feel about that?”
I tilted my head in consideration. “Confused. A little turned on. Also, very aware of my questionable life choices.”
She blinked.
“So, I accidentally woke a vampire,” I said quickly, before I could lose my nerve. “But he’s fine! He’s civilized. Mostly. He wears shirts now and everything.”
Dr. Patel nodded slowly, which was therapist for processing-the-crazy-thing-you-just-said. “And how do you feel about him?”
“I am definitely not developing feelings for him,” I said immediately.
“Mm-hmm,” she said, typing something. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s grumpy. Old-fashioned. Annoyingly competent. He treats my toaster like a holy artifact. And sometimes he says things that sound like poetry, which I think is very unfair.”
“Is he kind to you?”
The question caught me off guard. I thought about it—really thought about it. “He… yeah. He’s kind. He makes sure I eat. He grounds me when I start to spin out. He listens, even when he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. He—” I stopped myself. “He’s grumpy, but he’s not mean. He’s steady.”
“Is he like the people you’re trying to heal from?”
“No. He’s the opposite. He’s careful with me. Like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he’s not, and values me enough not to risk it.”
Dr. Patel smiled faintly. “It sounds like he sees you. That’s rare.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “But that’s not part of the plan. I’m supposed to be focusing on myself. Healing. Not getting distracted by… intense undead men with good bone structure.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Healing happens in relationships, too, Nadia. Often faster than in solitude. Co-regulation is a real thing. Our nervous systems calm when we’re with safe people. Don’t mistake connection for distraction.”
“So… you’re saying it’s okay?”
“I’m saying don’t get swept away, but also don’t shut down something that might help you grow. Relationships aren’t the enemy. When it’s healthy—when there’s mutual respect—it can be a catalyst.”
I exhaled slowly. “Catalyst. That sounds… nice. And dangerous.”
“Most worthwhile things are,” she said, smiling. “Just stay grounded. Remember your boundaries. Let him meet you there.”
When the call ended, I stared at my reflection in the blank screen. Catalyst.
Maybe I didn’t have to fight every good thing that showed up in my life. Maybe I could let myself enjoy whatever this was with Cristian—in whatever form it wanted to exist.
Not romance exactly. Just two people… co-regulating.
Sighing, I pressed my palms to my cheeks. “God, I’m in so much trouble.”
I padded to the kitchen, muttering to myself about finding something sugary. Cristian was already there.
“Yo! What’s up, bitch?” he said brightly.
I blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry. What?”
He turned, beaming like a man who’d just discovered fire. “Good morning! I was just chillin’ with my slut Alexa.”
“What?”
“I was like, ‘Let’s get this fuck,’” he continued proudly. “You know? You look like you’re serving… dick?”
My brain broke in half.
He mistook my silence for admiration. “You see? I have adapted. I am blending.” He nodded, looking smug as hell. “No cap.”
That did it. I lost it. Laughter racked my body. I couldn’t breathe. Wheezing, I doubled over. “Oh my god. Cristian—what—what are you even saying?”
He smiled wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine satisfaction. He looked so pleased with himself that my chest actually ached.
I leaned on the counter for balance. “Okay, okay, time out. What are you doing?”
He folded his arms, entirely unbothered. “You told me to adapt. I am adapting. The witch has taught me your modern speech.”
“The witch?”
He nodded toward Alexa. “She is powerful and cruel.”
I wiped at my eyes, still laughing. “You’ve been… practicing?”
“I have mastered it,” he said. Then, in a perfectly neutral American accent: “Would you like to vibe later?”
“How are you—what is happening?”
He gave a modest shrug. “Vampires learn quickly. We live for centuries. It is instinct to mimic new dialects and vocabulary to survive among mortals. I thought it was high time.”
I just stared at him as I tried to get my laughter under control. Because even with his disastrous attempt at slang and an accent that somehow made “yo, bitch” sound like a royal decree, he was still so infuriatingly magnetic.
I tried to breathe. It wasn’t working.
Finally able to speak, I stepped forward and cupped his face between my hands. “You cannot just scream profanities at people.”
His expression didn’t change. “So… two curse words per greeting?”
“Zero.”
“Moderation, then.”
“Cristian.”
He nodded gravely. “Understood.”
“Good.”
He tilted his head. “You are laughing.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I am.”
He smiled. “Then my efforts were not wasted.”
And damn it, my heart fucking fluttered. Again.
I turned before he could see it on my face. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m improving,” he said, as if that were the same thing.
I needed air. Or food. Or something that didn’t involve staring at Cristian’s stupid, perfect face.
I opened the fridge and started pulling things out: lettuce, cherry tomatoes, carrots, ranch, then grabbed the biggest knife I could find. Something about a knife felt grounding.
Cristian sat at the kitchen island. I didn’t look up, but I could feel the weight of his gaze. My pulse stuttered.
In a tone of pure satisfaction, he said, “What’s poppin’, chef bitch?”
The knife clattered against the cutting board. “Cristian, no. We just talked about this.”
He frowned. “Was that not… slay?”
“You cannot”—I gasped for air—“talk like that. Ever.”
He tried again, undeterred. “These vegetables are mid. No cap.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I had to grip the counter just to stay upright. “Oh my god, you’re not even in the right age bracket for this. You’re not even close,” I managed between wheezes. “You sound like a Victorian ghost haunting Gen Z.”
He frowned. “I said it correctly.”
“That’s the problem,” I said, still laughing. “You sound like a dad trying to use slang to seem cool to his kids.”
It took me a second to breathe again. My cheeks hurt. My stomach ached. “Sorry,” I said finally, wiping at my eyes. “I just—God, I needed that. I don’t laugh like this enough.”
He watched me intently.
I shrugged one shoulder. “My therapist says I should stop apologizing for being loud and taking up space when I’m happy.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “This room likes you loud.”
The words landed like a punch, and I felt that fucking flutter in my chest.
Then—pain.
“Shit!” I hissed, clapping my hand over my finger. Blood welled up fast. “Ow, ow, ow.”
He was beside me in an instant. Vampire speed. I’d never get used to it.
“May I?” he asked, his voice steady but low.
I stared at him, not entirely sure what he meant. But something in me trusted him. I nodded and extended my hand.
He brought my finger to his mouth.
The first touch of his tongue burned. Then the pain vanished. My breath caught. His mouth was warm and far too gentle.
He pulled back slightly. “I can heal small wounds with my mouth.”
I couldn’t look away. My brain filed that information somewhere dangerous. We were standing too close together. The air felt heavy between us. I could hear my heartbeat—or maybe it was his. Did he have a heartbeat?
He turned as if to walk away, but paused. His fingers brushed my hair behind my ear. They lingered along my jaw, tracing downward until they stopped at the base of my throat.
His eyes flicked to my lips. My breath hitched.
His fangs slid down, a flash of white. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Tell me to stop.”