OH.
Right. That whole 'magical vampire maker' thing.
Lilith's memories slither through my mind like unwanted party guests, making me want to shower in holy water. But before I can process my emotional baggage—
CRASH
No. Not going there.
"Lucian." Seraphina's voice cuts through my spiral, honey-warm and steady. "You're not her. You'll never beher."
Another crash, followed by Sable's wail of confusion, makes my Deadpool bobblehead do a concerning dance.
"Fucking DO IT!" Damon roars as my precious entertainment center takes a hit.
Right. Because, this is my life now—
Pink and black blur through my vision until—gotcha. My fingers lock around her throat, two hundred years of muscle memory taking over as I pin her to my (thankfully still intact) mahogany-paneled wall. Those newly vamped-out eyes lock with mine, a hurricane of terror and confusion swirling in black-voided depths.
"Sable." My voice drops into that space between command and comfort, the tone that reaches past the feral and finds the person underneath. "You're going to take a nice deep breath—which yes, I know is ironic now—and park your newly immortal ass on that couch so we can talk about this like people whodon'tdestroy priceless collectibles."
The change is instant—like someone hit a reset button. Wild black bleeds from her eyes, leaving familiar chocolate brown in its wake. Her muscles unlock under my grip, and the feral energy dissipates like smoke.
Well, shit. Maybe I'm not entirely terrible at this Maker thing after all.
Though my insurance company is going to have questions about tonight.
Brax materializes like a demonic Santa Claus, blood bag in hand. He tosses it to Sable. She snatches it out of the air, fangs already sinking into plastic before her ass hits the couch.
Ah, the dulcet tones of a baby vampire's first meal. Like a symphony of slurping and desperate gulping.
It's obvious self-preservation isn't in her witchy skill set, Emily takes a step toward her bestie. "Sable, honey, let me just—"
But then—fuck—Sable's head snaps up, blood bag forgotten. Her nostrils flare, pupils blown wide as they lock onto Emily's jugular. I see the moment instinct takes over, the predator recognizing prey.
"Nope!" I'm between them before Emily can blink, my hand around Sable's throat again. "New house rule: No snacking on the residents. Especially not the witchy one who smells like everything pumpkin spice."
Sable struggles against my grip, her fangs snapping like she's auditioning for Jaws.
"Listen up, Bubblegum," I pour power into my words, feeling the Maker's bond mold between us. "You do not get to sample the locals. And youespeciallydon't get within ten feet of my Angel Cake or Dani when she gets back. Those two are like vampire catnip, and I'm not dealing with that drama on top of everything else."
Sable blinks rapidly, the bloodlust haze clearing from her eyes. She looks down at the blood bag like it offended her, then back to Emily. Horrified realization dawns on her face."Em, I... oh my god. I'm so sorry. I don't know what... I wasn't going to..." She looks about two seconds from bursting into tears again.
And here I thought being a nightclub owner was a wild ride. Clearly, I had no fucking idea.
Emily shrugs. "Remember myfirst spell? Pretty sure I set fire to everything but the actual candle." Her laugh is gentle, understanding. "We've all got our learning curves, babe. Yours just happens to involve a little more... liquid diet."
Sable slumps back onto the couch, attacking the blood bag. Her nose wrinkles with each swallow—yeah, cold hospital leftovers are definitely an acquired taste.
I watch her drain the bag, my mind already spinning with the logistics of teaching a newborn vampire how to feed without leaving a trail of bodies.
Maybe Damon can help. He's been there, done that, and has the 'I Survived My First Feeding' T-shirt.
Wait. Does this mean I'm like... a vampire dad now? Do I need to start carrying spare blood bags and wet wipes?
Fuck. My. Immortal. Life.
The reality hits harder than Thanos's pimp slap—I'm actually responsible for someone now.
