# Midnight's Embrace
*A Vampire Romance Novella*
##Chapter 1: The Gallery Opening
The wine glass trembled in Sophia Chen's hand as she surveyed the crowded gallery. Her first solo exhibition was finally happening, three years after graduating from art school with crushing debt and even more crushing self-doubt. The paintings surrounding her—dark, moody landscapes that seemed to pulse with their own inner light—represented countless sleepless nights and every emotion she'd bottled up since her messy breakup with David.
"Congratulations, darling! These pieces are absolutely haunting," gushed Mrs. Pemberton, the gallery owner's wife, her diamonds catching the track lighting. "Wherever do you find inspiration for such… atmospheric work?"
Sophia forced a smile. "I'm a bit of a night owl. I do my best work after midnight."
It was true, though she couldn't explain why. Something about the deep hours called to her, made her fingers itch for brushes and paint. Her neighbors probably thought she was insane, the way light spilled from her studio windows until dawn.
As Mrs. Pemberton fluttered away to examine another painting, Sophia caught sight of a figure standing motionless before her largest canvas—a swirling tempest of midnight blues and silver that she'd titled "Storm's Heart." The man stood with his back to her, but even from behind, he commanded attention. Tall and lean, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. His dark hair was longer than current fashion dictated, brushing the collar of his jacket.
Something about his stillness unnerved her. While everyone else in the gallery moved and chatted and gestured with their wine glasses, he stood like a statue, utterly absorbed in her painting.
Curiosity overcoming nervousness, Sophia approached. "What do you think?"
He turned, and her breath caught. His face was all sharp angles and classical beauty—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that looked like they'd been carved from marble. But it was his eyes that made her heart skip. They were the color of smoke, gray shot through with silver, and they seemed to hold depths that spoke of centuries rather than decades.
"It's extraordinary," he said, his voice carrying the faintest trace of an accent she couldn't place. European, perhaps, but old. "You've captured something most artists spend lifetimes trying to understand."
"Which is?"
"The beauty in darkness. The way shadow and light dance together, neither able to exist without the other." He studied her face with an intensity that made heat rise in her cheeks. "Most people fear the dark. You embrace it."
"I… thank you." She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't think I caught your name."
"Adrian Blackwood." He extended a hand, and when their fingers touched, Sophia felt a jolt of electricity that had nothing to do with static. His skin was cool, almost cold, but his touch sent warmth racing up her arm.
"Sophia Chen. Though I suppose you know that already, since it's my show."
"Sophia." The way he said her name, rolling each syllable like he was tasting fine wine, made her shiver. "It suits you. Wisdom and beauty combined."
Before she could respond, her friend Emma appeared at her elbow, slightly breathless and wide-eyed. "Soph, there you are! The Times critic wants to speak with you, and there's someone from Metropolitan Museum asking about—" She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze fixed on Adrian. "Oh. Hello."
"Emma, this is Adrian Blackwood. Adrian, my best friend Emma Martinez."
Adrian inclined his head in an oddly formal gesture. "A pleasure."
Emma shot Sophia a look that clearly said *where did you find this gorgeous specimen?* "Well, I hate to interrupt, but duty calls. The art world awaits."
As Emma dragged her away toward a cluster of important-looking people, Sophia glanced back to find Adrian still watching her, his smoke-gray eyes following her movement across the room. Something in his gaze made her feel exposed, as if he could see straight through to her soul.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of handshakes, business cards, and champagne that tasted like success. Several paintings sold, including "Storm's Heart," though the gallery owner mentioned the buyer wished to remain anonymous. By the time the last guests filtered out into the New York night, Sophia was exhausted but exhilarated.
"You did it, babe," Emma said, helping her gather up discarded wine glasses. "Your first real show, and it was a smash hit."
"I still can't believe it." Sophia sank into one of the gallery's modern chairs, slipping off her heels with a grateful sigh. "For a while there, I thought I might actually throw up on Mrs. Pemberton's Louboutins."
"Speaking of throwing up, who was the mysterious stranger? The one who looked like he stepped out of a Gothic romance novel?"
"Adrian Blackwood. He seemed… interested in the work."
"Honey, he was interested in more than your brushwork. The way that man was looking at you could have melted steel." Emma waggled her eyebrows. "Did you get his number?"
Sophia realized with a start that she hadn't. In all the excitement of the evening, Adrian had simply vanished without her noticing. She felt a strange pang of disappointment.
"No, actually. He disappeared."
"Men like that always do. Don't worry, if he's interested—and trust me, he was—he'll find a way to see you again."
As Sophia finally made her way home to her cramped studio apartment in Brooklyn, she couldn't shake the image of Adrian Blackwood from her mind. Those penetrating gray eyes, the way he'd spoken about darkness and light as if he understood something fundamental about both. Most of all, she couldn't forget the electric thrill of his touch, brief as it had been.
She climbed the three flights to her apartment, her feet aching and her head buzzing with wine and adrenaline. As she fumbled for her keys, she noticed something tucked under her door—a small, cream-colored envelope with her name written in elegant script.
Inside was a single black rose and a note:
*Sophia,
Your art speaks to the darkness in beautiful ways. I would very much like to see more of your work—particularly the pieces you create in the deep hours of night, when the rest of the world sleeps.
If you're willing, meet me tomorrow at midnight in Washington Square Park, by the arch.
Yours in shadow and light,
A.B.*
Sophia's heart hammered as she read the note twice, then three times. How had he known where she lived? And why midnight? Something about the whole thing should have set off warning bells, should have sent her sensible, self-preserving instincts into overdrive.
Instead, all she felt was anticipation.
## Chapter 2: Midnight Meetings
The next evening, Sophia told herself a dozen times that she wasn't going to Washington Square Park. Meeting a strange man at midnight was exactly the kind of thing her mother had warned her about when she'd moved to New York. It was dangerous. Stupid. Completely unlike her usual cautious nature.
At 11:47 PM, she found herself walking through the park gates anyway.
The arch loomed ahead of her, ghostly pale in the moonlight. A few scattered figures moved through the park—late-night joggers, a couple sharing a bench, someone walking a small dog—but the area around the arch was empty except for a single figure standing in its shadow.
Adrian stepped into the light as she approached, and Sophia's breath caught all over again. In the harsh fluorescents of the gallery, he'd been handsome in a sharp, almost inhuman way. Here, in the silver wash of moonlight, he looked ethereal. Otherworldly.
"You came," he said, and she heard genuine surprise in his voice.
"I almost didn't. This is crazy, you know. I don't even know you."
"What would you like to know?"
The simple question caught her off guard. In her limited dating experience, men usually deflected personal questions or launched into rehearsed stories about their jobs, their hobbies, their workout routines. Adrian stood waiting with the patience of someone who had all the time in the world.
"Everything, I suppose. Starting with how you knew where I lived."
"The gallery owner mentioned you lived in Brooklyn. The rest…" He gestured vaguely. "I have my ways."
It should have sounded creepy, but something in his tone suggested secrets rather than stalking. Still, Sophia's practical side asserted itself. "That's not really an answer."
"No, it isn't." He stepped closer, close enough that she could catch his scent—something dark and complex, like cedar and winter air. "Tell me, Sophia, do you believe in the supernatural?"
"I… what do you mean?"
"Magic. Things that exist beyond the ordinary world. Creatures that hunt in darkness."
A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the October night. "Are you asking if I believe in monsters?"
"I'm asking if you believe in the possibility that the world contains more mystery than most people are willing to acknowledge."
She studied his face in the moonlight, looking for signs that this was some elaborate joke. His expression remained perfectly serious, those gray eyes holding hers with steady intensity.
"I suppose I'd have to say yes," she said slowly. "My art… sometimes when I'm painting, it feels like I'm channeling something beyond myself. Like there are forces at work that I don't understand."
"Yes." The word came out like a sigh of relief. "You feel it, don't you? The pull of the darkness. The way the night calls to you."
"How do you know that?"
Instead of answering, he held out his hand. "Walk with me. Please."
Against every instinct screaming that she should go home, lock her doors, and never see this strange, beautiful man again, Sophia took his hand. His fingers were cold as marble, but they sent warmth shooting through her entire body.
They walked deeper into the park, past the dog run and the playground, to a secluded area where ancient trees cast deep shadows. Here, Adrian stopped and turned to face her.
"I'm going to tell you something that will sound impossible," he said. "And I need you to listen with an open mind."
"Okay."
"I'm not entirely human, Sophia."
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm what your world calls a vampire."
For a moment, the words didn't register. Then Sophia let out a nervous laugh. "Right. And I'm a werewolf. Come on, Adrian, what's this really about?"
His expression didn't change. "I was born in Romania in 1847. I've been walking this earth for over a century and a half. I don't age, I don't eat food, and yes, I require blood to survive."
The laughter died in her throat. Something in his tone, in the absolute steadiness of his gaze, made her doubt her own skepticism.
"That's impossible."
"Is it? You paint creatures that don't exist in daylight. You feel most alive when the rest of the world sleeps. Tell me, Sophia—have you ever wondered why darkness calls to you so strongly?"
She wanted to argue, to point out how ridiculous this entire conversation was. Instead, she found herself thinking about all the nights she'd spent painting until dawn, driven by an energy that seemed to come from somewhere outside herself. The way she felt restless and confined during bright daylight hours. How her best, most powerful work emerged from the deepest part of night.
"Even if what you're saying were true," she said carefully, "why tell me? Why reveal something like that to a complete stranger?"
"Because you're not a stranger. Not really." He reached out to cup her face in his cool hands. "I've been searching for someone like you for decades. Someone who understands that beauty and darkness aren't opposites—they're partners in an eternal dance."
"Someone like me?"
"An artist who can see beyond the veil. A soul that isn't afraid of shadow." His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. "From the moment I saw your paintings, I knew you were different. Special."
Sophia's heart was racing, but not from fear. Standing here in the dark with this impossible man, she felt more awake, more alive than she had in years. "Prove it."
"Prove what?"
"That you're really what you say you are."
Adrian studied her face for a long moment. Then, so quickly she barely saw him move, he was behind her, his arms circling her waist, her back pressed against his chest.
"Do you feel a heartbeat?" he murmured against her ear.
She concentrated, her own pulse hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. But against her back, where his heart should be beating… nothing. Just stillness.
"That could be a trick," she whispered.
His lips brushed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Could this be?"
She felt the sharp press of fangs against her skin, just enough pressure to make her gasp. Not breaking the skin, not hurting her, just… there. Real. Impossible, but real.
"Oh God," she breathed.
"I won't hurt you," he said, the fangs retracting as quickly as they'd appeared. "I would never hurt you, Sophia. But I needed you to know the truth of what I am."
She turned in his arms to face him. In the moonlight, his face looked both beautiful and terrible, like a dark angel fallen to earth.
"Why?" she asked. "Why tell me any of this?"
"Because I'm falling in love with you," he said simply. "And I refuse to build that love on lies."
## Chapter 3: Dangerous Liaisons
Sophia didn't sleep that night. She paced her small apartment until dawn, Adrian's words echoing in her head. *I'm falling in love with you.* The declaration should have terrified her. She'd known him for exactly twenty-four hours, and for most of that time, she'd thought he was just an unusually attractive art collector with a flair for the dramatic.
Now she knew better. Now she knew he was something else entirely.
A vampire.
The word felt strange in her mind, like a piece of clothing that didn't quite fit. Vampires were supposed to be movie monsters, not devastatingly handsome men who looked at her paintings like they held the secrets of the universe. They were supposed to be evil, bloodthirsty creatures of the night.
Not someone who'd held her so gently, who'd revealed his fangs just enough to prove his point before pulling away. Not someone whose touch made her feel like she was coming alive for the first time.
By the time the sun crested the horizon, painting her studio in shades of gold and pink, Sophia had made her decision. She was going to see him again.
The question was how. He'd given her no phone number, no address. Just that mysterious note that had appeared under her door like something out of a fairy tale.
She spent the day in a haze, going through the motions of normal life while her mind churned with questions. Emma called twice to gush about the previous night's success, but Sophia found herself unable to focus on gallery sales and review prospects. All she could think about was gray eyes and cool skin and the press of fangs against her throat.
As evening approached, she found herself drawn to her easel. For the first time in weeks, she had no specific vision in mind when she picked up her brush. Instead, she let instinct guide her, laying down broad strokes of midnight blue and silver, charcoal gray and deep burgundy.
Hours passed unnoticed. The painting that emerged under her hands was unlike anything she'd created before—a figure emerging from shadow, beautiful and terrible and undeniably masculine. She'd painted him without realizing it, captured something in those gray eyes that spoke of longing and loneliness that stretched across centuries.
"It's a remarkable likeness."
Sophia spun around, her brush clattering to the floor. Adrian stood by her window, having apparently materialized out of thin air. In the glow of her studio lights, he looked almost human—if you ignored the preternatural stillness, the way he seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"How did you get in here? I'm on the third floor."
"I climbed." He moved closer to examine the painting, his expression unreadable. "You see me clearly, don't you? Not just the surface, but what lies beneath."
"I see someone who's been alone for a very long time," she said softly.
Something flickered across his features—surprise, perhaps, or pain. "Yes. That's… exactly right."
"Tell me about it. The loneliness."
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of decades.
"Imagine watching everyone you care about age and die while you remain unchanged. Imagine forming connections only to lose them, over and over, until you stop trying altogether." He traced the air just above the painted figure's face, careful not to touch the wet paint. "I stopped feeling truly alive sometime around 1920. Until last night."
"What changed?"
"You did." He turned to meet her eyes. "Your art, your spirit, the way you look at darkness without flinching. You make me remember what it felt like to hope."
Sophia set down her palette with trembling hands. "Adrian, I need you to understand something. I'm not… I don't do casual relationships. I don't jump into things without thinking them through."
"And yet here you are, painting my portrait after knowing me for two days."
"Here I am," she agreed. "Which either makes me completely insane, or…"
"Or?"
"Or I'm falling for you too."
The admission hung between them like a bridge neither was sure they should cross. Adrian took a step closer, then another, until he was close enough that she could see the silver flecks in his gray eyes.
"There are things you need to know," he said. "Dangers that come with caring for someone like me."
"Such as?"
"I have enemies. Old ones, powerful ones. My kind… we're not all as civilized as I try to be. And there are humans who hunt us, who would see you as a weakness to be exploited."
Sophia reached up to cup his face in her paint-stained hands. "And there are probably a dozen reasons why I should run away right now and never look back."
"Probably more than a dozen."
"But I'm not going to."
He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing for a moment. "Sophia…"
"Whatever this is between us, I want to explore it. I want to know you—all of you. The human you were, the vampire you became, everything in between."
When he opened his eyes, they blazed with an intensity that took her breath away. "It won't be easy. I can offer you passion, devotion, a love that will last centuries. But I can't offer you a normal life."
"I've never wanted normal," she said, and knew it was true. "I want extraordinary. I want to feel as alive as I do when I'm painting at three in the morning. I want to feel the way you make me feel."
"Which is?"
"Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
He kissed her then, soft and careful at first, as if she might break. But when she pressed closer, her arms winding around his neck, he deepened the kiss with a hunger that spoke of decades of loneliness finally finding an end.
His lips were cool but they warmed under hers, and she could taste something dark and complex, like wine aged in forgotten cellars. When they finally broke apart, both breathless despite the fact that only one of them technically needed air, Sophia felt like she'd crossed some invisible threshold.
There would be no going back now.
## Chapter 4: Blood and Roses
Over the following weeks, Sophia entered what she would later think of as the most intense period of her life. Adrian became a fixture in her nights, appearing at her apartment with the consistency of clockwork and the silence of shadow. He never came during the day—*I sleep deeply then,* he'd explained, *deeper than human sleep*—but from sunset to dawn, he was hers.
He told her stories of his mortal life in the mountains of Romania, of growing up the youngest son of a minor nobleman in a world where superstition and science waged daily war. He spoke of the night he'd been turned—not by choice, but by necessity, dying of a fever that would have claimed him before his twenty-fifth birthday.
"She saved me," he said of his creator, a vampire named Elizaveta who'd vanished from his life as suddenly as she'd entered it. "But salvation came with a price I'm still paying."
In return, Sophia shared her own story—growing up as a first-generation American, her parents' dreams of financial security warring with her artistic ambitions, the crushing self-doubt that had nearly made her give up painting altogether.
"I used to think my attraction to darkness meant something was wrong with me," she admitted one night as they walked through Central Park. "My college professors kept pushing me toward brighter palettes, more optimistic subjects."
"And you resisted."
"I couldn't help it. Sunshine and flowers felt like lies. But storms, shadows, the quiet moments before dawn—those felt true."
Adrian stopped walking and pulled her into his arms. "You were painting for me before you even knew I existed."
"Maybe I was painting for myself. The part of me that recognized something in the darkness."
"And what did you recognize?"
She stood on her toes to kiss him, tasting that now-familiar complexity on his lips. "Home."
But their newfound happiness wasn't without complications. Sophia's work began to change, her paintings growing more intense, more otherworldly. Gallery owners who'd been interested in her previous work expressed concern about the new direction.
"They're too dark," Emma said bluntly, studying Sophia's latest canvas. "I mean, they're gorgeous, but they're going to give people nightmares."
"Maybe people need nightmares," Sophia replied. "Maybe they need to be reminded that beauty and terror often wear the same face."
Emma gave her a sharp look. "You've been different lately. Ever since your opening. More intense, like you're running on some kind of energy the rest of us don't have access to."
"I'm in love."
"With the mysterious Mr. Blackwood, I assume? The one I've still never actually met despite the fact that you've been seeing him every night for three weeks?"
Sophia hesitated. She and Adrian had discussed the impossibility of him meeting her friends, of integrating their relationship into her normal life. How could she explain why he was never available during the day? Why he never ate, never drank anything but wine that he barely touched?
"He's… private. Eccentric."
"Honey, I've dated eccentric. Eccentric is collecting vintage comic books or only wearing clothes from the 1940s. Eccentric is not completely avoiding your girlfriend's social circle like he's got something to hide."
*He does have something to hide,* Sophia thought. *Something that would send you running for the nearest church.*
But she couldn't say that. Instead, she deflected. "It's still new. I'm not ready to share him with the world yet."
Emma looked like she wanted to argue, but Sophia's phone buzzed before she could respond. A text from an unknown number: *Meet me at the gallery tonight. Come alone. —A*
Sophia frowned. Adrian never texted, claimed he found modern technology unnecessarily complicated for someone who'd lived through the invention of the telephone. And there was something about the tone that felt off, more formal than his usual communications.
"I have to go," she told Emma, already grabbing her coat.
"Soph, wait—"
But Sophia was already heading for the door, unease prickling along her spine.
The gallery was dark when she arrived, which struck her as odd. Adrian had keys—he'd purchased "Storm's Heart" and several other pieces, though he'd insisted they remain on display—but he usually met her in places where they could be alone without raising questions.
She found him in the main exhibition room, standing before her latest painting. But something was wrong. He stood too stiffly, his usual fluid grace replaced by rigid tension.
"Adrian?" she called softly.
He turned, and her heart clenched. His face was pale even by his standards, and there were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of hunger. When had he last fed? She'd never asked, never wanted to think too deeply about that aspect of his nature.
"You came quickly," he said, his voice carrying a strange flatness.
"Your message sounded urgent. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." But he didn't move toward her as he usually did, didn't close the distance between them with that inhuman speed. "We need to talk."
The words every woman dreaded. Sophia felt her stomach drop. "About what?"
"About the impossibility of this relationship continuing."
She blinked, certain she'd misheard. "What?"
"You're human, Sophia. You deserve a human life—marriage, children, growing old with someone who can age beside you. I can give you none of those things."
"I never asked for any of those things."
"You will. In time, you'll realize what you've given up for me."
Anger flared in her chest, hot and sudden. "Don't you dare tell me what I want. Don't you dare make decisions about my life without consulting me."
For the first time since she'd entered the gallery, something flickered in his eyes—pain, regret, something almost human. "I'm trying to protect you."
"From what?"
"From me. From my world. From the danger that follows in my wake."
"What danger? You keep talking about enemies, but I haven't seen any sign—"
"Because I've been careful. Because I've kept you separate from the rest of my existence. But that can't last forever."
Sophia stepped closer, ignoring the way he tensed at her approach. "Then don't keep me separate. Let me into your world completely."
"You don't understand what you're asking."
"Then show me."
Something shifted in his expression, a darkness that made her take an instinctive step back. For the first time since she'd known him, Adrian looked truly dangerous.
"You want to see my world?" His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "You want to understand what I really am?"
Before she could respond, he moved with that inhuman speed, pressing her back against the wall with his body. His eyes had changed, the gray now shot through with flecks of deep red, and when he smiled, his fangs were fully extended.
"This is what I am," he said, his voice carrying undertones of ancient hunger. "Not your romantic fantasy of a tormented antihero. I'm a predator, Sophia. I kill to survive."
But instead of fear, all she felt was a strange sense of rightness. This was the darkness she'd been painting all her life, the shadow that had called to her from canvas after canvas.
"I know what you are," she said quietly. "I've known from the beginning."
The red faded from his eyes, replaced by confusion. "You should be terrified."
"I should be. But I'm not." She reached up to trace the line of one extended fang with her fingertip. "I'm fascinated."
Adrian jerked back as if she'd burned him. "Sophia, no. You can't—this isn't a game."
"I know it isn't." She met his gaze steadily. "The question is, do you trust me enough to let me make my own choices?"
For a long moment, they stared at each other in the dim gallery light. Finally, Adrian closed his eyes and seemed to deflate slightly.
"There are others," he said. "Other vampires. Most of them wouldn't hesitate to kill you just for being associated with me."
"Why?"
"Because I've broken one of our oldest laws. We don't reveal ourselves to humans. We don't form lasting attachments with mortals. We certainly don't fall in love with them."
"And the penalty for breaking this law?"
His smile was grim. "Death. For both parties involved."
## Chapter 5: Shadows and Revelations
The revelation that their relationship was literally forbidden—punishable by death according to vampire law—should have sent Sophia running. Instead, it only strengthened her resolve to stand by Adrian's side.
"How long do we have?" she asked as they walked through the empty streets of Manhattan, the city hushed in the pre-dawn hours.
"I don't know. The Council moves slowly when it comes to investigations, but they're thorough. Once they decide I've violated the law…" He shrugged with false casualness. "It could be weeks. Could be tonight."
"Then we need a plan."
Adrian stopped walking and turned to face her. "We need to end this. Tonight. You need to disappear from my life before—"
"Stop." Sophia pressed her fingers against his lips. "Just stop. I'm not going anywhere, Adrian. We're in this together."
"You don't understand the forces we're dealing with."
"Then help me understand. Tell me about this Council."
He resumed walking, his expression troubled. "They're the oldest of our kind. Ancient vampires who've survived for millennia by maintaining strict control over our population. They view humans as cattle at best, an infestation to be managed at worst."
"How do you know they're aware of us?"
"Because someone's been watching you. Following you." At her startled look, he added, "I've seen them. Shadows that move too quickly, figures that disappear when you look directly at them. They're gathering information."
A chill ran down Sophia's spine that had nothing to do with the October air. "For how long?"
"At least a week. Possibly longer."
"And you didn't think to mention this?"
"I was hoping they'd lose interest. That I could convince the Council I was merely… hunting."
The euphemism hit her like a physical blow. "Hunting."
"It's what they'd expect. A vampire doesn't spend time with a human unless they plan to feed from them."
"Is that what you've been doing? Hunting me?"
Adrian stopped again, this time grabbing her by the shoulders. "Never. Sophia, you have to believe me—from the moment I saw your paintings, from the first time we spoke, I knew you were different. Special."
"But you haven't…" She gestured vaguely, suddenly aware of how little she actually knew about the practical aspects of his vampiric nature. "You haven't fed from me."
"No."
"How do you survive? I mean, you obviously need blood to live…"
His jaw tightened. "There are ways to acquire blood without killing. Blood banks with lax security. Hospitals that don't monitor their supplies as carefully as they should."
"You steal blood?"
"I take what I need to survive. It's not… it's not ideal, but it allows me to avoid harming innocents."
The word 'innocents' struck her oddly. "As opposed to?"
"There are vampires who hunt criminals, reasoning that such prey deserves their fate. Others who target the dying, claiming they're providing mercy." His expression grew darker. "And those who simply don't care who they kill, as long as they feed."
"Which category did you fall into? Before?"
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"All of them, at various times. I've lived for over a century and a half, Sophia. I haven't always been the man you know now."
The admission hung between them like a chasm. Sophia found herself thinking of all the romantic vampire stories she'd consumed over the years, how they glossed over the reality of what it meant to be a predator who fed on human life.
"How many?" she asked.
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
Adrian leaned against a nearby building, suddenly looking every one of his hundred and seventy-plus years. "Forty-three. That I can remember clearly. There may have been others, in the early years, when the hunger was stronger and I had less control."
Forty-three people. Forty-three lives ended to sustain his own. The number should have horrified her, should have made her see him as the monster he claimed to be.
Instead, all she felt was sadness—for the victims, yes, but also for Adrian himself. For the weight of all those deaths he carried, the guilt that had clearly shaped him into the man he'd become.
"When was the last time?" she asked.
"Fifteen years ago. A man named Marcus Webb. He was dying of cancer, had maybe days left. I told myself I was being merciful, but the truth is I was just hungry and he was convenient."
"What changed? Why stop?"
"I saw my reflection in a mirror afterward. Really saw it, for the first time in decades. I looked like death itself—hollow, empty, existing without purpose." He met her eyes. "I decided I wanted to be better than what I'd become. It took time, discipline, but I learned to survive without killing."
"And then you met me."
"And then I met you, and remembered what it felt like to want to be worthy of someone's love."
Sophia reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers despite the coolness of his skin. "You are worthy."
"I'm a killer, Sophia. A monster pretending to be a man."
"You're someone who's made mistakes and chosen to do better. That's not monstrous—that's human."
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Human. The one thing I can never be again."
"Maybe not technically. But humanity isn't about having a heartbeat or aging. It's about choosing compassion over cruelty, love over selfishness. By that definition, you're more human than most people I know."
Before Adrian could respond, a new voice cut through the night air.
"How touching."
They spun to find a figure emerging from the shadows—a woman, tall and elegant, with silver hair that seemed to glow in the streetlight and eyes like chips of ice. She moved with the same inhuman grace as Adrian, but there was something predatory in her bearing that he'd never displayed.
"Elizaveta," Adrian breathed, his hand tightening convulsively around Sophia's.
"Hello, my dear boy. You look well. Love suits you."
This was Adrian's creator, Sophia realized. The vampire who'd turned him over a century ago and then vanished. Up close, she was both beautiful