Her gaze slides sideways.
She's told us almost nothing about her life before turning nymph. Just fragments.
She nods. "Yeah. A story for another time."
And just like that, the wall goes back up. But not all the way.
"Donna's nice," Sage says, exhaling a long stream of smoke. "But she feels like the kind of person who tries to be nice to everyone. I mean, she even tries with Kayden."
I smile, watching her. Her observations are sharp, quietly cutting, but not cruel.
"Astrid's definitely not a fan, though."
"Astrid's blunt with everyone," I say. "She agreed to help you. That speaks louder than anything she might've said. These people? They've all needed help before. And someone helped them—no questions, no price. They're doing the same now. That's what we do here."
She nods, slowly, then offers me the joint. I take it.
"You've built something special," she says, voice quieter now. "If someone told me before about a vampire leading a reformist supernatural circle out in a nowhere Maine town, I'd have laughed. But… here you are."
"Here I am." I take a slow drag, hold the smoke for a beat, then exhale into the night. Hand it back.
She studies me. "I wonder how much of that is thanks to your Colonel credentials." Before I can respond, she adds, "Darius's files had a line about that. Said you might betheColonel Darrow, but it wasn't confirmed. Apparently, a vampire in the military is unconventional. They told me bloodlust wouldn't allow it."
That catches my attention. I turn slightly toward her. "What else did the file say?"
She flicks ash from the joint. "The year you were turned—Culloden, 1746. Age thirty-three. Full name, a few rumored sightings throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. They had more on Kayden. Guess he wasn't as careful. But I assume you aretheColonel Ewan Asher Darrow. Vietnam War hero. MIA."
I sigh.
So they had files. On me. On Kayden. Our pasts dissected on paper by people we never met.
"That's me," I say quietly. "Same person."
She looks at me sideways, amused. "You know, when I first read that, I thought you'd have a Scottish accent."
"We used to, of course, both Kayden and I." I smile faintly. "But we, immortals, must always adapt. Once we moved to the States, we adjusted the way we spoke. Language evolves. Slang too."
"Yeah… I guess sayinggroovywould date you." She says it with a small smirk, but then her tone shifts to more serious. "How do you do it?" she asks. "In battle, I mean. With the bloodlust. How do you control it?"
I pause, weighing where to begin. There's no short answer to that question.
Sometimes the beginning is the only place to start.
"We were both turned before Culloden," I say quietly, watching her reaction. "Do you know why?"
She shakes her head. "No. The file didn't say."
"We were sired by a woman named Fiona MacCraith. A true Scottish patriot. By then, she'd been a vampire for over two centuries. And she'd found something most don't—balance. She didn't let the thirst rule her. She believed it could be tempered. Used for purpose."
I pause, remembering Fiona's voice—low, intense, sharp as a carefully forged blade.
"Her vision was to form an army. A battalion of vampires, trained and disciplined, fighting against the British at Culloden. She turned us one by one, trying to pass on her knowledge and restraint. It worked for a time. But I don't think she ever anticipated how the battlefield—the chaos, the blood—would affect the newly turned."
I look away for a second.
"It went feral fast. The bloodlust hit like a fever. They lost control. Turned not just on the enemy, but on anyone nearby. No distinction, only savage thirst."
Sage is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "Did that happen to you?"
