He hadn't meant to notice her that first night. He had only wandered into the small city to silence the ache in his throat, maybe take enough blood to dull the hunger without remembering the taste.
Then he saw her.
A mortal girl. Unremarkable to anyone else.
But to him, she burned like a star in a dead sky.
For weeks now, he had followed-at a distance, never too close. A silent observer. A self-imposed ghost.
He'd fed on others, told himself it was enough. It wasn't.
Tonight, he would end it. One last look. One last indulgence.
Then he would vanish.
But as she stepped out of the bookstore and turned down the alley-his alley-fate offered him a different path.
And he was far too old to pretend he still had the strength to resist.
---
Clara
The rain came down in silver sheets, soaking through Clara Dorne's coat as she hurried along the uneven cobblestones. Her bag slapped against her side, books thudding with every step.
She shouldn't have taken the alley. But the main street was closed off again, and she just wanted to get home. Dry socks. Hot tea. Bed.
She was halfway through the alley when something shifted.
A hush.
A weight.
She paused. "Hello?"
No answer.
She turned-slowly.
A man stood at the alley's mouth, tall, still, dressed in black like the night itself. His features were sharp, too perfect, the kind that didn't belong in the real world. But it was his eyes that locked her in place-dark, endless, and glowing faintly red beneath the streetlamp's pale glow.
"Lost, little lamb?" he asked.
Clara's heart lurched. "W-what?"
He stepped forward, the rain somehow not touching him. "You shouldn't walk alone. Not in this part of town."
She took a step back.
He took another forward.
"Do I frighten you?" His voice was smooth as silk, deadly as a razor's edge.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good," he murmured, stopping just inches away. "You should be afraid of monsters. Even the ones who look like men."
She tried to run. He was faster.
One hand caught her wrist, gentle but firm. His fingers were cold, like marble.
"I've been watching you," he confessed, more to himself than her. "You weren't supposed to matter. But you do."
Terror rose like bile in her throat. "What do you want from me?"
He leaned in, his lips brushing her temple, breath unnaturally cool. "To taste. To forget. To feel."
Then darkness swallowed her whole.