She didn't telegraph it. She didn't tense her shoulders. She simply spun the obsidian dagger in her hand, reversing the grip, and drove it upward in a vicious arc.
SHUK.
The blade buried itself to the hilt in Valerius's abdomen, angled perfectly to pierce the liver and nick the diaphragm.
Silas, the blind shopkeeper, gasped, knocking over a display of antique pocket watches. "Master Valerius!"
Valerius didn't flinch. He didn't even stop leaning against the counter. He looked down at the black handle protruding from his stomach, then up at Elara.
She was smirking. A genuine, nasty, triumphant smirk.
"Neurotoxin," she whispered, twisting the blade for good measure. "Let's see those nerves shut down."
Valerius watched her, his expression one of mild curiosity. He waited. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
"Any tingling?" Elara asked, her smirk faltering slightly. "Loss of motor function? Drooling?"
"It tickles," Valerius said calmly. "A little chilly. Like eating mint ice cream too fast, but in my stomach."
Elara's face fell. She clicked her tongue, annoyed. "False advertising. Silas, your stock is garbage."
"It... it is guaranteed to kill Highborn!" Silas stammered, his hands shaking as he reached for a cloth. "Is... is this your date, my Lord?"
"She is," Valerius beamed, ignoring the knife in his gut. "Isn't she delightful? So feisty. She loves hurting me. It's her love language."
Elara rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "I am going to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau. If they still existed."
She yanked the knife out. Squelch.
Valerius sighed, a sound of pure adoration. "Careful, darling. You'll get blood on your boots. Now, come. The day is young, and I have reservations."
The "date" continued through the afternoon, a surreal tour of the city's darker delights.
Valerius took her to the Menagerie, a containment zone where wealthy Highborn kept captured mutant beasts.
"Look at the Spine-Eater," Valerius pointed out, leaning over the railing of a pit where a creature made entirely of teeth and cartilage was pacing. "Magnificent, isn't it?"
Elara looked at the beast, then at Valerius's back. He was wide open.
She shoved him. Hard.
Valerius didn't fall. He simply pivoted on one heel, catching her by the waist as she lunged, turning her momentum into a dip. Suddenly, she was leaned back over the railing, the monster snapping its jaws ten feet below her hair, while Valerius held her securely, looking down at her like a romantic lead in a pre-war movie.
"You tried to feed me to the puppy," he chided gently, his nose brushing hers.
"It looked hungry," Elara spat, trying to knee him in the groin.
He blocked her knee with his thigh, pressing closer. The friction was deliberate, his body heat seeping into hers.
"You are terrible at dates," she hissed. "This is disgusting."
"You're holding my lapel very tightly for someone who is disgusted," Valerius murmured.
"I'm trying to strangle you."
"Mmm. Details."
By the time the sun began to set, casting the ruined city in hues of bruised purple and blood orange, they found themselves on the roof of the Apex Tower.
Valerius had arranged a table. There was wine—vintage Cabernet for him, water for her (she refused to drink anything he poured).
The city lights flickered on below them. Screams of the nightly hunts drifted up on the wind, a familiar lullaby.
Elara sat across from him, the obsidian dagger on the table between them. She watched him swirl his wine. He looked... content.
"You're smiling," she accused him. "Stop it. It's creeping me out."
"I am enjoying the view," Valerius said, looking directly at her.
"Do you still want to die?" Elara asked bluntly. "You seem awfully happy for a suicidal man."
Valerius took a sip. The red liquid stained his lips. "I do. But the urgency has faded. Before you, death was a necessity to escape the gray. Now? Death is simply the grand finale to a very entertaining play. You make the waiting bearable, Elara."
Elara frowned, picking at the tablecloth. "You're weird. You talk about me like I'm a drug."
"You are adrenaline," he corrected.
Elara leaned back, crossing her arms. "You're 800 years old. You've lived in castles, ruled cities. Are you telling me you never found someone... interesting? What about your love life? Surely a Vampire King gets laid."
Valerius laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Laid? Yes. Loved? No."
"Elaborate," Elara demanded. "I need intel on your psychological weaknesses."
Valerius set the glass down. He looked bored again. "I have had thousands of lovers, Elara. Humans, Highborn, witches, shapeshifters. Men, women, things in between."
He waved his hand dismissively. "They were all the same. They didn't want me. They wanted the Vampire. They wanted the monster in the suit. They were obsessed."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Obsessed with what?"
"The aesthetic," Valerius said, gesturing to his face. "The danger. And, quite frequently, the... plumbing."
Elara blinked. "Plumbing?"
"My cock," Valerius clarified, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "They were obsessed with the performance. Vampires have endless stamina. We don't tire. We don't go soft. They treated me like a vibrator made of marble."
Elara choked on her water.
Valerius continued, his eyes looking into the distance. "They would scream, they would claw my back, they would beg for more. And I would lie there, thrusting away, planning my schedule for the next week. I felt nothing."
"Nothing?" Elara asked, curiosity overriding her awkwardness. "Like... emotionally?"
"Physically," Valerius said. He looked at her, his expression dead serious. "I thought sex would be the one thing that felt good. But it's just... friction. And honestly? It's disappointing."
"Why?"
Valerius shrugged. "They are all so... loose."
Elara stared at him.
"Loose?" she repeated.
"Like throwing a hotdog down a hallway," Valerius sighed, looking genuinely aggrieved. "I assume it's because I am older and stronger, or maybe my anatomy is different, but I never felt any grip. It was like stirring a bowl of lukewarm soup. Just... wet and spacious. Boring."
Elara stared at him for a full three seconds.
Then, it happened.
A snort escaped her nose. Then a giggle. Then, a full-blown, hacking laugh.
She threw her head back, clutching her stomach.
"Lukewarm soup?! You're telling me the great Vampire Lord is bored because everyone has a loose pussy?"
"It is a legitimate grievance!" Valerius protested, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Do you know how hard it is to fake enjoyment for three hours when you feel like you're swimming in a pond?"
Elara wiped a tear from her eye, her shoulders shaking.
"That is the saddest, funniest thing I have ever heard. You poor, loose-fucking thing."
Valerius chuckled. It was a real sound, deep and warm. He watched her laugh, mesmerized. It was the first time she wasn't looking at him with murder in her eyes.
"And you?" he asked, leaning forward. "You ask so many questions. Are you experienced, little hunter? Do you have a list of lovers as long as your kill list?"
Elara stopped laughing. The smile faded, replaced by her usual stoicism.
She shook her head. "No."
"No list?"
"No experience," she said. "I'm a virgin."
Valerius froze. His red eyes widened slightly. He looked at her—at the scars on her hands, the gun on her hip, the dead look in her grey eyes.
"Truly?" he whispered.
"I've been busy dissecting things," Elara said defensively. "And I don't like people touching me. The idea of... mixing fluids... it seems unsanitary. And inefficient."
Valerius stared at her. He didn't mock her. He didn't make a crude joke.
A slow, dark hunger replaced the amusement in his eyes. It wasn't the bored hunger he spoke of with his exes. It was something sharper.
"Untouched," he murmured. "Pure chaos, wrapped in unblemished skin."
He reached across the table. Elara flinched, grabbing the dagger.
"Don't," she warned.
"I'm not going to touch you," Valerius said, pulling his hand back. "But that... that is interesting. You are a paradox, Elara. You have seen so much death, yet you know nothing of life."
"I know enough," Elara snapped. "I know that 'lukewarm soup' sounds terrible."
Valerius laughed again, standing up. "Come. The moon is high. Even monsters need to sleep."
They stood outside her bunker again. The air was cold.
"This was..." Elara struggled for the word. "...weird."
"This was a date," Valerius corrected.
He stood close. Too close. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her.
"I enjoyed your laughter," he said softly. "It suits you better than the scowl."
"I enjoyed stabbing you," Elara countered, though there was no heat in it.
"I know."
Valerius leaned down. Elara stiffened, her hand hovering over her gun. He paused inches from her ear.
"Sleep well, virgin," he whispered, his voice like velvet wrapped around a razor blade. "Dream of me."
He pulled back, winked, and vanished into a swarm of bats before she could shoot him.
Elara stood there, her heart hammering against her ribs. She touched her ear where his breath had hit her skin.
"Disgusting," she muttered, unlocking her door.
But as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, she didn't think about the mission. She thought about lukewarm soup, and for the second time that day, she chuckled into the darkness.