The dilapidated cabin they’d taken over for the week crackled with the sound of an old generator humming in the background, its noise overshadowed by the furious button-smashing of three vampires huddled around a flat-screen TV. The air smelled faintly of blood—James’s boots were still stained from their earlier hunt—but inside, the atmosphere was… domestic. Strangely so.

Guinevere—Ginny, as only James and Laurent dared to call her—sat cross-legged on the floor, a game controller in her toned hands. Her cherubic face was a stark contrast to the intensity in her blood-red eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light. The orange hue of her skin shimmered whenever the screen flashed, and her knee-length black hair trailed lazily behind her like a shadow.

“You shot me again!” James snarled, eyes narrowing as he pointed an accusing finger at the screen. “I’m on your team, Ginny.”

“You walked into my line of fire. Again,” Ginny said coolly, not even looking at him as her fingers danced over the controls. “Try not to be so predictably stupid.”

Laurent, slumped dramatically on the threadbare couch, groaned. “What is the point of this game? We’re vampires. Why do we need to pretend to shoot people on a screen?”

“Because it’s fun, Laurent,” Ginny said with a sharp smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And because the two of you are hopelessly bad at it.”

“Hopelessly—! Ginny!” James growled. “You told me to press R2. I pressed it. I blew myself up.”

“You were holding a grenade. That’s on you, not me.”

“I didn’t even see a grenade!” he snapped, throwing his controller on the couch beside him. “This is rigged.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, leaned over, and snatched the controller from his side. “You're trying to brute-force it. That's not how this works. You have to be precise. Strategic.” Her thin lips curled. “You know, the opposite of how you usually function.”

James bristled but didn’t argue. He liked when Ginny got mean. It was weird. Hot. He’d never admit it.

Laurent leaned over her shoulder, frowning at the screen. “Why do you have gold armor and a dragon companion and James and I are still in… this?” He gestured at his sad-looking character, limping in a tattered shirt.

“Because I play smart. I loot everything. I pick every lock.” Her voice was smug. “Literally.”

James tilted his head. “Wait… is that your gift?”

Ginny didn’t look up. “Yup.”

Laurent blinked. “You used your supernatural lockpicking powers… on digital chests?”

She finally looked at them, a slow, wicked grin spreading on her angelic face. “Of course I did.”

“…You’re cheating,” James muttered.

“No,” she said. “I’m winning.”

James and Laurent stared at her, dumbfounded. Ginny calmly executed a flawless combo and obliterated a boss monster that had been stomping their characters to mush for the last hour.

“I hate this game,” Laurent muttered, crossing his arms.

“I hate her more,” James added, glaring at Ginny with the burning pride of someone whose mate just carried the team again.

“Both of you can sleep outside,” Ginny said sweetly, red eyes gleaming.

They fell silent.

She smirked, controller in hand, and returned to the game. “That’s what I thought.”