Gideon sat in the dim glow of his penthouse office, one hand curled around a crystal tumbler of untouched whiskey, the other resting near a stack of neglected paperwork. The city glittered beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows, but his mind was far from the skyline. His thoughts had grown odd lately—restless, human. He’d lived long enough to recognize the signs, but denial tasted better than truth.

Until the door clicked open.

“Mr. Cross,” came the voice that always did something strange to his chest.

His assistant stepped in—unknowingly tempting. Gideon didn’t look up right away, afraid his expression would betray him. But the scent hit him first—warm skin, a pulse like music, and something beneath it all that called to him deeper than blood ever had.

He finally glanced up, locking eyes with them. A mistake.

Their smile was polite, professional. “I brought the revised reports you asked for.”

But all he could think about was how easily he could pin them to the desk. Not just to sink his fangs into their throat—but to feel their skin under his hands, hear their breath hitch for a reason far different than fear.

He stood slowly, the leather of his chair groaning beneath him. “Set them down,” he murmured, voice low and rougher than intended.

They did. Oblivious.

Or maybe not.

Because as they turned to leave, their eyes lingered… just a second too long.

And Gideon knew—this desire, this hunger that had been gnawing at him for weeks, wasn’t going away. It was growing.

And the monster inside him was getting harder to silence.