I shouldn't be here.
That thought has repeated itself the entire walk down the corridor.
I argued with her less than an hour ago. Sat three feet away while she scraped her fork across a plate and looked at Cazaro like he was the devil himself.
And yet here I am.
Outside her door.
I knock once.
The sound echoes down the hallway.
A moment later the handle turns.
The door opens.
And for a second neither of us says anything.
She looks worse.
Not dramatically. Not the kind of difference someone else might notice immediately.
But I notice.
Her skin is pale in a way that has nothing to do with lighting. The shadows beneath her eyes are darker than they were at dinner. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders like she hasn’t bothered brushing it.
And she’s thinner.
Enough that the change hits me like a punch to the ribs.
Something sharp and unpleasant twists in my chest.
I hate it.
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“What?”
I realize I’ve been staring.
“Nothing,” I say.
She doesn’t move aside right away.
For a second it looks like she might just close the door in my face.
Instead she turns and walks back into the room without another word.
I step inside.
The door shuts behind me with a soft click.
She drops onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees like she’s too tired to bother pretending she isn’t exhausted.
I stay standing.
The silence stretches.
Finally I speak.
“I didn’t come here to argue.”
She snorts.
“That’s new.”
Fair.
I rub a hand across the back of my neck, annoyed with myself.
“I’m serious.”
She glances up at me briefly.
“So am I.”
Her voice is flat. Completely uninterested.
For a second I consider just leaving.
Walking out, letting her rot in this stubborn little rebellion she’s decided to stage.
But the image of her at the table—pale, hollow-eyed, barely touching her food—sticks in my head.
“Look,” I say.
She doesn’t respond.
“I’m… sorry.”
The words feel strange coming out of my mouth.
She looks up again.
Actually looks this time.
Her brow lifts slightly.
“For what?”
“For how it went down.”
She studies me for a second.
Then she rolls her eyes.
The gesture is so dismissive it almost makes me laugh.
“Wow,” she says dryly.
“Touching.”
She leans back against the headboard like the conversation is already over.
I step forward.
Close enough that she has to tilt her head slightly to meet my eyes.
Up close it’s worse.
The bruises on her arm are visible beneath the thin fabric of her sleeve.
Needle marks.
My jaw tightens.
“Life keeps going,” I say.
She doesn’t react.
“This city keeps moving. People keep breathing. None of that stops because you're angry.”
Her eyes flick toward the floor.
“And at this rate,” I continue, “you're not going to be around long enough to see much of it.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine.
“And whose fault is that?”
The question lands hard.
I ignore it.
“You're not eating.”
“I ate.”
“You pushed food around.”
Her jaw sets stubbornly.
“I’m fine.”
I let out a short laugh.
“No. You're not.”
The room goes quiet again.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
She stares at me like she wants to throw something.
And for the first time since this whole situation started, the anger I've been carrying shifts slightly.
Not gone.
Just… redirected.
Because the truth is simple.
I'm not angry at her anymore.
I'm angry at myself.
And that realization is a lot harder to deal with.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
She sits on the edge of the bed, arms loosely folded, looking anywhere except at me. The room is dim, the late evening light barely reaching through the tall window behind her.
I take in the dress again.
Soft fabric, pale lavender, the kind of thing the palace seamstresses insist suits her.
And it does.
“You look like a vision in that dress,” I say.
Her eyes flick up immediately.
Not pleased.
“I hate it.”
The answer comes fast.
Honest.
I lean against the wall, folding my arms.
“Humans are so boring,” I say casually. “You just want pants and a T-shirt. Something dull and practical.”
She shrugs.
“You don’t like the dress?” I press.
“No.”
No hesitation.
Just simple truth.
Then she exhales and leans back slightly, her fingers brushing the fabric like she’s remembering something.
“When I was a kid,” she says slowly, “my mom used to dress me and my brother up when we went to visit my grandmother.”
I don’t interrupt.
The memory clearly caught her off guard.
“So this is kind of like the dresses I used to wear.”
I’m surprised she shared that much.
But I keep my mouth shut and let her continue.
“When he left,” she says quietly, “I didn’t understand.”
My attention sharpens.
“Who?”
“My brother.”
She glances at me briefly before looking back down at her hands.
“He chose to become a vampire.”
That… I didn’t know.
I don’t say anything.
“Back then,” she continues, “I thought he was insane. Choosing it. Choosing to leave everything behind.”
Her shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug.
“I get it now.”
My brow furrows slightly.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
Her voice hardens.
“It’s safer.”
She looks up at me then.
“Being human is weak.”
The words land heavier than she probably intended.
“Cazaro made me a blood consort,” she says quietly. “If I had been a vampire, he wouldn’t have.”
“He would’ve killed you,” I say simply.
She scoffs.
“I doubt that.”
Then shrugs again.
“But either way… I get it.”
Silence lingers for a moment.
Then I ask the question before I can stop myself.
“If I told you I’d change you… would you?”
Her head tilts slightly.
“No.”
Then she pauses.
“Maybe.”
She looks down again.
“You don’t know.”
Her voice softens.
“Being dead but alive… it’s scary.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t respond.
So I decide to fill the silence.
“When I was turned,” I say slowly, “the world was different.”
Her eyes lift again.
“Vampires were secret back then. Hidden. The kind created by witches needed blood constantly to survive.”
I glance toward her arm.
“You wouldn’t.”
She notices the look.
“Though,” I add, “I don’t doubt you’d prefer it.”
A faint huff of breath escapes her.
“I was terrified when it happened,” I continue. “Everything felt too strong. My emotions were… amplified.”
I shake my head slightly.
“And I did stupid things.”
“Like kill?” she guesses.
I give a short laugh.
“No.”
I pause.
“Like fall in love with a human.”
Her head lifts.
“Oh.”
“He was—”
“He?” she cuts in quickly.
I shoot her a look.
She raises both hands defensively.
“Sorry.”
“Back then,” I say flatly, “it wasn’t exactly encouraged for a boy to be known for liking other boys.”
Her expression softens slightly.
“But Jay…” I continue quietly, “…he was kind. Fearless.”
I look down at the floor for a moment.
“And he loved me.”
She doesn’t interrupt this time.
“Until he found out what I was.”
Her voice comes softer now.
“What happened?”
I shrug lightly.
“He tried to understand.”
My mouth twists slightly.
“But God said I was an abomination.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.”
The room grows quiet again.
Then she says quietly,
“I’m sorry, Xavian.”
I nod once.
After a moment I glance back at her.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nods.
“Am I?”
She tilts her head slightly.
“Am I an abomination?”
“To you,” I add. “Your Bible would say so.”
She thinks about it.
Really thinks.
I wait.
Finally she shakes her head.
“I don’t think so.”
My eyebrows lift slightly.
“You were born human,” she says. “You do human things. You sin. You fall in love. You run the world with your brother.”
Her shoulders rise slightly.
“You’re not an abomination.”
She meets my eyes.
“I may not like you very much at the moment…”
A faint smile almost forms.
“But at the end of the day, you’re still you.”
She pauses.
“And that’s what God intended.” ??
redo, stop mking it one line at a time
Xavian POV
The room settles into a quieter kind of tension after my warning. She doesn’t argue again. She just sits there on the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched, staring at the floor like she’s trying to wear a hole through the rug with her eyes.
Up close it’s even worse than I thought in the hallway. The dress the palace seamstresses gave her hangs slightly loose on her frame now. Lavender fabric, delicate stitching, something clearly meant to soften the sharp edges of her defiance. Instead it just makes the weight she’s lost more obvious.
I study her for a moment longer than I probably should.
“You look like a vision in that dress,” I say finally.
Her head lifts just enough for her to glance at me, unimpressed.
“I hate it.”
The answer comes without hesitation.
I lean my shoulder against the wall and fold my arms, letting out a quiet breath through my nose. “Humans are so boring,” I tell her. “You just want pants and a T-shirt. Something dull and practical.”
She shrugs, picking at a loose thread along the sleeve. “Comfortable.”
“So you don’t like the dress?”
“No.”
Not even a second of thought. Just honesty.
For a moment I think that will be the end of it, but she exhales and leans back slightly, her fingers smoothing absentmindedly over the fabric as if the texture pulled a memory loose.
“When I was a kid,” she says after a moment, “my mom used to dress me and my brother up when we went to visit my grandmother. Sundays, holidays… stuff like that.”
I don’t interrupt. I just listen.
“So this,” she continues, tugging lightly at the skirt of the dress, “is basically the same thing. The kind of dresses I used to wear.”
I’m a little surprised she shared that much. She hasn’t been particularly interested in volunteering personal details since the night we dragged her into this world.
She keeps talking anyway.
“When he left, I didn’t understand it,” she says quietly.
“Who?”
“My brother.”
She glances up at me for half a second before looking back down at her hands.
“He chose to become a vampire.”
That part I didn’t know.
I don’t react outwardly, but the information settles somewhere in the back of my mind.
“Back then I thought he was insane,” she continues. “Choosing it. Choosing to leave everything behind.”
Her shoulders lift in a small shrug.
“I get it now.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Her voice hardens slightly. “It’s safer.”
She looks up at me then, meeting my eyes directly.
“Being human is weak.”
The words hang between us.
“Cazaro made me a blood consort,” she adds quietly. “If I had been a vampire, he wouldn’t have.”
“He’d have killed you,” I say.
She scoffs immediately.
“I doubt that.”
Then she shrugs again, like the exact outcome doesn’t matter anymore.
“But either way, I get it.”
I study her for a moment before speaking again.
“If I told you I’d change you… would you?”
She tilts her head slightly, thinking.
“No.”
Then she hesitates.
“Maybe.”
The honesty is almost amusing.
“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “Being dead but alive… it’s scary.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t say anything after that, so the silence stretches long enough that I decide to fill it myself.
“When I was turned,” I begin slowly, “the world was different. Vampires weren’t sitting in palaces running cities. We were hidden. The kind created by witches back then needed blood constantly to survive.”
My eyes flick briefly toward the inside of her arm.
“You wouldn’t,” I add. “Though I doubt that would stop you from complaining about it.”
She huffs faintly at that.
“I was terrified,” I continue. “Everything felt too strong. Every emotion was amplified. Anger. Fear. Desire. It all hit like a storm.”
I shake my head slightly.
“And I made stupid choices.”
“Like killing someone?” she guesses.
I laugh softly.
“No.”
I pause before finishing.
“Like falling in love with a human.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Oh.”
“He was—”
“He?” she interrupts.
I give her a sharp look.
She raises both hands immediately in surrender.
“Sorry. Continue.”
“Back then,” I say flatly, “it wasn’t exactly safe for a boy to be known for liking other boys.”
Her expression softens.
“But Jay…” I continue, “…he was kind. Fearless. The kind of person who made everything feel possible.”
My gaze drifts briefly toward the window.
“And he loved me.”
She stays quiet now.
“Until he found out what I was.”
Her voice is softer when she finally asks, “What happened?”
“He tried to understand,” I say. “He really did.”
My mouth twists slightly.
“But God said I was an abomination.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable this time.
Then she says quietly, “I’m sorry, Xavian.”
I nod once, accepting the sentiment without making a big thing out of it.
After a moment I glance back at her.
“Can I ask you something?”
She nods.
“Am I?”
Her brow furrows slightly.
“Am I an abomination?” I clarify. “To you. Your Bible would say so.”
She thinks about the question longer than I expect.
I wait.
Finally she shakes her head.
“I don’t think so.”
My eyebrows rise slightly.
“You were born human,” she says. “You do human things. You sin. You fall in love. You make mistakes. You run the world with your brother.”
Her shoulders lift slightly.
“You’re not an abomination.”
She looks at me directly now.
“I may not like you very much at the moment…”
A faint hint of humor touches the edge of her voice.
“But at the end of the day, you’re still you.”
She pauses before finishing.
“And that’s what God intended.”
