Orpheus
The sound the vampire makes when he hits the wall is deeply satisfying.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just solid.
Bone against stone.
The vampire groans, pushing himself upright, and then he looks at me.
Really looks.
The color drains from his face.
“Shit,” he breathes.
I straighten my jacket, slow and deliberate. “That’s usually the moment when people start apologizing and pleading for their lives.”
He drops his gaze instantly, shoulders curling in on themselves. “My King, I didn’t realize she was under your protection.”
“She isn’t,” I say calmly.
His head snaps up, confusion flickering across his features. “Then why?—”
“Because you were touching her.”
The words settle into the hall like a weight.
“I was intrigued,” he rushes, hands lifting in a placating gesture. “That’s all. She was alone. New. I’d never cross a line.”
I glance back over my shoulder.
The girl stands frozen a few feet away, her back pressed to the wall, eyes wide but sharp. She’s holding onto the wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her breathing’s shallow. Controlled. Brave in a way that irritates me.
I look back at him.
“You crossed it,” I say. “Several times. You enter this club. You know the rules. You want to drink from someone, it’s with consent. She didn’t seem to give it.”
He swallows hard. “I didn’t intend to hurt her.”
“That’s usually the excuse right before someone does.”
Silence stretches.
He shifts his weight, clearly trying to calculate his odds. I let him. Let the fear settle in. Let him remember exactly whose house he’s standing in.
“I swear to you,” he says quickly. “I was only curious. Nothing more.”
A lie.
An obvious one.
I step closer. Close enough that he flinches.
“Curiosity,” I tell him, “is how most of you end up dead. Just as the saying goes, ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ Don’t take me for a fool.”
His throat bobs. “Please. I meant no disrespect.”
“Then leave,” I say. “Now. I suggest you don’t come here again.”
