Chapter 15 Gold Eyes #2
I scanned the room and spotted him right away. Not because he stood out. Because he didn’t. Everyone else in the room reacted to something: the music, the lights, the bodies grinding too close.
He reacted to nothing.
He stood near the bar in a dark suit that probably cost more than my rent. Perfectly tailored. No tie. No flash. Just control.
His skin caught the light, deep umber, almost burnished. His eyes were amber, edged in gold, steady and unreadable.
His gaze wasn’t greedy. It was measured, assessing. Like he was confirming a theory.
When the crowd erupted, he didn’t clap. Didn’t smirk. He lifted his glass, not in approval. Not in flirtation. In acknowledgment.
A line tightened between us.
His mouth curved slightly. His eyes didn’t.
And when our eyes locked, there was no hunger there, just recognition.
That scared me more.
He wasn’t loud about his presence. He didn’t need to be. He held himself like something built for stillness before violence, tall, lean, composed.
Predator energy without the theatrics.
And he was looking at me like he already knew the ending.
In that instant, time splintered; I was acutely aware that our collision wasn’t a mere coincidence but part of something far larger.
It was as if he’d marked me from afar and now sought to unravel the layers I wore both on stage and within.
An involuntary shiver surged through me, not from fear alone but from a primal understanding only whispered about in myths.
Even amidst my mental tumult, I almost lost my grip on reality and missed my next move entirely. With great effort, I willed myself back into motion: fluid hip rolls flowing into sultry floor work, followed by an ambitious double spin that demanded precision.
Yet every step felt haunted by his gaze.
I tried desperately to divert focus away from him, but found myself ensnared, nonetheless. Each time I hit precise poses meant for adulation amid audience fervor, they landed upon him instead.
During the final crescendo of my performance, the feverish energy of the crowd seemed to amplify. My body moved on instinct, each gesture and flick of my limbs becoming more daring.
There, in the shadowed corner, stood two figures locked in a silent discussion. The gold-eyed stranger remained steadfast in his watchful observation of me, those molten orbs never wavering even as Ulysses engaged him in what appeared an impassioned yet one-sided argument.
Ulysses loomed large, his movements punctuating words I couldn’t hear but could certainly feel.
His hands cut through the air with emphasis, each gesture imbued with authority that demanded acknowledgment.
Yet despite this display meant to command attention and perhaps even submission, the stranger’s focus did not falter.
It was as though I was performing not merely for a room full of strangers but for this singular pair, one who sought to possess through persuasion and power and another who claimed dominion through silence and sight alone.
The stranger’s composure was unnerving; an unwavering calmness resonated from him amidst Ulysses’ unusual vibrancy.
Their silent conversation bore no witness save me; it unfolded as if enacted on some higher plane inaccessible to mere mortals.
Amidst this harrowing realization, reality’s tether threatened to fray, and I nearly missed vital beats in the dance etched into muscle memory through hours of practice. But driven by some primal instinct, I continued with the routine until its very end.
The performance finished to a storm of applause. I ran backstage, ripped the mask off my face, and sucked in air like I’d been drowning. I knew stage fright; this wasn’t it. This was like being watched by something that had already measured you for a casket.
I washed my face in the greenroom sink and tried to calm my nerves. When I emerged, Rita was waiting by the end of the bar, a shot of tequila in each hand.
She slid one toward me. “You looked like you saw a ghost out there.”
I downed the shot and grimaced. “No ghosts. Just some psycho in a funeral tux. Did you see him? By the bar? Ulysses was talking to him.”
Rita’s expression went tight, the easy humor evaporating. “Which bar? Left or right side?”
“Left. Amber eyes, jaw like a nutcracker, smile like a dead guy in a painting.”
She nodded, glancing over my shoulder. “He’s been here before. Drinks the same thing every time. Never tips.”
I tried to laugh it off. “Figures. He looked like the type who eats people in candlelight.”
Rita didn’t crack a smile. She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t let the masks fool you, babe. This city… it isn’t all what it seems. Some of us just learn to dance with shadows.”
I gave her my best are-you-fucking-kidding-me look. “That’s not cryptic or anything.”
She shrugged, eyes darting toward the back wall, where the man in the suit was now standing, glass empty, fingers drumming on the bar. “You get all kinds in here. Some are just better at hiding than others.”
I pressed her, trying to keep it light. “What, you think he’s a vampire? Should I start wearing garlic to my next set?”
Rita’s eyes met mine, and for a split second, I saw shock in her gaze, but she immediately masked it and said, “If you see them again, don’t pretend you didn’t. They already saw you.”
She turned and walked back to her post, leaving me alone with the aftertaste of tequila and the sudden certainty that I had just auditioned for a part in a story I didn’t want to be in.
Later, in the locker room, I checked my phone. A single message from an unknown number:
“Did you feel it? -A”
I stared at the screen, waiting for my heart to start again. Then I typed back, hands shaking:
“I saw him. What the hell do I do now?”
The reply came instantly:
“Don’t go home alone. Wait for me outside.”
I locked the phone and sat back, listening to the muted thump of music. Somewhere in the shadows, I knew he was still waiting, still watching.
I put on my jacket, zipped it up to the neck, and braced myself for whatever came next.
When I left Neon, the club’s sign buzzed and flickered over the sidewalk. I pulled my jacket tight, gave the bouncer a nod, and checked twice over my shoulder. I was so wired from Rita’s warning and that man’s amber gaze that I nearly stumbled over my own sneakers as I made my way to the curb.
Aiden was waiting for me across the street, exactly where I expected him to be, and yet, like always, looking more out of place than ever, leaned against a black SUV parked illegally in the loading zone. He wore his tension like a badge, jaw set, arms crossed, hair even messier than usual.
He watched me approach, eyes flickering between my face and the doors behind me.
Before I could even call out to him, he was in motion. Not fast, not aggressive, just…smooth. Purposeful. He reached my side, and in the haze of the streetlight, I could see the wild tension that threaded through every muscle.
He looked me up and down, like he was searching for wounds. “You alright?” he asked.
“I’m not bleeding, if that’s what you’re asking.” I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came out raw. “I’m fine, Aiden. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
He opened his mouth, but whatever explanation he had lined up died on his tongue. He glanced over my shoulder, eyes narrowing, posture going from wary to full-on DEFCON. I turned, already knowing I’d find someone there.
It was Ulysses.
He stepped from the shadows in a tailored navy suit, hair pulled back, expression faintly amused, like a cat who’d just realized the canary can’t fly anymore.
“Aiden,” he said, voice smooth as a shiv. “Still clinging to chivalry.”
Aiden didn’t return the smile. He shifted, subtly putting his body between Ulysses and me. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growled. “It’s not your business.”
“Oh, but you see, it’s very much my business.” Ulysses shrugged. “This is my club, after all.” His eyes flicked to me. “Ms. Anderson. I trust your evening was… illuminating?”
“You know, for a place called Neon, the lights are weirdly dim.”
The corners of his mouth curled in approval. “So I’m told.”
“Say whatever you came to say, Morozov,” Aiden snapped.
Ulysses studied him, immune to the tension boiling between them. “Still brooding, I see,” he said. “Must be exhausting.”
“Back off,” Aiden growled. “She’s not yours to toy with.”
“And she’s yours?” Ulysses raised an eyebrow. “How… medieval.”
I stepped between them. “Okay, down, boys. Unless one of you plans to unhinge your jaw, dial it down.”
Ulysses gave me a fond look. “You have no idea how rare your wit is in a world full of dull-eyed prey.”
“She’s a person,” Aiden said tightly. “Not prey. Not a trophy.”
“No,” Ulysses replied. “The difference is I’m honest.”
“Oh, please,” Aiden shot back. “You manipulate everything you touch.”
“Manipulate?” Ulysses scoffed. “I offered truth. You have only offered silence and half-truths.”
“You want to talk about hypocrisy?” Aiden’s laugh was sharp. “From the man who stormed palaces and now plays king?”
Ulysses’s jaw tightened. “I stood against tyrants,” he said finally, his voice low. “I watched revolution turn into another crown.” After a beat, he continued. “Don’t mistake regret for hypocrisy.”
“Sylara would’ve laughed herself sick at you.” Aiden’s voice was bitter.
Ulysses’s eyes flashed. “Better than using her to settle an old score,” he bit out sharply.
My head whipped between them. “What aren’t you telling me?”
They both fell silent.
“I’m done with secrets,” I said, voice steady even as my hands shook. “No more cryptic nonsense. Both of you. No shutting down now. I’m not a pawn in some supernatural pissing match.”
Ulysses tilted his head. “He didn’t tell you? I tried to save Ava.”
“You used her,” Aiden snapped.
“And you abandoned her.”
“Enough!” My voice cracked through them. “What are you?”
Aiden’s jaw tightened. “He feeds on power, Josie. He doesn’t want to protect you. He wants to own the outcome.”
Ulysses smiled, and for a moment, I saw the teeth, the really sharp ones. “And he feeds on denial.”
Aiden’s hand found my elbow, a gentle squeeze that said: don’t listen, don’t believe. But I pulled away.
Ulysses stepped closer, baring his teeth, not smiling this time, just showing what was beneath the mask. “I’m a vampire, Josie.”
The word landed, and I felt the ground beneath my feet giving way.
My knees nearly buckled. “You’re…” I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry as sandpaper.
“Not human,” he finished calmly. “Not for a long time.”
The world lurched off its axis.
“And I’m not the only one watching you,” he added softly. “But I might be the only one who doesn’t want to kill you. Yet.”
Aiden moved forward. “You go near her…”
“I won’t have to,” Ulysses said. “Not if you do your job.” Then he held up a hand in my direction. “My darling,” he said to me, “you have a choice.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Aiden growled.
Ulysses arched an eyebrow. “Still playing the hero, Cross? How quaint.”
Aiden flinched. For a second, I saw real pain in his face, old and deep. He was so close that his body heat radiated through every inch of me.
Ulysses studied him, then shrugged. “As you wish. For tonight.”
He turned on his heel. “Remember, Josie,” he said, without turning back. “Sometimes the monsters are the only ones telling the truth.”
Then he was gone.
My hands were trembling as I said, “Aiden, I need the truth. Now”
His composure cracked. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? From yourself?”
He flinched.
“I’m done dancing blind,” I said.
He nodded, defeated. “Alright.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Tomorrow.”
“Not good enough.”
I spun around and walked away. The city hummed around us, alive and indifferent, while I felt dizzy with anger, adrenaline, and fear.
“You’ll get it. I promise,” he said, walking beside me.
Aiden didn’t smile or argue; he just kept pace with me.
Something had shifted. And there was no going back.