The villa had grown quiet.
Not the kind of silence that settled with sleep—but a deeper, more deliberate hush. The kind that only came when the night stretched long and velvet and full of breathless secrets.
Cassian had passed out an hour ago. I'd tucked him into bed—if you could call dragging his limp, blissed-out body under the sheets "tucking." After three rounds, washing each other in the shower, and dinner with Tiff interrogating, he could barely keep his eyes open. His hand had slid down my thigh like he meant to pull me in for a fourth, but his body betrayed him. He fell asleep mid-sentence, fingers twitching once against my skin before going still.
Sweet boy.
I left him to rest. He'd earned it. Tiffany, however, was still wide awake and hyped on sugar, the girl had polished off two cupcakes already and was halfway through a third when I found her sprawled across the plush rug in the game room, feet kicking idly in the air as she flipped through the villa's collection of vintage board games like she was sifting for treasure.
"I thought you'd gone to bed," I said softly, stepping in barefoot.
Tiff didn't even look up. "I tried. Then I remembered there were red velvet cupcakes left."
She glanced back at me. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not." I smiled and crossed the room, claiming the velvet chaise near the fireplace. The light was low, golden. The flames flickered lazily behind glass. "They're yours."
She gave me a suspicious look. "You didn't even eat one at dinner."
"I prefer watching other people enjoy them."
"Okay, well that's... not creepy at all."
I raised a brow. "Do you want me to eat one just to make you feel better?"
Tiff narrowed her eyes dramatically. "I want you to explain why you don't like garlic. Or food in general, I mean you eat food but never seem to enjoy it. Why you don't go outside during the day. And why—no offense—you literally glide when you walk."
I blinked. "That's a lot of questions for someone still chewing frosting."
She plopped the last bite into her mouth and sat up, cross-legged, eyes gleaming like she was about to deliver a TED Talk.
"I've been thinking," she said, licking red crumbs off her thumb. "And before you say anything—yes, I know I sound crazy, and no, I don't care."
I waited. She took a breath. "You don't eat. You don't age. You only ever appear after sunset, when you're pissed your eyes do that weird thing where they shimmer gold or red depending on the lighting. Also—and I'm just saying this—Cassian has been walking funny for a week. He's basically limping."
I snorted, despite myself. "That has nothing to do with supernatural anything."
Tiff grinned. "Maybe not, but I'm adding it to the evidence list."
She grabbed a nearby throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. "Look. I grew up reading Bloodbond and The Vampires Pet, okay? I know vampire tropes. And you, Seraphine D'Argent, hit every single one."
"I also pay taxes. That didn't make the list?"
"Do you?" she challenged, raising a brow.
Fair. I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Because Tiffany was staring at me with a mix of curiosity, mischief, and just the tiniest hint of nervous thrill—like a kid creeping up to the haunted house because they secretly hoped the ghosts were real. She leaned forward. Eyes wide.
"Are you a vampire?"
Her voice was a whisper now. Not afraid. Not accusing. Just... awed.
I smiled slowly, crossing one leg over the other. "Would it change anything if I were?"
She hesitated then shook her head. "Nah. Honestly, it would just make you even cooler."
I laughed. A real one. Full and low and ancient and warm.
Gods, this girl. So bold. So sure of herself.
She grinned at the sound. "That wasn't a denial."
"No," I said, swirling a fingertip along the untouched rim of my cupcake. "It wasn't."
We sat in silence for a while after that. Her watching me. Me watching her. The cupcake between us like a peace offering or a test.
Tiffany was sharp. Clever. Heart too big for her own good. And despite all the signs she was piecing together, she hadn't run. Hadn't even flinched.
She was getting close to the truth. Too close. But I didn't mind. When the time came, I wouldn't hide it from her.
She deserved better than half-truths.
She deserved to know.
But tonight?
Tonight, I let her believe she'd caught me in the middle of some grand mystery. Let her add it to her secret mental files and fall asleep wondering if she'd really cracked the code.
Because for all her questions, all her theories—Tiff wasn't scared of what I was.
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I wasn't limping. Technically.
But my legs? Yeah, they were definitely having a closed-door conference about mutiny. Possibly filing a formal complaint. My back wasn't doing much better, and I was 99% sure one of my thighs had declared independence.
The AMG purred down the road like the smug bastard it was—sleek, powerful, completely unbothered by the war crimes I had witnessed last night in that garage. Meanwhile, I sat behind the wheel in yesterday's hoodie, hair still damp from the world's shortest shower, sunglasses hiding the very real PTSD in my eyes.
Beside me, Tiffany was halfway through a chocolate croissant she'd snatched from one of the villa's polished silver trays. She was watching me like she was solving a murder. Correction: like she was committing one with her eyes.
"So," she said, licking frosting from her thumb, "are you, like... okay?"
I didn't even look at her. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like someone wrung you out like a dish rag and left you to dry in a dungeon."
I groaned. "Can you not?"
"I'm just saying, Cass." She took another bite, muffled her next words through pastry. "You lookpost-apocalyptic. Like someone used you as a chew toy and then tossed you out the window."
"I said I'mfine," I repeated, a little more forcefully this time.
She took that as a challenge.
"You sound fine. But youlooklike you barely survived a supernatural exorcism—one where they forgot the holy water and just beat the demon out of you with a velvet whip."
I turned my head slowly. "What is wrong with you?"
"I'm a product of the internet," she said brightly. "Also, you should invest in SPF 500 or something. You've got death paleness creeping in."
"I was inside all night."
"Exactly. Withher."
Here we go.
"You ever notice your girlfriend doesn't come out during daylight?" she asked, chewing thoughtfully now. "Like, ever?"
"Tiff—"
"She sleeps all day. Wears robes like she's in a gothic perfume commercial. The butlers bow when she walks past. She speaks Latin. She has jewelry older than most countries. And her eyes—Cass,her eyes glow sometimes."
"They do not glow."
"They glint like sapphires forged in the fires of Hades. You think I don't notice that?"
"She's just... intense."
"She hasfangs."
I pulled my hoodie higher over my neck. "They're not fangs. They're... sharp teeth."
Tiff raised both brows, leaned over, and slowly pointed to my neck. "Then what arethose?"
I pulled the collar up like it was a security blanket. "They're hickeys."
"They're puncture wounds. You look like you got jumped by an elegant bat."
I turned up the AC, because if I said another word I might just confess everything and get us both committed.
But she wasn't done.
"She doesn't eat. Like, actual food. She drinks wine. The villa's entire east wing is sealed shut until sundown. The mirrors don't reflect her right. I saw it. And one time? I swore she floated."
"She didn't float."
"What kind of normal human walks like a ghost ninja?"
I gripped the steering wheel harder. "She's graceful."
"She'sundead."
"She is not a vampire," I muttered through clenched teeth.
Biggest lie I'd told all week. Maybe in my life.
And I'd once told a customs agent I was a legal heir to the Swiss throne just to get out of a sketchy airport lounge.
Tiff leaned back in her seat with a sigh, legs crossed, pastry almost finished. "Okay. Fine. She's not a vampire."
I blinked. That was too easy.
"I mean, if shewasa vampire, she probably already heard me talking from her crypt and is sending a swarm of crows to silence me."
"She doesn't sleep in a crypt."
She grinned like a fox. "You didn't deny the vampire part that time."
I exhaled slowly through my nose. "Tiffany."
"Cassian."
"If you bring a crucifix near her, I swear—"
"Oh my God, Iknewit!" She pointed like she'd won the lottery. "I knew she was a creature of the night! Admit it. Say the words."
"No."
"Say it. Say, 'My girlfriend is a vampire, and I'm super into it.'"
"Tiff."
"Come on, it's hot. You're basically Bella Swan with better taste."
"Do youwantme to push you out of this car?"
She shrugged. "You wouldn't. I'm your favorite."
I pulled up to the school drop-off lane and parked, muttering something under my breath that probably sounded like a dying prayer.
Tiff unbuckled and opened the door, but paused halfway out.
"For what it's worth," she said, glancing back at me, "I like her. Seraphine. She's terrifying in a way that feels... cool."
"That's definitely not comforting."
She grinned. "Tell her I said hi. Or just... send her a bouquet of flowers maybe some SPF 5000 and call it a love letter."
And with that, she was gone—skipping toward the school gates, ponytail bouncing, teenage chaos trailing behind her like perfume.
I stayed there for a second, hands still on the wheel, head thunking lightly against the headrest.
Jesus.
Dating a vampire? Manageable.
Living in a semi-sentient villa with blackout curtains? Doable.
But keeping it all secret from a nosy, hyper-observant teenage sister?
That might actually be what kills me.