"So," the Vampire Elder drawled, swirling the crimson liquid in his glass lazily, his eyes glinting with a knowing light, "how does it feel, Xavier? Finally having her by your side."
Xavier turned, slow and measured, his jaw tightening. "She's my best friend's daughter. Nothing more," he said flatly. "Why would you say something like that?"
Eryx Damaris' smirk deepened, and the candlelight reflected off his pale skin like polished bone. "Let's just say... I'm aware of your deal. And your true nature."
The air between them thickened.
Xavier stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper so sharp it could cut flesh. "Then you also know that if you even think of spilling it… I'll rip your tongue out myself."
His eyes flared—not red—but storm-dark, full of restrained fury. "Leave Isabella out of this."
But Eryx's gaze shifted, attention pulled toward something—or someone—across the ballroom. The murmurs began before Xavier could ask what he was looking at. He didn't need to. He already knew.
Shay.
She entered with Mark at her side, arm looped through his. Her dress wasn't the one Xavier had picked, and yet—she looked like something from a dream. Midnight blue velvet clung to her like shadows, soft and dangerous all at once. The way the light caught in her hair, the way she held herself—there was a quiet regality about her that made the room hush.
For a moment, Xavier forgot to breathe.
Eryx didn't.
With unsettling grace, he crossed the floor, weaving through the crowd like he belonged to another time. His eyes locked on Shay as if he'd found a secret only he was allowed to touch.
"Hello, Miss Isabella Morningstar," he said, voice silk and smoke. "My name is Eryx Damaris."
Shay tilted her head slightly, thrown off by the formality. But before she could speak, Mark stepped in.
"Forgive her," he said with a small smile. "She's a bit shy."
Eryx's smile widened, too practiced. "That is quite understandable," he murmured, though something in his gaze flickered cold—predatory.
Before another word could leave his lips, Xavier and John arrived.
John didn't waste time. He stepped between them, grip firm as he led Eryx away with a muttered, "We need a word."
Shay blinked, confused. "He seemed… nice," she said quietly, looking at Mark.
Mark let out a dry chuckle. "Depends on what you have to offer him."
The rest of the night passed in a blur. Laughter, music, clinking glasses. But Shay couldn't shake the feeling—like invisible threads were tugging at her, pulling her toward something she couldn't name.
Then she saw him.
Xavier, watching her from across the room. His gaze was unreadable—haunted, almost. And then, he turned and left without a word.
Something in Shay stirred. She placed her glass down.
"I'll be right back," she whispered, slipping out the door and into the cold night.
The air outside was sharp. Her breath came out in little clouds. The garden lights behind her flickered like distant stars, casting just enough glow for her to see the tree line. Beyond that? Darkness.
"Xavier?" she called out softly, stepping forward. "Are you out here?"
She made sure to keep the lights in sight as she ventured into the trees. Twigs snapped beneath her boots. Branches brushed her shoulders. The silence was deafening.
Then—snap.
She spun around.
A shadow moved between the trees. Tall. Watchful. Its eyes—an unnatural, electric blue—glowed from within the dark. Wings unfolded from its back, massive and ethereal. They stretched wide, shimmering faintly in the moonlight like they weren't entirely of this world.
Her breath caught in her throat. The figure stepped forward, but its face remained veiled in shadow.
Her heart thundered.
Then—
"Shay."
Xavier's voice.
She whirled around, his presence grounding her instantly. "Did you see that?" she asked, pointing behind her, breathless.
Xavier's eyes flicked toward the trees.
And there—still watching—was Damian.
Xavier's breath hitched, but his face remained calm. A storm brewed behind his eyes. The boy had grown. Taller. Stronger. There was power in the way he held himself—feral, graceful, restrained. And something else—pain.
Their eyes locked.
No words were exchanged. None needed.
Damian looked at his father one last time before his wings snapped open, and he disappeared into the night sky with a single, powerful beat.
Shay turned back, confused. "Xavier?"
He stared after his son, expression unreadable.
Then, he looked at her.
And lied.
"No," he said softly. "There's nothing there."
But inside, Xavier was unraveling.
It wasn't time. He wasn't ready. How could he be? How could he explain to her everything he'd hidden, every piece of the truth buried beneath centuries of silence?
He just prayed Damian understood.
Not yet.
As they made their way back through the trees, Shay glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowed.
"I swear I could've seen something," she murmured.
Xavier paused, his expression unreadable as he scanned the darkened path behind them. "I didn't see anything," he said quietly. "Maybe it was just a trick of the light."
Shay hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe."
They walked in silence for a few steps before Shay stopped again. "Xavier."
He turned to face her, taking a step closer. "Yes, Shay?"
There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came. She stepped forward, closing the space between them, and kissed him.
Xavier stilled for a heartbeat, as if shocked—but then he kissed her back. His hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her in, anchoring her to him like she was the only real thing in the world.
The forest faded. The cold was forgotten. For a moment, it was just them—two souls tangled in something neither of them dared to name.
They didn't notice the presence in the trees.
Eyes like twin embers narrowed from the shadows. A breath, low and steady, stirred the mist. The figure stood still—watching. Uninvited. Unwelcome. Unforgiving.
And it wasn't Damian.