Vincent POV
I never thought I'd willingly agree to spend an hour inside a sealed room designed to slowly increase exposure to scents designed to "test adaptability thresholds." Especially not while being watched. Monitored. And sprayed.
But here I was. In a T-shirt two sizes too small—Lyra's idea, apparently to "test skin diffusion and olfactory exposure." Right. Totally not just her being nosy about what was under my usual black long sleeves.
The worst part? She brought a clicker. An actual clicker. Like a damn dog trainer.
Click. "That's the third flinch, Vincent. You okay?"
"Define okay," I gritted, squinting as another puff of something citrusy-lavender assaulted my nose. "Was that a spa or a war crime?"
"It's a new blend," she said cheerfully from behind the one-way observation glass, scribbling something on her tablet. "I mixed it myself. There's a hint of ozone in it. You know—like the smell after rain."
"I smell something alright. My dignity, evaporating."
She laughed. A soft, genuine sound. That made it worse. That sound did things to me I had no defense against.
The real problem wasn't the experiment—it was her.
Every damn day since I stepped into this lab, Lyra Quinn had been worming her way under my skin. With her smudged glasses, her serious notes, the way she bit her lip when she was thinking too hard. The way she pretended not to notice my tattoos but stared just long enough to be suspicious. And the way she never backed down from me. Not once.
God, I liked that.
"Vincent," her voice came through the speaker. "Take off your shirt."
I blinked. "Sorry, what now?"
"For data," she said innocently, flipping to a new sheet on her clipboard. "We need to see if your skin adjusts to the scent more efficiently with direct exposure. I need sweat surface area."
"Lyra, is this about science… or curiosity?"
There was a beat of silence. Then—
"Both."
I laughed, low and warm. "At least you're honest."
The shirt came off. The tattoos were hard to miss now—spanning shoulder to forearm, intricate black lines of chemical equations, constellations, and a few I'd never explain to her. Not yet. Not until she stopped seeing me as just the subject.
"Heart rate's rising," she commented, tapping the glass.
"Maybe because you're ogling me like I'm a steak."
She flushed. Actual pink bloomed across her cheeks. That was worth the prickling sensation in my nose.
"You're making this difficult," she muttered.
"What, your science? Or staying professional?"
"Both," she snapped, then sighed. "You were right. I should've had someone else run this."
"Nah," I grinned, walking closer to the glass. "I'm glad it's you."
A long pause. I could hear her breathing through the mic, slightly uneven.
Then, softer: "You know… for a vampire, you smell surprisingly good."
I raised a brow. "Careful, Doctor. That sounded dangerously close to flirting."
"No," she said quickly. "That was… just an observation."
"Mmhm." I leaned closer to the glass, fogging it up slightly. "Want another observation?"
"W-what?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
---
Lyra POV
There were rules. Protocols. An entire binder full of ethical guidelines.
None of which prepared me for how fast my heart pounded every time Vincent got close. Or how he made me forget how to spell 'olfactory' when he smiled at me like that.
His scent had changed today. Slightly warmer, tinged with something deeper. Not the synthetic blood he usually took, or his usual leather-clean scent. Something that smelled like safety, like dusk, like… temptation.
I wasn't supposed to notice. But I did.
And now I was writing the word "muscle" three times instead of "musk."
God help me.
---
Later that evening, I caught Vincent near the small break area, shirt on (thankfully), casually stirring coffee like he hadn't completely ruined my concentration for the rest of the day.
"You do realize you're sabotaging your own tests, right?" I said, folding my arms.
He looked up, amused. "How so?"
"You're… being distracting."
"Then you're welcome. Science is supposed to be fun."
"It's not fun, Vincent. It's rigorous. It's professional. It's—"
"Hot and full of tension?"
"—not supposed to make me wonder what kind of cologne would smell like your neck."
Silence.
My eyes widened. Did I just say that out loud?
He leaned in, grinning like a predator. "You know, Doctor… I'd let you find out."
I turned, muttering something about needing a stronger scent sample next time.
Behind me, he laughed.
And for once… I didn't want to run.
---