Chapter Thirty-Three #2
Then she goes on, hands moving as she explains.
"The superego is the moral compass—our sense of guilt, ideals, rules, societal expectations.
When a vampire turns, that part dims. Not gone, just quiet.
The id, meanwhile, the impulsive, primal part that seeks pleasure without consequence, gets amplified.
The ego, caught in the middle, does its best to mediate, but with less input from the superego, it ends up letting the id run wild. "
She pauses for effect, then adds, "So, yeah, vampires do have a choice. But the scales are tipped. Every act of restraint takes more willpower than it would've before. That's why feral vampires aren't just bloodthirsty, they're overwhelmed by a psychic imbalance."
She sips her drink, then finishes, "So, my theory has nothing to do with souls or curses. It's not divine punishment. It's a psychological state. A warped one, sure, but still human in construction."
"That's… fascinating," I say, the words slow, sincere. "It explains a lot."
Astrid tilts her head, cutting in with her usual bluntness. "Doesn't it also mean that Kayden here is running on pure willpower? That he could snap at any moment?"
"Maybe," Tomas replies, voice calm as ever. "But maybe being around people who care about him—friends, family, something like love—helps, too. Anchors him."
Kayden leans back in his chair, expression dry. "Kayden is rapidly losing all willpower not to kill, because everyone's talking about him like he's a rabid lab rat."
There's a ripple of laughter, uneasy but real.
I look toward Asher, thoughtful. "So, how does your more spiritual training fit into this? It sounded less like therapy and more like… I don't know, meditation and getting hit with sticks."
Asher's lips twitch, and Donna lets out a soft laugh.
"Yeah, I've heard the story," she says, eyes sparkling again.
"How I interpret what that monk did to Asher is basically CBT—Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
But ancient and unnamed. It's about rewiring patterns, breaking the cycle of instinct leading to action.
In essence, it's not that different from what we've been talking about. "
She sips her drink, voice slipping into something almost professorial.
"The spiritual training Asher went through focuses on accepting the urges instead of repressing them.
Acknowledging the id, but choosing not to act on it.
Letting the thirst rise and pass. When you do that long enough, the id stops screaming.
It becomes quieter and more manageable. Balance of the psyche starts to return. "
"Still sounds dull to me," Kayden mutters with a shrug. "No offense, brother."
Donna arches a brow. "Exactly. That's your id talking—the part that wants the fun, not the consequences."
"Doesn't mean I'm wrong," he quips.
I jump back in. "Have you published any of this, Donna? Your theory, I mean. Maybe if more people knew that change was possible, it could make a difference."
The thought spins in my mind: if people knew redemption was real—even for vampires—maybe they wouldn't be hunted. Maybe they'd volunteer their blood, like Asher. My world is tilting, reshaping. I have vampire friends. Lovers. And the truths I once clung to feel incomplete.
Donna studies me for a second. "No, I haven't published it. Not seriously. It feels too… kumbaya, like Kayden would say. Idealistic. And let's face it, we're not the most trusted voices in the academic world."
"That's because we hunt people," Kayden says, matter-of-fact. "We're predators," he continues, tone cooling. "Trying to make us house-trained is like expecting a lion to be happy grazing with sheep. A few might fake it, but most of us aren't built for it."
Tomas leans forward, voice quieter, but carrying more weight.
"Even if it's just a few, it's still worth it.
If even some of us can stay close to the people we love, live with them instead of being eternally in the shadows, it's worth everything.
To stop subtracting from the world and add something back. "
The room falls still for a beat. This is what hope sounds like in the mouth of a vampire.
Before Kayden or anyone can respond, the sound of shattering glass cuts through the air like a gunshot.
Eira.
Her water glass lies in pieces on the floor, her hands trembling at her sides. She's gone deathly pale, her entire frame shaking.
"Eira?" Donna says, voice laced with concern.
"Are you all right?" Asher moves toward her, already bracing to catch her if she falls.
Eira stares ahead, chest heaving. Her eyes dart around the room until they land on me, locking in with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
When she speaks, her voice is hollow, distant, as if it's not entirely her own.
"Death," she whispers. "I see death. Everywhere."
Her face contorts in pain, like a spike of agony just split her mind in two. She opens her mouth and screams. The sound is inhuman, deafening and piercing.
I clap my hands over my ears, the screech reverberating through the bar like a sonic weapon. Glasses rattle. A few shatter. The lights flicker. For a moment, it feels like the air itself is breaking apart.
Then—silence. Except for the ringing in my skull.
Eira collapses, but Asher and Tomas catch her in time. She's limp, unconscious, her breaths shallow and erratic.
The party is over. No one speaks. We're frozen in the aftermath, anxiety coiled tight in the room like a wire about to snap.
That's when we hear it.
Engines. Several.
The grind of tires on gravel. Doors slamming. A convoy of cars pulling up just outside the building.
We all exchange looks.
Kayden is the one to break the silence. "Well," he says dryly, rising to his feet. "This can't be good."
No joke in his voice now.
My stomach twists, dread rising in my throat like bile. Something's wrong.