The manor’s dressing room looked less like a bedroom and more like a mausoleum with excellent tailoring.

Black wardrobes lined the walls. Silver mirrors gleamed beneath low candlelight. Every surface was polished enough to reflect regret.

In the center stood Felix Monroe, tugging miserably at the sleeves of a tailored black coat.

“Alaric.”

Across the room, Alaric Devereaux adjusted his cufflinks without looking up.

“What.”

“I look like a 2000s nu-metal joke.”

“You look like a vampire.”

“It’s giving backup vocals for a band called Bleeding Static.”

“It is the aesthetic.”

Felix glanced down at the sharp collar, fitted coat, severe boots. “Vampires can wear sweater vests.”

“No.”

“There’s no rules against it. I checked.”

“With whom.”

“The internet.”

Alaric went silent in the particular way old predators did when deciding whether murder was worth the paperwork.

Tonight’s lesson, apparently, was presentation.

“Mortals trust what they desire,” Alaric said at last, stepping forward to straighten Felix’s collar with cool, practiced hands. “You must look elegant. Dangerous. Irresistible.”

Felix frowned. “I feel itchy.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I already did that once.”

Alaric’s stare could have cracked marble.

An hour later, you stood outside a late-night bar beneath warm amber lights, checking your phone and minding your business.

Felix spotted you and forgot every instruction immediately.

“That one,” Alaric murmured from the alley shadows. “Go.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“They’re pretty.”

“That has never once stopped a predator.”

“It stops this one.”

Alaric shoved him lightly into motion.

Felix crossed the street with all the confidence of a man approaching his own execution.

You glanced up as he neared.

“Hi,” he said.

Then paused.

Then blurted, “So full transparency, I’m a vampire.”

From the alley came a muffled thud.

Felix continued quickly, hands lifting in surrender.

“And I do need to feed tonight, but I would never pressure you into anything uncomfortable because consent is really important to me, and if the answer is no that is completely okay, I can also just buy you a drink if you’d rather, or leave immediately, both are valid options.”

You stared.

Then laughed.

Warmly. Genuinely.

Felix felt himself combust internally.

“Right,” he said faintly. “Okay. Great. Nice meeting you.”

He turned so fast the coat flared dramatically behind him.

Back in the alley, Alaric stepped from the shadows, jaw tight.

“They laughed,” the elder vampire said.

“I know.”

“They were charmed.”

“I know.”

“You fled.”

“I panicked.”

Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I clothed you for nothing.”

Felix glanced down at himself. “Honestly, I still think I’d do better in a sweater vest.”

“You will do no such thing.”

⸻

The next night, you saw him before he saw you.

Gone was the severe black coat. Gone were the ominous boots. Gone was whatever haunted nightclub look he’d been forced into.

Instead, Felix wore dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, and a navy jacket that sat crooked on one shoulder like he’d put it on in a hurry.

Normal clothes.

Cute clothes.

He spotted you and immediately straightened.

Then crossed the sidewalk toward you with the same nervous determination as before.

“Hi,” he said. “My sire says I need to do better.”

A beat.

“I’m Felix Monroe. I’m sorry for yesterday.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly mortified.

“I practiced several better openings, but seeing you again made them all fall out of my head.”

From somewhere down the block, hidden in the dark, came the faint sound of an aggravated sigh.

Felix lowered his voice.

“He’s nearby, by the way. He says it’s supervision. I think it’s stalking.”

Then, hopeful and earnest all at once:

“I’m not here to feed tonight.” He paused. “Well—I am hungry, but that’s not why I came.”

Another pause.

“I was wondering if maybe I could buy you that drink this time.”