Celeste
On site. No issues.
Her words are professional. Efficient. Exactly what I'd expect from any operative reporting in. There's no reason for my shoulders to loosen at the sight of them, no reason for the knot in my chest to ease.
I type back:
Understood. Report any concerns immediately.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Celeste
Will do.
I set the phone down and stare at it like it might offer more. Like she might send another message just because. Like I'm a lovesick fool instead of a six-hundred-year-old vampire who has survived wars and betrayals and centuries of solitude.
This is beneath me.
I stand abruptly and move to the window, putting distance between myself and the screen. The grounds are quiet, security patrols moving in their established patterns, everything functioning exactly as it should. I built this. Every safeguard, everyprotocol, every layer of protection. An empire of control that has kept my people alive for decades.
And none of it matters if she doesn't come back.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it, and I let out a breath that's closer to a growl than I'd like to admit.
When did this happen? When did a fledgling vampire with eight months of experience and a talent for insulting me become the axis around which my thoughts revolve?
I know the answer. I just don't want to examine it.
It was the alley. The first moment I saw her, dying and defiant, while she mustered the strength to call me a CEO vampire. To say I didn't look scary. Something cracked open in my chest that night. Something I'd kept sealed for three hundred years.
I thought I could contain it. Train her, use her skills, maintain appropriate distance. I am excellent at distance. I have made distance into an art form, a fortress, a way of life.
But she keeps slipping through the walls.
The way she challenged me in the training room, refusing to back down even when I pushed too hard. The way she fought beside me during the attack, moving like she'd been born for battle. The way she sees through every mask I wear and doesn't flinch at what's underneath.
I press my palm flat against the cold glass of the window and watch the fog of my unnecessary breath cloud the surface.
Catherine, I think, and the name is a wound that never fully healed.
Three hundred years ago, I loved a woman. Turned her to save her life. Watched her go feral from contaminated blood. Killed her with my own hands when she attacked innocent humans.
I swore I would never feel that way again. Never let anyone close enough to hurt me, or to be hurt because of me. The walls I built after Catherine were meant to be permanent. Unbreachable.
Celeste breached them without even trying.
My phone buzzes again, and I'm across the room before the second vibration ends.
Celeste
Complication. Guy at the counter watching us. Too interested. Might be nothing.
My entire body goes rigid. I can feel my fangs pressing against my gums, an instinctive response to perceived threat. To someone watching her.
Describe him.
The seconds between my message and her response stretch into small eternities.
