Impossible. Humans don’t sense vampires unless they’re being hunted. Unless they’re marked.
Unless they’re bonded to another.
But I’m not a simple vampire. They call me King because I created the first ones. Aziz and Sibley were the first I turned. I’m a hybrid demi-god born of a demon. Hades made it so I am who I am. He made sure I would create life from death.
I watch as Cassia shakes her head and continues walking.
I follow.
Block after block passes like this. Every so often, she looks back again, her steps slowing just enough to confirm she isn’t imagining it. Each time, I remain unseen.
Either she’s perceptive beyond reason, or I’m losing my edge.
I don’t know which possibility troubles me more.
Her building is small. No more than a little cottage-style house that can’t have more than three rooms, tucked betweentwo larger structures, paint chipped, porch light flickering. It’s clean, but modest to the point of discomfort.
I watch as she unlocks the door and steps inside.
Anger flares sharp and sudden in my chest.
This is where she lives?
Not a fortress. Not a place of comfort. Just a narrow porch leading into a house that looks like the wind could blow over and wouldn’t stop anything or one determined enough to break through.
The idea of her sleeping here makes my hands curl into fists. This is no place for a woman who carries such light around her to be living.
I move closer, scaling the side of the little house with ease until I reach her window. I perch on the sill, crouched in shadow, invisible to any passing eyes below.
Inside, she moves slowly, methodically. She kicks off her shoes and sets her bag down carefully. She hums softly under her breath as she moves through the small space.
My chest tightens.
She changes into sleep clothes, nothing revealing, nothing meant to be seen. Still, the sight of her bare arms, the curve of her neck, the casual intimacy of it all leaves me aching.
Not hunger.
Want.
I haven’t felt that in a very long time. Sure, I’ve shared my bed with countless women, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt desire like this. A desire that I shouldn’t be feeling right now.
She moves through her nightly routine, brushing her hair, those long locks make my hands itch to touch them, washing her face, yawning as exhaustion finally claims her. She pauses once, staring out the window, her gaze unfocused.
For a moment, I think she sees me.
She doesn’t. She can’t. There’s no way for her to be able to.
Eventually, she turns off the light and crawls into bed.
I remain where I am. Even as the hours pass, I feel no urge to leave.
The town’s quiet. Dawn creeps closer. Crickets are all that could be heard. I should leave. I should return to my throne and my solitude and forget the way her name tasted on my tongue.
I don’t.
I stay perched on her windowsill, watching her breathe, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. Protecting her from threats she doesn’t even know exist.
I don’t ask for anything in return.
