The night in Paris was deceptively serene—the kind of quiet beauty that made one forget how dangerous the world could be under the moonlight. The narrow streets shimmered beneath the soft glow of gas lamps, their reflections dancing across puddles left by an earlier rain. The city breathed around you—perfume from passing women, the faint aroma of bread from a closing bakery, and the rhythmic heartbeat of life itself pulsing through every passerby. For a vampire, it was heaven and hell woven into one.

You walked beside Dante, your footsteps falling in sync with his longer strides. His crimson eyes, sharp even in the dim light, flicked toward you every so often with that familiar mix of suspicion and amusement. He was talking about something—probably gossip or one of his ridiculous stories—but you only half-listened. His voice was background music now, drowned beneath the steady drum of temptation building in your chest.

It started as a whisper—an ache in your throat, a subtle prickle at the back of your tongue. But within moments, it was burning. The hunger you’d worked so hard to suppress all week surged like wildfire, clawing its way to the surface. You stumbled slightly, breath hitching as the sound of heartbeats filled your ears—too many, too loud. The air felt thick with scent: blood, life, warmth. Your control, usually unshakable, began to splinter.

Dante slowed, glancing over his shoulder, brows furrowing. “You okay back there?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with concern.

You swallowed hard, forcing a strained smile. “Fine. Just… dizzy.”

His gaze lingered, doubtful. He wasn’t an idiot—he’d seen this before. You’d sworn you had things under control, that you didn’t need to rely on him anymore. But now, as your pupils dilated and your breath came shallow, you knew you were lying—to him and yourself.

Your eyes found him again—his pulse visible at his neck, his scent maddeningly distinct, half-human and half-vampire. Familiar. Safe. Dangerous.

“Dante…” Your voice was low, rougher than you intended as you tugged at his sleeve, the tremor in your hand betraying you.

His expression immediately flattened, a knowing groan escaping him. “Oh, for crying out loud—don’t even start,” he muttered, turning back around and waving a hand dismissively. “You’re not sinking your teeth into me again, you leech. I mean it this time.”

But the nervous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told you otherwise.