Celeste couldn't breathe.
She stood frozen behind the curtain as Lucien's shoulders squared, shielding her from the street outside.
Across the road, beneath the flickering streetlamp, a figure stood watching.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Just watching.
"Who is that?" Celeste whispered, her voice barely audible.
Lucien didn't answer.
His eyes glowed faintly now—not with hunger, but something else. Fear. Rage. Memory.
He moved toward the door, unlocking it slowly. "Stay here."
Celeste reached for his arm. "You can't go out there alone."
He glanced at her. "I'm never alone."
Then he stepped into the rain.
The figure across the street remained still.
Lucien moved with calm purpose, each step controlled, predatory. As if he knew he was being watched… and wanted them to know he saw them too.
But as soon as he crossed the street—
The figure was gone.
Like smoke.
Like mist pulled into the night.
Lucien stood there for a second too long before turning back. His jaw was tight. His shirt clung to him in the rain. And when he came back inside, the bookstore felt colder.
"They're testing boundaries," he muttered. "They know I'm protecting someone."
Celeste frowned. "Who are they?"
He hesitated. Then:
"Enforcers."
---
Lucien paced the back room like a caged animal, drops of rain still trailing from his hair.
"There are laws in my world," he said. "Old ones. And I've already broken too many."
Celeste sat on the edge of the dusty table, heart pounding. "Because of me?"
He stopped. Looked at her.
"Because I didn't walk away the night I saved you."
That night again.
The flash of silver eyes. The taste of rain and blood. The way he touched her without ever touching her.
Celeste bit her lip. "Why didn't you?"
Lucien stepped closer.
He didn't speak right away. His eyes searched hers, like he was peeling away the layers of who she was.
"Because your heart didn't scream."
She blinked. "What?"
"I hear them. Hearts. Screaming in fear. Rage. Lust. Yours was silent. Not dead—just… still. Calm. Like it trusted me before you did."
She didn't know what to say. Her body wanted to lean into him. Her mind screamed to run.
Instead, she asked, "Why do they care if you protect someone?"
"Because we're not supposed to care."
---
Lucien finally sat—his movements slower now, thoughtful.
"You should know what you're getting into, Celeste. Before this goes any further."
She swallowed. "Into what?"
"Me."
A silence settled over them.
Then he said the words like a curse:
"My name is Lucien Vale. I was turned in 1919, the night I was supposed to die in a war I never believed in. I've lived under ten names, in seven countries. I've seen humans burned alive and vampires hunted through churches. And I've done things…"
He looked down at his hands.
"…things I'd never let someone as innocent as you dream about."
Celeste's voice was soft. "Then why are you telling me?"
His eyes met hers—raw and ancient.
"Because I don't want to lie to you anymore."
---
Celeste sat beside him.
"I don't want perfect," she said. "I want truth."
He looked at her again, truly looked. His guard slipped for the first time, like a storm breaking.
"I can't give you normal," he whispered. "I can't give you safe."
She reached for his hand. "You already gave me alive."
Lucien stilled.
Her hand in his felt warm, real, impossible. And for a second, he didn't feel like a monster.
He felt like a man.
---
But the moment shattered with the sound of glass.
The front window cracked—spiderweb fractures cutting through the bookstore logo.
Lucien shot up.
Celeste followed him. "Was it a rock?"
"No," he growled. "It was a message."
They walked to the door. On the glass, a red symbol had been smeared—
—a blood sigil.
A warning.
Celeste felt the back of her neck prickle.
"What does it mean?"
Lucien wiped it away with a cloth and didn't answer.
---
Later That Night…
Lucien stayed.
He didn't say it aloud, but Celeste knew he wouldn't leave her alone—not after that mark.
He sat by the window in the dark, motionless like a statue, while she lay curled up on the couch under a blanket.
She watched him from under half-lidded eyes.
He didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
He just… existed. Beautiful. Untouchable. Dying to protect someone he shouldn't care about.
But then he whispered, without turning:
"You're not safe around me either, Celeste."
She blinked. "I know."
"I don't think you do."
Her voice was quiet, almost a breath. "Then show me."
He finally turned. His eyes weren't glowing.
They were soft. Human.
He crossed the room slowly, crouching in front of her.
Their faces inches apart.
"You think I'm the one you should be afraid of," he murmured. "But what's coming for you… makes me look like mercy."
Her breath caught.
And then—
He reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. Gentle. Reverent.
"If I stay," he whispered, "it's only going to get worse."
Celeste's heart beat like thunder.
"Then stay," she said, "and fight with me."
Lucien closed his eyes like her words burned and healed all at once.
And just before he stepped back, he whispered something that chilled her to the bone:
"I think someone's already claimed you."