“What about the night you met her?” Eric’s voice was smooth, but the edge beneath it was sharpened steel. “When you stood by and let two psychopaths beat her within an inch of her life—just so you could play savior and give her your blood. Do you think she’ll forgive you for that?”

The accusation hung heavy in the thick Louisiana air.

Eric’s gaze flicked to Bill, measuring the flicker of guilt—or defiance—in his eyes. Then he looked past him, toward the front doorway where she stood. Five foot five, golden hair catching the porch light, human and heartbreakingly fragile between two predators pretending to care.

His expression hardened.

“He tried to silence me tonight.” Eric continued, his tone low but unwavering. “He didn’t want you to know the truth. Not because he feared for you.” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “Because he fears what you’ll think of him.”

He stepped slightly closer, not threatening—just deliberate.

“He doesn’t want to protect you.” Eric said, each word precise. “He wants to protect himself. His secrets. His image. The version of himself he’s crafted so carefully for you.”

The night seemed to still around them, the weight of revelation settling like a storm about to break.