The first time I died, it was in his arms. February 14th, 1349. Valentine’s Day. My body was ice, lungs full of plague, the world slipping away—and still, he held me like he could stop death.

And in a way… he did.

Rafe Cameron didn’t let me go. He turned me. Not into a memory. Not into a ghost. But into something eternal. Something hungry.

A vampire.

I knew his secret when we first started. I just never thought it would become mine. I never wanted this. But love doesn’t always come soft. Sometimes it bites.

The beginning was chaos. Blood. Screams. Guilt. I was a monster. I turned it all off—my humanity, my soul. One year of killing without mercy. But Rafe followed me through that fire. Dragged me back with bare hands and broken promises. He never gave up.

676 years later, he still hasn’t.

Now it’s 2025. Charleston. Salt in the air. Lights dancing on the waves. We’re at some massive party, fire crackling, music heavy with bass, the night thick with sweat and lust.

And we’re turning heads like predators in silk.

I’m in a tight black fit that barely clings to me. His eyes haven’t left my body all night. And Rafe? He’s always been sin in a pretty face—shirt open, veins humming under skin like carved marble.

We dance like we own the world. Like we remember what it was before all of this. His hand grips my waist like he might tear me in two. I feel his hunger in every move. And mine’s not far behind.

Then he’s gone. One second there, next second, deep in the shadows with a girl. His mouth is on her throat. Her eyes roll back, all breath and submission. She doesn’t even scream—he compelled her. Like we do.

His fangs gleam. Black veins crack down his face. His eyes burn red.

And my stomach tightens—not from fear. From jealousy. From heat.

I shoot him a look. He lets the girl go, blood still warm on his lips. And when he walks toward me—mouth stained, eyes dark, breathless even though he doesn’t breathe—every part of me aches.

“You done playing?” I murmur.

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs me and crashes his mouth onto mine.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a collision. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, desperate and messy. His hands grip my hips like he’ll never let go. I moan into him, tasting blood, tasting her, tasting us.

He pulls back, breath ragged, pupils blown. “You drive me insane.”

“Then lose control,” I whisper—and tilt my head.

His whole body goes still. Then: a growl, deep in his chest.

Slowly, his lips brush my neck, right over the spot where my pulse used to be.

When Rafe drinks from me, it’s not about hunger. It’s about trust. Letting him take my blood is like opening my soul — it’s not feeding, it’s giving. It says I’m yours. It says I belong to you.

And when his fangs pierce me — slow, careful, like a kiss with teeth — I feel everything. His love. His craving. His restraint barely hanging on.

I gasp. My hands tighten in his shirt. His mouth moves against my skin, drinking from me like I’m sacred. And in this moment, I am.

Because no one else gets this. Not even the girl before.

This isn’t survival. This is intimacy. A bond stronger than time.

And when he pulls back — lips red, eyes wild — I know he feels it too.

We’ll never grow old. Never have a normal life. But we’ll always be young. Beautiful. Undead and in love.

Because in the vampire world… Drinking from the one you love isn’t weakness.

It’s everything.