Nora sat on the couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on the mantelpiece as if it held all the answers. The flickering candlelight cast jagged shadows along the walls, but none of them unsettled her as much as the thoughts racing through her mind.
"Damn it."
A voice cut through the silence.
"What's wrong?"
Milo's friend—lean, sharp-eyed, and far too perceptive—watched her carefully from across the room.
Nora exhaled sharply, tilting her head back against the couch. "Milo is dead."
Her voice was void of grief, her body stiff—not because she mourned him, but because his death had thrown their carefully laid plans into chaos.
"Shame," the man murmured, his tone betraying neither surprise nor sympathy. Then, as if realizing something, he leaned forward. "Wait. Does that mean… Stella gained her powers?"
Nora met his gaze and gave a curt nod.
"Well, that complicates things." He ran a hand through his hair before sitting beside her. "Is Simon still in the grave?"
A flicker of irritation passed through her eyes. "Yes."
Silence settled between them for a moment, heavy and charged.
"Stella is too powerful now," he muttered. "We need to hide. I guess she'll be coming for us."
Nora gave him a knowing look and nodded slowly.
His fingers tapped against his knee in thought before he glanced at her again. "Where is Simon?"
At that, Nora smirked—slow, deliberate, the kind that sent a warning through the air.
His eyes narrowed. "Nora."
She merely shook her head, her smirk deepening.
In a flash, he lunged, pinning her to the couch with an iron grip, his face hovering just inches from hers.
"You know," he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement, "we have all day." His grip tightened slightly, a silent promise. "I can convince you."
A slow, sultry chuckle escaped Nora's lips as she tilted her head, her smirk never faltering.
"Can you now?"
Two years had passed.
The graveyard was eerily silent, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something far more sinister—blood.
Nora stepped forward cautiously, her boots crunching over dried grass and brittle bones. Her eyes widened as she took in the gruesome sight before her. Scattered across the ground, at least a hundred bodies lay lifeless, their faces twisted in horror, throats torn open.
Near the center of the massacre, sitting lazily atop a cracked tombstone, was Simon. A limp body dangled in his grip, its blood seeping into the soil as he drank deeply, eyes dark with hunger. The moonlight bathed him in an almost ethereal glow, but there was nothing human left in the way he moved—predatory, detached, lethal.
Nora swallowed the thrill of unease that curled in her stomach and stepped forward.
"Hey," she said carefully, keeping her voice steady. "Do you remember me?"
Simon's head snapped toward her, his darkened eyes narrowing. Blood dripped from his lips as he tilted his head, scrutinizing her.
"Who are you?" His voice was hoarse, unfamiliar even to himself. "Do you know me?"
Nora smirked.
"I'm Nora," she said smoothly. "Your girlfriend." She took another step closer, her gaze never leaving his. "And you... you are Simon Winchester. My boyfriend."
Her words slithered through the cold night air, but inside, her mind raced.
Stella... let's see how you'll react to this.
Simon let out a low, humorless snicker. He glanced down at the bodies surrounding him, then back at her.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
"Nothing," Nora cooed, shaking her head. "You've been turned into a vampire. That's all. You don't remember me because… well, after turning, memories tend to fade." She placed a hand over her chest, feigning heartbreak. "It's killing me to see you like this."
Simon's gaze flickered, as if trying to grasp onto something just beyond his reach.
"Come with me," Nora continued, her voice dripping with false tenderness. "I'll take you home. Our home."
Simon hesitated for only a moment before pushing the lifeless body from his lap and standing to his full height. His movements were slow, calculated. His gaze lingered on her, and for a brief second, something like suspicion flickered in his eyes.
But then, he nodded.
Without another word, he followed her into the night.
They arrived at the house in silence. Simon's steps were slow, deliberate, as if he was still adjusting to the weight of his own body.
Nora led him inside, her pulse steady despite the anticipation curling in her stomach. She turned to face him, her expression softening into something close to concern.
"Here," she said, handing him a fresh set of clothes. "You should change."
Simon took them without a word, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the quiet space, and Nora exhaled, smoothing a hand over her dress.
Minutes later, he reemerged, the scent of blood washed away, his dark hair damp. He wore the clothes she had given him—black sweatpants and a plain shirt—but he still looked just as untamed, just as lethal.
He moved to the couch and sank down, his elbows resting on his knees.
Before she could say anything, his voice cut through the silence.
"Why was I in a grave?"
Nora stiffened, but she recovered quickly, forcing an easy smile as she hurried to answer.
"You died," she said, keeping her tone light, as if the explanation was the most natural thing in the world. "We buried you. I guess… you were transforming at that time."
Simon studied her, his dark brown eyes sharp, calculating.
"And you," he said slowly, "are really my girlfriend?"
"Yes," Nora confirmed without hesitation.
He tilted his head. "And this is your home?"
Nora's lips curved into a gentle smile as she took a step closer.
"It's our home, Simon."
Simon's sharp gaze swept across the empty walls and shelves, his frown deepening. "Then why isn't there a single photo of us?"
Nora hesitated, her teeth sinking into her lip. A flicker of guilt crossed her face before she finally admitted, "Because we broke up… I got impulsive and threw everything that belonged to you."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, in a quieter voice, she added, "I realize my mistake now."