I stepped across the threshold, immediately struck by how warm and inviting his home felt. It had rich wood floors, comfortable furniture, and bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling. It felt lived in, and personal in a way that his office didn’t. It felt like a home people actually lived in, nothing like my parent’s estate that seemed mostly for decoration.
“I did come to my senses,” I said, turning to face him as he closed the door behind me. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”
Valen’s expression shifted at my words, something almost vulnerable flickering across his features before he seemed to catch himself. He gestured toward the living room, and I followed him deeper into the space, taking in the details that revealed so much more about him than his carefully controlled professional persona ever had.
There were fencing trophies on the mantelpiece, some of them looking far more than just antique. Photographs in silver frames showed him with people I didn’t recognize. Some wereprinted on tin and in period clothing that suggested they’d been taken more than a century ago. I supposed that put the stereotype about vampires and photography to bed once and for all. There was also a chess set that sat half-finished on a side table, and I wondered if he played against himself or if he had regular opponents. The book beside it, however, was still sitting open under a small lamp.
“Drink?” he asked, moving toward what looked like a well-stocked bar cart. “I have wine, bourbon, or I could make coffee if you prefer.”
“Wine sounds good,” I said, settling onto his leather couch. The nervousness I’d felt outside was starting to fade, replaced by genuine curiosity about this glimpse into his private life. “This place is beautiful. How long have you lived here?”
“A little over a year,” he replied, pulling out a bottle of red wine that looked old and expensive. “I started teaching at Widdershins last year. Before that, I had a place in Boston, but I thought living on campus would make teaching and coaching easier.”
I watched him open the wine with practiced efficiency, his movements as graceful here as they were in the fencing salle. There was something almost domestic about the scene that made me both happy and a bit nervous at the same time.
“Only a year,” I mused. “That’s barely a blink of an eye for someone who’s lived for centuries.”
He handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine briefly. Even that small contact sent electricity up my arm. “Time moves differently when you’re immortal,” he said, settling into the chair across from me rather than beside me on the couch. “Years can feel like months, decades like years. But sometimes...” His amber eyes met mine. “Sometimes a single moment can feel like it lasts forever.”
The weight of his gaze made my pulse quicken. I took a sip of wine to steady myself, surprised by how smooth and rich it was. “Is that what it’s like when you feed? Time slowing down?”
His grip tightened slightly on his wine glass. “Among other things.”
“Is it that way with me?” I asked, emboldened by the wine and the intimacy of being in his private space. “Do I help stretch the moments out?”
Valen was quiet for a long moment, staring into his wine like it held the answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. When he finally looked up, there was something raw in his expression that made my breath catch.
“With you, it’s like drowning,” he said quietly. “Like being pulled under by something so powerful and overwhelming that I forget everything else exists. Every time I’ve fed from you, I’ve lost control in ways I haven’t experienced since I was newly turned.”
The confession hung heavy between us, filling the room. I could see the conflict in his features, the way admitting this vulnerability clearly cost him.
“I guess I should take that as a compliment then,” I said, sipping my wine. “It sounds pretty romantic when you put it that way.”
Valen’s laugh was soft but bitter. “Romantic. That’s not usually how people describe vampiric feeding.” He took a long sip of his wine, his amber eyes never leaving mine. “Most people find the concept disturbing.”
“Well, I’m not most people,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “And I meant what I said earlier. I want to understand. All of it. Besides, you said your type of feeding is mutually beneficial, so I don’t see how that can be bad.”
Something shifted in his expression, a hunger flickering behind his careful composure. He set down his wine glass andstood up, moving to the window that overlooked the small garden behind his cottage.
“You say that now,” he murmured, his back to me. “But you don’t really know what you’re asking for, Archer. The intensity of it… it can change things between people. It creates bonds that can be difficult to break.”
I stood up as well, crossing the room to stand behind him. Close enough to feel that cool air that seemed to emanate from his skin, but not quite touching. “What kind of bonds?”
“The kind that make it impossible to think clearly around someone,” he said, his voice rough. “The kind that make you crave their presence even when you know being near them is a bad idea. The kind that make you want to claim them in ways that go far beyond the physical.”
My pulse quickened at his words, at the barely restrained want I could hear beneath his careful control. “And you think that would be a bad thing?”
He turned around then, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch. Raw hunger mixed with something that looked almost like fear. “I think the development of a bond like that would complicate an already impossible situation beyond repair.”
“Maybe,” I admitted, stepping closer until there was barely any space between us. “Or maybe it would make it worth the risk.”
For a moment, we just stood there, the tension crackling between us like electricity. I could see the war playing out behind his amber eyes, desire battling against centuries of learned caution. Then, slowly, he reached up to cup my face in his hands.
“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his thumbs tracing along my cheekbones.
“Probably not,” I breathed, leaning into his touch. “You are immortal after all. So why not give it a go?”
That broke something in him. I saw it in the way his pupils dilated, in the flash of fangs as his lips parted. His control, that careful professional distance he’d been maintaining, finally crumbled completely.
