Because the other part of last night is still stuck in my head too.
The vampire.
The gray-haired one.
The way his hand yanked me back like I was nothing.
The way his mouth pressed close to my ear when he growled that I smelled different.
I didn’t understand what he meant then, and I still don’t now. But it’s enough to make my skin prickle every time I pass an alley.
I’m not stupid. I know what kind of place Dyrk is.
It’s not just a club. It’s a feeding ground. A playground. A den.
I got lucky last night.
I also got noticed.
If that vampire was bold enough to corner me in a hallway inside Orpheus’s club, what’s stopping him from finding me outside of it?
The thought follows me the entire time I’m out. It makes my shoulders tense. Makes my grip tighten on my bag. Makes me walk faster than I need to.
By the time dusk settles, I’m already exhausted and want nothing more than to go to my little house and sleep the rest of the day away.
Only I can’t. I need to get to work. Taking my groceries home and getting ready, I try my hardest to block out the thoughts swarming in my head.
Once ready,I head toward the club, and the red neon glow makes my stomach loosen a little. Not because it’s comforting, exactly, but because I know the rules inside. I know where the light is. I know where the people are. I know there’s security.
Outside, anything can happen.
Inside, at least there are witnesses.
Still, my paranoia doesn’t fade until I’m close enough to see the entrance clearly.
No sign of the gray-haired vampire.
No lingering shadow near the door.
Just the bouncer and the guards doing their jobs like always.
Then I see him.
Priam, I think his name is. The same guard Orpheus humiliated last night. I hope he remembers me.
He’s standing at the door tonight, posture rigid, expression hard, eyes scanning the street like he’s looking for trouble before it finds him. In the brighter light, I notice details I missed before.
A scar along his jaw. A faint bruise on his knuckles. Eyes that don’t miss anything.
He doesn’t look like someone who deserves to be spoken to the way Orpheus spoke to him.
I swallow, step up, and hand over my ID.
Priam’s eyes flick to it, then to me.
Something in his expression shifts. Subtle, but real. His gaze softens like he recognizes me and remembers what happened.
I smile before I can overthink it. Small. Careful. Genuine.
