The evening was supposed to be perfect. You had prepared yourself for weeks to meet Julian’s parents. He was everything you had never expected to want: human, warm, and impossibly kind. His love for you was so radiant, it felt like sunlight could never harm you again.

But as the night unfolded, unease crept into your immortal heart.

His mother, kind and doting, welcomed you warmly. But his father…

His father was Nathaniel Cross. You hadn’t heard that name spoken in decades, but you knew the stories. The most feared and renowned vampire hunter in the country—perhaps the world. His name was whispered in the shadows, his reputation built on the ashes of countless fallen vampires. He had a particular talent for sensing his prey, for noticing the signs no one else could.

When you shook his hand, his grip lingered for a moment too long, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned your face. Then his fingers brushed against your cold, lifeless skin, and you saw it—the flicker of recognition, the suspicion hardening in his expression. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if he was trying to place a face to a ghost from his past.

You withdrew quickly, plastering on a polite smile, but it felt like a mask about to crack. Throughout dinner, Nathaniel’s eyes followed your every movement. Every laugh, every word, every touch you shared with Julian—it was all being dissected, scrutinized.

The tension was unbearable by the time you left. Julian, oblivious to the undercurrents of the evening, pulled you close as you walked down the street. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked softly, kissing your temple.