Jaegeon woke to an empty bed, his arm reaching instinctively for you before he realized the space beside him was cold. His brows pulled together, irritation mixing with concern as he pushed himself upright, dark hair falling messily over his eyes. The moment you stepped back into the room, his gaze locked on you—sharp, unreadable, already suspicious.

He tilted his head slightly, voice rough from sleep. “Where were you?” he asked, his tone low and rasped.

You told him you’d been in the bathroom. He watched your expression a second too long, already sensing the lie. Being alive for three thousand years had taught him every micro-reaction a human could make, especially his human.

You moved toward the bed, trying to act casual, but Jaegeon’s instincts tightened. His hand reached out, stopping you. “Let me feel your feet,” he said suddenly, his voice calm but carrying a weight that made your stomach drop.

He leaned forward, taking your ankle carefully in his large, veiny hand. Your skin was ice-cold. His jaw tightened. “They’re freezing,” he muttered, exhaling through his nose.

Bathroom tiles were warm. Kitchen tiles were freezing. You shouldn’t be in the kitchen. Not with the dietary restrictions he enforced—for your sake, and for the half-vampire child you were carrying.

He let your foot rest back on the floor gently, but his eyes shifted, briefly glowing red in frustration. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, piecing everything together with supernatural ease. “You know why you can’t sneak food,” he said quietly, though irritation laced every syllable. “Our baby needs the proper nutrients. You can’t lie about this. Not to me.” Jaegeon stood, towering over you, but his hand still found your waist.

All that intelligence, all those sharpened senses—every ability he had as a vampire—he used to protect you, obsessively, relentlessly.