I am being ignored.

I don’t need anyone to tell me that—I can feel it in the silence.

Huffing in irritation, I jab the doorbell once more, harder this time, hoping the stiff button sticks out of spite. The sharp click offers a pathetic kind of entertainment, the only response I’ve gotten in what feels like an eternity. I’d switched from ringing to outright knocking hours ago, but still—nothing. The once-polished brass doorknob mocks me now, catching the soft gleam of the early morning sun like it knows something I don’t.

I know it’s early—especially considering the hour, I left last night—but I didn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t. I was too wired, too restless, too caught up in imagining all the ways we could get closer. Not in the way most people do, with dinner dates or quaint little picnics. No—I needed something more. Something that would force closeness, not merely suggest it. But for any of that to happen, I had to get past this damn door.

And it’s clear I’m not going to be invited in.

Frustration simmers under my skin as I step back and take in the mansion towering above me. The silence behind the door feels intentional now—calculated. But if he thinks a locked door will stop me, he doesn’t know me at all.

My gaze climbs the brick and stone façade, studying every curve and edge for weakness. The building’s design, once a vision of elegance, now feels like a puzzle waiting to be cracked. There—second floor. A window left slightly ajar, its curtains fluttering like a quiet invitation.

Jackpot.

I gather my hair into a quick bun—no use letting it get in the way now. If I was going to do something reckless, I might as well commit fully. Determination sharpens in my chest, forged by rejection and raw nerve.

I reach for the first handhold, fingers wrapping around the weathered stone. The rough surface grounds me as I begin to climb, every move deliberate, driven. The world below shrinks, but I don’t look down. My focus is razor-sharp, fixed on the goal just out of reach.

Doubt whispers. Fear trails behind it. But I keep going, silencing both with grit and motion.

Halfway up, a single thought gives me pause.

I’m willingly climbing into the den of an apex predator. One who tasted me once—just a sample, a tease. And here I am, crawling back like a fool with a death wish.

I shrug it off and climb faster.

When I reach the window, my arms ache and my legs tremble with exertion, but my heart pounds with a heady mix of fear and thrill. I push the window open, pausing just a second, balanced between risk and reward.

Then I slip inside.

The plush carpet cushions my landing. The room is cloaked in shadows, touched only by the soft, golden glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. I straighten slowly, every sense on high alert.

Then—movement.

A faint rustle of fabric. My breath catches. My eyes search the gloom until I see him—tall, still, and watching.

And then he’s gone.

Panic surges, my breath quickening in defeat. And just when i was beginning to understand that he held all the cards, a ghost of touch grazes my neck. I freeze.

A slow inhale at my throat sends goosebumps pooping across my skin.

“You have little fear, pet,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet and smoke, curling deep in my belly.

“I like that.”

Shock roots me to the spot—ironic, really, that I’m so afraid of the very person I was so eager to see. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and to say he’s menacing would be an understatement. I barely get enough time to process his features. Then, just like that, he disappears again, leaving me trembling—equal parts fear and arousal.

My eyes sweep across the room once more. In the now-brightened morning glow, the sheer wealth and opulence become clearer. A massive bed commands the space, easily large enough to accommodate three grown men. Opposite the bed and not far from the window stands a majestic wooden desk—its rich, dark surface striking against the stark white of the room.

My feet carry me toward the gleaming mahogany. Books are arranged neatly across the desk, each one organized by height, a single pen placed precisely beside them. A small smile tugs at my lips.

A vampire neat freak.

My heart skips with excitement. I love discovering new things about him.

“Something amusing?”

I jump, a soft squeak escaping me. He’s standing in the open doorway across from the bed, his hair damp as if fresh from the shower. Gray sweatpants cling low on his hips, dangerously low, and I swallow hard, my eyes trailing down to the sculpted V that leads to a path I know too well—and crave to follow again.

His face is unreadable, that familiar, cold indifference etched across it. Yet the sight of him sends my pulse into chaos. Both hands are shoved casually into his pockets as he watches me, curious and alert. One step forward, and I feel it—predatory intent simmering in his gaze.

My heart pounds louder, a rhythm he no doubt hears. He tilts his head slightly, listening. And yet, for all the tension simmering between us, I don’t feel true fear—not even with those deep ruby eyes locked on mine.

I stumble backward until my backside bumps the edge of the desk. My hands grip the smooth wood for grounding. He moves closer—deliberate, unhurried, never breaking eye contact. My throat tightens, and I clear it just as he stops in front of me, towering, magnetic. A single brush of his finger and molten heat pools low in my belly.

God, everything he makes me feel is intoxicating.

“I asked you a question,” he rumbles, his voice so low it grazes my skin like silk and smoke.

“That’s hardly any of your concern,” I sass, throwing in a spark of defiance just to see what he’ll do.

He closes the space between us, pressing me against the desk with unrelenting heat.

“The very moment…” he murmurs, eyes gleaming as he leans in, “I took a sip of your life’s blood, everything about you became my concern.”

His nose grazes along my jawline, and goosebumps rise in his wake.

I smile, quietly thrilled by his possessiveness. “If you're that curious, I could show you. But you'll have to come with me to find out.”

He snorts, the sound dry and amused, then pulls back, hiding whatever emotion flickered in his eyes.

“I see what you’re doing.”

Quick as a flash, I wrap my legs around his. The contact doesn’t budge his solid frame, but it draws me closer all the same. I use the momentum to lift myself, arms and legs encircling him fully. His gaze darkens. For a moment, it might’ve been the morning sun playing tricks on me, but I swear his pupils ripple—inking outward into the white of his eyes.

“Careful, mouse,” he warns, voice a low growl. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I wouldn’t mind being consumed. Not by you.” My heart is racing, and I relish every second of it. The rush, the danger—it’s a craving I’ve never been able to explain. He makes me feel things I’ve spent years searching for, and I have no plans to let that go.

My panties are soaked. I pull him closer, wanting—needing—him to feel the effect he has on me.

“Come with me,” I whisper, my lips brushing his jaw. “You said you’d give me a chance.”

He doesn’t move at first. His breath is a slow drag, warm against my skin. Then he speaks—voice low, dark, laced with something that coils around my spine like smoke.

“You’d risk everything… just to keep me close?”

A husky chuckle answers him. He doesn't know that I am ready to do more than this to make him mine. This bold, seductive version of me is still new, still surprising—and exhilarating. I cling to him tighter, my body pressed shamelessly to his. My throbbing core grinds against the thick length beneath his sweats, separated by just a whisper of fabric. His skin radiates heat, but I welcome it. It only feeds the fire he’s already lit in me.

Suddenly, he pulls away.

The loss is immediate and agonizing. A plaintive cry slips from my lips as I pant, aching and needy. I spot him by the bed, standing still, tension carved into every inch of him.

“Elban, I—”

“Drane,” he interrupts.

“Huh?” I blink.

“My name is Drane.”

“Oh.” A flush of pleasure blooms beneath my skin. We’re getting somewhere. A warmth spreads through my chest. I get to call him something no one else does—Drane.

He sees the look on my face, and just like that, vanishes again.

I blink at the empty space, trying to pull my thoughts together. Reaching back, I accidentally knock a few books off the desk. I crouch to restack them, but my eyes catch something.

Journal, inscribed in bold on the cover.

Curiosity flares. I reach for it, fingertips brushing the edge—

—but it’s gone in a blink.

He’s standing before me again, fully dressed now—and still devastatingly attractive. The journal is nowhere to be seen.

“Well,” he says simply. "Let's see what you've got planned". Striding from the room without so much as a backward glance.