The poor guy stumbled backward, and without even thinking, my hands darted out to grab his shoulders and steady him.
“Do you want to watch where you’re going?” he demanded, so quickly it sounded almost automatic.
Then his dark eyes landed on me, and they widened with alarm. That happened sometimes with humans—the more sensitive ones, at least. They could tell, just by looking, that there was something… off about me. But that sort of thing usually happened only if I’d gone too long without feeding, and it was rare even then. I had just fed quite a lot the night before.
The young man must have been remarkably perceptive. Handsome, too. Tall, with dark hair swept back from his forehead, piercing brown eyes, a sleeveless black shirt showing off smooth tawny skin and lean muscle. Delectable. Like a million other men in Los Angeles. Hardly worth my notice.
I turned to leave.
“Wait,” the young man said, having the audacity to grab my shoulder—to touch me.
I froze before turning slowly, already wondering what his blood might taste like. I wouldn’t kill him, of course—but he’d still have a very bad night and regret ever putting his hands on me without permission.
I locked eyes with him, my lips curling into a smile. It would take no effort to get him outside, somewhere quiet and private, where I could play for a while. A bit of hypnotism, and he’d be mine.
I reached for my compulsive power—the same one I’d used nearly every night for the past eight centuries to get whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. This poor mortal boy would be no match.
I drew his gaze into mine, my mind brushing against his, and then… nothing happened.
I stared at him, open-mouthed. The thought of drinking his blood fled entirely. My hypnotic powers had never once failed me. Until now.
And the young man stared back, almost exactly the same way—visibly stunned and disbelieving, even though he had no reason to be.
But there was something deeply unsettling about his bottomless dark eyes, the spark of recognition that flared there like wildfire. The shape of his mouth—the curve of his lips, soft and firm at once—a paradox that was decidedly masculine. And those sharply arched brows made him look open and kind even while staring at me like I was a speeding train about to plow into a school bus.
He seemed almost… familiar. As though I’d met him before.
Impossible. He was a stranger to me.
His scent, though—
The moment I focused on it, I realized it was warm, rich, vibrant. Like church incense—complex and sweet. It brought back a flood of memories from my youth, back when I’d been a naïve young man so devoted to the Church I’d nearly joined the seminary. That had been right before I was turned. It was one of the reasons my maker had chosen me, in fact. And this young man brought every single one of those human memories roaring back to life.
Then he blinked a few times, lips parting, a note of wonder in his voice. “Nicolas?”
Something flipped in the pit of my stomach. And after eight centuries of nothing but vast, echoing emptiness, I finally felt the first stirrings of real human emotion.
A flicker of genuine fear.
Because no one in nearly two hundred years had called me by that name. I’ve gone by Nick, Nico, and Cole, but only to the rare few I’d ever trusted with a variation of my real name. But never, everNicolas.
Not in a very, very long time.
The young man swallowed hard, still staring, awe creeping into his expression, lighting his eyes like I’d answered a question he hadn’t known how to ask. His hand flew to his chest, directly over his heart—a gesture oddly automatic, almost unconscious.
“Nicolas?” he said again, setting my teeth on edge. Though his voice was lovely. “Is—is that your name? It is, isn’t it?”
And that was when I did the only sensible thing available to me.
I turned and fled.
CHAPTER FOUR || ELI
The literal man of my dreams ran away from me.
I stared after him for all of about five seconds, my brain still completely blank from the shock of knowing he was real, before I decided to follow. I had been dreaming about him for my entire life. No way in hell was I letting him get away now.
I had no choice but to press through the sweaty, drunken mess of clubgoers, but I only lost sight of him when he stepped through the main door. I was literally three seconds behind him—less time than it takes to take a deep breath in and let it out. I wrenched the door open and stepped outside. The air was still far too warm, even though the sun had set hours ago.
