Page 58 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

I didn’t finish.

He moved.

The first strike was fast—clean, precise—so quick I barely had time to parry. Steel collided with enchanted alloy, the sound echoing sharp and violent. His movements were effortless, practiced; each blow pushed me back another step.

I recovered quickly, matching him blow for blow, but his control was infuriating. No anger. No recklessness. Just skill. The kind that explained why no one in the clan ever beat Constantine Vonhof.

The fight found its rhythm—fast, relentless. Sparks burst with every clash, the scent of metal and ozone filling the air. My heartbeat thundered, my fury feeding the magic under my skin.

He wasn’t trying to injure me.

But he was trying to make me hear him.

When he finally stepped back, breathing barely elevated, I thought he’d call it. But then his eyes—molten gold—flared, the thread of red flickering at their edges.

“I told you the truth, Cassara,” he said, voice low. “I will never let you go.”

The words struck deep.

Magic surged up my spine, wild and volatile. My grip trembled.

“Then stop running from me,” I said, the admission slipping out before I could cage it.

He stepped closer, lowering his blade. The gold in his eyes burned brighter. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s running.”

The air snapped between us, alive with more than magic. Neither of us moved. The silence felt like the cutting edge of a blade.

And for the first time that day, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to strike him again—or close the space between us entirely.

The charge from our last exchange still hummed in the air—steel, breath, magic, and words neither of us planned to speak. The room felt smaller now, though neither of us had stepped far. Con stood in the center, sword lowered, chest rising in controlled rhythm. I leaned on my spear, trying to calm the storm beneath my skin.

The silence stretched—fragile, weighted.

When he finally spoke, his voice was gentler than I expected. “Cass,” he said—not a command, not a reprimand. Something softer. “I’ll make mistakes.”

The admission caught me off guard. He wasn’t a man who acknowledged fault easily.

He stepped forward, sword still down, eyes steady. “I’ve spent centuries as a warrior. Every partnership I’ve had was built on orders and trust forged in war. Not this.” He inhaled. “Not something… human.”

A tiny part of me eased, though I didn’t answer.

“I haven’t been in a relationship since Amelia,” he continued quietly. “And you know how that ended.”

I did. Amelia had been a wound carved into him so deeply the scar still lived in his eyes.

“I’m probably worse than you,” I said, barely above a whisper. “At… all of this.”

His mouth curved—not amusement, but understanding. “Then give me a chance to fix my mistakes. I won’t repeat them.”

I looked away, staring at the burn mark our fight had left on the mat. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Neither do I.” Another step. The space between us measured in heartbeats. “But if this is going to work, we need to communicate. I won’t leave without telling you again.”

The words should have soothed me. They only stirred the ache rooted under my ribs.

“You think that’s why I’m angry?” I asked quietly.

He tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”