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"Your precious Celeste doesn't have to know," Sofia tried again, desperation tinting her voice with a darkness that mirrored the night outside.
"Get this through your skull," I snarled, my loyalty to Celeste turning my words into venom. "Even thinking about being with someone else feels like cheating on her. And unlike some people, I don't make a habit out of betrayal."
Sofia's face twisted into a snarl, her vampire visage slipping through the cracks of her human mask. "You'll regret this, Nash. You can't protect her forever."
"Watch me," I retorted, my voice low and dangerous. There was more at stake than just my need or my heart. There was a killer out there, one who needed to be caught before they struck again, and I'd be damned if I let anything—or anyone—distract me from that mission. Not even Sofia with her tempting call could pull me from the path I'd carved in blood and shadows.
With one last venomous glance, Sofia turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving me alone with the map and the ghost of her scent. Fuck, this was going to be a long night.
The door slammed with a finality that echoed through the bones of the office, and I was left in the stillness of my own brooding thoughts. Sofia's exit was as dramatic as her entrance—full of fire and fury, signifying nothing.
"Damn it," I muttered to myself, raking a hand through my hair as I glanced back at the corkboard. It was like staring into the abyss, hoping for an answer to stare back. But there was something else gnawing at the edges of my consciousness—a thread I hadn't pulled on yet.
Celeste. Her nightmares. Those goddamn paintings that seemed more like premonitions than anything else. They were visceral, disturbingly detailed. It hit me then, like a kick to the gut; what if she was painting the murders before they even happened? The realization sent a shiver down my spine. What kind of connection did she have to this madness?
I groaned, shaking off the chill as I checked my watch. Time had slipped by while I played mental chess with Sofia and her seductive ploys. I was late—later than a human heartbeat in a room full of vampires. Celeste and Aria had plans tonight, and I'd overheard them mention Inferno. That gay bar had the kind of name that promised sin and salvation all rolled into one.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed for the door, determined to keep my distance but to keep her in my sights. It was a compulsion, a need to be near her, even if she didn't know it. My presence there wouldn't be for pleasure—it would be another silent vow to protect her from the shadows that sought to devour her light.
I could feel the pull of the night, the energy of the city that never truly slept. Chicago was a beast with many hearts, and I prowled its streets with the knowledge that I was both its guardian and its potential downfall. With every step toward Inferno, I felt the weight of my own nature—the predator inside, hungry for vengeance and desperate for redemption.
Slipping through the thrumming crowd, I was a ghost cloaked in the night's eager embrace. The phone in my hand was my lifeline to her—Celeste, my obsession, my charge. A quick glance at the device confirmed that the cameras outside her apartment were functioning; her sanctuary was under my watchful eye. Vampire code be damned, I couldn't step foot inside without an invitation, but technology provided a loophole wide enough for me to exploit.
Modern problems require modern solutions. I stashed the phone back into my pocket.
Inferno was alive, pulsating with the rhythmic heartbeat of music that melded with laughter and the clink of glasses. Here, freedom reigned supreme, and love knew no bounds. My eyes, accustomed to the dark, scanned the flurry of bodies until they landed on her—Celeste. She was a vision, her natural hair a fiery banner in the neon glow, those eyes reflecting the world she so passionately portrayed in her art.
"Fuck," I exhaled. Even from this distance, she stirred something primal within me. It was a hunger, a burning desire, not just for her body but for the connection that she unwittingly offered—a tether to humanity I thought I'd severed long ago.
I found a shadowed corner, and like a true creeper, I watched. Watched as she laughed, threw her head back, and swayed to the beat. It was fucking torture not being able to touch her, to taste her. My hand drifted down, palming the growing boner through my pants, getting off on just the sight of her. My self-control was a joke when it came to her. Each secret stroke was a silent admission of my weakness, of the deviant craving that clawed at my insides.
Around me, the vibrant energy of the LGBTQ community was a bright flame in the midst of the city's darkness. They fought for their right to exist, to love, to be—echoes of my own battle, though mine was shrouded in blood and shadows. In them, I saw pieces of my brother, reminders of the life he should have had. Their joy, their pain—it fueled my resolve, sharpening the edge of my vengeance.
The smoky haze of Inferno clung to Celeste as she stepped outside, the door thudding shut behind her. She was a vision against the backdrop of Chicago's neon-lit night—a flame-haired siren in a world that didn't deserve her purity. I leaned against the shadowed corner of the building, my eyes locked on her as she fumbled for a cigarette.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, watching her light up and draw in a lungful of smoke. There was something about the way she held her loneliness like a shield that called to the beast in me. I followed her, moving with the stealth only centuries of hunting could perfect. My heart—it shouldn't have been beating, but with Celeste, it always did—pounded with a mix of anticipation and dark desire.
She slipped into an alley, the flickering streetlight casting her in an ethereal glow. Her silhouette was a goddamn masterpiece, one I ached to touch. But no, I wasn't some creep who got off on stalking—well, not usually. I was here on a mission, a twisted guardian angel with fangs and a fucked-up sense of justice.
Celeste paused, her head tilting ever so slightly. Did she hear my silent footfalls or sense the weight of my gaze? A shiver trickled down her spine, visible even from where I stood. Damn, she was perceptive. That tingling sensation at the back of her neck was me—every inch of the monster she had unwittingly invited into her life.
Turn around, sweetheart. Let's see if you can look your demon in the eye.
Chapter 16
Celeste
Iflicked the ash of my cigarette onto the gritty pavement, watching the embers die out with a hiss as they met the puddle from an earlier rain. The neon sign of Inferno buzzed obnoxiously above me, casting shadows on the streets.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered under my breath, a shiver skittering down my spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. It was that feeling again—the one you get when someone's eyes are burning holes into your back. I took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs, wishing it was enough to cloud the prickling sensation of being watched.
Great, the freakshow's back for an encore. I sneered to myself, rolling my eyes. The fear knotted up with confusion as I stood there, outside a bar that was supposed to be a sanctuary from the usual prying eyes. My hand instinctively went to the small of my back, tracing the outline of the pocket knife I kept hidden there. Not today, asshole.
But then, some part of me—that dark, messed-up corner that craved the brush of danger—kind of hoped he'd step out from the shadows. I was sick of this cat and mouse crap; I wanted to confront him, to look him in the eye and demand he cut this shit out. The game I’d once wanted was going too far.
But, as much as I wanted to deny it, there was this perverse sense of security in his roughness. Like he was some kind of fucked-up guardian angel—a very stalkerish, probably needs-to-be-locked-up kind of guardian angel. Shit, what's wrong with me? Since when did danger become my brand of aphrodisiac?
In a heartbeat, my world flipped from defiance to defense. One moment I stood there, smoke curling from my lips, the next—my wrists were yanked back, captured in a vice-like grip. Rough strands bit into my skin, an impromptu bondage that stopped me cold.
