Gideon’s POV

Night clung to the city like smoke—beautiful, suffocating. And in the stillness of my study, I found no comfort in the familiar hush. The candlelight flickered weakly, casting shadows across the stone walls, as though the room itself refused to rest easy.

Evelyn.

Her name haunted the silence.

When I first offered her the bite, it wasn’t about love. It was about loneliness—about creating something that might tether me to this world before I drifted too far into the dark. I told myself it was practical. Logical. I needed an ally, someone bound to me by ancient blood and forgotten laws.

But now?

Now I wasn’t sure what I needed anymore.

She was not what I expected. Not docile, not broken, not grateful in the way fledglings usually are. No, Evelyn burned. Even as her body trembled from the changes, her gaze remained sharp, challenging, alive. Every time she looked at me, I felt exposed—seen in ways I hadn’t allowed in centuries.

And worse—I didn’t hate it.

I sat at my desk, the old journal open before me, untouched. My fingers hovered over the ink, unable to write what I truly felt: I care for her. I shouldn’t. She’s still changing. Still mine. Still dangerous.

But every night, I find myself listening for her footsteps down the corridor. Every sunrise, I wonder what color her eyes will gleam when she wakes—gold with hunger or soft with wonder. Every moment, I notice her more.

The sound of her laugh from the library earlier had cut through me like a blade. She’d been reading—reading—and had found something funny enough to laugh at aloud. That small, human moment had filled the room like sunlight. I’d stood at the threshold and watched her through the crack of the door, unable to make myself walk away.

I should have.

But I didn’t.

A knock broke my thoughts.

Marcus entered without waiting for permission, his face tight. “The wolves are uneasy. The Council more so. They’re not happy about the fledgling.”

“They rarely are,” I murmured.

“They remember the last one you tried to save.”

I glanced up sharply. “Evelyn is not like the others.”

He tilted his head. “Is that what you believe, or what you want to believe?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure anymore.

He exhaled, stepping closer. “She’s more than a fledgling to you. I see it.”

I stiffened. “She’s under my protection.”

“It’s not just protection, Gideon.” His tone was low, but pointed. “Be careful. You’ve gone soft before. It cost you everything.”

He was wrong. I hadn’t gone soft then. I had hoped. There’s a difference.

Marcus left, and I stood there for a long time, staring at the flickering candle. The scent of her lingered faintly on the air—honeysuckle and blood. A dangerous mix. A beautiful one.

She knocked.

Not Marcus. Her.

I could feel her heartbeat outside the door—faster than usual. Nervous.

“Enter,” I said, voice lower than intended.

Evelyn stepped in, wrapped in one of my old cloaks, her damp hair curling down her back. She looked younger like this. Softer. But her eyes—those brilliant, burning eyes—never wavered.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said simply.

I nodded. “The turning does that.”

She stepped closer, glancing at the journal on the desk. “Do you write about me in there?”

I didn’t lie. “Yes.”

Her breath hitched, but she recovered quickly. “What do you write?”

“That you’re stubborn. Reckless. Infuriating.”

She smirked. “Anything else?”

I met her eyes. “Beautiful. Brave. Impossible to ignore.”

The silence between us stretched, thick with things unsaid.

“You regret turning me,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” I said quietly. “I regret waiting so long to see you.”

Something in her expression shifted—uncertainty giving way to something gentler. She moved closer until we were only inches apart. Her hand brushed the edge of the desk, then rested lightly on the journal.

“I don’t know what I’m becoming,” she admitted.

“Neither do I,” I said. “But you’re not alone.”

She looked up at me then, really looked. “Is that why you did it? So you wouldn’t be alone?”

“That’s why I started,” I said. “But it’s not why I stay.”

Her breath caught. The bond between us hummed with heat—an invisible thread pulling tighter.

She stepped back, reluctantly. “I should go.”

I didn’t stop her. But I watched every step she took, every sway of her hair until she disappeared down the hall.

When the door clicked shut behind her, I exhaled like I hadn’t breathed the entire time.

This was no longer about power, or legacy, or survival. Evelyn had become something more. A reminder of everything I’d forgotten I could feel. A risk I wasn’t sure I could survive. A choice I’d already made long before I knew I was making it.

I turned back to the journal and wrote a single line beneath her name:

She is undoing me.