The CEO's Bride Contest - Short Story by Kassfinol

Title: The CEO’s Bride Contest

Author: Kassfinol

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Chapter 1

—This is the worst idea you’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot coming from the woman who once tried to dye her hair with Kool-Aid.

My best friend, Jess, ignored me completely while she dragged me through the marble lobby of the most pretentious hotel I had ever seen in my life. And I had seen many, because working freelance makes you accept meetings in the most ridiculous places as long as there’s free wifi.

—Amanda, shut up and walk. This is going to change our lives.

—Our lives are fine as they are.

Lie. My life was shit. Thirty thousand dollars in student debt, an apartment the size of a closet, and clients who thought “exposure” paid the rent. But there were levels of desperation, and this —whatever Jess was dragging me to do at nine o’clock at night on a Tuesday— crossed several lines.

—”One Week with the CEO” —I read the elegant banner hanging over the mahogany doors while she pulled me by the arm—. Jess, this sounds like a low-budget porn movie.

—It’s a legitimate contest —she let go of me just to push me from behind—. Kael Thorne, the CEO of Thorne Industries, is looking for… well, I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but the prize is a million dollars and a lifetime employment contract.

I dug my heels into the marble floor.

—A million?

—And the contract.

—What do I have to do? Because if it involves bodily fluids that aren’t mine, I’m out.

Jess rolled her eyes and pushed me toward the doors.

—You just have to spend a week in his mansion. Be… compatible with him.

—Compatible. What a vague and terrifying word at the same time.

—Amanda, you have thirty thousand in debt. When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t ramen?

Yesterday. But it had been fancy ramen with an egg, so in theory I was moving up in the world.

—Fine —I said, because I was weak and stupid—. But when this turns out to be a human trafficking operation, I want you to know I’m going to haunt you as a ghost.

—Noted.

The doors opened onto a hall that seemed designed to make anyone who walked in feel poor. Twenty-foot ceilings. Chandeliers that cost more than my college education. Windows covered with thick velvet curtains, which was odd for a hotel, but the air conditioning was set at morgue temperature and all the lighting came from the lamps, so maybe it was part of the “billionaire with an existential crisis” aesthetic.

And women. Lots of women.

They all looked like runway models who had gotten lost on their way to a luxury lingerie photo shoot. I looked like someone who had bought her “elegant outfit” at a secondhand store and hoped nobody would notice the coffee stains.

—Jess —I squeezed her arm—. I don’t belong here.

—Nobody belongs here. That’s why it’s perfect. Be yourself.

—Being myself has led me to live in an apartment where I can touch all the walls without moving.

—Details.

A woman with a clipboard and an expression suggesting she hated her life as much as I hated mine approached with precise steps. Dark suit, hair pulled back so tight it must have hurt.

—Name?

—Amanda Reyes.

She ran her finger down her list and frowned.

—You’re not registered.

—Oh, what a shame, I guess I’ll have to—

—I registered her —Jess interrupted—. Last night. Confirmation number 2847.

The woman checked again, sighed as if we had just ruined her day.

—Fine. More than three thousand candidates registered, but only fifty passed the filter. Congratulations, you’re one of them —she said it with the same enthusiasm as a dentist announcing a root canal—. Room C-12. Mr. Thorne will begin the interviews in an hour. Dress appropriately.

She looked at my outfit with the kind of disdain reserved for war crimes.

—More appropriately —she added before turning on her heels.

The “room” turned out to be a suite bigger than my apartment, with a marble bathroom, a king-size bed, and a walk-in closet full of clothes that weren’t mine.

—What the hell? —I murmured, running my hands over dresses that cost more than my car.

There was a note on thick paper, elegant calligraphy:

“For the candidates. Choose whatever you like. All courtesy of Thorne Industries. Good luck.”

Good luck. As if this were a talent contest and not… whatever it was.

I pulled out the simplest dress I could find: a black one, long sleeves, high neckline. If I was going to sell myself for a million dollars, at least I would do it with some dignity. I put it on, closed the zipper with difficulty, and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

I barely recognized myself. The dress fit me perfectly. Too perfectly.

—Okay, this is unsettling on a whole new level.

A knock on the door made me jump.

—Miss Reyes? —a masculine voice, professional—. Mr. Thorne is ready to see you.

Right. Because the universe didn’t believe in giving me time to process anything.

—One second —I shouted, and used those thirty seconds to have a compact but efficient panic attack.

I breathed deeply. I pinched my cheeks so they’d have some color.

This is stupid. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But it’s a million dollars. I can be stupid for a million dollars.

I opened the door.

The man on the other side was tall, impeccable suit, young —maybe around thirty— with an expression suggesting he had seen too much and nothing surprised him anymore.

—Follow me, please.

We walked down hallways that never ended. The hotel windows were left behind; here everything was artificial lighting, warm, but with no visible source, as if the light came from the walls themselves. We climbed marble stairs with measured steps —his, not mine, because I was trying not to kill myself with the borrowed heels— and passed works of art that were surely insured for millions.

—How many candidates are there? —I asked, because the silence was killing me.

—Fifty.

—Jesus.

—Mr. Thorne is very… selective.

—I’d bet.

He glanced at me sideways as we turned a corner, and something like amusement crossed his face.

—You’re different from the others.

—Is that a compliment or an observation?

—Both.

We stopped in front of double doors of dark wood, carved with designs that looked ancient. Celtic, maybe. Or something older. He put his hand on the doorknob, but waited.

—Mr. Thorne will see you now.

He pushed the doors open.

And there he was.

Kael Thorne.

Shit.

The photos didn’t do him justice, and the photos were already unfairly good.

Tall, well over six foot one easily, black hair falling just above his shoulders, features like they’d been taken from a Renaissance sculpture someone had told “more.” And the eyes. Gray, but not normal gray: something colder, more metallic, like old silver or frost on steel. Something that shouldn’t exist on a human face.

He stood in the center of the room —no windows, I noticed; only wood panels and bookshelves lit with table lamps— with his hands clasped behind his back.

—Miss Reyes —he said without turning all the way, as if he knew the exact angle at which I had stopped—. What an interesting choice of dress.

His voice had something dark, something low that made me straighten my back without deciding to. Like expensive whisky: it burned you without you knowing why you wanted more.

—It was the most modest one —I said, because my mouth always worked before my brain.

He turned then, every movement fluid, controlled, and his eyes found me with an intensity that cut off my breathing for a second.

—Modesty —he said as he took a step toward me, then another— is not what I’m looking for.

I crossed my arms, more out of protective instinct than attitude.

—What are you looking for, then?

He smiled. Barely. He stopped two meters away and tilted his head as if he were studying me, evaluating something I couldn’t see.

—I’m still deciding.

A long silence. He didn’t break it. I wasn’t going to lose first.

—Why are you here, Miss Reyes?

I tried to put my hands in the dress pockets. It had no pockets. Shit. I let them fall at my sides.

—For the money. I have debts and if I win this, I pay them all off.

—Honest —his tone wasn’t mocking; it was relief, almost—. I like that.

He took another step. Now he was close enough that I could see his eyelashes were of an insulting length.

—Do the others lie?

—The others say what they think I want to hear. That they’re here for the opportunity, for the adventure… —he paused, and his jaw tensed for a second— for me.

He ran a hand through his hair, throwing it back with a gesture that seemed more habit than vanity.

—Are you here for me?

—I don’t know you —I said, shrugging—. It would be absurd to be here for someone who is a very rich stranger with a very weird contest.

Something glinted in his gaze. He moved again, this time circling me slowly, his hands still behind his back. I had to turn my head to follow him, and the back of my neck prickled when he passed behind me.

—Do you find this weird?

—I find this weird at concerning levels. Who holds a contest to find… what, exactly? An assistant? A girlfriend? A lab specimen? You haven’t been specific about anything.

He stopped in front of me again, so close I could smell his cologne. Something spicy and old, like closed libraries and wine that had spent decades in a cellar.

—What if it were all three?

—Then it’s weird and overdemanding.

He raised a hand, and for a second I thought he was going to touch me. Instead, he pointed toward a leather armchair.

—Sit down.

I sat down. Because something in his tone made my legs obey before my brain could protest, and that bothered me more than anything else since I’d walked into this room.

He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. The gesture should have made him look casual; instead, he looked like a predator that had settled down to rest because it knew its prey wasn’t going anywhere.

—Tell me, Miss Reyes, what would you do with a million dollars?

I leaned back against the chair and crossed my legs.

—Pay my debts. Buy an apartment where I can stretch my arms without hitting a wall. Maybe take a vacation that doesn’t involve sleeping on my friend’s couch.

—Modest aspirations —his tone was serious; it wasn’t mockery.

—Realistic aspirations —I replied without thinking.

He pushed himself off the desk and walked toward a small bar in the corner. He took out a crystal bottle with dark liquid and poured two glasses without asking if I wanted one. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic, as if he had poured wine thousands of times and each time it mattered to him to do it well.

—And the contract? The lifetime job? What do you think about that?

—It depends on the job. But seeing as I don’t have many options…

He offered me a glass. I took it, and our fingers brushed for a second. Long enough for me to realize his skin was cold. Not cold like “I washed my hands with cold water,” but cold like marble, like something that hadn’t had warmth in a long time.

—You would work for me —he said, returning to his position against the desk—. In whatever I needed.

I took a sip. The wine was very good, the kind that has no price on the menu because if you need to ask, you can’t afford it.

—That sounds a little bit like slavery —I said, and the wine gave me just enough courage to add—. Do I have to buy my shackle or does it come included with the position?

He let out a short laugh. The sound was deep, unexpected, and caused something strange in my chest: a pull, like when you step onto a stair that wasn’t there.

Then he sat in the armchair across from mine, stretched his legs with that absurd grace he had, and looked at me while swirling the wine in his glass.

—I like you, Miss Reyes.

—I’m not here for you to like me. Remember? Just the money and the job.

—I know. And that’s why I like you.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. That concentrated attention should have made me uncomfortable, and it did, but it also pinned me to the chair with something I didn’t know whether it was fear or curiosity or both tangled together.

—Would you accept the contract? One week in my mansion. Complying with my requests. Without asking questions.

—That last part is a problem, because I always have questions.

—I’ve noticed.

I swirled the wine in my glass, watching how the light passed through it.

—What if your requests involve illegal things?

—They won’t.

—Immoral things?

—That depends on your definition of morality.

I set the glass on the small table between us with more force than necessary.

—I’m liking this pitch less and less.

He smiled again, and this time he showed teeth. White, aligned with a perfection that didn’t seem natural and… a little sharp? The canines. Just a little.

They’re just his teeth, I told myself.

People have pointy canines. It’s nothing.

He stood up in a fluid movement and walked toward a corner of the study where there was a pendulum clock showing eleven at night. He looked at it for a second, as if checking something, and then turned around.

—I’ll give you some time to think about it. If you accept, my driver will pick you up tomorrow at nine at night. If not… —he shrugged without turning all the way— the money will go to another, less interesting candidate.

I stood up and smoothed the dress with hands that wanted to tremble but that I forced to stay still.

—Have you already decided? Without interviewing the other forty-nine?

—I don’t need to interview them. I already know what they’ll say and what they’ll do. They’re predictable, and the predictable has become unbearable to me after so many years.

So many years?

He was, what, thirty-five? Forty at most? What “so many years” was he talking about?

I walked toward the door and put my hand on the doorknob.

—And I’m not? I don’t seem predictable to you?

He turned, crossed the distance between us in three long strides —too fast, something in my brain registered that they were too fast for the distance— and suddenly he was there, invading my space, making the air grow dense between us.

—You, Miss Reyes, are anything but predictable —he leaned in and his breath caressed my ear, cold, with no trace of human warmth—. And that is exactly what I need.

He moved away with the same speed with which he had approached, returned to the center of the study with that damned grace, and stood by the clock as if he hadn’t just short-circuited my entire nervous system.

—My assistant will escort you back. Have a good night, Miss Reyes.

I opened the door with clumsy hands. The assistant waited in the hallway with a neutral expression, as if escorting dazed women were a regular part of his job.

My legs barely held me up as we walked back through those windowless hallways. The cold of Kael’s fingers still tingled on my skin. His voice still vibrated in my ear. And my brain kept repeating a stupid loop: the speed, the cold, the teeth, the way he said “so many years” as if they were many more than his face showed.

I had just met the most dangerous man of my life.

And the worst part —the most fucked-up part of all— was that I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Chapter 2

Jess was waiting for me in my room, sprawled on the king-size bed as if she had bought it herself, eating grapes from a fruit tray that cost more than my weekly food budget.

—So? —she asked as soon as I walked in—. How was it?

I took off my heels and threw them into a corner. One hit the wall; the other bounced off a small table and almost knocked over a vase that surely cost more than my kidney.

—Weird. Intense. And very likely illegal in at least three jurisdictions.

—But are you going to do it?

I dropped into the armchair by the window, massaging my aching feet while the city glittered below, all nighttime lights and midnight traffic.

—I don’t know. Surely not. No. Definitely not.

—Then why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?

—Because it’s a million dollars, Jess. A fucking million!

—What did he ask you to do?

—Nothing yet —I pulled the black dress over my head because I couldn’t stand feeling that fabric that fit me too well anymore, and put on my old Radiohead T-shirt—. Just be in his mansion. Comply with his requests. Don’t ask questions.

Jess sat up and grabbed another grape.

—That could mean anything.

—Exactly. It could be “organize my socks by color” or “help me hide a corpse.” There’s no way to know.

—And him? What’s he like?

I rubbed my face with both hands.

—Jess, that man is not normal.

—Obviously —she rolled her eyes—. He’s a billionaire. What did you expect, a guy with Crocs and a shared Netflix account?

—No, I mean there’s something off. The way he moves, the way he talks, it’s like he’s from another era. He moved too fast at one point, crossed the whole room in two seconds, and his eyes… —I shuddered— I swear he didn’t blink a single time during the whole interview.

—Fancy contact lenses. Rich people do that shit.

—Maybe —but that didn’t explain the temperature of his skin when our fingers brushed, or the way every instinct in my body screamed danger while something stupider and more primitive pulled me toward him like a magnet—. And the whole event was at night, Jess. At nine at night on a Tuesday. Who organizes a million-dollar contest at nine at night?

—Someone who has enough money that nobody tells them the time is weird.

—Or someone who can’t do it during the day.

Jess looked at me with a “you’re being dramatic” face and stuffed three grapes into her mouth.

—Are you going to accept?

I stood up, walked toward the big window. The city stretched below, a map of lights and shadows.

—If I accept and it turns out to be a trap, you’ll blame me forever.

—If you don’t accept and you lose a million dollars, you’ll blame yourself forever.

She had a point. A point that pissed me off, but a point.

—Give me until tomorrow. I need to sleep on this.

Jess got off the bed, hugged me from behind, and rested her chin on my shoulder.

—Whatever happens, I’ll be here. Even if it’s just to identify your body.

—How comforting.

—That’s what friends are for.

I didn’t sleep.

I stayed awake for what was left of the night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation with Kael in my head. Every word. Every gesture. Every moment when he got too close and my body didn’t know whether to run or stay.

At six in the morning, I gave up. I showered, put on jeans and a T-shirt —my real clothes, not the borrowed dresses— and sat on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hands.

I searched “Kael Thorne” on Google.

Thousands of results. CEO of Thorne Industries at twenty-five. Estimated fortune of five billion. Investments in technology, real estate, art. Philanthropist. Single. Every article included the same line: “known for his nocturnal lifestyle and his aversion to daytime events.”

And photos. Lots of photos.

At charity galas —all at night—, always alone or with some model on his arm who changed every event. At business meetings, with that neutral expression I had seen last night. Getting off private jets… at night.

But something caught my attention. I zoomed in on a photo from ten years ago, an article about successful young entrepreneurs.

Kael looked the same.

Not “well preserved for his age.” The same. The same face. The same jaw angle. The same gray eyes looking at the camera with the same “I’m better than you and we both know it” expression.

I searched for older photos. Twenty years ago, a charity event in the nineties. If the date was correct, he should be about fifteen years old in that photo.

But the man in the image had the same thirtysomething face I had seen last night. Same face. Same hair. Same silver eyes. Frozen in time.

Impossible.

I closed the browser. I dropped the phone on the bed.

Photoshop. It has to be Photoshop. Or he’s a relative with killer genes. Or I’m losing my mind from lack of sleep.

I spent the day trying to distract myself. I worked on a design project I had pending, ate leftovers from the minibar, sent memes to Jess, and tried not to think about silver-colored eyes or cold skin or impossible photos.

It didn’t work.

At nine at night, a knock on the door pulled me out of a Google spiral where I had ended up reading articles about cryogenics and conspiracy theories about immortal billionaires.

—Miss Reyes? —the voice of last night’s assistant—. Mr. Thorne asks if you have made a decision.

How punctual. Just as he had said. Not a minute early.

I stood up and opened the door.

—Tell him yes.

I don’t know what made me say it. Maybe desperation. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the impossible photos I couldn’t get out of my head, because if there was something weird about this man, the stupid part of my brain —the one that always won— wanted to know what it was.

The assistant nodded without surprise, as if he already knew.

—The car is waiting downstairs. Do you need to pack?

—Are we leaving now?

—Mr. Thorne prefers not to waste time.

Of course he doesn’t.

I stuffed my things into my worn backpack —it wasn’t much: clothes, laptop, chargers, the essentials— and sent a message to Jess, who was sleeping in her room:

“I accepted. If you don’t hear from me in a week, call the police. Or an exorcist. Whichever seems more appropriate.”

The car was what you’d expect from a billionaire who doesn’t know the word “enough.” Black, long, with leather interiors that smelled of old money and inherited privilege.

The driver —an older man with a kind expression and big hands of someone used to carrying heavy things— opened the door for me.

—Welcome, Miss Reyes. The trip will take about two hours.

—Two hours? Where is this mansion?

—On the outskirts, deep in the countryside. Mr. Thorne likes his privacy.

Of course he does.

I settled into the back seat. There was a bottle of cold water waiting for me, and a box of chocolates with a note:

“For the trip. K.T.”

I opened the box. Handmade chocolates, each one a small dark, shiny work of art. I took one and put it in my mouth.

It melted on my tongue —rich, complex, with a bitter undertone that turned sweet— and surely cost what I paid in rent.

Shit. He’s buying me with fancy chocolate.

And it’s working.

The car left the city and took emptier and emptier roads. The buildings gave way to dark fields under a moonless sky, and the traffic lights turned into long stretches of nothing where the car’s headlights were the only source of light. I took out my laptop, tried to work, but the screen shone too brightly against so much darkness and every few minutes I looked up toward the window, wondering where the hell they were taking me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the car turned onto a private road flanked by ancient trees whose trunks appeared and disappeared in the headlights like pale sentinels.

And then I saw it.

The mansion.

Mansion was an understatement. It was a fucking castle. Three floors of gray stone outlined against the night sky, towers at the corners, arched windows glowing with warm light from inside, as if the whole building were awake waiting for me. Dark gardens stretched in every direction, and the smell of wet earth and night jasmine came in through the car window.

—Jesus —I murmured.

—Impressive, isn’t it? —said the driver as he stopped in front of the entrance stairs—. Mr. Thorne restored it himself. It’s more than three hundred years old.

—The castle or him —I said, more to myself than to the driver.

—Pardon?

—Nothing. I talk to myself. It’s a problem.

The front door opened before I could knock, which in itself was unsettling at eleven at night in the middle of nowhere. An older woman, dressed in an impeccable dark suit, greeted me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

—Miss Reyes. I’m Mrs. Blackwood, the housekeeper. Allow me to show you your rooms.

—My rooms? Plural?

—Mr. Thorne believes in the comfort of his guests.

She led me through a lobby that looked like it came from a period movie, but one of the scary ones. Crystal chandeliers casting long shadows on the walls. Marble stairs with carved banisters. Paintings of people who had been dead for centuries looking at me from golden frames.

And everything was lit with candles and lamps, no fluorescent light, no LED tube, nothing that seemed later than the nineteenth century. As if electricity were a suggestion and not a requirement.

We went up to the second floor and turned down a long hallway with carpets that muffled our steps.

—This is your suite —said Mrs. Blackwood, opening double doors.

The room was bigger than my entire apartment. Canopy bed, lit fireplace casting orange shadows on the walls, floor-to-ceiling windows with thick velvet curtains —closed—, and an attached bathroom with a tub that could hold three people without any of them complaining.

—Mr. Thorne will see you for dinner in an hour —Mrs. Blackwood continued—. There are clothes in the closet if you wish to change. If you need anything, ring the bell.

She pointed to a velvet cord beside the bed.

—A bell? One of the pull ones?

—Mr. Thorne appreciates traditions.

She left, closing the doors behind her with a soft click that sounded too much like a lock.

I stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly, processing. The fireplace crackled. The air smelled of burnt wood and lavender.

What did I get myself into?

I explored. The closet had clothes in my exact size. Dresses, pants, blouses, all in styles I liked. There was jewelry in a velvet box. Shoes organized by color. Even the underwear was my size.

Someone had done their homework. Someone had researched me to a level that crossed the line between “attentive” and “obsessive” without slowing down.

It should have scared me. But what I felt was anger. I hated that he knew so much about me when I knew nothing about him.

I decided not to change. If Kael wanted me to wear his clothes, he’d have to ask me in so many words.

I spent the next hour exploring the suite, trying to work on the laptop, failing completely, and staring at the closed curtains wondering if there was anything outside besides dark gardens and that feeling of being very, very far from everything I knew.

When they knocked on my door, I had already spent ten minutes sitting on the edge of the bed convincing myself this wasn’t the beginning of a horror movie.

—Miss Reyes? Mr. Thorne awaits you in the dining room.

I opened it. In front of me, in the hallway, was a young man in a suit —another assistant; Kael apparently collected them— with a calm expression.

—Lead the way —I said, smoothing my band T-shirt and jeans.

If Kael expected elegance, he was going to be disappointed.

The dining room was what you’d expect to find inside a castle at midnight. A long dark wood table that could seat twenty people, lit candelabras, velvet curtains over windows I imagined were huge but that were covered floor to ceiling. Everything was warm, golden, intimate in a way that felt calculated, as if someone had designed this space to make it impossible to feel fully comfortable.

And at the head of the table, Kael.

Dressed more casually than last night: dark pants, white shirt with the first buttons open, hair loose and damp as if he had just showered. He stood up when I walked in and gestured toward the chair to his right.

—Miss Reyes. I’m glad you decided to join me.

—As if I had a choice. I’m two hours from anywhere and I don’t have a car.

A small smile curved his lips as he pulled out my chair for me. An old-fashioned gesture, from another era, that made me feel strange. I sat down. He returned to his place and poured wine into my glass without asking.

—You always have a choice. You could have stayed in your room.

—And miss dinner in a horror castle at midnight? No way.

—Horror castle? —he raised an eyebrow—. What a colorful description.

—It’s three hundred years old. It’s in the middle of nowhere. There’s not a single electric light that I’ve seen. And you’re creepy —I served myself bread and tore it with more force than necessary—. I’m not blind or stupid. All the ingredients are right there.

He took his own glass, swirled it while studying me with that attention of his that seemed to have physical weight.

—Creepy, plain and simple?

—Very creepy, but I’m trying to be polite. It’s your house and you gave me chocolates.

The laugh again. Deep. Short. With an undertone I couldn’t identify.

—I appreciate the effort.

The doors opened and two people came in with plates that smelled as if a Michelin-starred chef had had a good day. Steak. Roasted vegetables with something that smelled of rosemary and garlic. Freshly baked bread. My stomach growled with the dignity of a stray dog.

I ate because I was starving, not because I felt like having dinner with my possible employer/captor/whatever. The meat fell apart with the fork and the vegetables had a caramelization point that made me want to cry.

Kael barely touched his plate. He drank wine, watched me, cut his meat into small pieces that he pushed around the plate with the fork without putting any in his mouth. The same as last night, when he had served wine for both of us but only drank his. When was the last time I had seen this man eat something solid?

Never. The answer was never.

—Aren’t you hungry? —I asked.

—I already ate.

—When? Before I arrived?

—Something like that.

Weird. But by now “weird” was the baseline for everything related to Kael Thorne, so I let it go. For now.

—Tell me, Miss Reyes, what did you think of your room?

—Excessive. Beautiful. Pretty invasive considering the clothes are my exact style and my exact size, down to the underwear.

—I do my research.

—That’s not research. That’s expert-level stalking. If he weren’t a millionaire, we’d call it stalking.

He set down his fork, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. His shirt tightened over his shoulders and I decided to look at my plate instead of that.

—Does it make you uncomfortable?

—It makes me wonder what else you know about me.

—Everything.

He said it so simply, so directly, that I was left speechless for a second. Which almost never happens to me.

—Everything?

—Your student debts. Your work history. That you prefer black coffee, hate mornings, and take jobs that pay little because they’re the ones that let you be creative.

I set down my fork with a metallic clatter against the plate.

—That’s…

—Terrifying? Invasive? —he tilted his head—. I know. But I needed to be sure.

—Sure of what?

He leaned forward, and his eyes found mine with an intensity that pinned me to the chair.

—That it was you.

—Me what?

—The right one.

The silence grew dense between us. The candelabras cast shadows that moved on the walls and the fireplace at the back of the dining room crackled in a rhythm that felt too much like a heartbeat.

—I don’t understand this game —I said, pushing my plate away—. The contest, the mansion, the clothes, this. What are you really looking for?

Kael stood up, walked toward the fireplace, and stood in front of the flames with his hands in his pockets. The fire drew shadows on his face and, from this angle, in that light, he looked like a Renaissance painting: beautiful and a little threatening, as if underneath the surface there were something better left untouched.

—A companion.

—Like what? —I straightened in my chair—. A girlfriend?

—Something like that. But more… permanent.

—A wife?

—In time.

I stood up and walked until I was a few meters from where he stood. The heat of the fireplace hit my face, but he was right there, between the flames and me, and he didn’t seem to feel it at all.

—Then why not use Tinder like normal people? Why all this show?

He turned toward me, and the intensity of his gaze made me step back without meaning to.

—Because I’m not looking for a conventional romance. I’m looking for someone specific. Someone with particular qualities.

—What qualities?

—Strength. Independence. Someone who doesn’t scare easily.

—And I qualify?

—You, Miss Reyes, qualify more than enough.

His hand rose, and the backs of his fingers brushed my cheek. The touch was soft. And cold. Too cold, especially for someone standing next to a lit fireplace.

—Why are you so cold? —I asked without thinking—. You’re next to the fire.

Something crossed his gaze —a crack in that facade of control he had— and he pulled his hand away fast.

—Poor circulation. Thyroid problems, maybe —he forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—. I should see a doctor.

Lie. I knew it instantly, as clearly as if he had written it on his forehead.

—Kael…

—Tomorrow night we will begin the activities —he said, cutting off any question with a topic change so abrupt it was almost physical—. Nothing painful. Nothing dangerous. Just things to get to know each other better.

—What kind of activities?

A closed smile. No teeth this time.

—You’ll see. Good night, Miss Reyes.

And so, once again, I was dismissed. As if this were his court and I a subject to whom he granted an audience when it suited him.

I left that dining room with more questions than answers and the ghost of his cold fingers still on my cheek.

While the assistant escorted me back through candlelit hallways, with shadows moving on the walls like living things, my brain took inventory:

He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep —or slept little—. His skin was cold even next to the fire. He moved too fast. All the photos were at night. All the meetings were at night. The mansion had no electric light, as if it had been built before electricity existed and they had never bothered to update it.

And the photos. The damn photos from decades ago where he looked identical.

Kael Thorne was hiding something. Something big. Something my brain refused to formulate because it sounded ridiculous even inside my own head.

But I was going to find out what it was.

Even if the answer shattered my notion of what was possible.

Chapter 3

I woke up to a knock on the door, my body disoriented, not knowing whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning. In this room with no natural light —the velvet curtains blocked everything— it could be any time.

—Miss Reyes? —Mrs. Blackwood’s voice—. Lunch awaits you in the dining room. Mr. Thorne will see you tonight at eight.

I looked for my phone. Two in the afternoon. I had slept almost twelve hours, which made sense considering I had gone to bed at three in the morning after dinner with Kael.

I dragged myself out of the most comfortable bed I had ever slept in, showered quickly, and put on jeans and a clean T-shirt. If Kael expected me to dress like one of his porcelain dolls, he was going to keep being disappointed.

Tonight at eight.

Not “this morning.” Not “at noon.” Tonight. Like everything else with him.

I ate alone in the dining room —salmon, salad, bread that tasted as if it had been baked five minutes ago— and afterward, with nothing to do until eight, I decided to explore.

The mansion by day was different from the mansion by night. Sunlight came in through the hallway windows —the ones without thick curtains, which were few— and revealed details I hadn’t seen in candlelight: cracks in the marble, centuries of marks on the banisters, dust floating in the rays of light as if the air itself were old.

But there were entire areas of the house that were sealed tight against the light. Doors with double curtains. Sealed windows. Interior hallways without a single window. As if someone had divided the mansion in two: the part that tolerated the sun and the part that rejected it.

I reached the back terrace on my own. It was more Versailles garden than patio: wrought iron tables under pergolas covered in wisteria, a view of a lake glittering under the afternoon sun, stone paths that disappeared among trees.

Beautiful. And empty.

Not a single employee outside. No Mrs. Blackwood, no assistants, no gardeners. All that splendor, but it seemed it only worked at night.

Who are these daytime gardens for if nobody goes out during the day?

I sat at one of the iron tables, took out my laptop, and tried to work. The wifi was excellent —of course, billionaire— but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. Every few minutes I looked up toward the mansion, looking for signs of life behind those sealed windows, wondering where Kael slept. If he slept. If his room would have any window or would be a dark bunker where light never entered.

At seven thirty, the sun began to go down, and like clockwork the mansion came to life. Warm lights turned on behind the windows, shadows moved in the hallways, and I heard footsteps and voices that hadn’t existed all day.

The mansion woke up at dusk. Like its owner.

At eight o’clock sharp, an assistant guided me to a room I hadn’t seen: spacious, with a lit fireplace, shelves full of books from floor to ceiling, and table lamps casting golden circles on the Persian rugs.

Kael stood by the shelves, a book in his hand. Dark linen pants, white shirt with the top buttons open, hair pulled back in a half ponytail. He looked different. Less intimidating CEO, more… no, he was still intimidating, just in a different way. Like a wolf that has taken off the sheep suit and no longer pretends.

—Good evening —he said, putting the book back in its place.

—Do you sleep? —I asked as I dropped into a leather armchair.

—Pardon?

—Every time I see you you’re freshly showered and ready to function, but never at normal hours. When do you sleep?

He sat in the armchair across from mine. The small table between us had a tea service —for him— and coffee —for me. Someone had taken note of my preferences.

—I sleep little. I’ve never needed much —he poured himself tea, and I noticed his hands moved with the precision of someone who has repeated that gesture thousands of times.

—Must be nice.

—It has its advantages.

I took a sip of coffee. Black. Strong. Good.

—You don’t have dinner either?

—I already ate.

—When? At four in the morning?

—Close.

I set the cup on the saucer with a deliberate noise.

—Okay, I have to ask. What kind of diet do you follow? Intermittent fasting? Keto? Vampirism?

I said it as a joke. One of those stupid things you say when you don’t understand someone and your mouth decides to fill the silence with the first thing that comes to mind.

Kael went still. Not “got serious.” Still. Like a statue. Like something that doesn’t need to breathe and suddenly stopped pretending it did.

—Vampirism? —he repeated, and something in his tone made my joke curdle in the air between us.

—It’s a joke —I said, though my voice sounded less sure than I wanted—. Because I never see you eat. And you’re pale. And cold. And you have this aura of European aristocracy from centuries ago —I made a vague gesture with my hand toward his whole person—. And the whole mansion runs at night. I spent the entire day out there alone and didn’t see a soul.

—You’re quite observant.

—It’s my job. Well, part of it.

He got up from the armchair and walked toward the fireplace, standing in front of the flames with his hands in his pockets. The fire lit one side of his face; the other stayed in shadow.

—The first activity —he said, changing the subject so abruptly it took me a second to follow— is simple. I want you to spend the night with me. Doing what I do. Without judging.

—Is that all?

—Does it seem like little?

—Honestly, I expected something more elaborate. An escape room, maybe. Or a maze. Something in keeping with all the gothic aesthetic you have going on.

He turned toward me, and that intensity of his hit me head-on.

—Compatibility doesn’t come from elaborate tests, Miss Reyes. It comes from time. From observation. From seeing how you react to my world.

—And what do people do in your world on a normal night?

A small smile.

—Come. I’ll show you.

It turned out that Kael Thorne’s nocturnal world included:

Walking through the gardens under the moon while he identified each plant by its Latin name, touching the leaves with those long, cold fingers as if they were old acquaintances. The gardens at night were something else: they smelled stronger, of jasmine and wet earth, and the moon turned the lake into a silver mirror.

Reading in his library —a two-story room crammed with books worth more than my apartment, my car, and surely my entire life— while he worked in silence on his laptop. The only sound was the rustling of pages, the click of his keyboard, and the tick-tock of a pendulum clock that seemed to count centuries instead of seconds.

And now, past midnight, looking at art.

He had taken me to a private gallery inside the mansion. The paintings covered the walls from floor to ceiling, some I recognized —a Caravaggio, a Rembrandt, something that looked like a Goya— and most I didn’t. All old. All with that quality of color that only time and original oil could give.

Kael stopped in front of a portrait of a woman in a Renaissance dress. He looked at it in a way I couldn’t decipher, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed as if he were having a silent conversation with the canvas.

—Did you know her? —I asked, because that look was too personal to be just artistic appreciation.

—I knew the artist. A long time ago.

—How long is a long time?

—Longer than it matters.

He walked to the next painting. This one was darker: a forest at night, full moon spilling between black branches, a pale figure among the trees that could be human or could not be.

—Did you know this artist too?

—I painted this one.

I stepped closer. I studied the brushstrokes. They were good. More than good: they had that confidence that only comes from years of practice, decades of looking at the world and translating it into brushstrokes.

—Does it have a date?

—1880.

He said it almost automatically, like someone mentioning what they had for breakfast.

I laughed, because it had to be a joke.

—Okay, oooo-kay. I know you’re trying to impress me with this mysterious man thing, but if that were true, you’d be… —I went silent while I calculated.

—One hundred and forty-something years old.

—177, to be exact.

He said it so seriously, so without inflection, that my laughter died in my throat.

—You’re joking.

—No.

—Kael…

—Do you want to know the truth, Miss Reyes? —he turned toward me, took a step, then another—. The real reason for the contest? Why I’m looking for someone specific?

My pulse beat in my temples. I felt it in my ears, in my wrists, in my throat.

—Yes.

—Because I am what you joked about a few hours ago. A vampire. I’ve lived 177 years. I don’t age. I don’t eat human food. I can’t be under the sun without burning like paper —his voice was flat, clinical, as if he were reading the symptoms of an illness—. And I need someone with a particular bloodline to have an heir without having to turn her.

The floor tilted under my feet. Or so it felt. My hands searched for the wall behind me and found it cold and solid.

—That’s not funny.

—I’m not trying to be funny.

—Vampires don’t exist.

—And yet, here I am.

I moved away, putting meters between us. My brain ran like a runaway engine, looking for the logical explanation, the trick, the hidden camera.

—You’re crazy. This is a contest to find someone desperate enough to agree to live with a rich lunatic. That’s it. That has to be it.

—If I were a lunatic, why wouldn’t I lie? Why wouldn’t I invent something more believable?

—Because lunatics don’t know they’re crazy. It’s part of the condition.

Kael approached slowly, palms open, like someone approaching a wounded animal and giving it time to run.

—What do you need to see to believe me?

—Nothing. Because there’s nothing to see. Vampires are fiction. Dracula. Twilight. Jacob… Ah, no, Jacob was a wolf… anyway… Anne Rice. Fiction, fiction, fiction… Do you understand me?

—Do you want me to prove it?

Something in his tone —something cold and ancient that had nothing to do with the polite man who had served me tea two hours ago— made me take another step back until my back touched the wall.

—No.

—Are you sure?

—I don’t want to see cheap magic tricks—

He moved.

One second he was three meters away. The next, his body pressed against mine, pushing me against the wall, and his face was centimeters from mine. I didn’t see him move. There was no transition. There, and then here, as if someone had cut the frames in the middle.

—How…?

—Speed —he said, his deep, low voice vibrating against my chest—. One of many abilities.

His hand rose and his cold fingers caressed the side of my neck. I felt my pulse jump under his touch like a trapped bird.

—I can hear your heart. It’s at 150 beats per minute —he lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper—. You’re scared. Confused. And something else you don’t want to admit. I can smell it on your skin.

—Kael…

—Do you want more proof?

He opened his mouth.

And his canines lengthened. They grew before my eyes, sharpening into white points that gleamed under the lamplight.

Fangs.

He had fucking fangs.

The scream got stuck in my throat, came out as a choked sound, and my knees stopped working.

Kael stepped back instantly, giving me space, and the fangs retracted until his teeth looked normal again. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, hugging my knees, my heart pounding against my ribs so hard it hurt.

—I’m sorry —he said, and for the first time since I’d met him he sounded different. Not controlled. Not calculated. Sorry, truly, his shoulders slumped and his hands at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them—. I didn’t want to scare you, but you needed to know before we went any further.

—This isn’t happening —I said against my knees—. I’m dreaming. Or I had an accident on the way here and I’m in a coma in a hospital and this is a shitty near-death fantasy. A very elaborate one, though. Extra points for the production.

Kael knelt in front of me, a meter away, careful not to touch me.

—It’s happening. I’m real. And I need you to understand what it means.

—What does it mean?

—That the contract isn’t just for a week. Not really. If you’re compatible —and I think you are— I’m offering you everything. Wealth. Power. Protection. And if you want it, in time, immortality.

—In exchange for what? My blood? My soul? My left kidney?

—In exchange for an heir. And if you wish, later, the turning. But it doesn’t have to be now. You can live your natural life if you prefer. I just need… —he stopped, ran a hand through his hair, and for a second he looked truly young, not like a 177-year-old being but like someone lost— I need someone who can understand this world. Who can be in it without breaking. And you’re stronger than you think.

—I don’t feel strong —my voice came out raspy—. I feel like I’m having a nervous breakdown on the floor of an art gallery at one in the morning.

—That’s normal.

—Normal? What part of this is normal? —I raised my head to look at him—. The part where a vampire tells me he wants to get me pregnant or the part where I’m considering not running away?

Something trembled at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. Almost.

I stood up on legs that trembled but at least worked.

—I need to process this. Alone.

—Of course. Take all the time you need.

—Can I leave? Or am I a prisoner now?

I saw his jaw tighten. Pain. Real.

—You can leave whenever you want. This isn’t a prison, Amanda. It’s an offer.

The use of my first name stopped me. Not “Miss Reyes.” Amanda. As if by telling the truth about himself he had earned the right to tell the truth about me too.

—And if I say no?

—I’ll pay you the million anyway, for your time. And I’ll erase your memory of all this.

—Can you do that?

—I can do many things.

We looked at each other for a long, heavy moment. Him on his knees on the marble floor, with a vulnerability I hadn’t seen in him before, as if he had bet everything on this conversation and still didn’t know if he had won or lost. Me against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, trying to decide if what I felt was fear or something worse.

—I need air —I said.

—The gardens are yours. The whole property is yours. Go wherever you need.

I left that gallery on legs that barely held me up.

Vampires.

Vampires were real.

And I had just agreed to spend a week with one who wanted to have a child with me.

My life was shit before, but at least it made sense.

I walked through the gardens for the rest of the night and all the next morning.

First under the moon, which bathed everything in silver and made the lake look like a mirror placed there to reflect the sky. Then under a pink dawn that found me sitting on a stone bench by the water, my feet frozen and my head on another planet.

The sun rose. The hours passed. And in all that time, nobody came looking for me.

Because he can’t, I suddenly understood.

He can’t come out while there’s sun.

The idea gave me a chill that had nothing to do with the morning cold. I was alone in these gardens not because Kael respected my space —which maybe he did too—, but because the sun was a barrier as real as a wall. He was in there, in his windowless mansion, waiting for the sun to set so he could exist again.

I can’t be under the sun without burning like paper, he had said.

Every logical part of my brain screamed that this was impossible. But I had seen the fangs. I had felt his speed. I had noticed all the signs from the beginning: the temperature, the lack of food, the nighttime hours, the mansion divided between zones with light and sealed zones.

And the photos. The damn photos from decades ago where he looked identical.

It wasn’t madness. It wasn’t a trick.

Kael Thorne was a vampire.

The sun began to go down around six and I had been sitting on that bench for hours, without eating, without moving, my brain going around the same thing. When the light turned orange and the shadows stretched over the grass, I got up and walked back to the mansion.

Mrs. Blackwood intercepted me in the lobby. She had a tray with food and the expression of someone who has been waiting with professional patience.

—Dinner, Miss Reyes?

—I’m not hungry.

—I insist —she said, and her tone didn’t leave much room for reply—. You’ve gone almost twenty hours without eating.

I took a roll from the tray because arguing with her seemed more exhausting than everything else.

—Mr. Thorne asked me to inform you that he will respect your space tonight. But if you wish to talk, he will be in his study from nine o’clock.

I went up to my room. I threw myself on the ridiculous bed. I stared at the ceiling.

What am I going to do?

Option one: run. Take the million, let him erase my memory, and go back to my life of debt and ramen. Everything paid, everything resolved, everything forgotten. As if none of this had happened.

Option two: stay. Learn more. Maybe —and this was the part that scared me for real— accept what Kael was offering.

Immortality.

The word bounced around my head like a ball in an empty room. Living forever. Watching centuries pass. Never aging.

Who would turn that down?

Someone sane, my brain answered.

But I had never been one of the sane ones. If I were, I wouldn’t have come here.

I got up. I walked toward the closet. The clothes Kael had chosen were still there: hung, ordered, waiting. I took a dark blue dress, simple, unpretentious, and put it on.

I saw myself in the mirror. Different. Not better or worse. Just different. As if by knowing the truth about Kael, something in me had also shifted.

I went down to the third floor. I found the door. I knocked.

—Come in.

I opened it.

The study smelled of old leather and ink. Books everywhere, antique desk, lamps casting warm shadows. And Kael behind his desk with a glass in his hand.

Red. The liquid was red and thick. It wasn’t wine.

I already knew what it was.

He looked up when I walked in, and surprise disarmed his expression for a second: eyebrows up, lips parted, the glass halfway there. Then he recomposed himself, but too late. I had seen it.

—Amanda. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.

—I changed my mind about the space —I sat in the chair across from his desk, crossed my legs, and tried to look calmer than I was—. I have questions.

—I imagine you do.

—And I want honest answers. No mystery, no games, no dodging with enigmatic phrases. Can you do that?

He set the glass aside —without hiding it, which I appreciated— and gave me his full attention.

—You have my word.

—Do you kill people?

If the question surprised him, he didn’t show it.

—Not anymore. Not for decades.

—But you used to?

—Yes. When I was young, before I learned control. The first years after the turning are… —he searched for the word— wild. There’s no other way to describe it.

—What do you feed on now?

—Blood bags. Hospital blood banks, private clinics. My donations to their institutions are generous enough that they don’t ask too many questions about what I request in return.

—So you buy blood from them.

—It’s a transaction. Nobody gets hurt.

—How many vampires are there?

—Thousands. All over the world. We live hidden, in the shadows. Some in positions of power, others just… existing.

—The contest? All of that was to find someone with special blood?

He nodded.

—Your bloodline is rare. One in ten million. It makes it possible to conceive without prior turning. It has to do with ancient genetic markers… it’s complicated to explain without sounding like a supernatural biology class.

—Try.

—There are human lineages that share an origin with the first vampires. Before the separation of species, before we became what we are. Your blood has those ancestral markers. It’s like a key that fits a lock we’ve been searching for for centuries.

—Poetic. And disturbing.

—I know.

—And the sun? You said you can’t be under the sun. What happens if you go out?

—I burn. For real. Not like a human sunburn. I’m talking about combustion. Minutes of direct exposure and my skin starts to blister, to burn. More time and… —he made a gesture with his hand— there isn’t much left to tell.

—That’s why the whole mansion runs at night.

—That’s why my whole life runs at night. For 177 years.

—And a child of yours? Would it also have that… deadly allergy to the sun?

Something changed in his expression. It softened.

—No. That’s the difference. A hybrid —half human, half vampire— can tolerate the sun. Not without limits, but for hours, unprotected, without burning. It’s one of the advantages of mixing blood. They’d have the best of both worlds: vampire strength and longevity, but without the condemnation of living in darkness forever.

A child who could walk under the sun when his father couldn’t.

The idea hit me harder than it should have.

—And if I accept? What happens next?

He leaned back in his chair and studied me.

—We get to know each other better. We spend time together. And if we both decide it works, when you’re ready, we consummate the agreement.

—Sex. You’re talking about sex.

—Among other things —he blinked slowly.

—And then?

—Then we try to conceive. It can take time. It may never work. But if it works, you’d have a child half human, half vampire, with all the protection and resources that come with being part of my world.

—And me? What happens to me afterward?

—That’s up to you. You can stay human. You can turn when you’re ready. Or never. It’s your choice.

—Except that, if I have a child of yours, that child will live for centuries and I won’t. I’m going to age, to die, while he stays young.

—That’s why most choose the turning. In time. But there’s no rush. You have decades to decide.

I rubbed my face with both hands. The leather of the chair creaked under my weight as I leaned back.

—This is madness.

—I know.

—I should run. I should get out of here and never look back.

—You should.

—Then why don’t I?

Kael stood up, circled the desk, and leaned against the edge in front of me. From up there, with the lamplight drawing shadows on his cheekbones, he looked like something out of a dark Renaissance painting. The kind of painting that attracts you and unsettles you at the same time.

—Because you’re curious. Because part of you wants this. And because, despite the fear, there’s something here that pulls you.

He was right. About everything. And that pissed me off.

—Can I think about it? One more day?

—You can think about it as long as you need.

I stood up. I walked toward the door. But I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.

—Kael, when you said you painted that picture in 1880… how old were you?

—Thirty-one. Still human. I turned the following year, in 1881. I was thirty-two.

—And now?

—Now I’m 177 years old. And I’ve been looking for you for the last fifty.

The words hit me in the chest like something solid.

—Looking for me? For me?

—For someone like you. With your blood, your strength, your spirit —he kept looking at me from the desk, and for the first time I saw something on his face that wasn’t control or elegance or mystery; it was tiredness, the kind that doesn’t get cured by sleeping—. I had lost hope. And then you showed up. Bitter, sarcastic, with coffee stains on your blouse and the honesty of someone who couldn’t care less about impressing me.

My throat closed. Not from fear. From something worse: something that looked too much like tenderness for a man who wasn’t a man and who had spent half a century looking for something I had without knowing it.

—I’m not what you think I am —I said.

—You’re more.

We looked at each other across the room. The books, the lamps, the red glass on the desk, everything blurred until only he and I and the silence between us remained.

—Good night, Kael.

—Good night, Amanda.

I left before I could do something stupid. Like kiss him. Like say yes. Like throw myself into this world of blood and night and centuries without looking back.

One more day, I promised myself as I climbed the stairs on legs that no longer trembled but didn’t feel entirely steady either.

One more day to decide.

But deep down —in that part of the brain that always knows the truth before the rest accepts it— I already knew my answer.

I already knew I would stay.

Chapter 4

The decision to stay should have made things easier.

It didn’t.

I spent the next day avoiding Kael, which was absurd considering he couldn’t go out in the sun and I in theory had the whole daytime mansion to myself. But I avoided him anyway, on principle. I had lunch in my room, explored the gardens under a sun that seemed brighter to me now that I knew what it meant for him —not discomfort, but real danger, combustion, death—, and hid in the library with a book I didn’t really read because every three pages my brain went back to the same thing:

vampire, vampire, vampire, you told him you were going to stay, you’re crazy, vampire.

At eight at night, Mrs. Blackwood found me.

—Mr. Thorne requests your presence in the east gardens.

—Requests or demands?

A tiny smile crossed that severe face.

—With Mr. Thorne, both are the same thing.

The east gardens at night were something else. Wilder than the main gardens, with ancient trees that looked taller under the darkness and a clearing covered in grass that the moon turned into silver velvet.

Kael stood in the center. Dark pants, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and an expression trying to be casual but coming out more like “predator trying to look friendly.” There was a blanket spread on the ground, with a picnic basket and candle lanterns around it casting warm circles of light on the grass.

I stopped at the edge of the clearing.

—A picnic?

—You said you wanted normality. This is the most normal thing I can offer.

—Except it’s nighttime. And you don’t eat.

—But you do. And the nights here are better than the days, I assure you.

He had a point. I walked over, sat on the blanket. He sat across from me and opened the basket.

Sandwiches. Fruit. Cheese of a type that surely had a French name and cost what I earned in a month. Normal picnic things, if you ignored the fact that we were in the garden of a castle, under the moon, with an immortal being as host.

And a thermos bottle.

—What’s in there? —I asked, pointing at it.

—Blood —he scratched his shoulder with a gesture that was almost human in its casualness—. I’d rather not lie about what I am.

At least he was honest. Which was more than I could say for my last boyfriend, who lied about being allergic to cats so he wouldn’t have to meet my mother.

I ate in silence for a while, under a moon that lit the clearing enough to see the colors of the fruit but not so much that it felt like daytime. The crickets sang. The air smelled of grass and something floral I didn’t identify. Kael watched me, taking sips from his thermos bottle from time to time. I tried not to think about what it contained. I didn’t succeed.

—Does it hurt? —I asked—. The turning.

—Yes. Quite a lot. Your body dies and then is reborn. It’s not a pleasant process.

—Do you remember it? Your turning?

Something dark crossed his face. His jaw tightened and his fingers closed around the bottle with a force that dented it.

—Every second. It was in 1881. I was thirty-two years old. I was dying of tuberculosis. I coughed blood, couldn’t breathe without it feeling like swallowing glass. A vampire offered me a way out. I didn’t know what it implied.

—Do you regret it?

—Sometimes. Especially the first years. The loneliness is… —he searched for the word, and in that silence I saw more than any answer would have told me— intense. Humans die. Vampires are territorial, difficult, and forging real connections with them is like trying to make friends in a war: possible, but exhausting.

—Is that why you want an heir? Someone to be with you forever?

He looked up. The moon hit his face full on and those gray eyes looked liquid, like mercury in motion.

—In part. But also because I’ve watched the world change for almost two centuries. I’ve accumulated knowledge, power, resources. And not having anyone to share it with… —he left the sentence hanging, but I understood it. Emptiness. A centuries-old emptiness.

—There must be other vampires. Someone who…

—There are. But it’s not the same. I don’t want a political alliance or a relationship of convenience. I want what humans have —he looked at me, and there was something raw in his expression, something stripped of the usual elegance—. Family. Love. Purpose. Things that are easy to dismiss when you have them and that become an obsession when you’ve gone a century without them.

My chest tightened. Not from fear. From something I didn’t want to examine too closely because it looked like compassion for a monster who wasn’t entirely a monster.

—And you think you can have that with someone you essentially bought in a contest?

A bitter, short laugh.

—When you put it that way, it sounds terrible.

—Because it is terrible.

—I know. That’s why I give you options. That’s why I don’t force you. This has to be your decision, Amanda. Free and conscious.

I set the half-eaten sandwich down and lay back on the blanket, looking at the tree branches outlined against the night sky. The stars peeked through the leaves, more than I had ever seen in my life, because the mansion was so far from everything that there was no light pollution to drown them out.

—If I accept… if I do this… what happens to my life? My friends? My family?

—You can keep in touch. Within reason. But you’d have to be careful. They can’t know the truth about me.

—Then I’d have to lie to them. Forever.

—Or tell them the truth and risk them thinking you’re crazy. Or worse, trying to rescue you.

—Jess comes with a SWAT team if I don’t answer the phone in four hours.

—Your friend is loyal. That’s a good quality.

I turned toward him, propping myself on an elbow.

—What if it doesn’t work? The heir, I mean. What if we try and I can’t conceive?

—Then we keep trying as long as you want to try. And if it never works, you still have the contract. The money. A place here if you want it.

—And if it works? What’s a half-vampire child like?

—Honestly, I don’t know entirely. They’re rare, very rare. They grow faster than normal humans, mature around fifteen, and then age slowly. They have some vampire abilities, but not all. They need blood, but also normal food. And they can tolerate the sun —he added, and something changed in his voice, it softened—. Whole hours under direct light, without burning, without protection.

—They can do what you can’t.

—Yes.

He said it without self-pity, but the weight of that syllable crushed me.

—Sounds complicated —I said, because I didn’t know what else to say to a man who wanted a child who could walk under a sun that would kill him.

—It is. That’s why I need someone strong. Someone who can handle that world.

The silence settled between us, comfortable for the first time. The crickets filled the air, and the moon had moved enough that the light fell between us like a silver dividing line.

—Can I ask you something personal? —I said.

—Anything you want.

—Have you been in love? Ever?

His expression softened. Not all at once, but like ice beginning to give way: the angle of his jaw relaxed, his shoulders dropped half a centimeter, and his eyes lost that metallic edge.

—Once. A long time ago. She was human. Her name was Catherine. We met in Paris in 1920. She was an artist, rebellious, the kind of woman who smoked in public and told men to go to hell when they interrupted her.

—I like her already.

—You two would have liked each other —a sad smile—. I told her the truth. About what I was. She fled. She died three years later in a car accident. I never had the chance to… —he stopped, and I saw his throat rise and fall as he swallowed— after that, I decided it was easier to keep my distance. Only superficial relationships. Nothing real.

—Until now.

He lay down on the blanket beside me, close enough to touch but without doing so. The grass crunched under his weight and the lanterns around us cast shadows that moved with the breeze.

—And you? —he asked—. Have you been in love?

—Once. In college. It lasted two years. It ended when he discovered I was too focused on my career and not available enough. His words.

—Did it hurt?

—At the time. But he was right. I wasn’t present. I was always working, trying to prove something.

—What were you trying to prove?

I looked toward the stars. One streaked past the edge of my vision and disappeared before I could point at it.

—That I was worth it. That I wasn’t just the poor girl with ridiculous dreams. That I could be someone.

Kael turned his head toward me.

—You already are someone.

—Easy to say when you have centuries of achievements backing you up.

—Achievements mean nothing if you’re alone. Believe me. I’ve had 177 years to accumulate them, and some days I wake up in that windowless room and can’t find a reason to get up.

The honesty of that hit me harder than any display of fangs. This man —this vampire— who seemed to have everything, admitting he woke up without a reason. That power and money and centuries didn’t fill what was missing.

—Is that why you held the contest? To fill that hole?

—In part —he turned toward me, and his hand searched for mine on the blanket. His fingers intertwined with mine, cold against my warm skin—. But also because when I saw you, when you spoke with that sarcasm and that brutal honesty, I felt something I hadn’t felt in decades. Hope.

My pulse raced. He heard it, of course he heard it, and the corner of his mouth lifted a millimeter.

—I don’t know you well enough to love you yet —I said, and it was true—. But I want to know you. I want to see if this, whatever it is, can become something real.

—And if it doesn’t work? If we spend time together and decide we’re not compatible?

—Then you let me go. With the million. No drama.

—No drama —he repeated—. But Amanda… —he squeezed my hand— I really hope it works.

—Me too —the words came out before I could swallow them. Honest. Dangerous.

Because despite the madness, despite everything, there was something here. Something that made me want to stay on this blanket under the stars with a man who had no pulse but who somehow made mine race.

Kael sat up slowly, giving me time to move, to push him away. His free hand brushed my cheek and moved a strand of hair the wind had blown over my eyes.

—May I kiss you?

—I thought you’d never ask.

He closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, careful, as if he were afraid of breaking me. His lips were cold, but they warmed against mine, and they tasted of something dark and spicy I couldn’t identify —not wine, something older, deeper.

I tangled my free hand in his hair and pulled him closer.

A low sound came from his throat —deep, animal, vibrating against my mouth— and his hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me toward him. I moved without thinking, ending up half on top of him on the blanket, our bodies pressed together, and his chest against mine was solid and cold and different from anything I had ever felt, and a part of my brain registered that there was no heartbeat under the ribs, nothing, silence where there should be a pumping heart.

And I didn’t care.

His hands tightened on my waist as the kiss grew more desperate, less controlled, and then I felt something sharp brush my lower lip. His fangs, extending without permission.

I pulled away with broken breathing.

—I’m sorry —he said, his voice hoarser, deeper than I had ever heard it—. I react to the… it’s hard to control them when…

—Don’t apologize.

—Don’t they scare you?

— A little —I admitted—. But they’re also… interesting.

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

—Interesting?

—Don’t make me repeat it.

He kissed me again, and this time it wasn’t careful. His fangs brushed my tongue —the edge of possibility, of blood, of pain— and everything became more intense: the crickets, the moon, the cold of his body against the heat of mine, his hands on my lower back pulling me closer as if there weren’t enough closeness in the world.

I arched against him, and his body responded to mine —solid, tense, controlling himself with an effort I saw in his clenched jaw and in his hands trembling against my skin.

Kael broke the kiss, breathing with difficulty even though he didn’t need air.

—We should stop.

—Why?

—Because if we don’t stop now, I won’t want to stop. And this —he gestured between us with a hand that was still trembling— deserves more than a garden.

—What does it deserve?

—Time. Courtship. I don’t want to rush it.

—How old-fashioned.

—I’m 177 years old. Old-fashioned is my default setting.

I laughed. The sound came out light, free, and got lost among the trees as if the gardens themselves carried it away. I moved away from him and sat on the blanket, smoothing my hair with fingers that didn’t want to cooperate.

—Okay. Time. Courtship. Whatever that means in your world.

—It means dinners. Conversation. Getting to know each other beyond the physical.

—And then?

His eyes darkened. The metallic gray became something deeper, hungrier.

—And then I’ll make you mine, completely… If you still want me.

—I have a feeling I will want you.

—That is the hope.

That night, Kael kept his promise of old-fashioned courtship.

He took me to a room I hadn’t seen before: intimate, with a lit fireplace and a grand piano in the corner that gleamed like a black, sleeping animal under the candlelight.

—Do you play? —I asked, pointing at the instrument.

— A little.

A little coming from someone who’s 177 years old surely means concert-level.

—Let’s see, play. —I smiled.

He sat down, his fingers finding the keys with the familiarity of someone who has spoken that language for decades. The music that filled the room was melancholic, beautiful in a way that hurt: notes that rose and fell like waves and made me close my eyes without meaning to.

—Chopin? —I guessed.

—Nocturne in E-flat major. Opus 9, number 2.

—Of course you know the opus.

He smiled without stopping playing.

—Chopin died before I could hear him in person. But I bought the original score of this nocturne at an auction in 1905. I keep it in the vault on the third floor.

—You have a vault.

—I have several.

—Of course you do.

The music continued, and he moved on to another piece, then another, as if each song were a memory he needed to let go of.

—How many famous people have you met? —I asked.

—Too many to count. Some were good. Others less so.

—Any favorite?

His fingers slid into something slower, more intimate.

—Oscar Wilde. He had devastating wit. I met him in London, in the 1890s. We got drunk together after seeing one of his plays. He didn’t know what I was, but he suspected. He called me “creature of the night with a poet’s soul.”

—Sounds pretty accurate.

—He was more perceptive than people gave him credit for.

He finished the piece and turned toward me on the piano bench.

—Do you dance?

—Here? Now? Without music?

He stood up, walked toward a vintage record player in the corner, and selected a real vinyl record. He placed it carefully, lowered the needle.

Waltz music filled the room. Something with strings and a tempo that made the air feel slower.

He offered me his hand.

—Will you grant me this dance?

—I don’t know how to waltz.

—I’ll guide you.

I took his hand. He pulled me toward him. His other hand found my waist, and we started to move.

I was terrible. I stepped on his feet three times in the first thirty seconds and a fourth time trying to compensate for the first three.

—I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

—Don’t apologize. Just follow me.

I closed my eyes. I let his body guide mine. Slowly, without forcing it, we found something that resembled a rhythm. His movements were fluid, precise, the product of decades —of centuries— of practice, and when I relaxed enough to stop thinking about my feet, the waltz became something that wasn’t just dancing: it was conversation without words, question and answer, drawing closer and pulling away.

—Where did you learn to dance like that? —I asked with my cheek against his shoulder.

—In every decade. In every country. Ballroom dances in Vienna. Tangos in Buenos Aires. Swing in New York. It was how people connected before screens.

—It must be strange. Watching the world change so much.

—It’s strange and it’s fascinating. Every generation brings something new. New music. New art. New ways to connect. And new ways to be alone, too.

We moved together in that room while the record spun and the candles burned lower and the fireplace crackled. When the music ended, we didn’t separate right away. The silence the last chord left was dense, full, as if the room were holding its breath just like me.

Kael looked at me. His hand still on my waist. Mine still on his shoulder.

—Thank you.

—For what?

—For giving me a chance. For not running when I told you the truth. For being here, at two in the morning, dancing a waltz with me in a candlelit room.

—I could still run.

—I know. That’s why it means more.

He kissed me. Slowly. Deeply. With a care that made me understand that this man —this being— had spent centuries waiting to be able to kiss someone like that: without hurry, without fear, without an expiration date.

And in that moment, with his cold lips against mine and the music still vibrating in the air, I knew I wasn’t going to run.

I was going to stay. I was going to explore this impossible world. I was going to see where this took us.

Because Kael Thorne —vampire, billionaire, man from another era— made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years.

He made me feel alive.

Chapter 5

The next three days fell into a rhythm that shouldn’t have worked but worked anyway.

By day, I existed alone. I slept until noon, ate whatever Mrs. Blackwood left as a silent offering in the dining room, and explored the mansion under a sun that came in through the few windows without curtains, discovering rooms that seemed not to have been opened in decades. A music room full of instruments covered in white sheets. A map room with seventeenth-century cartography pinned to the walls. A greenhouse with plants I didn’t recognize that smelled of something sweet and medicinal.

At night, Kael woke up, and the world came alive.

He showed me his real world, not the billionaire facade. His private library where he kept first editions that would make any collector cry: a Shakespeare from 1623, a Quixote that smelled of four centuries of dust, a Darwin with margin notes that Kael swore were Darwin’s own. He showed me his art studio —a room on the third floor with half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, squeezed oil paint tubes, a smell of turpentine that stung my eyes—, and he sat down to paint while I watched him, and for the first time I saw something in him that wasn’t control or elegance: pure concentration, his tongue peeking between his teeth while he mixed colors with a palette that had decades of use.

He told me about the other vampires. The hierarchies. The Council that ruled in the shadows. The unwritten rules that kept their world hidden from ours.

And I showed him mine. My graphic designs on the laptop, which he observed with an attention no client had ever given me. My frustrated projects, the ideas I had but had never been able to fund. I taught him to use TikTok, which was a mistake because he spent forty minutes watching cat videos and asking me why humans filmed their pets doing mundane things.

—Because it’s funny —I told him.

—The cat is sleeping.

—And that’s funny.

—I’ve lived 177 years and I still don’t understand your species.

—Welcome to the club. We don’t understand ourselves either.

There was chemistry. That was undeniable. Every time we touched each other —passing a book, brushing fingers over a canvas, dancing again in that room with the record player that was already becoming our ritual— I felt a pull under my skin, something hot and electric that had nothing to do with the temperature of his body and everything to do with what he provoked in me.

But Kael kept his distance. Polite. Respectful.

And disciplined to the point of frustration for someone who had gone decades without touching anyone.

On the fourth night, during another dinner where he pretended to eat and I actually ate, I snapped.

—How long are you going to wait?

He set the fork down on the plate. Those gray eyes found me from across the table, lit by the candles.

—For what?

—For this. For us —I set my wine glass down with more force than necessary—. You’ve spent four nights kissing me and stopping. Four nights getting close and pulling away. It’s like trying to grab smoke.

—Because I want you to be sure.

—I am sure.

—Of what?

I stood up, circled the table, and planted myself in front of him. From above, with him sitting and me standing, he looked less intimidating. More accessible. More human, if that word still applied.

—That I desire you. That this —I pointed between us— is real. That I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and change my mind because I suddenly remembered you’re a vampire, because I swear I don’t forget it for a second.

Kael stood up. His hands found my arms with a soft but firm grip.

—Amanda…

—Stop treating me like I’m going to break. I’m not made of glass. I’m the woman who saw your fangs and sat on the floor to process it instead of running away. Give me some credit.

—I don’t think you’re made of glass. I think you’re… —he stopped, and I saw the effort it cost him to choose the right word instead of saying something generic— extraordinary. And I don’t want to ruin this by going too fast.

—And what if I want to go faster?

Something darkened in his gaze. The metallic gray turned to storm.

—What are you saying?

—I’m saying I made my decision. I accept. The contract. The heir. The entire week of madness you’ve offered me.

—Amanda, you don’t have to decide now. You still have three days of—

—I don’t need them. I know what I want. And what I want is for you to stop being a nineteenth-century gentleman and kiss me like it’s the end of the world.

His hands tightened on my arms. I saw the exact moment his control cracked: a tremor in his jaw, his fingers contracting against my skin, his eyes falling to my lips like stones into water.

—Are you sure? Because once we cross this line, there’s no going back.

—Good. I don’t want to go back. I haven’t wanted to go back since we danced the waltz at two in the morning and you looked at me as if I were the first beautiful thing you’d seen in a century.

He kissed me.

Nothing gentle. Nothing contained. Pure hunger of decades compressed into a single point of contact. His fangs brushed my lower lip and this time he didn’t apologize, and this time I didn’t care.

—Upstairs —he growled against my mouth—. Now.

He didn’t need to repeat it.

He took my hand and guided me up stairs and hallways that were already familiar to me until we reached a door I hadn’t seen: his. His rooms.

They were different from mine. Darker —without a single window, I noticed, not even with curtains; the walls were solid—. More personal. Huge bed with a black fabric canopy. Books everywhere: stacked on tables, on shelves, on the floor, open face down as if he had been reading ten at once and none had quite won his attention.

—Sorry about the mess —he said as he closed the door—. I don’t usually have visitors here.

—I like it. It feels real —I looked around, absorbing the details: a cup of something dark on the nightstand, an open notebook with scribbles, a wrinkled shirt over a chair—. Compared to the rest of the mansion, which looks like a museum, this looks like a place where someone actually lives.

—Compared to the image I project, you mean.

—That too.

He pulled me toward him. His hands found my waist and my back touched his chest, cold through the fabric, solid as marble.

—With you I don’t want to project anything —he said against my hair—. I just want to be me.

—Then be you.

He was.

His hands went up my back, found the zipper of the dress, lowered it slowly, with a slowness that made me grit my teeth. The fabric slid off my shoulders and fell to the floor.

I stood in my underwear, under his gaze that traveled over me as if memorizing every centimeter. Not with animal hunger —or not only that— but with something deeper, older: reverence, perhaps. The gaze of someone who has gone a long time without seeing something that surprises him.

—Beautiful —he murmured.

—Your turn.

He smiled. He began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly. Enjoying my impatience, the bastard.

—Kael…

—Yes?

—If you don’t hurry up, I’ll do it myself. And I won’t be gentle with the buttons.

—Threat or promise?

—Both.

He laughed —that deep laugh that vibrated in my ribs— and finished with the buttons. He took off his shirt.

And there he was. That body I had imagined but not really seen. Pale as moonlight on stone. Defined in a way that didn’t seem like the product of a gym but of centuries of existence, as if his body had sculpted itself by sheer force of time. And scars. Many more than I expected: white and pink lines crossing his skin like a map of ancient violence.

I approached. I traced one with my fingers, a diagonal line crossing his right pectoral.

—What’s this one from?

—Sword. Duel in 1890. The other guy cheated.

—Did you win?

—I’m here, aren’t I?

I touched another, bigger, on his left side. Irregular, sunken.

—And this one?

—Bullet. First World War. It took me three days to get it out completely.

—God.

—The vampire body heals. But it hurts the same. Every time.

I went down to one just above his hip. Smaller than the others, but different: two parallel marks, like dots, with edges that looked old and soft.

—This one?

His hand covered mine, stopping me.

—That one was from my turning. Where the vampire who turned me bit first.

—Does it still hurt?

—Not anymore. But I remember it every time I see it. Every second of that night.

I kissed him there, right over the marks. His body tensed under my lips, not from pain, but from something that ran through him entirely, that made him close his eyes and release the air he didn’t need.

—Amanda…

—I want to know all your scars. All your stories.

—I have 177 years of stories. It’s going to take time.

—I just agreed to stay with a vampire. I think time is what I have most of now.

He lifted me then —off the floor, effortlessly, as if I weighed the same as a book— and carried me to the bed. He laid me down on the mattress, and the black canopy closed around us like a private sky.

He positioned himself above me, supporting himself on his arms so as not to crush me, and looked at me from above with those eyes that were no longer gray but almost black.

—Sure? —he asked—. Last chance.

—Kael, if you ask one more time I’m going to…

I didn’t finish. His mouth found my neck and started to go down; slow kisses, bites that didn’t break the skin, his tongue tracing a path that pulled a sound out of me I didn’t know I could make.

His fangs brushed my skin just above my collarbone. Not enough to pierce, just enough that every nerve in my body lit up with the possibility.

—May I? —he murmured against my throat—. Taste you? Just a little.

My brain screamed that this was a bad idea. My body was already nodding.

—Yes.

The prick was sharp but brief. A second of edge and then his mouth on my neck, sucking slowly, and the sensation was…

Fuck.

Pleasure. Liquid, hot, impossible. It spread from the point where his fangs went in, down my spine like electricity, and concentrated between my legs with an intensity that tore a moan out of me that would have been embarrassing if I had retained any capacity to feel embarrassment.

I arched against him, hooking my legs around his waist.

Kael pulled away after a few seconds —though each one felt like a whole minute— and licked the wound to close it. I saw the change in his face: pupils dilated until barely a ring of gray remained, his mouth stained red, which should have horrified me and instead provoked something dark and hot in me that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

—You taste like I imagined —he said, his voice so hoarse I almost didn’t recognize it—. Sweet. Strong.

—Do vampires write Yelp reviews of the blood they drink? Because that was very poetic.

He laughed against my neck, and the vibration traveled through me entirely.

—Only when the blood deserves it.

His hands found my bra. He removed it with a skill that betrayed centuries of practice —or a very different textile engineering in the nineteenth century, who knows—, and his mouth followed the path of his fingers. Every kiss, every bite calculated to take me to the edge without pushing me over.

When he reached my breasts, my back rose off the bed on its own.

—Kael, please…

—Please what?

—More. I need more.

—More of this? —he bit slowly, just enough, and the sound that came out of my mouth had no translation into any language I spoke.

—Everything. I need everything.

He laughed against my skin —deep, dark, satisfied— and kept going down. He removed my underwear with an ease that should have bothered me and instead made me more impatient.

And then he was there. Exposed. Looking at me from below with those eyes that were no longer human at all, with his fangs barely showing and his mouth centimeters from where I needed him most.

—Don’t make me wait —I said, and my voice sounded broken even to my own ears.

He didn’t make me wait.

What he did with his mouth should be regulated by some international treaty. Tongue, teeth —not the fangs, thank God—, pressure, suction, a knowledge of the female body that only two centuries of practice could explain.

Because he has them, my brain reminded me.

He has two centuries of practice.

I didn’t care. All I cared about was this: his hands holding my hips against the mattress, his mouth taking me apart piece by piece, the pleasure building like a wave I wasn’t going to be able to hold back.

I couldn’t.

I came with my fingers dug into his hair and a scream that took all the air out of the room, and before I could come down all the way I was going up again because he didn’t stop, didn’t ease off, kept going until the second orgasm hit me on top of the first and I no longer knew where one ended and the other began.

He came up afterward, kissing me, and the taste of myself on his tongue mixed with the metallic trace of my blood on his lips should have been weird and instead it was the most intimate thing I had ever experienced in my life.

—Your turn —I gasped.

—You don’t have to…

—Kael. If you don’t let me touch you now, I’m going to lose my mind. And not in the sexy way.

He smiled. He lay back on the bed with a confidence that annoyed me and excited me in equal parts.

—Then touch me.

I did. I explored every centimeter of his body with hands and mouth, learning the map of his skin: what made him tense, what pulled those deep sounds from his throat, where the scars were sensitive and where they weren’t.

When I reached the button of his pants, I looked at him.

—Yes?

—Yes —he lifted his hips to help me, and the urgency of that gesture —of this man who controlled everything, always, surrendering control— hit me harder than any other moment of this night.

I removed them along with everything else, and…

Well.

Vampire or not, everything worked. More than well.

I took him in my hand and enjoyed the sound he made: a low, broken growl, eyes closed and head thrown back against the pillow.

—Amanda…

—Yes?

—If you do that, I won’t last.

—Who says I want you to last?

I lowered my head. I tasted him. Cold at first, like everything about him, but warming quickly under my tongue. Different from any other man, but not in a way that mattered to me: it was just him, Kael, his hands trembling in my hair and the breathing he didn’t need breaking into gasps.

He cursed in what sounded like three languages —something that could have been French, something that was surely Latin, and something I didn’t identify— while I found the rhythm, learning what he liked, how to make that iron control come undone.

His hands tangled in my hair, not pushing, just there, and when he spoke, my name in his mouth sounded like something sacred and obscene at the same time.

—Amanda, you have to stop or I’m going to…

I took him deeper as an answer.

He came with a growl that wasn’t human —deep, long, vibrating in the air as if the room itself trembled— and I swallowed all of it because by now I had crossed every possible line and a few I didn’t know existed.

When he finished, he pulled me up and kissed me as if I were oxygen and he were drowning.

—You’re incredible.

—You’re not bad either for being 177 years old.

—For being 177? —he raised an eyebrow—. What is that supposed to mean?

—It means I expected you to be more… I don’t know. Rusty. Out of practice. Something.

He laughed, rolled me until I was under him again, and the weight of his body on mine was cold and solid and perfect in a way that shouldn’t have been but was.

—Let me show you how out of practice I am.

And he did.

It wasn’t once. That would have been simple, and nothing between us was simple.

The first was desperate: months of tension in him, days of tension in me, everything exploding at once. Fast, loud, his fangs brushing my shoulder as he moved inside me and my nails leaving marks on his back that healed before I could see them.

The second was slow. Him on top, looking into my eyes, moving with a steady rhythm that made me feel every centimeter, every second. No hurry. No hunger. Just attention, as if he were memorizing this, recording it somewhere the centuries couldn’t erase.

And between the second and the third, lying tangled in sheets that were no longer cold because I had warmed them, Kael propped himself on an elbow and looked at me with an expression I hadn’t seen in him before. Serious. Almost solemn. Like someone about to confess something he’s carried for a long time.

—There’s something else —he said—. Something I need to tell you before we go any further.

—Any further? You were just inside me many, many times. How much further can we go?

He didn’t smile.

—The mate bond. It’s different for vampires. It’s not just emotional. It’s physical. There’s… magic in it, for lack of a better word.

—Magic? —I repeated, and a part of me wanted to laugh but another part —the one that had seen fangs grow and impossible speed and a man who didn’t age— stayed quiet.

—When a vampire claims his mate, there’s a ritual. Blood exchange during the act. It creates a permanent connection. We’ll be able to feel each other’s emotions. Know where the other is. Be united. For real.

I sat up in bed, pulling the sheet over my chest. Not out of modesty —that ship had already sailed— but because I needed something between his gaze and me while I processed.

—And that’s what you want? The bond?

—Only if you want it. But Amanda, you need to understand: once done, it can’t be undone. You’ll be tied to me and I to you. Until one of us stops existing.

—And if I turn? If I become a vampire someday?

—Then we’ll be together until the universe goes out. No metaphor.

I stayed silent. The fireplace in his room crackled —a fireplace inside a windowless room, because of course— and the shadows danced on the canopy above us.

It should have scared me. The word “permanent” should have triggered every alarm of a thirty-year-old woman with commitment issues who hadn’t been able to keep a Netflix subscription for more than six months.

But “permanent” felt different when it was said by someone who had been alone for 177 years. When you could feel the weight of that isolation in the way he touched you, as if every caress were the first and the last at the same time.

—Do it —I said—. The bond. I want to be tied to you.

—Are you sure?

—Kael Thorne, if you ask me one more time if I’m sure, I’m going to tie you up with the sheets of this bed myself. And not in the erotic way.

His mouth trembled.

—Is there an erotic way?

—Focus.

He came closer, took my face with both hands —cold, firm, trembling a little— and kissed me. Not with hunger this time. With something denser. Heavier. As if he were sealing something with his lips before sealing it with blood.

—Then it will be an honor, Amanda Reyes.

He laid me back, positioned himself between my legs, and I saw on his face something that wasn’t control or elegance or mystery: it was fear. Real. The fear of someone who has waited half a century for this and can’t believe it’s happening.

—It’s going to hurt a little —he warned—. When I bite. But afterward…

—I trust you.

He entered slowly, letting me adjust, and started to move with a rhythm that was different from the previous times. Deeper. Slower. As if every movement had intention, as if he were building something between us with each thrust.

The pleasure rose like a tide. Without hurry but without pause, filling me from my toes to the top of my head, until every part of me was tense and vibrating and about to break.

—Ready? —he whispered, his mouth against my neck, his fangs brushing my skin.

—Yes.

He bit just as the orgasm hit me.

The pain and the pleasure crashed together like two waves in opposite directions, and from the collision came something else: a connection, an invisible thread that stretched between his chest and mine, vibrating at a frequency I felt in my bones. I could feel my blood flowing toward him. I could feel his pleasure mixing with mine, like two colors blending in water. And underneath it all, something ancient and enormous waking up: the bond.

Kael came inside me with a sound that came from somewhere deeper than his throat, and in the same movement he bit his own wrist —a quick, brutal slash— and pressed it against my lips.

—Drink.

His blood didn’t taste like I expected. It wasn’t metallic or salty. It was sweet, spiced, with an undertone that reminded me of winter nights by the fire and something older than that, something that had no name because it existed before language.

And as I swallowed, I felt the bond complete itself.

Like a lock finding its key. Like a musical note that finally forms the chord. A click that wasn’t a sound but a sensation: something fitting into a place I didn’t know was empty.

We collapsed together, both breathing with difficulty —he out of instinct, me out of necessity— and the bond throbbed between us like a living thing, a third heart that belonged to neither and to both at the same time.

—Can you feel it? —Kael asked, stroking my hair with a hand that still trembled.

—Yes. You’re… relieved. Still scared, a little. And happy. Very happy —the sensation was strange, like hearing a language you didn’t speak but suddenly understood—. Does it always feel like this?

—I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.

—Seriously? In 177 years?

—In 177 years —he confirmed, and the emotion behind those words reached me through the bond like a wave: loneliness, waiting, hopelessness, and then me. As if his whole existence were a long, dark hallway and I were the door at the end.

—Well —I said, because my eyes were burning and I wasn’t going to cry naked on top of a vampire in a castle, that was too cliché even for me—. I hope I live up to 177 years of expectations.

—You already surpassed them.

I curled up against his chest. Under my ear, where there should have been silence, I heard something: a heartbeat. Slow, spaced, like a clock with little battery left, but there. Existing.

—Your heart beats.

—Very slowly. About ten times a minute.

—Mine goes at like a thousand.

—I know. I hear it. It’s my favorite sound.

I closed my eyes. The bond vibrated between us like a freshly plucked guitar string, and through it I could feel what Kael felt: an enormous, oceanic peace, the kind that only comes after something that has hurt you for a long time finally stops hurting.

—And now what? —I asked against his chest.

—Now we rest. And tomorrow night we start our life together. For real.

—And the heir?

—It will come when it comes. No rush. We have time.

—Time —I repeated, and the word felt different in my mouth. Bigger. Fuller—. That’s the most surreal part of all this. Suddenly I have time.

—All you want.

He kissed my hair. He held me closer. And the truth came out of my mouth before I could swallow it, pushed by the bond that made it impossible to lie, that turned every emotion into something transparent between us.

—I think I love you. I know it’s ridiculous to say it after five days. I know it sounds crazy. But the bond… I can feel what you feel for me, and it’s enormous, Kael, it’s terrifying how enormous it is. And what I feel back isn’t that big yet, but it’s there. Growing. And I don’t want to pretend it isn’t.

—It’s not ridiculous —his voice vibrated against my hair—. I’ve waited 177 years for this. I’m not going to question the calendar.

—Typical billionaire. Time doesn’t matter to them because they have plenty of it.

He laughed. Softly. Against my hair. And through the bond I felt his laughter like something warm spilling into my chest.

—My Amanda —he said—. My mate.

—Yours —I said, because it was true, and the bond confirmed it with a pulse we both felt.

We stayed like that while the candles burned down and the fireplace turned to embers. Outside those windowless walls, dawn was coming —I felt it through Kael, a subtle discomfort, like a pull in the bones that said sun, danger, hide—, but in here, in this dark room that was his refuge from the world, we were safe.

And for the first time since I arrived at this impossible mansion, I felt at home.

In a house without windows, in a world that shouldn’t exist, but at home.

Chapter 6

I woke up alone.

The bed was cold on the side where Kael had been, and the room —his room, without windows, without a clock, without any reference to the outside world— gave me the same information as a cave: nothing. I looked for my phone on the nightstand. Four in the afternoon. I had slept like the dead after a night that had left me with sore muscles in places I didn’t know could hurt, and a stupid smile settled on my face before I could stop it.

I’m bonded to a vampire.

I had sex with a vampire. Several times. And I swallowed his blood during a ritual that now connected me to him for life.

My life had become a cheap paranormal novel. The kind with covers of shirtless guys and titles like “Bitten by Destiny.”

And I didn’t care one bit.

I got up, found one of Kael’s shirts thrown on the floor, and put it on. It smelled like him: spices, old paper, something deep and dark that had no name but that my body already recognized as his.

There was a note on the nightstand, in that elegant handwriting of someone who learned to write before ballpoint pens existed:

“Good afternoon, my love. I had to attend to business matters in the basement office. I’ll be busy until nightfall. Mrs. Blackwood has food waiting for you. Yours, K.”

My love. Yours.

Something warm expanded in my chest, and through the bond I felt an echo of the same: affection, satisfaction, an undertone of concentration that told me he was working, but thinking of me between one task and the next.

This is going to take time to get used to, I thought.

As if he had heard me —and maybe he did, the bond was new and neither of us knew where its limits were— I felt a warm pulse. His way of saying me too.

I ate in the dining room —strong coffee, salmon, toast, fresh fruit— under Mrs. Blackwood’s silent supervision, who made no comments about my disheveled appearance or the fact that I was wearing her boss’s shirt as a dress.

But there was something on her lips that looked a lot like a smile.

—Mr. Thorne seemed… happy today —she said while pouring me more coffee.

—Yeah?

—He was whistling. I haven’t heard him whistle in the fifteen years I’ve worked here.

The heat rose to my face.

—Well. We had a good night.

—I’m glad to hear that, Miss Reyes. Mr. Thorne deserves some happiness. He’s been alone for too long.

She left before I could respond, leaving me with my thoughts and a full coffee pot and the feeling that Mrs. Blackwood knew much more than she said. She surely knew everything. She had surely spent fifteen years watching Kael whistle through the hallways zero times and now once, and that was enough for her.

I spent the afternoon exploring parts of the mansion I hadn’t seen. With the sun coming in through the few uncovered windows, the daytime hallways had a different air: dustier, more abandoned, like a theater between performances. I found the music room I already knew, and beyond it, a complete gym with equipment that looked new and unused; because a vampire with supernatural strength didn’t need weights, but apparently he did need to appear normal.

And then I found something that stopped me cold.

A door at the end of a third-floor hallway. Different from the others: older, darker, with engravings carved into the wood that looked like symbols of something I didn’t recognize. Neither Celtic nor Latin. Something older.

The doorknob was cold under my hand. I turned it.

Locked.

Of course. Because in this mansion everything interesting was closed, sealed, or wrapped in mystery, and I was the idiot who kept trying to open doors I shouldn’t.

—That room is restricted.

I jumped so hard I almost fell. I turned with my heart in my throat.

A man I had never seen was standing meters away, in the dark hallway —the curtains in this area were closed, I noticed now; we were in the mansion’s nighttime territory—. Tall. Elegant in a different way from Kael: sharper, less warm. Platinum blond hair. And eyes that shone golden under the little light, like coins at the bottom of a well.

Another vampire. Inside the mansion, in the sunless zones, like a fish in its dark aquarium.

—Who are you? —I asked, taking a step back before I could stop myself.

—Lucien. Advisor and friend of Kael —he smiled, and his fangs didn’t extend but his canines were sharp enough that the message was clear—. And you must be Amanda. The famous mate.

The way he said “famous” didn’t sound like a compliment. It sounded like a diagnosis.

—Does Kael know you’re here?

—He knows. I came to meet the human who managed to trap our solitary Kael after half a century of searching.

He approached with that supernatural grace they all had, those fluid movements that seemed to spend no energy, and I forced myself not to step back again. If I was going to live in a world of vampires, I couldn’t jump every time one appeared out of nowhere in a dark hallway. Even though I felt like it.

—I didn’t trap him. He chose me.

—Mmm. Interesting way of seeing it.

He stopped in front of me, tilted his head, and studied me with that predator’s attention evaluating something. Not with hunger —or not only hunger— but with clinical curiosity, like a biologist examining a rare species.

—I can see why he chose you. You have spirit. And that blood… —he inhaled slowly, and his nostrils opened a millimeter— I can smell it even with Kael’s bond on top of it. Rare. Ancient. Delicious, if you’ll allow me to say so.

—I won’t allow you. Are you going to explain the closed door or just be creepy? Because if it’s the second, I warn you I already have my quota covered with your friend.

A short, genuine laugh.

—I like you. Most humans freeze when a vampire approaches. You attack first.

—I learned that the best defense is offense. And the best offense is sarcasm.

—Wise —he conceded—. And to answer your question: that room holds Kael’s memories. Things from his past that he prefers to keep under lock and key.

—Like what?

—You’ll have to ask him that. It’s not my story to tell.

Lucien turned to leave, but stopped. The amusement disappeared from his face as if someone had flipped a switch.

—A warning, Amanda. Not a threat; there’s a difference and I want you to notice which one this is. The vampire world isn’t like yours. There’s politics. Hierarchies. Centuries-old enemies with grudges older than your country. And now that you’re Kael’s mate, you have a target on your back.

—Whose?

—There are vampires who think Kael should have bonded with one of our own. Not with a human. And there’s one in particular… Seraphine. Ancient. Powerful. She’s spent decades waiting to be the chosen one. She didn’t take the news well.

—How “not well”?

—Well enough that I’m here warning you instead of attending to my own affairs —he looked at me with those golden eyes—. Be careful.

And then he disappeared down the hallway with that impossible speed that left me staring at the empty space where he had been and wondering if I had just had a conversation or a hallucination.

I stayed there, in front of the closed door, with Lucien’s words bouncing around in my skull.

Memories. Enemies. Seraphine.

What did I really get myself into?

Through the bond I felt the moment Kael finished working. His concentration relaxed, turned into something warmer. Anticipation, eagerness to see me, and a few minutes later I heard him come up the stairs.

He found me in the library, which had become my daytime refuge: the only place in the mansion where I felt comfortable being alone, surrounded by books that smelled of centuries and armchairs that swallowed me whole.

—Hi, love —he kissed me long, deep, and his cold lips warmed against mine while the bond vibrated between us like a tuning fork.

For a moment everything faded: Lucien, the door, the warning.

Until he pulled away and frowned.

—What’s wrong?

—What? Nothing.

—Amanda —his voice dropped half a tone—. I can feel you. You’re anxious. You’ve been anxious for hours. What happened?

Damn bond. I was going to need to learn to modulate my emotions or this man was going to know every time I got stressed, angry, or had an inappropriate sexual thought at the supermarket.

—I met Lucien.

Kael tensed. Not much —a hardening of the jaw, a change in posture—, but through the bond I felt a flash of something hot and possessive that surprised me.

—What did he tell you?

—He warned me. About enemies. About being your human mate. And he mentioned a name: Seraphine.

The flash turned into something darker. Kael sat on the sofa beside me, took my hands, and wrapped them in his, which were colder than usual.

—Lucien is right. There are vampires who aren’t happy with my choice. Seraphine is one of them. She’s ancient, of the Deveraux lineage, and she’s spent decades assuming she would be my mate. When I announced the contest and looked for a human… she took it as a personal insult.

—How dangerous is she?

—Enough that I take her seriously. But not enough that she puts you at real risk. Not while you’re here, under my protection, with the bond active.

—That sounds like “don’t worry” wrapped in “worry a little.”

—It’s an “I’m aware and I won’t let anything happen to you” —he squeezed my hands—. Trust me.

—I trust you. It’s Seraphine I don’t trust, and I don’t even know her.

—Good. That instinct will serve you well.

Silence. The library fireplace crackled. Outside, night had fully settled and the mansion was at its liveliest hour, with footsteps and murmurs of the staff moving through the hallways.

—Kael, the door. On the third floor. Lucien said it holds your memories. Things from your past.

His expression closed like a book. The bond dimmed for a second, as if he had put a wall between his emotions and mine.

—It’s not something I want to talk about.

—That’s fine. You don’t have to—

—But you should know it —he interrupted me, and the wall of the bond dropped all at once, letting me feel what was underneath: pain. Old, deep, the kind that doesn’t heal but that you learn to carry—. If we’re going to be together. If we’re going to have a child. You need to know who I was. Not just who I am now.

He stood up. He offered me his hand.

—Do you want to see?

—Only if you’re ready.

—With you I’m ready for anything. I already discovered that.

The room was smaller than I expected. And darker, which was saying a lot in a mansion where darkness was the natural state of things.

Kael lit candles —one by one, with matches, not a lighter; the habit of centuries— and the light gradually revealed the walls.

Portraits. Dozens of portraits. Paintings, drawings, photographs in frames from different eras. People in nineteenth-century dresses, military uniforms, clothes from the twenties, the sixties, the nineties. Faces of all ages, all colors, all looking from their frames with that stillness only the dead have.

—My family —Kael said, and his voice sounded hollow, as if it came from very far away—. Not by blood. By choice. Humans I loved over the years. Who aged and died while I kept going.

I approached the first one. A woman in a Victorian dress with a soft smile, painted with brushstrokes I recognized as Kael’s.

—Catherine —he said behind me—. The one I told you about. My first real love. She died in 1923 in a car accident. She was thirty-six years old.

The next was a young man in military uniform, in a black-and-white photograph with yellowed edges.

—James. I met him during the Second World War. He was an American soldier, he had a laugh you could hear three blocks away. He died in Normandy saving his platoon. Twenty-three years old.

He guided me through the room slowly, and each portrait was a stab.

An Indian woman in a silk sari, huge eyes: Priya, philosophy professor in Bombay, dead of cancer at fifty-one. A blond boy with a mischievous face: Thomas, an orphan Kael raised in secret in the thirties, dead of old age at eighty-two. An elderly couple holding hands: the Müllers, humans who knew his secret and kept it for forty years, dead months apart in 1988.

Each portrait, a life. Each life, a loss. And Kael there, standing in the center of that room, carrying all those deaths with the weight of someone who knows he’s going to keep accumulating more.

—Why do you keep them here? —I asked, and my voice came out hoarser than I wanted—. If it hurts so much.

—Because I need to remember. I need to remember that every human connection is temporary. That loving a human means losing them in the end. And that even so —he looked at me— it’s worth it.

I turned toward him and saw what I hadn’t wanted to see: not tears, because I wasn’t sure vampires could cry, but something worse. A dryness in his eyes that was like a desert where there should have been water. Aridity of centuries.

—Kael…

—You have to understand something, Amanda —he took a step toward me, and through the bond I felt his fear as if it were my own—. If you choose to stay human. If you decide never to turn. I’m going to lose you. In fifty years. Sixty if we’re lucky. And I’m going to have to live with that. Add you to this wall. Remember you while I keep going without you.

I looked at Catherine. At James. At Priya and Thomas and the Müllers. All the faces Kael had loved and lost, hung like reminders that time was his cruelest enemy.

—Then I’ll turn.

—Don’t say that lightly. You can’t do it for me. It has to be for you. Because you really want it.

—I want it. Listen to me: not now. Not yet. I want to live a human life first. Have our child, if that works. Watch him grow. Experience the things you can only experience when you know time is running out. But after that, yes. I want to be with you. Not just fifty years. The whole time.

He hugged me with a force that knocked the air out of me, and through the bond I felt something break in him. Not from pain this time. From relief. Like a wall that had stood for decades and finally gave way.

—You don’t know what that means to me —he said against my hair.

—I think I do know. Because I’m feeling it right now through this ridiculous bond we have —I ran my hand over his back—. It feels like someone gave you back something you didn’t know you were missing.

—Exactly.

We stayed like that, surrounded by the ghosts of Kael’s past, and I made a decision.

I wasn’t going to be just another portrait on that wall.

I was going to be the one who stayed.

That night, during dinner —the dinner where he pretended to eat and I actually ate, our ritual—, Kael put a small black velvet box on the table.

—What’s this?

—Open it.

Inside was a ring. Ancient, the kind that isn’t manufactured but forged: a dark silver band with a black stone in the center that shone with a light that didn’t come from any external source, as if it had its own moon inside.

—Kael…

—It’s not an engagement ring. Not yet —he hurried to say, and through the bond I felt a nervousness that would have endeared me if I hadn’t been so busy looking at the stone—. It’s a protection ring. Every vampire in my line will recognize it. It tells them you’re under my protection. That touching you is declaring war on me.

I put it on. It fit as if it had been made for my finger.

—How did you know my size?

—I told you. I do my research.

—Creepy but sweet. My favorite combination. The story of our relationship, really.

He laughed, leaned across the table, and kissed me over the candelabras.

—There’s something else —he said as he pulled away, and his tone changed enough that my stomach tightened—. A meeting. In three nights. The Vampire Council wants to meet you.

—The Council?

—The leaders. The oldest and most powerful vampires in this region. They need to officially approve our union.

—And if they don’t approve it?

—Then we have a problem.

—”We have a problem” is the scariest phrase anyone has said to me, and that includes “your blood tests came back weird.”

—That doesn’t reassure me. That tells me you’ve spent a century dealing with people who can kill you and that seems normal to you.

He took my hands across the table.

—Amanda. I’ll be there. By your side. They won’t touch you.

—And if they try something weird?

—Then I’ll remind them why they don’t mess with me.

—And me?

—You —he smiled— have permission to use your sarcasm as a weapon.

—Good. It’s the only weapon I have, apart from a pretty mediocre punch.

The next three nights were training.

Kael taught me vampire etiquette with the patience of someone who has had centuries of practice explaining things to humans who don’t understand. Hierarchies: the oldest rule, the youngest obey, and respect is measured in bows whose depth I was never going to be able to calculate properly. Titles: Counselor, Elder, Lord, Lady, and a system of honorifics that made me feel like I was studying for a vampire law exam.

—And if I make a mistake? —I asked on the second night, while we practiced bows in the piano room.

—They won’t kill you for a badly done bow.

—But will they judge me?

—They’ll judge you no matter what. They’re vampires. That’s what they do.

—Great. They’re like the aunts in my family at Christmas but with fangs.

Mrs. Blackwood helped me choose the dress: black, long, elegant without being ostentatious. Human but with something that said “I belong here even though we both know I don’t.” She gathered my hair in a low bun that left my neck exposed —which, in a vampire world, was according to Kael a sign of trust and not stupidity, although I felt it as the second.

And Lucien reappeared the last night to give me unsolicited advice on how not to die in front of the Council.

—Don’t look the Elders in the eyes for too long. They’ll see it as a challenge.

—And if I look too little?

—They’ll see it as weakness.

—Then I’m screwed either way.

—Essentially.

—You’re devastatingly useful, Lucien.

—I do what I can.

The night of the meeting, Kael found me in the library where I had spent an hour trying to read and failing spectacularly.

He stood behind me, wrapped me in his arms, and the cold of his body against my back no longer scared me but anchored me. Something to hold on to.

—Nervous?

—Terrified.

—Good. It means you understand the gravity.

—That doesn’t help, Kael.

—I’m sorry —he kissed my hair—. I’ll be there. By your side. No matter what happens.

—And if they decide I’m not appropriate? If they say no?

—Then we leave. We disappear. We live our life far from the vampire world.

—Would you do that? Leave everything? The Council, the hierarchies, your position?

He turned me until I was facing him. His hands took my face, and through the bond I felt something so firm and absolute it cut off my breathing: certainty. Without cracks. Without doubts.

—For you I’d leave anything. You’re more important than any Council, any tradition, any rule they wrote centuries before you were born.

—I love you —I said, because it was true and because the bond made it impossible to swallow things.

—And I love you. More than I thought it was possible to love anyone after 177 years of trying.

He kissed me, and for a moment there were no Councils, no politics, no Seraphine, no danger. Just his cold mouth against mine and the bond beating between us like a shared heart.

The car picked us up at ten at night.

I dressed carefully, let Mrs. Blackwood check every detail, put on the protection ring. When I went down, Kael waited for me in the lobby: dark suit, hair combed back, every centimeter the powerful vampire he was. The Kael from the charity gala photos. The public Kael. The armor.

—You look beautiful —he said.

—I’m terrified.

—Both things can be true.

The car took us down dark roads for an hour, away from the mansion, deeper into the countryside, to a property that made Kael’s look modest. Gothic. Imposing. Dark stone walls, towers with windows that shone like eyes, and an iron gate that opened on its own when the car approached.

The kind of place where you’d expect to find vampires.

Because there they were.

They received us in a huge hall. Crystal chandeliers. Ceilings painted with scenes that looked Renaissance but that, if you looked closely, showed things the Renaissance wouldn’t have approved of. And seated on thrones —because of course they had thrones, these beings had gone centuries without updating their decor— five vampires radiating ancient power like heat from an oven.

The Council.

Kael squeezed my hand as we approached. Through the bond I felt something in him I hadn’t felt before: calculated tension. Not fear. Preparation. Like a chess player who knows his opponent and knows the game is going to be long.

—Members of the Council —he said, in a voice that resonated through the hall with authority that needed no volume—. I present to you Amanda Reyes. My bonded mate.

Five pairs of eyes fixed on me. Five gazes from beings who had seen empires born and fall and who now looked at a thirty-year-old woman with student debt and a borrowed black dress as if she were a riddle they needed to solve before deciding whether to break it.

And I knew, with a certainty that froze my blood, that the next few minutes were going to determine the rest of my life.

Or the end of it.

Chapter 7

The vampire in the center spoke first.

She looked forty, but her eyes had that depth I was already learning to recognize in immortals: layer upon layer of accumulated time behind the gaze, like a bottomless well disguised as a puddle. She wore black, with ancient jewelry at her neck and on her fingers, and her voice filled the hall without her needing to raise it.

—Kael Thorne. You have brought a human before us. A human mate.

Her tone made clear what she thought of that. As if she had said “you have brought a cockroach to our table.”

—Yes, Counselor Morgana —Kael spoke in a voice I had never heard from him before: formal, hard, with no trace of the man who kissed me and made me laugh in the darkness of his room—. Amanda is my bonded mate. I claim her protection under the ancient laws.

—The ancient laws —another counselor repeated, a man with scars covering half his face like a war map— were written to protect vampire women. Not humans.

—The laws don’t specify species —Kael replied—. They only say “bonded mate.” Amanda qualifies.

Morgana leaned forward and studied me as if I were an insect that had landed on her plate and she hadn’t decided whether to crush or let go.

—Come closer, girl. Let me see you.

Kael squeezed my hand. Then let go.

I took three steps forward and kept my head high, even though my heart beat so hard that surely every vampire in the room could hear it. Five counselors. Dozens of observers in the shadows of the hall. All with senses that picked up every drop of sweat, every acceleration of my pulse, every wave of fear my body was radiating like an antenna.

You’re standing in front of creatures who could kill you in the time it takes you to blink. Breathe. Don’t fall. Don’t vomit.

—Do you know what you are? —Morgana asked—. Why did Kael choose you?

—For my blood. For my bloodline.

—Be more specific.

—I have rare genetic markers. One in ten million. They make it possible to conceive with a vampire without prior turning.

—Hmm —a sound that was neither approval nor rejection; it was evaluation—. At least he educated you. That’s something.

She stood up, came down from her throne in a movement that made no noise, and walked around me. Slowly. Every step measured, calculated to make me feel like what I was: prey in a hall full of predators.

—Small. Fragile. Human in every sense —she stopped in front of me, and from this distance her eyes were such a dark brown they looked black, with no visible pupils—. What makes you think you’ll survive in our world?

—I don’t know —I admitted, because lying to someone who can smell the lie in your sweat was a stupidity even I wouldn’t commit—. But I’m here. Knowing what you are. Knowing what you could do to me. And I didn’t leave.

—Willing? —she laughed, and there was no humor in the sound; it was the kind of laugh cats give mice before they get bored of playing—. The vampire world doesn’t reward willingness, girl. It rewards strength. Power. Cunning. Do you have any of that?

—I have enough to stand in front of five vampires who could tear out my throat and answer them without my voice shaking.

My knees are shaking, but not my voice. Points for me.

Morgana tilted her head. Something changed in her expression: a flash of something that could have been interest or could have been hunger, and with vampires the line between the two was too thin for my taste.

—Brave or stupid. I still can’t decide which.

—According to my best friend, both. They’re not mutually exclusive.

A counselor at the back —the youngest-looking, maybe twenty-five, with dark eyes and a half-smile suggesting he was enjoying himself more than the others— laughed.

—I like her. She has spirit.

—Nobody asked your opinion, Dante —the scarred-faced one growled.

—And I give it anyway. Free, even. Community service.

Morgana returned to her throne, sat with the grace of someone who has occupied places of power for centuries, and looked at me from above.

—Kael Thorne. We understand your desire for an heir. But bonding a human is problematic. It creates weakness. Vulnerability. A pressure point for any enemy who wants to reach you.

—Amanda is not my weakness —Kael said, and took a step forward until he was beside me. Through the bond I felt something iron, immovable, like a steel wall in him—. She is my strength.

—Pretty words —the scarred counselor crossed his arms—. But what happens when your enemies use her against you? When they take her hostage? Torture her to get to you? Because they will try. It’s not a question of if, but when.

—Then I will destroy anyone who touches her.

The temperature in the hall dropped. Not as a metaphor: it really dropped, as if someone had opened a window to winter. The observers in the shadows shifted, uneasy.

—Are you threatening the Council, Kael? —Morgana’s voice was soft, but the softness of a knife.

—I’m declaring my intention. Anyone who hurts Amanda has me as an enemy. Whoever they are. Whatever title they hold.

Morgana and Kael looked at each other. Battle of wills. Of power. The air between them thickened with something that wasn’t visible but that I felt in my teeth, in my bones, like the pressure before an electrical storm. The other counselors watched without moving, and I was there in the middle, the fragile little human between titans, my heart about to burst out of my chest and my fists clenched at my sides.

In the end, Morgana looked away. A millimeter. Enough.

—Very well. We accept your bond. Under conditions.

My stomach contracted.

—What conditions? —Kael asked, and his tone said he was willing to negotiate, but not to yield.

—First: Amanda must prove her worth. She can’t be just an incubator with special blood. She must contribute to our world in a significant way.

—How? —I asked, because I was already tired of them talking about me as if I weren’t present.

—That’s up to you. You have six months to prove it.

—Understood —Kael said—. Second condition?

Morgana exchanged a look with the scarred counselor before speaking.

—If the heir is born, he will be evaluated. At ten years old. To determine if he is worthy of our protection… or a threat that must be eliminated.

The word “eliminated” fell on me like a bucket of ice water. And before my brain could intervene, before Kael could touch my arm with the warning I already felt through the bond —careful, don’t provoke them—, my mouth opened.

—No.

Every eye in the hall fixed on me. Dozens of vampire gazes, ancient, hungry, and me standing there in my borrowed heels and black dress with a rage so hot it burned my fear away like gasoline.

—Excuse me? —Morgana raised an eyebrow.

—I said no. You are not going to “evaluate” my child. You are not going to threaten to kill him. You are not going to use a child as a bargaining chip to keep your control. That is not negotiable.

Kael touched my arm. I ignored him.

—You’re human —the scarred counselor said, with a contempt that came as naturally to him as breathing—. You have no voice here.

—I’m the mother of the heir you so badly want to exist. The heir your species has gone generations without being able to produce. That gives me all the voice I need.

Silence. The kind of silence that precedes explosions or executions, and I wasn’t sure which of the two was more likely.

And then Morgana laughed. For real. Not the empty laugh from before; a laugh with body, with depth, that changed her face for a second and made her look almost human.

—Oh, Kael. You chose well. She has fire —she leaned back on her throne, drummed her fingers on the armrest—. All right. We’ll modify the condition. The child will be observed. Evaluated in his abilities. But not threatened unless he proves to be an active danger to our species. Acceptable?

I looked at Kael. Through the bond I felt his pride —fierce, hot, overflowing— and a subtle nod.

—Acceptable —I said—. As long as “observed” doesn’t mean “harassed.” If I see a vampire following my son without my knowledge, I’m going to assume he’s a threat and act accordingly.

—And how would you act, human? —the scarred one asked with a condescending smile.

—I’d tell Kael. And he already made clear to you what happens when someone touches his family.

The smile vanished from his face. Dante, at the back, covered his mouth with his hand to hide a laugh.

—Third condition —Morgana continued, and her tone suggested she was enjoying this more than she should—. Amanda must turn. In time. We can’t have a human mate of one of our most powerful vampires. It creates a problematic precedent.

—I plan to turn —I said—. But on my terms. When I decide.

—You have until the child turns twenty-one. After that, either you turn or… well —she shrugged with an elegance that made me want to hit her— humans don’t live forever.

Veiled threat. Crystal clear.

Turn or grow old and lose everyone.

—Understood.

—Good —Morgana stood up, and the other four counselors imitated her like pieces of a synchronized clock—. The union is approved. Welcome to the vampire world, Amanda Reyes.

She paused. She looked at me with those bottomless eyes.

—May you have more luck than you deserve.

We left that mansion with official approval and a list of conditions that made me want to vomit in the bushes of the gothic garden.

In the car, with the night closing around us and the lights of the Council mansion disappearing behind the trees, Kael hugged me. Hard. Harder than he usually allowed himself, as if he needed to verify by touch that I was still whole.

—You were incredible —he said against my hair.

—Incredible? They almost killed me. I shouted no at a thousand-year-old vampire. That’s not incredible, it’s suicidal.

—You defended yourself. You defended our child who doesn’t even exist yet. It was… —he searched for the word.

—Don’t say perfect. If you say perfect I swear I’ll scream.

—It was extraordinary.

—It feels like I just signed a contract with the devil.

—Five devils. Who also have thrones.

—That doesn’t help, Kael.

He kissed the top of my head, and through the bond I felt his relief —enormous, oceanic— mixed with something harder: worry. The conditions weighed on him. Especially the third, the turning. He didn’t want it to be from pressure; he wanted it to be mine. And now the Council had put a deadline on something that should be free.

—Six months to prove my worth —I said, pulling away to look at him—. What am I supposed to do? Solve global warming? Cure cancer? Teach vampires not to be pretentious idiots?

He laughed.

—That last one would take millennia. But think: what do you love doing? What are you passionate about besides criticizing everything that moves?

—Design. Art. Creating things people see and feel something.

—Then do that. For us. For the vampire world.

—Like what?

—We’ll figure it out. Together.

The idea came three nights later, at two in the morning, while I couldn’t sleep and was sitting in Kael’s art studio surrounded by his canvases and sketches and centuries of history piled in every corner.

A museum.

Not just any museum. A museum of vampire history. A space where the artifacts that were scattered, hidden, rotting in private vaults, could exist together. Presented to the human public as “fiction.” As “artistic interpretation of mythology.” The truth hidden in plain sight, where nobody would look for it because it would be disguised as entertainment.

I presented it to Kael that same night, with sketches on napkins and an enthusiasm I hadn’t felt since college.

—It’s brilliant —he said, running his fingers over my drawings with the same reverence I had seen him devote to first editions.

—It’s madness.

—The best ideas are.

We spent the following weeks building it. Kael contacted vampires with private collections. I designed the space: how it would look, how it would flow, how it would tell the story without revealing too much. I discovered I had a talent I didn’t know I had: translating the supernatural into the human, making the impossible feel accessible, turning centuries of secrets into something a museum visitor could look at and think “what an incredible imagination” without ever suspecting it was real.

When I presented the concept to the Council two months later —at another nighttime meeting, another gothic mansion, other ridiculous thrones—, Morgana reviewed the plans with an expression I hadn’t seen in her: genuine interest.

—Clever —she said—. You hide the truth in plain sight.

—It’s what I do best. I’ve spent my whole life being underestimated. It turns out that’s a skill.

—Approved. Proceed —she stood up to leave, but stopped—. And Amanda.

—Yes?

—I was wrong about you. You’re not just brave or stupid. You’re dangerous. In the best way.

Coming from a thousand-year-old vampire, that was the closest thing to a compliment I was going to get.

Three months after the museum’s approval —five months after the Council meeting, with the plans advanced and the first artifacts already on their way—, I discovered something that had nothing to do with museums or vampire politics.

I was in the bathroom of our room —because now it was ours, not just Kael’s; my toothbrush next to his, my clothes in half the closet, my books invading his nightstand like colonists in new territory— looking at three pregnancy tests lined up on the marble of the sink.

Three pink lines. Three positives. Three confirmations that the impossible had stopped being impossible.

I stared at them for a time I couldn’t measure. It could have been a minute. It could have been ten. My brain refused to process, like a computer that freezes when you ask too much of it.

I’m pregnant. By a vampire. I’m going to have a baby half human, half vampire. A baby who can walk under the sun when his father can’t. A baby who’s going to have fangs.

Kael was in his study. I walked in without knocking, the three tests in my hand, and he looked up from his laptop with that smile he gave me every night when he saw me —warm, intimate, as if after 177 years of existence I still surprised him— and then he saw my face.

He stood up.

—Amanda? What…?

I showed him the tests. All three, fanned out like a poker hand nobody expected to win.

The silence that followed was long. So long my heart had time to beat thirty times —I counted them, because through the bond I felt that Kael counted them too— before he moved.

He lifted me off the floor. He spun me in the air. And he laughed in a way I had never heard him laugh: open, broken, out of control, the laugh of someone who has waited half a century for something and can’t believe it’s happening.

—Are you sure? —he asked, his voice breaking—. Really?

—Three tests. All positive. All three. I don’t think all three were wrong at the same time.

He set me on the floor, knelt down, and put his hands on my still-flat stomach. Through the bond I felt what ran through him like a river overflowing: awe, terror, joy, all mixed and crashing into each other like waves in a storm.

—Hi, little one —he said against my abdomen, and his voice broke on the second word—. I’m your father. I’ve waited a long time for you.

Tears ran down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them. I didn’t care.

—We’re going to be parents —I said.

—We’re going to be parents —he repeated, looking at me from below with those gray eyes that now shone in a way I had never seen: wet. Truly wet. Vampires could cry, after all—. You and me. And our little miracle.

—Half vampire. Do you think he’ll have fangs?

—Surely. Eventua… —he stopped, looked at me— in time.

—Great. Breastfeeding is going to be quite an adventure.

He laughed, stood up, kissed me with his face wet and his hands still on my stomach, and the bond between us beat so hard it seemed we had a third heart, a new one, one that had just started forming right where his hands touched my skin.

—We’ll figure it out —he said—. Together. Like everything else.

—Like everything else —I repeated.

And there, in that windowless study, at two in the morning, with three pregnancy tests on the floor where I had dropped them and a 177-year-old vampire kneeling in front of me crying as if it were the first time he had felt something real in decades —because it was, because through the bond I knew it was—, I understood something I hadn’t fully understood until now:

There was no going back. Not because I couldn’t leave, but because I no longer wanted to. This world of night, blood, impossible politics, and beings who lived centuries without finding what I had found in weeks… was my world now.

And I was about to bring someone new into it.

Someone who was going to be half of each thing: half night, half day. Half cold, half hot. Half centuries, half minutes.

And if I got my way, he was going to be everything both worlds needed.

Chapter 8

The pregnancy was… weird.

Not “weird” like cravings for pickles with ice cream at three in the morning. Weird like my body was gestating a supernatural being and every day reminded me this wasn’t in any motherhood manual.

To begin with, it lasted six months instead of nine. The baby grew faster than normal but not dangerously —according to the vampire nurse Kael had hired, a woman named Ines who was four hundred years old and had the patience of someone who has seen everything, really everything—. My hips widened in weeks, my abdomen rounded as if someone had put gestation on 1.5x speed, and my breasts went from “acceptable” to “weapons of mass destruction” in record time.

And then there were the cravings.

Not for food. For blood.

The first time I felt the need —a pull in my throat, a dryness that wouldn’t go away with water or juice or anything that came out of a normal refrigerator— I got so scared I almost called emergency services before remembering that: “hi, I’m pregnant by a vampire and I think I need blood” wasn’t a conversation I could have with any public health service.

—It’s normal —Kael assured me as he handed me a glass of warm blood that my body needed and my brain rejected with every fiber of dignity I had left—. The baby is half vampire. She needs vampire nutrition too.

—This is so weird —I said, looking at the glass with a mix of disgust and desire that shouldn’t be possible to feel at the same time.

—Welcome to my world.

I drank. It tasted of iron and something sweet underneath the iron, and my stomach —or the baby inside it— purred with satisfaction.

—If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you —I told him.

—Who would I tell? The other vampires? They drink blood several times a day. They don’t get impressed.

The baby’s movements were strong. Too strong. More than once she kicked me so hard I saw my abdomen deform from the outside, like a scene from Alien but with less acid and more fangs.

—She has your strength —I told Kael, rubbing the spot where she had given me the last kick—. And I think your temper too.

—And your spirit. She’s going to be a terror.

—Great. Just what the world needs. Another Thorne.

In the fifth month, we learned it was a girl.

Kael cried. Not the discreet dampness I had seen him with on the night of the bond; he really cried, his face in his hands and his shoulders shaking, and through the bond I felt something that had no name in any language: the joy of someone who has spent almost two centuries not believing he deserved something like this and suddenly has it.

—A daughter —he said, his voice shattered—. I’m going to have a daughter.

—We’re going to have a daughter.

—We’re going to have a daughter —he repeated, and laughed while tears still fell, which was an image I never thought I’d see in a vampire and that broke something inside me in the best possible way.

We chose the name together. After weeks of debate that included a list of more than forty options, three minor fights, and a threat from me to call her “Draculina” if he didn’t decide.

Elena. For Kael’s human mother. The one who died of tuberculosis before he was turned, and who was still alive in his memory after almost two centuries.

—Are you sure? —he asked—. It’s a name with a lot of weight.

—I’m sure. Elena Thorne. Our daughter. The one who’s going to be able to walk under the sun you can’t.

Something crossed his face —pain and hope in equal parts— and he kissed my hair without saying anything else.

The birth was hell. A short one, but hell.

Four hours of labor with a baby pushing with supernatural strength, as if she were trying to knock down a door instead of being born.

Thank goodness the birth wasn’t like the one described in Twilight, although thinking about that weeks ago scared the shit out of me. Luckily everything was more… let’s say… controlled.

Kael was by my side for the four hours, holding me, letting me squeeze his hand with all the strength of my mortal body, which for him was like a baby’s squeeze, but which gave me something to hold on to.

And then, with one last push that tore a scream out of me that bounced off the windowless walls of the room, she was here.

Elena.

Small. Wrinkled. With dark hair like Kael’s and my eyes —not gray like his nor entirely brown like mine, but something in between, an amber that the candlelight turned to honey.

And when she opened her mouth to cry, I saw tiny fangs. Already there. Already sharp.

—God —I gasped—. She already has teeth.

—She’s beautiful —Kael took her in his arms with a care that contradicted all his strength, cradling her against his chest, and through the bond I felt something so enormous it brought tears out of me all at once: love. The kind that doesn’t fit in a body, that overflows and spills and fills the whole room.

Ines, the nurse, checked her with four-hundred-year-old expert hands.

—Ten fingers on her hands. Ten on her feet. Strong breathing. Heartbeat slower than a normal human’s, but stable. She’s a healthy baby. Half vampire, but healthy.

They handed her to me. And the moment I held her —that warm weight against my chest, those amber eyes looking at me as if I were the only thing that existed in the universe— I knew something with a certainty that shook my bones:

I would kill for her. I would die for her. And I would turn into a vampire for her without thinking twice, without conditions, without Council deadlines. Just to have more time to watch her grow.

—Hi, Elena —I whispered—. Welcome to the weirdest world you could have been born into.

She yawned. She showed me those baby fangs. And she fell asleep against my chest as if the world were a safe place.

Kael laughed beside me, his eyes red and his face wet.

—She’s your daughter.

—She’s our daughter. And if breastfeeding with those fangs is as painful as I suspect, we’re going to have a serious conversation about your genetic contribution.

Elena was three months old when everything went to hell.

I should have seen it coming. Lucien had warned me. Kael had told me he was on top of it. But three months of happiness —nighttime wake-ups, diapers, those tiny fangs that yes, in fact, made breastfeeding an adventure in which I bled and she fed and we both came out of the process a little more bonded and a little more traumatized— had softened me. They had made me believe we had already won.

We hadn’t won anything yet.

I was in the nursery we had set up —a room next to ours, without windows like the whole private wing, painted a soft yellow that was the only cheerful color in the entire mansion—, rocking Elena while humming something nonsensical, when I felt it through the bond.

Fear. From Kael.

Pure. Concentrated. Like a block of ice falling into my chest.

I had never felt that from him before. Not in front of the Council. Not during the birth. Not at any moment of our life together.

I put Elena in her crib —she protested with a small growl that sounded too animal for a three-month-old baby, but that was already her normal way of expressing discontent— and ran toward his study.

I found him standing by the desk, the phone still in his hand, his face paler than I had ever seen it. And in vampires, “paler than normal” meant he looked like something that belonged in a morgue.

—Amanda…

—What happened?

—Seraphine. She filed a formal petition with the Council. She says our bond is illegitimate. That I chose her first, that I cut her off, and that I then chose you.

My stomach dropped to the floor.

—Is it true?

—No. I never chose her. I never spent time with her. But she has evidence. Fake, but well fabricated. Manipulated photos. Forged documents. Emails with altered dates.

—And does the Council believe her?

—Morgana called me. There’s a hearing in two nights. To determine the legitimacy of our bond.

—And if they decide it’s not legitimate?

Kael didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. I saw the answer in his eyes, and I felt it through the bond like an abyss opening under my feet.

If the bond was illegitimate, they’d have to dissolve it. And dissolving a mate bond…

—It would kill us —I whispered—. Right? Breaking it would destroy us both.

—Me, for sure. You… I don’t know. But it would leave you broken in ways I can’t predict.

—And Elena?

The silence that followed was the most terrifying of my life.

—If we’re declared illegitimate, she’s considered unauthorized. The Council would have the right to decide her future.

Over my dead body.

The phrase crossed my brain like lightning, and it wasn’t a metaphor. If someone tried to touch my daughter, they’d have to go over my dead body, and if that wasn’t enough, they’d have to deal with my ghost, because not even death was going to stop me.

—They’re not going to touch her —I said, and my voice sounded like something I didn’t recognize: cold, flat, with no trace of sarcasm or humor—. They’re not going to touch Elena.

—I know. I won’t allow it either. That’s why we’re going to fight.

The next two nights were silent war.

Lucien showed up with files, documents, records proving Kael had never had contact with Seraphine. He settled into the study with us and spread papers over every available surface like a movie detective at four in the morning.

—The photos are good —he said, studying the images Seraphine had presented: Kael and her together at events, dinners, nighttime walks—. But they’re not perfect. There are inconsistencies in the lighting, in the shadows. A good forensic analyst dismantles them in hours.

—Do you have one? —I asked.

—I know someone. A vampire who has spent three decades specializing in digital analysis. It’s going to cost.

—Pay whatever it takes —Kael said, and his voice had the edge of someone willing to burn the whole world if that protected his family—. I’m not going to lose my daughter to a resentful vampire with Photoshop.

—How many counselors are on her side? —I asked.

Lucien looked at me with those golden eyes that no longer scared me, but gave me information.

—At least two. The scarred one —Viktor, his name is— never approved the union. And there’s another, Counselor Yelena, who is of the same lineage as Seraphine. Blood ties weigh in our world.

—Two out of five. And we need three to win.

—Morgana is unpredictable. Dante will be on our side. The fifth, Counselor Marcus, is neutral. He’ll go with whoever has the better argument.

—Then we need an argument that leaves no room for doubt —I said—. Not just dismantling the photos. We need to prove Seraphine fabricated everything. Motive, means, and opportunity. So there’s no ambiguity left.

Lucien and Kael looked at me.

—What? —I said—. I watch lawyer shows. Some of it sticks. —I smiled while shrugging.

The night before the hearing, I couldn’t sleep.

Elena was in her crib, asleep, oblivious to everything. Her fists closed on the sheet. Her breathing soft. Her tiny fangs barely visible between her parted lips. So small. So new to a world that was already trying to decide whether she had the right to exist.

Kael found me there, sitting in the rocking chair in the dark, looking at her.

—We have to win —I said without taking my eyes off our daughter—. There’s no other option.

—I know.

—What if we don’t win?

He knelt beside my chair. He took my hand.

—Then we run. All three of us. We disappear. There are places in the world where not even the Council can find us.

—And we’d live as fugitives? Always?

—If necessary.

—What kind of life is that for Elena?

—One where she’s alive. With both parents. It’s better than the alternative.

He was right. But the idea of running, of raising our daughter in shadows, of stealing from her the possibility of an entire world because of the resentment of a scorned vampire…

—It won’t come to that —Kael said, as if he had read my thoughts; or maybe he did read them, through the bond, where my fear was a constant scream I couldn’t turn off—. We’re going to win.

—The truth doesn’t always win.

—But power does. And I have power, Amanda. I’ve accumulated 177 years of resources, allies, favors. If necessary, I use all of it.

—And if that means making enemies of the Council?

—For you and Elena, I’d make enemies of the entire universe without thinking twice.

He kissed me. Through the bond I felt his fear —because yes, he was afraid, underneath the determination, underneath the steel; he was afraid of losing what it had cost him almost two centuries to find— and I sent back the only thing I had to give him: certainty. That we were in this together. Whatever happened.

—Whatever happens tomorrow —he said against my lips—, I want you to know something. These months with you, with Elena, have been the happiest of my entire existence. I wouldn’t change a single second.

—Neither would I.

—Except maybe the baby fangs. Those could have waited a couple of months.

I laughed despite everything. Softly, so as not to wake Elena.

—Yes. That would have been useful.

The hearing was in the same Council mansion. Same thrones. Same chandeliers. Same gothic decor that urgently needed an update.

But this time it was different. The hall was full: not just the five counselors but dozens of vampires. Witnesses. Observers. All there to see the show, because in the vampire world a mate dispute was the equivalent of a televised trial, and these beings had centuries of boredom to fill.

And in the center, standing before the Council with an expression that was pure triumph, was Seraphine.

She was beautiful. Not in the way Kael was attractive —contained elegance, mystery— but in a way that hit: red hair like fire falling to her waist, skin like porcelain over sharp bones, green eyes that shone with ancient power and with a resentment that pierced me like a knife when her gaze crossed mine.

She hated me. Not with the casual contempt of the scarred counselor. With something deeper: the hatred of someone who believes they were robbed of what was theirs.

I didn’t steal anything from you, I thought.

It was never yours.

But I didn’t say it. Not yet. That was a bullet I wanted to save for the right moment.

—Kael Thorne. Seraphine Deveraux —Morgana said from her throne—. You have been summoned to resolve a mate dispute. Seraphine alleges that Kael chose her as his mate, establishing a preliminary bond, before breaking it to bond with Amanda Reyes. Is this true, Kael?

—No —Kael replied, and his voice filled the hall effortlessly—. I never chose Seraphine. I never spent time with her outside the contest’s initial filters. There was no courtship or preliminary bond of any kind.

—Lies —Seraphine hissed, and her voice was beautiful even loaded with venom—. We spent weeks together. He courted me. He promised me the bond. And then he discarded me for her —she pointed at me with a long, elegant finger—. A human. Weak. Ordinary. Chosen only for her blood, not for who she is.

—Careful —Kael’s voice dropped several degrees—. You’re talking about my mate.

—Your supposed mate. Whose legitimacy is what we’re here to determine.

Morgana raised a hand.

—Seraphine, present your evidence.

She did. Photographs showing Kael and her together at galas, intimate dinners, nighttime walks. Emails with romantic language. Text messages. All organized into a timeline that, if you didn’t know it was a lie, was convincing.

My heart sank with each piece. Not because I believed it was real —I knew it wasn’t, I felt it through the bond with the same certainty with which I felt my own memories—, but because I saw the counselors’ faces. Viktor, the scarred one, nodded. Counselor Yelena studied the photos with interest. And Marcus, the neutral one, frowned in a way that could go in either direction.

—Has she finished? —Kael asked when Seraphine set the last photo on the table.

—She has finished.

—Good. With the Council’s permission, I present my counter-evidence.

Lucien stepped forward and handed a thick file to Morgana. My hands sweated. My heart beat so hard every vampire in the room could hear it, and I didn’t care, because what was inside that file was going to determine whether my daughter grew up with her parents or without them.

—Digital forensic analysis of each photograph presented by Seraphine —Lucien said, with a calm that felt almost insulting given the circumstances—. All manipulated. The shadows don’t match the ambient lighting. In two of the photos, Kael wears a watch he didn’t buy until 2024, but the photos are dated 2022. The emails were sent from accounts created three weeks ago, with altered dates in the metadata. And the text messages come from a number that wasn’t activated until January of this year.

—Lies —Seraphine shouted—. He fabricated them to discredit me.

—For what purpose? —Dante asked from his throne, with that half-smile I already knew—. He already has a mate. He already has an heir. Why would he risk everything he has just to lie about you?

—Because he rejected me and can’t admit he made a mistake.

—Or —Morgana said, turning the pages of the forensic report with deliberate slowness— because there was never anything between you and this is a complete fabrication born of a resentment you’ve been cultivating for decades.

Seraphine paled. Which, in a vampire, was almost impressive.

—But I…

—I haven’t finished —Morgana closed the file—. There’s something else in this report. Something interesting. The email accounts from which the messages were sent were created from an IP address corresponding to the Deveraux family property in Lyon. Your property, Seraphine. Your computer.

The silence that fell over the hall was total. No breathing, no movement, not even the crackling of the candles.

Seraphine opened her mouth. She closed it. She opened it again.

—I only wanted what was mine…

—Kael Thorne was never yours —Morgana stood up, and the power she radiated made my teeth ache—. Seraphine Deveraux, you have presented falsified evidence before the Council. You have tried to break a legitimate bond. You have endangered the life of a recognized vampire heir. These are crimes this Council cannot ignore.

—Please… I only…

—Exile. Fifteen years. No contact with vampire society. No resources from your lineage. No access to protected territories. Alone.

Two guards appeared from the shadows —because everything in the vampire world came out of the shadows, it was a thematic constant that no longer surprised me— and took Seraphine by the arms. She struggled. She screamed. She looked at me with a hatred that would have given me nightmares if I hadn’t been so busy feeling relief.

They took her away. The screams faded behind the hall doors as if the night had swallowed them.

Morgana looked at us.

—Kael Thorne. Amanda Reyes. The Council rules in your favor. The bond is legitimate. The heir Elena Thorne is recognized under the Council’s full protection. And anyone who challenges this in the future will face severe consequences —she swept the room with her gaze, making sure every vampire present registered the message—. Is that clear?

Silence. Nods. Eyes looking away.

—You may go. And congratulations on your daughter. I hope she is strong, wise… and that she inherits her mother’s character. She’ll need it in this world.

In the car, Kael hugged me so hard my ribs creaked.

—It’s over —he said against my hair, and through the bond I felt how the tension of weeks released all at once, like a rope being cut—. It’s really over.

—And Seraphine? Do you think she’ll be a problem when she returns?

—In fifteen years, maybe. But by then Elena will be bigger. Stronger. And we’ll be prepared.

—An adolescent half-vampire. Sounds terrifying.

—She’s going to be our adolescent half-vampire daughter. That’s more terrifying for the world than for us.

We arrived at the mansion and found Elena awake, being rocked by Mrs. Blackwood, who looked at us with a question in her eyes she didn’t need to formulate.

—Everything’s fine —I said—. Everything is fine.

I took Elena in my arms. I breathed in that smell that was half human baby and half something else, something that had no name but was only hers. She grabbed my finger with a strength no three-month-old baby should have, and smiled.

Her first real smile. Showing those tiny fangs that had cost me blood —literally— and that were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

Kael laughed beside me. His voice trembled.

—Your daughter, no doubt.

—Our daughter. Fangs and all.

Six months later, we opened the museum.

Three floors of vampire history presented as “elaborate fiction.” Centuries-old artifacts arranged in display cases I had designed. Art by masters nobody knew were vampires. Stories told in ways humans enjoyed without suspecting they were real, because the truth, when presented as entertainment, is the best way to hide it.

It was a success. Art critics called it “visionary.” People lined up to get in. And under the surface, vampires from all over the region came to see their history honored and preserved for the first time in centuries.

I had fulfilled the Council’s condition. Proven my worth.

Morgana came to the opening. She walked through the galleries with an expression that in anyone else I would have called pride.

—Well done, Amanda. This is… more than I expected from you.

—Thank you. Coming from someone who called me “fragile girl” several months ago, I appreciate it.

Her mouth trembled. The closest thing to a smile I had seen from her.

—You’ve changed things. In small but significant ways. Some vampires still resist you. But others see you as a bridge. Between our world and the human one.

—Is that good or bad?

—Depends on who you ask. But I think it’s what we needed.

She left, leaving me with her words and a glass of champagne I wasn’t going to drink because I was still breastfeeding and Elena’s fangs plus alcohol wasn’t a combination I wanted to experience.

Kael found me minutes later, with Elena in his arms, carrying her through the galleries as if he were giving a private tour to the most important person in the world.

—Mom made this —he told her, pointing at the display cases, the lights, the artifacts—. Your mom built a bridge between two worlds. And you’re going to walk through both.

Elena didn’t understand anything yet. She was nine months old, more busy trying to eat Kael’s shirt collar than appreciating the art.

But someday she would understand.

Someday she would know that her mother entered a contest out of desperation and came out with an entire world.

That her father waited 177 years to find us.

That her family was weird, complicated, impossible.

And hers.

Epilogue

Ten years later.

I was in my museum office —yes, I had an office, with the title of Executive Director and a plaque on the door that said my name in gold letters Kael had insisted on paying for— when he walked in with a problem face.

—We have a situation.

—What kind of situation?

—The kind where our ten-year-old daughter just corrected her history teacher about details of the French Revolution.

—And?

—And when the teacher insisted she was wrong, Elena said: “My dad was there. He told me what really happened.”

I laughed so hard I almost fell off the chair.

—Oh no.

—Oh yes. We have a parent-teacher meeting on Friday. Because our daughter is too smart for her own good and has zero filter between her brain and her mouth.

—She takes after someone I know.

—Who?

—Me, Kael. She takes after me. That’s the joke.

—I know. It was sarcasm.

—Your sarcasm needs work. You’ve been on the planet for 187 years and you still haven’t mastered it.

That night, we sat Elena down in the living room. She had grown fast —she already looked twelve, though she was ten— and her eyes had become more silvery over the years, more like Kael’s, with a ring of amber around the pupils that was only hers.

—Am I in trouble? —she asked, with the same fake-innocence face I had perfected at her age.

—No, sweetheart. But we need to talk to you about something important.

—About how Dad doesn’t eat real food?

Kael and I looked at each other.

—You already knew —I said.

—Obviously. I never see him eat. He only drinks that “wine” that smells like blood. And he moves too fast. And he doesn’t go out in the sun. I’m not dumb, Mom.

My daughter. Without a doubt.

—Okay —Kael said—. Then this is going to be easier than we thought. Yes, it’s blood. Because I’m a vampire.

—Like Dracula?

—Without the garlic and without turning into a bat. But yes.

—Awesome —she said, and the word came out with an enthusiasm that scared me a little—. And me? Why am I stronger than everyone in my class? Why do I hear things nobody else hears?

—Because you’re half vampire —I told her—. Half me, half your dad. Unique.

Elena processed this with the serious face of someone doing math.

—Is that why I can be in the sun and Dad can’t?

—That’s why. The best of both worlds.

—And am I going to drink blood?

—Yes, in time when you finish growing, in a few years. Your body will need it, but not with the same frequency as I do.

—Ahh, I understand, Dad… And am I going to live a long time?

—Long. Longer than normal humans. Quite a bit longer.

—And you, Mom? Are you going to…?

—I’m going to turn. When I’m ready. Because I want to be with your dad and with you as long as I can. All of it.

Elena nodded. She got up from the sofa, walked toward the window, and looked at the stars.

—This explains a lot of things. Like why I feel emotions that aren’t mine. And why sometimes I want to bite the classmates who bother me.

—Elena…

—I’m joking —pause—. More or less.

She turned, looked at us with a smile that was Kael through and through: intelligent, mischievous, with an edge that promised trouble.

—This is the coolest thing anyone has ever told me in my life. Do I have powers? Really?

—Something like that. And with training, you’re going to learn to use them.

—Who trains me?

—Your dad. And your uncle Lucien.

—Is Uncle Lucien a vampire too?

—Sweetheart, everyone in our circle is a vampire.

—Mrs. Blackwood?

—No. She’s human. But she’s scarier than most of the vampires I know.

Elena laughed. A laugh that sounded like mine, but with something underneath, something older, inherited from a father who had lived almost two centuries.

—Can I tell my friends?

—No.

—Never?

—Never. There are rules. Humans can’t know about vampires.

—That’s boring.

—Welcome to our world —Kael said—. Lots of boring rules. But also fangs, super speed, and a family that will love you for centuries. The whole package.

Elena thought about it for a second. Then she nodded.

—I accept.

And there she was. Our daughter. Accepting the impossible with the same ease with which I had accepted staying in a mansion with a vampire months after entering an absurd contest.

Kael looked at me. Through the bond I felt what he felt: love so big it didn’t fit in 187 years, relief, joy, and a fierce pride for the two women in front of him.

I gave it all back multiplied.

And afterward —at some point in the future, on our terms, without hurry— I would turn. Not because of the Council’s deadline. Not out of fear. Because I wanted to be there to see it all: Elena growing up, the world changing, Kael continuing to paint and play piano and learn sarcasm with a slowness that was already endearing.

Because it turns out eternity isn’t a punishment when you have someone to share it with.

It’s only the beginning.

The End

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Keep reading paranormal romance

Title: The CEO’s Bride Contest

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

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