Chapter 6
Rowan
The bus doors hissed shut behind me, and the noise hit first. Laughter spilling from courtyards, hearts buzzing with life, perfume thick enough to choke on. I’d survived fifty years in a wasteland where silence meant safety, where every sound could mean death screaming your name.
This? This was sensory warfare.
Charlie’s scribbled note crumpled in my fist. East Campus Dorm. Simple reconnaissance. Map Violet’s territory, catalogue her routines, and get out.
I had told myself the same thing before breaking into The Library. A knife through the ribs taught me how well that plan had worked.
One step onto the manicured lawn and the whispers started. Eyes tracked me like I was prey that had wandered into the wrong hunting ground. My height drew them first, then the rest: build, posture, the way I moved like something that belonged in the wilderness instead of classrooms.
I stand out like blood on snow.
A cluster of girls near the library doors giggled as I passed.
Their hearts beat faster, perfume blooming sharper as I got close.
I kept walking, jaw tight, cataloguing exits out of habit.
The north path led to parking. South curved towards what looked like dormitories.
East disappeared between academic buildings.
Violet was somewhere in this maze of youth and hormones and careless laughter. Find her patterns, map her territory, don’t engage. My objective was simple.
Until the presence of the vampyre hit me.
If I could have called Levi to gloat, I would have.
But the cadence of the vampyre’s footsteps—which now trailed me—was a reminder of their predatory nature.
Those steps lacked the awkward shuffle or hurried pace of students rushing between classes.
Too steady. Too certain. I slowed instinctively, every sense sharpening.
“Why, hello there,” her voice cut through the noise, smooth and deliberate. The kind of voice that made men forget to watch their backs.
I kept moving, neither slowing nor quickening my pace. Predators chase prey that runs, I reminded myself. I needed to get away quickly, but calmly. I already had proof of the first item I had been concerned about—the presence of the supernatural.
Cold fingers brushed my arm as perfectly manicured nails ghosted over my skin. Again, her voice, deep and lush, rang in my ears. “I’m talking to you.”
“Not interested,” I said without looking.
A brief pause as confusion flavored the air between us. She asked, “Oh? Why such a rush?”
I laughed despite myself. Not accustomed to food that doesn’t acknowledge you? I turned to tell her off, then sucked in a breath.
Her hair was as colorless as mine, shimmering in the fading sun, strands so fine they drank light and refracted it back like spider silk.
Skin as dark as polished obsidian, dark blue eyes fringed with white lashes long enough to cast shadows across sharp cheekbones.
She wore a sleeveless white one-piece with matching slacks and heels.
Every line of her face was symmetrical, perfected, practiced.
Her lack of heartbeat and abundance of onlookers confirmed what I’d already known.
A woman that gorgeous wouldn’t be able to walk without a gaggle of those enthralled by her beauty, those who would be desperate just to stand near her.
She wore a nimbus of hypnotic power that tugged and pulled any who saw her.
Vampyre.
That woman was dangerous in the same way a calm sea or murky river was dangerous. It may appear serene on the surface, but death lurked within those unseen depths.
Her cold grip tightened on my arm, and the air around us pulsed faintly. Allure. I’d felt it before, in a wasteland brothel right before a dazed girl’s throat had been opened like a second smile.
She gave my arm a slight squeeze as she asked, “Do you want to have some fun with me?” Her voice scratched beneath my skin, trying to hook into my will and drag it to some dark place I would never return from.
Disbelief furrowed my brow as I pried her freezing fingers free from my arm with calm precision. I held her hand—a hand so cold it was nearly painful—and said, “I regret to inform you, but I have no wish to participate. . . vampyress.”
The words slipped out like muscle memory. Too old a habit and too deeply ingrained, burned into my mind from my first life.
Her eyes widened, her perfect composure shattering. “Ce surpriz? pl?cut?,” she murmured. Once she saw my confusion, she translated, “What a pleasant surprise.”
That accent. . . is that Eastern European? Or Romanian? I knew it had to be an old bloodline, for sure.
She tilted her head with a look of curiosity on her face as she stepped closer. “How could you tell? I thought I had my mannerisms perfected.”
I let our hands fall, pulling them free in the process. “I have no interest in answering.”
“But you are muritor,” she said as she studied me with blue eyes as dark as an abyssal sea. Her perfume clashed with the raw scent of the summer honeysuckle growing on the school’s stone walls.
She’d called me muritor. Mortal. A respectful term, as far as most supernaturals were concerned. That helped me narrow her origins down to Romania. Yet despite her beauty, she was a monster all the same. It would be best to tread carefully.
She was near enough that I felt the coolness of her body as we stood in the humid heat of the city. My guess was that she hadn’t fed in days. Her next meal would bring back the warmth she needed to stay hidden amongst the living.
In that sultry voice, she asked, “Have I turned you mute, perhaps? Has my glamour stupefied you?”
I arched a brow and crossed my arms. “Hardly. I was waiting for you to slip and give me something to work with.” So much for treading carefully.
Vampyre clans were insufferably proud of their heritage, and often boasted their lineage like banners into battle.
I had assumed she would have immediately sneered, looking down on me as she recited her great-great-great-grandfather’s connection to Dracula, or whatever bloodsucker they had claim to.
“Is that so?” She assessed me, her ravenous gaze narrowing. A low chuckle escaped her, musical and amiable.
I knew the tricks the undead played. . .
practiced seduction wrapped in false warmth.
Yet, from how she stared at me, I felt her interest was genuine.
She seemed more amused than angry that I’d seen her for what she was.
I realized she was enjoying this private bit of exhibitionism as her eyes flashed once more, swirling colors of navy and violet.
“T’fu,” I said and waved my hand dismissively. “I told you once already that I am not interested.”
Despite my disgusted gesture, she seemed even more intrigued. “You have a strong will, muritor.” She stepped closer and placed her hand back on my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And a strong body it seems.”
What part of no did she misunderstand?
I weighed my next words carefully, tongue pressing against teeth. Depending on how the next few minutes played out, I could be dead before nightfall. However, I knew that if things went well enough, she might not kill me and instead move on to her next quarry.
“To answer your earlier question, you hide it well,” I said at last, nodding my head. “If it were not for my ears, I would not have noticed.”
She brightened, realization dawning. “Oh, you were gifted by the Godsblood?” She stepped closer, her chest brushing against mine as she gripped my chin between her cold fingers. I watched her teeth extend slightly in morbid fascination. “That explains so much,” she murmured.
Does it?
Her mention of Godsblood made me wonder if it was already known to the supernatural world at large, or if she was tied to the family that distributed it.
She took my moment of distraction to lean towards my neck. “Nyet.” Firm in my denial, I placed my hands on her shoulders in warning. “That’s enough,” I commanded.
She surprised me by relenting and pulling back. “I love a good hunt.” Her voice was wistful. “I bet you taste divine, but Father asked me not to drink those who are gifted.” A once-over, slow and deliberate. “Though he never said anything about touching.”
I cleared my throat and stepped back until my shoulders pressed against the slate stone building behind me. Students continued passing by, oblivious. The way we spoke felt isolated, like we stood in a pocket of space separated from the world.
“My earlier statement still stands.” I studied her. “Why would you come here? This campus reeks of the young and foolish. You seem like a lady who would seek more sophisticated quarry.”
Her lips curved, sharp as a blade’s edge. “Who says anything about hunting?” She leaned in just enough that I could see faint veins threading at her temples beneath flawless skin. “Maybe I wanted to visit a friend and take a moment to see what it felt like to be a student.”
Dangerous answer. Clever enough to disguise her true intentions.
I folded my arms across my chest, anchoring myself against the pull radiating off her. “The dead do not need nostalgia. They need blood. And if you are looking for mine, you will leave here disappointed.”
Her eyes flared, amusement sparking. “So certain!” She stepped back then, unhurried, like a carnivore deciding how to test its claws.
“You don’t smell like the others. Not quite human, not quite.
. . like anything else I’ve known. Even for one gifted by the Godsblood.
” A pause, as if remembering something pleasant.
“But that other girl also smelled like you. . .”
My muscles went taut. Another? I tracked her with my gaze, every instinct screaming. How common was the gift of Godsblood for her to already reference another?
Regardless, I needed her to be bored with me so I could find Violet. I racked my brain for memories from my first life that could help, and recalled how selective the Clans were when it came to breeding and compatibility.
I gambled on that knowledge and said, “If you seek a partner for your bloodline, the elders will not approve of an unsanctioned breeding.”
It caught her off guard. “Unsanctioned?” She scoffed, the sound rather peculiar for someone who held herself so polished. “Yes, it would be unsanctioned, and Father would simply throw a fit. But that’s not why I’m here.”
Not here to either feed or breed? Interesting.
I played the part of the apathetic mortal. “It is good to know you Dark Bloods are still selective.”
She laughed even harder, genuine amusement lighting her features, warm and rich in a way that set warning bells ringing. “Oh, how old-fashioned. I haven’t heard that name in nearly a century.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “You really do belong to another time.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling my heart jump. “You have no idea how true that is.”
For a heartbeat, her expression shifted. Amusement faltered, replaced with something sharper. Recognition? Curiosity?
“Your scent changed,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “You’re hiding something.”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my voice even. “You should be careful with your guesses. Curiosity can kill more than just cats.” And even more curious was knowing she could smell shifts in emotion.
“Oh, muritor. . . some secrets are worth dying for, don’t you agree?”
She leaned close again, close enough I saw hunger flash behind her irises, a hunter rising to the surface.
She won’t feed in broad daylight, I reminded myself. Not with so many witnesses.
My instincts didn’t care about logic. They screamed for me to run as a memory from the Wastelands flashed in my mind: a brothel girl torn to shreds, blood painting walls, her screams cutting off mid-breath.
The vampyre smiled, soft and beautiful, and for the first time, I felt her allure slip past my defenses. If I hadn’t been gifted, maybe I would’ve fallen into her glamour and been enthralled completely. As it was, the pull tugged at something deep.
She truly was a gorgeous monster.
She noted my lack of reaction and didn’t seem disturbed. “Ah, lucky you.” A pause, then softer, “We are merely tools for those that own us, are we not?”
The question felt rhetorical as she looked away.
Pity, I thought. Because I knew exactly how it felt to be at the mercy of others.
She glanced back. “I hope to see you again, stranger.” Her perfume clung to the air like a spell as she brushed past me.
I stood rooted, fists tight, every sense alive with the urge to chase or run.
The threat was gone. But it didn’t prove anything. One supernatural on campus didn’t mean a conspiracy. It could have been a coincidence. There could have been a dozen other reasons she was here.
I exhaled slowly, forcing tension from my body.
Violet is somewhere in this maze. Find her, map her patterns, and get out.
I extended my senses, filtering through the noise. Hearts pounding in lecture halls, laughter from courtyards, footsteps crisscrossing paths. Too much sound, too many bodies. Like searching for a specific horse’s hoofbeat in a stampede.
There.
Violet’s voice cut through the chaos. Sharp edges wrapped in false confidence.
My heart clenched as I heard her say, “I am not weak. Oubliette is just a place. It does not own me.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. Oubliette. The name of a place I’d hoped didn’t exist in this world, yet. A place that should have stayed buried with my first life. But there it was. Spoken in Violet’s voice, casual as breathing, like she had no idea what kind of darkness that name carried.
I stood frozen on the campus lawn, students streaming past me like water around a stone. My mission had been simple: observe, map, leave.
Instead, I’d confirmed the one thing I’d been dreading.
Violet wasn’t just connected to something dangerous. She was already inside it.
Well, fuck.