I set down the report and stare at the wall.
Word has spread faster than I anticipated. The vampire community thrives on gossip, and apparently the gatekeeper bringing an unknown fledgling into his sanctuary, training her personally, giving her access to the inner circle, is the most interesting thing to happen in Atlanta in decades.
The days blur together.Training sessions. Strategy meetings. Intelligence briefings. I maintain my distance, and Celeste maintains hers, and the space between us fills with all the things we're not saying.
But distance doesn't stop me from noticing.
The way she laughs at something Elena says, her whole face transforming. The way she argues with Marcellus about technique, refusing to back down even when he's clearly right. The way she moves through my compound like she belongs here, like she's always been here, like the walls themselves have rearranged to accommodate her presence.
I catch myself smiling at one of her comments during a briefing, just a small observation about Konstantin's tactics, delivered with that dry wit I'm learning to anticipate. The smile is there before I can stop it.
I kill it immediately. But Nadia notices. I see her notice.
Nadia lingers at the door. "Be careful," she says quietly. "Not with Konstantin. With yourself."
She leaves before I can respond. Which is probably wise. I'm not sure what I would have said.
"You've been different."
Celeste's voice catches me off guard. We're alone in the training room, Marcellus stepped out to take a message, and I was too slow to invent an excuse to leave.
"Since the other night," she continues. "In your study."
"I've been busy. Konstantin's movements require attention."
"That's not why."
I meet her eyes, and for a moment, the careful distance I've maintained wavers. I see her as she was that night, firelight on her skin, vulnerability in her voice, leaning into my touch like it meant something.
It did mean something. That's the problem.
"You're avoiding being alone with me," she says.
"This isn't the time for…"
"When is?" She steps closer, and I have to force myself not to step back. "You touched me. You looked at me like…" She shakes her head. "And then you ran. Out of your own study. And now you're acting like it didn't happen."
"It shouldn't have happened."
The words land harder than I intended. I see them hit, see the flash of hurt she tries to hide.
"Fine," she says, her voice cooling. "Good to know where I stand."
She turns to leave, and the words escape before I can stop them.
"Shouldn't and didn't want to are very different things."
She stops. Turns back. The hurt in her expression shifts to something more complicated.
"Then which is it?"
Why does she have to be so direct? I should lie. Should maintain the distance. Should protect us both from whatever this is becoming.
Instead, I tell her the truth.
"I've spent three centuries making sure I don't want anything. It's safer that way. Wanting things means losing them, and I've lost enough for several lifetimes." I hold her gaze, letting her see more than I should. "And then you appeared in that alley, half-dead and insulting me, and I wanted something. For the first time in longer than I can remember. I wanted you to live. I wanted to know you. I wanted…"
I stop myself. Too much. Too honest.
