Lucien didn't blink.
He stood there in the dim light of the bookstore like a beautiful shadow that didn't belong in the world she knew. The last time Celeste saw him, he disappeared into rain and night. Now he was back—dry, calm, unreal.
"How did you find me?" she asked, gripping the edge of the counter like it might keep her grounded.
"I didn't," he said. "I was just... drawn."
Drawn.
The word wrapped around her spine like silk and ice.
Celeste swallowed hard. "You saved me."
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "Don't read too much into that."
"Is that supposed to scare me?"
"It should."
Something in his tone warned her not to ask more. But she couldn't help it.
"What are you?" she whispered.
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then he stepped closer.
"Something you shouldn't get involved with."
"But I already am."
A flicker passed through his silver eyes. Pain? Regret?
Then he turned, his voice cooler than before. "Don't follow me, Celeste."
"How do you know my name?"
He stopped in the doorway, one hand resting on the old wooden frame. "I told you. I lied about everything."
And with that, he vanished into the night again.
---
The Next Morning...
Celeste didn't tell anyone. Not her aunt, not her co-worker, not even the internet. What would she say?
"Hey, remember that guy who saved me from a creep? He has glowing eyes, knows my name, and keeps showing up out of nowhere like he's stalking me — or watching over me."
Yeah. No.
But she felt him. Somewhere close. Like a weight in the air just before lightning strikes.
She went back to work, tried to lose herself in alphabetizing romance novels and wiping down café tables.
Still, every time the bell above the door rang, her breath hitched.
But it wasn't him.
Not today.
---
Three Days Later...
The bell finally rang—and this time, she felt it.
Not saw. Not heard. Felt.
Lucien stepped in like he owned the storm trailing behind him. He wore the same black coat, same unreadable expression—but something was different. Off.
His skin looked pale. Too pale. His jaw clenched tightly, and his shoulders were tense like he was barely holding something in.
He didn't speak as he moved past the tables to the back section of the store. Without thinking, Celeste followed him.
He didn't look at her.
"Lucien?" she asked.
No answer.
She stepped closer. His hand was clenched around the bookshelf so tightly the wood cracked beneath his grip.
"Lucien!"
He finally turned—and she gasped.
His eyes were glowing again. Brighter than before. His chest heaved like he couldn't breathe—except… he wasn't breathing.
Not at all.
"You need to go," he growled.
She ignored him.
"What's happening to you?"
His fangs had not emerged. But the tension in his jaw, the way he looked at her—like she was the sun and he was a dying man—terrified her.
"I haven't fed," he said hoarsely. "I'm weak. And being near you makes it worse."
"Why?"
"Because you smell like fire and innocence. Like something I don't deserve."
Her heart slammed in her chest. "You're a vampire."
Silence.
He didn't deny it.
"Is that why you saved me?" she whispered. "Because you wanted to feed?"
Lucien stepped back, like she'd struck him.
"I saved you," he said, voice shaking, "because I couldn't bear the thought of someone else breaking you."
Tears stung her eyes—but she blinked them back.
"Then feed," she said. "Take what you need."
"No."
"You're starving—"
"I said no!" His voice thundered through the walls, every book rattling on its shelf. Celeste froze.
And then—
Lucien crumpled to the ground.
---
That Night
She dragged him into the back room, locking the bookstore doors and drawing every curtain.
He was cold.
So cold.
She placed a blanket over him, but he didn't move. Didn't speak. His skin was like marble—smooth and frozen.
"Lucien…" she whispered, kneeling beside him. "What do I do?"
"Don't… touch me…" he muttered. "I'm losing control."
But she did.
She touched his face—soft, careful—and the moment her hand brushed his cheek, something shifted.
Lucien's eyes snapped open—and he sat upright, gasping like he was breathing for the first time in hours.
Celeste backed away. "What was that?"
He stared at her hand. Then at her.
"I don't know."
But he was alive again. Stronger. Steadier.
"You didn't feed," she said.
"No."
"Then how did you—"
"You."
She frowned. "Me?"
Lucien rose slowly, testing his strength. "There's something about you, Celeste. Your blood… your presence. It wakes me."
She stared. "What does that mean?"
"I think it means we're both in more danger than I thought."
He turned toward the window—and froze.
"Someone's here," he whispered.
Celeste moved to the curtain.
"No," he said sharply, pulling her back. "Stay behind me."
A figure stood across the street. Still. Watching.
Lucien's jaw clenched.
"Who is it?" Celeste asked.
He didn't answer.
Just whispered, "They found me."
---