Scrape.
The sound was deliberate, like someone dragging metal across the floorboards.
I froze. Trent pulled back slightly. “What was that?”
“Probably the pipes,” I said, too fast.
He laughed nervously and leaned in again. A deeper noise followed, somewhere above the vent. It sounded suspiciously like a growl.
“Okay, seriously,” Trent said, glancing around. “What the fuck is going on?”
The air in the room shifted.
Cristian appeared behind the couch, pale, shirtless, and wearing his new jeans low on his hips like he was a model in an undead Levi’s campaign. His hair was slightly tousled, his expression somewhere between regal judgment and open disdain.
“Your presence offends her dignity,” he said evenly, as if he were delivering a formal decree straight from King Charles I.
Trent froze mid-reach, still half-leaning toward me. “What the hell?” His eyes darted from Cristian to me and back. “Is this a bit? Are we doing, like, a roleplay thing? I didn’t agree to that.”
“Not a bit,” I said quickly, standing and forcing a smile that I was ninety percent sure looked feral. “This is my—uh—roommate. Cristian. He’s… foreign.”
Cristian inclined his head slightly. “Correct.”
Trent blinked. “Fromwhere? Narnia?”
Cristian ignored him completely. “He touches you as if you are furniture.”
“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Please stop talking.”
Cristian took a deliberate step closer. “Do not fret,” he said to Trent, calm as stone. “You have other talents, I’m sure. Basket weaving, perhaps. Or collecting discarded bottle caps. A modest life, but fulfilling.”
Trent stared at him. “What? Whotalkslike that? Are you having a stroke, man?”
Cristian turned to me, tone clipped. “He doesn’t even carry a weapon. Not even a blade.”
Trent’s voice cracked. “Why would I carry a blade? Whois this guy?”
I held up both hands, unable to speak.
Cristian tilted his head, unbothered. “Your aura is… flaccid,” he said to Trent as he eyed his groin region. “It droops with self-doubt.”
Trent’s mouth moved like a fish out of water before he said, “I’m calling the cops.”
Cristian gave a short, pitying sigh. “They, too, will pity your performance.”
Trent grabbed his jacket so fast he nearly took mine with it. “You people are insane.” He bolted for the door, muttering something about exorcists and background checks.
The silence that followed stretched long enough for my dignity to die a quiet death.
I turned slowly. Cristian was still standing there, arms crossed, perfectly composed.
“You’re proud of yourself,” I said flatly.
He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”
“You ruined my date.”
“He ruined his own date by behaving toward you the way he did,” he said calmly.
