I pace my room, every step adding weight to the storm building inside me. My mind won't stop. It keeps circling back to the same impossible truths: I'm not human. I'm not a Vampire.
I'm… something else. Something that shouldn't exist. I can still feel Elias's cold, judgmental gaze on me, his words like daggers in my chest.
His visit earlier wasn't just a warning—it was a declaration.
The council doesn't trust my existence. They see me as a threat.
I grab the pile of clothes on my chair and toss them into the closet, hoping that the distraction will ease the suffocating tightness in my chest.
But the motion feels useless. No matter what I do, my thoughts spiral back to the one person who might have answers.
Valentine.
I drop onto the edge of my bed and call out to him. I know he won't answer. Achilles said he never does when he's with his parents, but the words leave my lips anyway.
"Valentine," I whisper, the sound swallowed by the silence of the room.
Nothing.
Of course.
I stand and move to the window, wrapping my arms around myself, the chill of the night air seeping through the glass.
It's just me here. Just me and the gnawing emptiness that I can't seem to escape. I shut it and move to my dresser to get ready for the night.
I don't have a night routine, but it feels like keeping my hands busy would keep my thoughts at bay.
But then something shifts.
The air grows thick, heavy, like a storm cloud pressing down on me. My heart stutters, and the faint scent of cinnamon fills the room.
Oh?
I turn slowly, and there he is.
Leaning casually against the window frame, Valentine looks like he belongs to the shadows, his blonde hair falling messily over half of his face.
He's watching me with that bland look of his that he gives when he's bored.
"What?" he asks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
I stare at him, my mind struggling to catch up. He's here. He actually came. But instead of relief, a surge of anger rises in me, sharp and unrelenting.
What? What the fuck does he mean 'what'?
"What? That's all you have to say?" My voice trembles with frustration. "I called you, Valentine. I needed you, and you didn't answer!"
He straightens, his casual demeanor slipping just slightly. "I didn't hear you when you called. I block out my communication channels when I'm with my parents, if Achilles didn't mention," he says evenly, but there's a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
I narrow my eyes at him. "So what, I'm not important enough for you to spare five seconds?"
"Don't twist this, North," he snaps, his voice hardening. "You called. I'm here. What do you want?"
"What do I want?" I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "I want the truth, Valentine. I want to know why you've been hiding things from me. Why you haven't told me what's going on?"
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might walk out. But instead, he steps closer, his presence like a storm filling the room. "You think I've been withholding information from you?" he asks, his voice calm and dangerous. "I've been protecting you."
"Protecting me?" I echo, my anger boiling over. "From what? The council? Myself? You're always so cryptic, always hiding behind half-truths. I'm not a child, Valentine. I deserve to know the truth about what I am!"
He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling out. "Your existence isn't just dangerous for you, North. It's dangerous for me. Do you know what it means to be your maker? To be bound to you?"
"I didn't ask for that!" I shout, my voice cracking. "I didn't ask for any of this!"
"And you think I did?" His voice rises, matching mine. "You think I wanted to be tied to someone who has the council breathing down their neck? You think this is easy for me?"
I step closer to him, my anger burning through the fear. "Then why didn't you let me die?"
The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp.
His eyes darken, and for the first time, I see the crack in his composure. "You were dying, North," he says, his voice rough. "Should I have just stood there and let you slip away?"
"Yes!" The word bursts from me before I can stop it. "If it meant I had a choice, then yes! You didn't think about what I wanted, Valentine. You just… you just decided for me!"
His frustration snaps, and he closes the distance between us in a single step. "Do you think I had a choice?" he growls. "You don't even understand what you are. What this bond means. You're a hybrid. The first of your kind. You think the council will let that slide? They'll tear us both apart to understand how you exist."
I swallow hard, my anger wavering under the weight of his words. "A hybrid," I whisper. "What does that even mean?"
"It means you don't belong," he says bitterly. "Not to the human world, and not to ours. You walk in sunlight. You survive without constant blood. You're an anomaly. And the fact that we're mated only makes it worse."
I blink, his words sinking in. There's that word again. "Mated, huh?"
"I knew," he says, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "I knew before you turned. Before you drank my blood. It's not supposed to happen. Vampires don't mate with humans. But you…" He trails off, his gaze heavy with something I can't quite name.
"You knew," I say, my voice shaking. "And you didn't tell me."
His eyes meet mine, and there's a flicker of guilt there. "Would it have changed anything?"
I open my mouth to respond, but the sharp sound of breaking glass from the living room cuts me off.
We both freeze.
The sound is followed by a low, chilling voice that sends a shiver down my spine. "The sunlit one…"
My blood turns to ice. My apartment is on the fifth floor. Whatever's out there, it isn't human.
Valentine moves before I can react, placing himself between me and the door. His posture is tense, his eyes scanning the shadows.
"Stay behind me," he orders, his voice like steel.
The air grows colder, and the shadows in the room seem to stretch and twist unnaturally. My heart pounds in my chest, my fear threatening to drown me.
"What is it?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He doesn't answer. His focus is on the door, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
Then, without looking at me, he says, "You're not ready for this, North. But they won't wait for you to be."
The words send a fresh wave of fear crashing over me, and I grip the edge of his sleeve, my anger already long forgotten. "What's happening, Valentine? Who is 'they'?"
His gaze flickers to me, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes that terrifies me more than anything else.
Regret.