Chapter 19
Nadia
Iwoke slowly, the way you did when everything in your body felt pleasantly wrecked.
Every muscle ached in that good, I-had-sex-with-a-vampire kind of way.
Cristian’s arm was heavy around my waist. One of my legs was tangled with his, and his hand rested low, his thumb drawing slow, unconscious circles against my hip.
I didn’t want to move. I didn’t even want to blink. I just wanted to bask in feeling so… whole.
Cristian’s chest rose and fell behind me. He didn’t need to breathe, but he did anyway, like he’d learned the habit and kept it for comfort.
I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the weight of him, the warmth, the quiet stability of the bond between us.
Then, of course, my brain started doing its thing.
Was it just physical for him? Does he regret it? Am I just convenient? Temporary? A snack with a personality?
The next thought came fully formed: What are we now?
It hovered right on my tongue, waiting.
And then every woman I’d ever known echoed in my head, all the times we’d whispered that question and watched faces fall, shoulders stiffen, men say things like let’s not complicate this.
I didn’t want to be that girl. I wanted to be cool. Chill. Effortless.
I was, in fact, not chill. Not even a little. I was absolutely spiraling while lying naked beside an immortal man who smelled like cedar and sin.
When you feel the urge to shrink, my therapist’s voice chimed in, that’s a cue, not a command.
Right. Good. I’d talk to him. Just… not yet.
He stirred behind me and pulled me closer, his nose brushing the back of my shoulder. His voice, when it came, was rough.
“You are ravishing,” he murmured. “A creature born of starlight and seduction.”
I groaned into the pillow. “You can’t just say things like that first thing in the morning.”
He gave a low chuckle, and my skin turned into a blush factory.
Maybe he really meant it. Maybe this was what it felt like to be wanted—not for performance, not for how well I could read the room or make a joke, but for existing.
I let myself sink into that feeling until a dull throb began behind my eyes. Then my stomach cramped. Hard.
Oh, great. PMS? Dehydration? Post-vampire low blood pressure?
I rolled onto my back. “Weird,” I said softly.
Cristian’s gaze sharpened instantly. “You are pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Probably just getting my period. Or dehydrated. Or sleep deprived. Or… something. It’s fine.”
Classic Nadia Deflection No. 4: minimize symptoms, insert nervous smile, change subject.
Frowning, he sat up and gently cupped my cheeks. “Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Dismiss yourself. You matter here.” His thumbs brushed my lower lip, careful and warm. “I will make you food.”
The way he said it made my chest ache. I nodded. “Okay. But don’t leave yet.”
I put my head back against his chest and listened to the soft rhythm of a heart that didn’t need to beat.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, squinting, hoping it was Lena. I had tried to talk her into taking some time off from work, but she was scared to lose her job after the no-show incident.
Lena: Made it to work. Just sleepy. Still weirded out. Text you after lunch?
I smiled.
Me: Okay good. I love you. Just… let me know you’re okay every few hours?
Cristian was watching me, elbow propped on the pillow. “You care for her like a sister.”
“She is my sister,” I said. “Not biologically, but—you know. She’s my person.”
He gave a small, almost nostalgic nod. “I understand more than you know.”
He kissed my temple, then sat up with that quiet sense of purpose he carried everywhere.
“I wish to court you properly.”
My mouth fell open. “You what now?”
“Court you,” he repeated, as if the term was perfectly normal in the year twenty-twenty-something. “An evening dedicated to your joy. With food. Ambiance. Perhaps… hand-holding.”
I stared at him. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes.”
“You mean, like a date?”
“Yes.”
I was screaming internally. “Okay,” I said, too quickly. “Yeah. Sure. A date. Tonight.”
He nodded solemnly, apparently satisfied with this contractual arrangement. “We shall dine. Perhaps there is music? Dancing?”
“Mmhm… that all sounds great.”
As he stood, completely naked, the morning light slid over him like some kind of Renaissance art exhibit designed to ruin my composure.
I watched him move across the room, lean and calm, like this was a perfectly ordinary day.
He looked back at me once, and for a second I let myself hope.
Maybe this wasn’t temporary. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe this—he—was real.
When he disappeared into the bathroom, I opened my Notes app and added a new line to my summer bucket list: Go on a date with a literal vampire lord. Check.
I grinned. Maybe I didn’t need to ask what we were.
He was already showing me.
I was on outfit number five, and the floor looked like a fashion crime scene. Dresses everywhere. A graveyard of bad decisions and pit stains.
The first dress was too sexy. “He’ll think I’m trying too hard,” I said, flinging it onto the bed.
The second one too casual. “He’ll think I’m not trying hard enough.”
The third was floral. “I look like a teacher on spring break,” I groaned. “And not in a good way.”
Lena didn’t even look up from her phone. She was scrolling, sipping wine, the picture of serenity. “You’re spiraling. And I’m here for it.”
I glared at her, half-dressed in a black tee and red polka-dot skirt, thrifted blazer waiting in the wings. My combat boots sat on the floor like emotional support animals.
Then I saw it. The Little Black Dress. The one you only wear when the world might end or when you wanted to make a man rethink his entire existence.
“I can’t wear this,” I muttered. “It’s too much.”
Lena sat up. “It’s perfect. It’s classic. It’s hot. That vampire is going to lose his ancient, immortal mind.”
I snorted as I pulled it on. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“It’s the best thing. Sit. I’m doing your hair.”
I obeyed because she’s bossy and also because my executive function had officially clocked out. She curled my hair into soft waves, then stepped back and grinned. “You look like a Bond girl who reads poetry and collects ethically sourced candles.”
“That’s weirdly specific,” I said, lining my lips in the mirror.
Lena took another sip. “It’s accurate.”
“What if this is all in my head?” I asked quietly. “Like, what if he doesn’t actually want me?”
She didn’t even blink. “What, the centuries-old vampire asking you on a date after passionately defiling your body multiple times? Yes. Clearly a fever dream.”
I burst out laughing so hard my eyeliner wobbled.
When the laughter died, I sighed dramatically and flopped onto the bed. “Lena…”
“Oh no,” she said. “Is this going to be graphic? Should I get a snack?”
I whispered, “He took me to the promised land.”
“Come again?”
“Yes, I did. My spirit left my body. I think I astral projected. I hovered above the bed. I saw my ancestors watching from the clouds. I saw my future children clapping. I saw a mailman walking his route and I whispered, you’re doing amazing, sweetie, before floating back down.”
Lena wheezed. “So… he was good?”
I nodded solemnly. “He was biblical.”
She raised her wine glass. “To the dark lord who knows where the clit is.”
I laughed so hard I rolled right off the bed, hit the rug, and just lay there wheezing like a dying accordion.
Eventually, I hauled myself upright, applied perfume to my wrists, slipped into black heels, and stared at my reflection. My pulse was going a million beats per minute.
“This is a mistake,” I said. “I look like I’m trying to seduce a vampire.”
Lena grinned. “You are. Own it.”
So I did. Or tried to.
I walked down the stairs, every nerve buzzing. Cristian was waiting at the bottom, in dark slacks and a henley that fit him too well to be fair. His hair was slicked back, his collar slightly undone. He looked like temptation with good posture.
When he saw me, he froze. His pupils widened, his body went still, and then—swear to God—he bit his knuckle.
“You are,” he said, voice low and reverent, “the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He stepped closer, eyes dark. “You will be the end of me, Nadia.”
My knees almost gave out. “You clean up okay too. Excellent, really.” I stammered on. “Super, super hot. Fuck, I’ll shut up now.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He offered me his arm. I took it, because honestly, who was I kidding?
From the top of the stairs, Lena called out, “Use protection! Like… sunscreen! Or garlic! Or whatever keeps you from getting emotionally decapitated!”
The door shut behind us, and I felt like I was walking straight into something good.
The night was waiting.
Boston smelled like sea salt, espresso, and motor oil. I always loved it.
Cristian did not.
He stood frozen on the sidewalk, expression grave, as a man in cargo shorts jogged past holding an iced coffee the size of a toddler. “Why,” Cristian asked slowly, “does every citizen carry the same chilled beverage? Is it ritual? A communal offering?”
“It’s… caffeine,” I said. “And addiction.”
We had taken an Uber to get here. Well—I had taken an Uber. Cristian had endured it.
He’d climbed in with the quiet resignation of someone boarding a catapult. The driver’s playlist was a mix of Taylor Swift and murder podcasts, which probably didn’t help.
By the time we arrived, he was gripping the seatbelt like it was a rosary.
He walked down the street now, eyes scanning every passing car. “Your vehicles move with reckless abandon. Do they all believe themselves immortal?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I said cheerfully, linking my arm through his.
He was trying to look brave and unbothered, but the way his hand lingered at the small of my back said otherwise.
I didn’t mind. The contact anchored me, kept my brain from spinning too fast.