Stella's pulse thundered as she stepped into the training center, a gnawing unease settling in her stomach. Every muscle in her body tensed as the memories of the previous day clawed their way back—Simon's lips ghosting over her skin, the eerie flicker of darkness in his gaze. The phantom touch still lingered, an invisible brand on her body.
The scent of sweat and blood clung to the air, a familiar stench, but today, it felt suffocating. Her breath hitched when she spotted him across the room. He was standing with the same effortless confidence, muscles taut beneath his shirt, his expression unreadable. Heat pooled in her chest, but she shoved it down, forcing herself to busy her hands with her gear.
"Hey, you're here." His voice was smooth, but there was something else buried beneath it—something unreadable.
"Yeah." The word barely scraped past her throat.
The silence between them stretched tight, suffocating, and Stella felt like she was teetering on the edge of something she didn't understand.
"Ready to train?" he asked.
She only nodded, unwilling to acknowledge the shift between them, unwilling to name whatever it was that coiled in the air like an unspoken promise.
The drills were the same, precise and brutal, but Stella couldn't focus. Every move Simon made was calculated, his body moving with predatory grace, his presence pressing into her like a shadow she couldn't shake. Her muscles burned as she tried to match his pace, but her mind was trapped elsewhere—caught on the way he'd looked at her the day before. The hunger in his eyes. The way it had both terrified and exhilarated her.
He was different today. More controlled, but somehow, more dangerous.
As they finished, she wiped the sweat from her brow, her heart hammering from something other than exertion.
"Thanks for today," she managed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
For a fleeting second, something dark flared behind his eyes—hunger, possessiveness, something deeper, something raw.
"Anytime," he murmured.
The word slithered over her skin like a whisper of smoke, and she turned away before she let herself drown in whatever was waiting beneath the surface.
But she could feel his eyes on her. Even as she stepped out into the night.
As Stella made her way home, her mind was still racing from the awkwardness of her training session with Simon. Lost in thought, she suddenly tripped on the uneven pavement, her body pitching forward. The sharp sting of pain shot through her right knee as it scraped against the ground, blood oozing from the wound.
The sting of gravel digging into her palms barely registered as Stella hit the ground. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the throbbing in her knee sending sharp, white-hot pain through her leg. Blood seeped from the torn skin, staining the pavement beneath her.
"Just great," she muttered.
But then—
Footsteps.
She stiffened. The hair on the back of her neck rose.
Slowly, she turned.
Three figures loomed in the dim streetlight, their presence sending a slow, creeping dread through her bones.
Her stomach twisted. Marcus.
Something was wrong. His eyes—glassy, vacant—were staring right through her.
"Marcus?" Her voice wavered. "What—"
The words never made it past her lips.
A pair of hands wrapped around her throat.
The breath in her lungs vanished in an instant, replaced with sheer panic. She clawed at the iron grip, her nails digging into flesh, but it was useless.
"Let go of me!"
Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the world. She struggled, but the grip only tightened. The pressure burned, spots dancing in her vision.
Then, she saw it—
The glint of a wooden stake.
Her blood turned to ice.
She twisted, fighting with everything she had, but the boy holding the stake lifted it, ready to drive it into her chest.
A blur of movement.
A sickening crack.
The boy's body crumpled to the ground.
Stella gasped, her vision clearing just in time to see him.
Simon.
His expression was calm, detached—his knuckles bloody, his stance unwavering.
"Come on, boys," he drawled, cracking his neck. "I don't have all night."
The first attacker lunged.
Simon moved faster.
He ducked, fluid as water, before his fist connected with the man's ribs. A sickening thud echoed through the alley, followed by a strangled gasp as the attacker collapsed to the ground, writhing.
The second didn't even have time to react.
Simon spun, his boot colliding with the man's chest with bone-crushing force. The impact sent him flying, his body colliding against a tree with a dull crunch.
Stella could only watch, frozen, as Simon turned back to the last remaining boy.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled a wooden stake from his belt.
The boy trembled, fear painting his features. "You're not human," he stammered, realization dawning. "You're a v—"
The words never left his tongue.
Simon moved in a blink, slamming the stake into the boy's chest.
Stella flinched as the body disintegrated, crumbling into a fine layer of ash.
The second attacker tried to crawl away, but Simon was faster.
Another strike. Another cloud of dust.
Then, silence.
The only thing left was the scent of death in the air and the pounding of Stella's heart.
She barely noticed Marcus stirring, his groggy voice cutting through the suffocating quiet.
"Where the hell am I?" He rubbed his temples, blinking at the scene before him. His gaze snapped to Simon and Stella, suspicion darkening his features. "What the hell is going on?"
Simon only tilted his head.
"Looks like you're still a dumbass," he mused.
Before Marcus could react, Simon's fist connected with his jaw.
The impact was brutal.
Marcus dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Simon!" Stella's voice cracked with disbelief. "Why did you do that? He wasn't in control!"
Simon wiped the ash from his hands, unbothered. "He was compelled," he said, voice eerily calm. "He needed to be knocked out before he did something stupid."
Stella's breath hitched. The world tilted.
"They were vampires," she whispered, horror creeping in.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
They had tried to kill her.
They had smelled her.
They had known.
Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred. The air felt too thick, too heavy.
She couldn't breathe.
Panic surged through her veins, strangling her from the inside out. She gasped, her hands trembling, her thoughts spiraling.
Why?
How?
Was she next?
Simon moved before she could collapse.
His hands were on her face, cool against her burning skin. "Stella," he commanded, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Breathe."
She couldn't.
"You're safe," he continued, his voice smooth, firm. "It's over."
Tears burned in her eyes, her chest heaving.
"If you hadn't come…" Her voice cracked. "I would've—"
"Stop."
His thumb brushed over her cheek, his grip steady.
"Count," he ordered. "One to ten."
She tried.
Her breaths were uneven, her body trembling, but she tried.
And then—
She broke.
A sob ripped from her throat, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed into him.
Her fingers fisted into his shirt as she clung to him, her entire body shaking with the force of her emotions.
Simon hesitated.
Then, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
And Stella did not notice the way her tears stained his shirt—clear, shimmering, not quite human.