CHAPTER 14
THE NEXT DAY ARRIVES with brutal swiftness, announced by the insistent beeping of my alarm.
With a groan, I hit the snooze button. My head throbs with the remnants of last night’s drinks, and my mouth feels like a desert waiting for rain.
Since it’s Sunday, the calm before the storm, I’ve decided to pay Max a visit.
It’s not because it’s our anniversary today and I am really hoping he’ll still be up for celebrating it with me despite the circumstances.
That would be totally and completely selfish of me.
I drag myself to the shower, letting the hot water clear away the fog of sleep and hangover. After drying off, I rifle through my closet, all of a sudden conscious of what I’m going to wear.
Something casual might suggest I don’t care, but something formal might make him think I’m trying too hard.
A tight cream bodice, boned and structured, the neckline just low enough to hint without offering, takes the cake. Over it, I shrug into a neat blazer, the kind that says control without raising its voice.
The kind that Max likes.
A pleated black miniskirt hangs low on my hips, frayed at the edges and trimmed with a thin line of lace, paired with fishnets patterned like roses. My boots are scuffed and heavy-soled, sounding like a threat on concrete, just to add some confidence to my stride.
I sweep the front of my hair away from my face, securing it with a small clip, then apply some makeup, enough to hide the evidence of last night.
My gift for him goes into my pocket along with the pendant—for good luck—before heading out.
The vampire integration center is a sleek, modern building in the medical district.
Here, they provide occupational therapy to unstable or newly-turned vampires, helping them adjust to a civil life, regulate bloodlust, and adopt socially acceptable feeding practices, which are all prerequisites for citizenship in Penn City.
Unlike the clinical sterility of the hospital, this place is designed with vampires in mind—soundproof walls, soft lighting, and comfortable furniture.
A receptionist greets me at the front desk.
“I’m here to see Maxim Sinclair,” I say, presenting my ID.
She checks her screen. “He’s in the solarium. I’ll have someone show you the way.”
An attendant leads me through corridors lined with artwork created by rehabilitating vampires. Many depict sunrises or open skies, things that they can no longer experience directly.
It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking.
The solarium we enter is a large indoor garden with special glass that filters sunlight to safe levels for vampires while still allowing plants to thrive—offering everyone a taste of nature, no matter what blood runs through their veins.
Max sits on a bench beneath a flowering tree, reading something on a tablet. He looks up as I approach, the red of his eyes seeming less stark today, more like dark wine than fresh blood.
“Seraph.” He meets my gaze. “I didn’t know you would be coming today.”
I take the seat opposite him. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Is that okay?”
He nods, though doubt lingers in his eyes. “They’re trying to teach me control techniques. How to manage thirst and resist temptation.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s exhausting, to be honest, but I think it’s helping.”
“That’s good,” I say, genuinely relieved.
“My parents arrived yesterday,” he blurts out, his expression clouding. “My mother cried the entire time, blaming herself for letting me move to Penn City. My father couldn’t look me in the eyes, unable to accept what I’ve become. My sister asked if I was going to hurt her.”
My whole body tenses up, guilt gnawing at me. “I’m so sorry,” is all I can say.
“No,” he says, head dropping. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” His eyes shift from mine to his hands, where his fingers twist together nervously. “I remember everything—taking your dagger, stabbing you, carrying you away. I was screaming inside my head the whole time, but I couldn’t stop myself.”
I reach across to still his fidgeting hands. “Don’t worry about it. You were controlled by the sire bond. There’s no way you could’ve fought it. Redmoore is currently investigating it.”
“I could’ve killed you,” he says, guilt and horror filling his features. “Again.”
“You already died because of me.”
We sit in silence for a while, the filtered sunlight casting soft shapes across the floor.
The quiet hum of the solarium wraps around us like a fragile shield, from the gentle rustle of leaves to the distant drip of water from a fountain—the kind of silence that isn’t empty but full of things left unsaid, a shared breath held between two people struggling to find the right words.
My gaze drifts to the flowering branches overhead, tracing shadows that dance slowly, as if even time itself is hesitating.
“I brought you something,” I finally say, reaching into my pocket.
His eyebrows lift in surprise as I hand him a small gift box, about the size of my palm.
Inside lies a silver capsule, only slightly larger than a lipstick tube, with intricate engravings along its surface.
It features an intricate lock mechanism on the front and tiny blue lights that pulse along the edges.
Max carefully turns the device over in his hands, expression shifting from surprise to recognition. “An encrypted message capsule? How’d you get your hands on one?”
“I bartered it for a favor.” Maybe blackmailed Viktor. “I know how careful you have to be with client communications. This capsule stores sensitive information that only you can access, on-the-go.”
Max activates the device, a holographic interface appearing above it, displaying empty folders waiting to be filled.
“It has enough storage for over a thousand case files,” I continue, leaning forward slightly. “And it can’t be hacked or accessed remotely. The encryption changes every twelve hours.”
Max closes the interface and holds the device tightly. “Thank you, Seraph. This is… incredibly thoughtful.”
“I know,” I say, giving him a cheeky wink. Practical gifts work every time. “Happy anniversary.”
Max’s expression becomes more contemplative, his fingers absently marking lines on the bench between us.
“I’ve been thinking about our anniversary.
I haven’t forgotten.” He takes a deep breath, his new vampire stillness making the gesture seem almost performative.
“I know you probably thought I was going to propose.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” He smiles gently. “I could tell. The hints you dropped about your ideal type of engagement ring, the way you lingered at every jewelry store window.”
I feel heat rising to my cheeks, embarrassed at being so transparent. “Was I that obvious?”
“To me, yes.” He offers a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Truth is, I had something else planned. Not a ring nor marriage.”
The admission stings. My expression struggles to remain neutral as disappointment settles within. “Oh?”
“I bought us tickets to Mythcrest,” he continues, not meeting my eyes. “A two-week retreat exploring the countryside, fully booked with luxury cabins and security escorts. Standard for travelers heading out east. I thought it might help us… reconnect.”
The Mythcrest he’s talking about is really just land long occupied by Northcross. Nothing truly unexplored, just familiar regions made to feel exotic, knowing tourists would pay to feel like adventurers.
But that’s not the part that gets me.
“Reconnect?” I echo, the word hanging awkwardly between us.
Max looks up, his red eyes holding mine with unexpected intensity. “I’ve had doubts, Seraph. About our compatibility.” He chooses his next words carefully. “Not about loving you—I do, deeply. But about whether love is enough when our worlds are so different.”
My throat tightens, the solarium suddenly feeling too bright and exposed. “You never said anything.”
“How could I?” His voice cracks ever so slightly. “You were so certain about us, so confident. And I wanted to be sure before I voiced my concerns. That’s why I thought that getting away, seeing a place that’s important to your heritage, might help me understand you and your world better.”
I sit perfectly still, processing his words. All this time, while I’d been imagining our future together, he’d been questioning if we even have one. I don’t even bother to correct him on the fact that Mythcrest isn’t a part of my heritage. At least not one I want to acknowledge.
“The irony,” he says with a hollow laugh, “is that now I understand your world all too well. I’m part of it, whether I wanted to be or not.”
“And does that change your doubts?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Max’s gaze drifts to the filtered sunlight stretching across the floor. “I’m not sure yet. Everything is different now. I’m different.” He looks back at me. “But I think we need to be honest with each other about what we want and expect. No more assumptions.”
I nod slowly, feeling strangely numb. “I can do that.”
Max used to say that my unpredictability made him feel alive in ways he couldn’t explain, and I saw it in his eyes whenever that spark caught—a rush of wonder as he brushed against something beyond the edges of his neatly ordered routine.
After all, it’s what drew so many humans to Penn City in the first place: a place teetering between the impossible and the real, the idea of coexistence feeling almost mythic.
Even when Max recoiled from the darker truths of what I was, he couldn’t help reaching for the parts that shimmered.
Vampire enough to stir his blood, human enough to calm it.
That was the paradox I think he loved most—the one he never quite understood. No one did, not even myself.
But lately, that same curiosity has been giving way to exhaustion. Maybe it was just the season of his life. When we met, he was still a student, teetering on the cusp of becoming. It’s when humans ache to taste the unknown, to feel something that shakes their foundations.
I should’ve known that anything burning that bright couldn’t last.
“Good.” He gives me a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t reach me.
We change the conversation to his treatments and some of the other patients, until it gradually shifts to lighter topics: the books he’s reading during rehabilitation, the latest gossip around town, the progress of his legal cases now handled by colleagues, and funny stories from my night out with friends.
He laughs at the right moments, and for the first time since his turning, I see glimpses of the Max I fell in love with—warm, spirited, alive beneath the surface, as if the darkness hasn’t fully claimed him yet.
It feels almost normal, though the setting and his appearance serve as constant reminders that nothing will ever be normal again.
When a nurse appears to inform us that Max has a therapy session scheduled, I rise to leave.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” he asks, a vulnerability in his voice that makes my chest ache.
“I can’t,” I say, pouting. “Meeting with Redmoore.”
He frowns. “Redmoore? You’re working with them again?”
“Temporarily. Special task force to investigate the sire bonds.” I lean in to whisper in his ear. “Next time I’ll smuggle in some plasma snacks. The stuff they serve here looks mediocre at best.”
He grimaces, then laughs, the sound warming me on the inside. “I’d like that.”
After a brief hesitation, I pull out the pendant. “I want you to have this.”
“What is it?”
“A protection charm,” I explain, feeling slightly foolish. “A woman at the market gave it to me. She said it was for someone caught between worlds.”
Our encounter last night doesn’t leave my lips, still uneasy about the fact she claimed to know my father and that this pendant could’ve possibly been his. It almost feels like an intrusion.
Max takes it into his hands, turning the dark stone over in his palm. “Looks mystical.” Without hesitation, he slips the cord over his head, letting the pendant rest against his chest.
For a moment so brief I almost miss it, the stone seems to pulse with an inner light. Max touches it curiously, but the glow has already faded.
“How do I look?” he asks, attempting lightness.
“It suits you.”
“Thank you,” he says, then frowns slightly. “But I think you should keep it.”
“What? Why?”
He lifts the cord back over his head, holding it out to me. “You’re the one who needs protection right now, Seraph. These vampires are hunting you, not me.”
“Max—”
“Please,” he insists, pressing the pendant into my palm. “If it really does have protective properties, I want you to have it.”
I hesitate, then slip it around my neck and lean in to kiss his cheek. His skin is cooler than I remember, but the contact still sends a familiar flutter through me. “Take care of yourself, Max.”
“You too. And Seraph? Thank you for not giving up on me.”
His words follow me on my way out of the center, a counterpoint to the weight of the pendant against my skin. Despite the uncertainty of our future, there’s still something between us worth fighting for.
Something that neither Cain nor the Ravens can take away.
When I step outside, the late afternoon sun hits my face, consoling.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, we can find our way through this darkness together.
My fingers find the pendant once more, drawing comfort from its solid presence as I head home to prepare for the meeting with Lexa’s task force tomorrow.
With the sun beginning its descent, Penn City transforms as human workers head home, and vampire citizens emerge for their nocturnal routines. Mixed groups chat animatedly over coffee and blodas, a small but significant testament to what this city represents.