Trouble
Afigure appears in the darkening air outside.
He floats, suspended like a creature torn from a painting and given breath. Silver hair drifts around his face, caught in an unfeeling wind. Violet-blue eyes blaze with crimson rings, alive with power, hunger, and anger.
He is no longer a ghost of shadows. He is solid. Real. Flesh and bone and lethal grace.
My jaw drops.
“How long should I stand here until you invite me in, Lucille?”
His voice drifts through the glass. He tilts his head, a mocking smile curving his lips. “I recovered control of my body. I am no longer a ghost. Surely you know—vampires need an invitation to enter.”
I recover my wits enough to snap back. “I thought you were the owner of this house.”
“The Order must have done something with this piece of land.” He gestures dismissively toward the manor below. “Sold it to a nobody, perhaps. It is no longer part of the property. Vampires cannot access. That is probably why you girls are safe from them during your heat.”
I stare at him, mind racing. He is real. He is here. He is waiting for my invitation.
“Well?” He arches one silver brow. “Are you going to let me in, or shall I float out here all night like a fool?”
“Are you going to bite me again?”
A low laugh escapes him. “Only if you ask nicely.”
I hesitate. Then I push the window open wider.
“Come in.”
He glides through the frame. His feet touch the dusty floor with a soft thud. He is taller than I remember. More solid. More real. The shadows that once clung to him have retreated, leaving only the man beneath—the creature beneath.
And he is furious.
“Lucille.” My name cracks through the silence like a whip. “What the hell were you thinking?”
I step back. My spine hits the window frame. “I—”
He advances, eyes blazing.
My voice rises, fueled by fear and anger. “Thomas bit me. His bite… It was agony. It felt like poison in my veins. Blake’s bite was—”
I stop, the words catching in my throat.
“Was what?” His voice drops, dangerous and low. “Tell me, Lucille. What did my bite feel like?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are a vampire.
You are a vampire!
You bit me. You drank my blood. And you didn’t tell me. You didn’t warn me. You just—”
“I tried to warn you.” He is in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the cold radiating from his skin. “I told you to stay away. I told you to leave this place. I told you I was a monster.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a vampire!”
“I was cursed. Trapped. Weaker than shadow. I could not—” He stops, jaw tightening. “That is not the point. The point is you tried to kill yourself.”
“I thought it was a dream!”
“A dream.” He laughs, but there is no humor in it. “You are going to stand here and tell me that a dream felt like that? The shadows? The bite? The—” He stops, eyes searching mine. “The kiss?”
My face heats. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Liar.” He reaches out. His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up. His touch is cold, yet it sends a shiver of heat through my body. “You know exactly what I am talking about.”
I pull away from his grip. “You are a vampire. You lied to me. You kept secrets. You—”
“I did not keep secrets. I kept you safe.” He steps back, running a hand through his silver hair. “And now you are angry at me because I did not tell you the truth about what I am? Fine. I will tell you everything. Ask me your questions.”
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “What?”
“Ask me,” he repeats. “Anything. I will answer.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Where do I even start?
“You walk during the day,” I manage. “I saw you. The masters—they walk during the day.”
“Vampires can walk during the day.” He shrugs. “The older they are, the more tolerance they have for the sun. Baby vampires burn. Old ones can survive. An Original—the first of their kind—can walk in the sun without issue.”
I process this. “What kills you? Silver?”
A derisive snort. “No.”
“Garlic?”
“Hell no.”
“A stake through the heart?”
“Only if they are young vampires. Like Thomas.” His eyes flicker with something dark. “Not an Original like me.”
“Then what kills you?” I demand. “What actually kills a vampire?”
He is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is flat. “I cannot be killed. That is why they cursed me instead.”
I stare at him. “Cursed you? The portrait?”
“The portrait is a mirror.” His voice drops. “A prison. They locked my power and essence inside the frame. I was too weak to take my own body. I could only control a small fraction of my true nature—cursed to be ethereal. Alive only in shadows and dreams and wind and nightmares.”
He steps closer. This time I do not retreat. “But you, Lucille.” His voice softens. “Your presence alone awakened a dormant primal power in the shadows. You changed me. And when I bit you, I tasted it. You are magical, Lucille.”
I shake my head. “I am nothing. I am just—”
“You are not nothing.” His hand lifts. His fingers brush my cheek.
“Your blood made me stronger. The bite yesterday allowed me to regain power. What I felt for you—it was beyond the magic restrictions. Beyond the curse. I did what I thought was impossible. I saved you. And I regained my vampire body.”
I should be terrified. I should run. Instead, I ask, “Mirrors? The portrait is a mirror?”
“Yes.” His eyes meet mine. “Mirrors are magical portals. The most powerful weapon against us.” He pauses. “That is why my prison is a mirror. They trapped me in my own reflection.”
“What happened to you?” I whisper. “How did you end up cursed there?”
His expression shuts down. “My own personal friends betrayed me.” The words are clipped, final. “But I do not want to talk about that now.”
He turns the question back on me. “Why did you jump, Lucille? Are you losing your mind? Do you want me to lose mine? Do you want to drive me crazy?”
The use of my full name jolts me. “Stop calling me Lucille. No one calls me that. Only Lucy.”
He arches a brow. “Lucy,” he repeats, drawing the name out. “Fine. Why did you jump, Lucy?”
“I told you. I thought it was all a dream. I wanted to wake up. I did not know—I could not—” I stop, my voice cracking. “Everything was so confusing. I didn’t know what was real. I still don’t know.”
His expression softens. “You are not dreaming, Lucy. This is real. Every moment. Every shadow. Every bite.”
He steps closer. His hand finds my chin again, tilting my face to the side. His eyes fix on the wound on my neck. “Thomas’s bite. It still aches, does it not?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“It is poisoned. His bite was not like mine. He was younger. Crueler. He did not want to give you pleasure—he wanted to take.”
His fingers trace the wound. I shiver. “I can heal it. But it will cost you.”
“What cost?”
He leans in. His breath is cold against my neck. “You have to trust me.”
I close my eyes. “I trust you.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
His tongue drags across the wound. The pain vanishes. In its place, heat floods my veins—liquid fire that pools in my belly and spreads lower. My body arches toward him. A gasp escapes my lips.
He pulls back, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Better?”
I nod, unable to form words. My skin tingles. My heart pounds. The heat between my legs is unbearable.
“You are in heat,” he murmurs, and there is a knowing smile on his lips. “I can smell it.”
“Stop talking,” I manage.
“Or what?” He grins. “Are you going to push me out the window?”
I reach for him instead. My hands find his chest, solid and cold beneath his velvet coat. I pull him toward me, and I do not know if I want to kiss him or slap him.
He laughs, low and rough. “That is more like it.”
He kisses me, and I forget everything. The manor, the masters, the danger, the fear. There is only him—his mouth on mine, his hands on my waist, the impossible truth that this is real.
This is all real.
And I’m in so much trouble.