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He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, as if he was afraid I'd spook. Hell, maybe I would. Each inch he covered felt charged, loaded with a thousand unsaid words and unexplored intentions. His desperation clung to him, almost tangible in the crisp night air.
"Thank you," he breathed out, a tangle of emotions knotting his words.
I crossed my arms over my chest, an armor against whatever confession was coming. "Make it quick, Nash. My patience is thin."
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he'd snap. But he exhaled slowly, mastering whatever beast lived inside him. "The vision you had, the ghost—it's all connected to..." He trailed off, struggling with the weight of his own story.
"Spit it out," I snapped, my curiosity warring with the urge to run screaming from this gothic clusterfuck. The connection between us was infuriating—it left me raw, exposed, like he could peer into the hidden corners of my soul where darkness liked to dance.
"Fine." Nash looked away, his gaze snagging on the moon like he was seeking absolution from the distant, uncaring rock. "There are things about me, about my past, that I've kept hidden. Secrets that could change everything."
"Secrets?" I echoed. The word tasted like poison on my lips. Betrayal was a familiar friend, and here I was, cozying up to it once again. I should've known better.
"Dark ones," he admitted, the strain evident in his voice. "But they're mine to bear. I just... I need you to understand."
"Jesus, Nash." I let out a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and hollow in the quiet woods. "You really know how to sell it. Keep going, you've got my attention—for now."
Nash's lips twitched, a fleeting shadow of a smile that vanished as quickly as it came. "I'm grateful for that," he said, and I could hear the truth behind his words. It was unnerving, feeling this pull towards him, like he was the north to my wayward compass.
"Grateful doesn't begin to cover it," I shot back, though some of the ice had melted from my voice. Maybe it was the night playing tricks on me, but damn it, I wanted to hear what ghosts haunted his twisted fairytale.
The silence felt heavy between us, like the night itself was waiting, breath held, for him to shatter it with whatever fucked-up fairy tale he was about to spin. Nash's chest rose and fell—a human gesture that seemed oddly out of place as his next words tumbled into the darkness.
"I'm not just what you see, Celeste. I'm a goddamn vampire," he said, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his too-perfect face. "And before you ask, yes, it's real—not some romanticized bullshit. Listen, this isn't easy for me either." His eyes pinned me, a predator in plain sight. "The woman in your vision, she's the one convinced me to turn—against my will—and murdered my brother because he was transgender. She couldn't stand what she didn't understand."
"Murdered..." My mind reeled, trying to slot this new horror into place. Betrayal had left its scars, but this... this was a whole new level of freak show.
"Her death," Nash continued, his jaw tightening, "was by my hand, using that knife—the only thing that can kill her kind permanently. It was justice for my brother. And that knife, it should have stayed hidden, locked away, but you... you found it."
"Great, so I'm an accomplice in vampire homicide now?" I spat out, the sarcasm a weak shield against the rising tide of panic.
"Fuck, Celeste, no," he growled, frustration lining his features. "I run an operation seeking justice for LGBTQ individuals who've been wronged. But every day is a struggle not to give in to the urge to destroy, to hurt."
"Struggle?" I scoffed, arms crossing defensively over my chest. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you fight the urge to go all Jack the Ripper on the world?"
"Dammit, I'm telling you this because it's the truth!" His voice cracked like thunder, the desperation clear in his tone. "You needed to know."
"Know what?" I shot back, my heart pounding chaos against my ribs. "That you're a centuries-old bloodsucker with a vendetta?”
"Exactly," he admitted. "Because despite it all, I want—no, I need you to see the man behind the monster."
A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped me. "This has to be some twisted joke. I came here looking for answers, not to audition for a role in your personal horror story."
"Believe it or not, this is my reality," Nash said solemnly. "And now, it's yours too."
"Fuck reality then," I muttered, feeling the ground beneath me shift as if the very earth was as unsettled by his confession as I was. "If you're a vampire, what does that make me? Dinner?"
"Never," he swore, stepping closer, his presence enveloping me. "I would never harm you, Celeste. Not unless you want me to."
"Charming," I sneered, though the cold claw of fear gripped at my insides. "A vampire vigilante with moral fucking high ground. What's next? You sparkle in the sunlight?"
"Hardly," he replied, a grim smile touching his lips.
"Great, just my luck to fall for Dracula's emotionally damaged cousin." I shook my head, trying to dispel the absurdity of it all. "Betrayal really is my fucking kink."
"Then let me make it right," Nash implored, passion burning in his gaze. "Let me keep you safe from the real monsters out there."
"Keep me safe?" I laughed, the sound hollow. "Who's going to keep me safe from you? Look, Nash," I said, my breath forming little puffs of defiance in the chilly air. "You can't just drop a bomb like 'I'm a vampire' and expect me to swoon into your arms."
