Rachel dreamed of silk sheets, candlelight, and a hunger that did not feel entirely her own. At first, there was only a room lit by firelight, a heavy velvet canopy above her, and the warmth of a man beside her beneath the blankets.

She knew she was not Rachel.

She was Céline.

The name settled through her with the quiet certainty of memory. Her hair was loose over the pillow, her skin flushed, her body bare beneath the sheet. Vlad lay beside her, equally unclothed beneath the blanket, one arm folded behind his head as he watched her with a softness she had never seen in him while awake.

He looked younger, though not by much. His dark hair was loose around his face, his mouth curved with private amusement.

"You are watching me again," she said in French.

"You make it difficult not to."

She smiled, though some part of her knew she should not. She had already stayed too long. She had already let him too close. Every rule she had made for survival had weakened the moment he first looked at her as if he could see beneath the name she wore.

Vlad reached for a strand of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. "Tell me the truth, Céline."

"About what?"

"About why you always look at the door before you kiss me."

Her smile faded.

Outside the windows, Paris glittered in the distance, bright and careless and alive. Somewhere beyond that city, beyond this bed and the false safety of his arms, danger waited. It always waited.

"I am not as free as you think," she said.

His hand stilled against her hair. "Then let me free you."

The ache in her chest was immediate and cruel. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to stay in that room, in that life, in the impossible warmth of being wanted by someone who did not yet know enough to fear her.

"You cannot," she whispered.

His expression changed, disappointment hidden beneath careful control. "Because of your father?"

She looked away.

The lie had worked too well. A recalled daughter. A family obligation. A respectable excuse for vanishing from court, from Paris, from him.

"Yes," she said. "Because of my father."

Vlad studied her, and for a moment she thought he might challenge the lie. Instead, he leaned closer and kissed her shoulder with unsettling tenderness.

"Then I am jealous of him."

Beneath the warmth of the memory, something pulled at her, low and hungry, like a thread tightening from another room.

The dream shifted.

The room darkened at the edges. Candlelight flickered as though a cold wind had entered, though the windows remained closed. Vlad's mouth brushed her shoulder again, but the warmth changed. The softness drained from the moment, replaced by something sharper, needier, and far too familiar.

His hand closed around her wrist.

Rachel frowned, no longer sure whether she was Céline or herself.

"Vlad?"

He lifted his head.

His eyes were red.

"I am hungry," he said.

The French vanished from his voice. The room around them blurred, silk and candlelight dissolving into shadow.

Rachel tried to pull back, but his grip tightened.

"I am so very hungry, Rachel."

Her breath caught. "No."

His fangs descended.

He brought her wrist to his mouth and bit.

Rachel woke with a sharp inhale, sitting upright so quickly the room spun around her.

For several seconds, she could not move. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and the echo of the dream clung to her skin like heat. Her wrist throbbed, though when she looked down there was no wound. No blood. No mark.

Only the dove pendant resting cold against her chest.

The bed shifted beside her.

Rachel turned and found Darius asleep next to her, one arm draped lightly across the blanket near her waist. His presence dragged the previous evening back into focus: Myus, the birds, the pull of essence leaving her body, Darius carrying her from the cottage and apologising in the car.

She tried to ease away from him, but her body felt heavy and slow, as though she had been asleep for days. Her stomach clenched with hunger, deep and strange, not satisfied by the thought of food.

Darius stirred before she could move his arm. His eyes opened, dark for a moment before softening back to blue.

"You're awake," he murmured.

"And you're in my bed."

He blinked properly, then looked at where he was, as if only just remembering the problem. "I was worried."

"That doesn't answer the bed part."

"No," he admitted, sitting up and moving away from her. "It does not. I brought you home after Myus, put you to bed, and stayed to make sure you woke. I left for a while, came back, found you still unconscious, and must have fallen asleep."

"In my bed."

"Beside the bed first."

"That makes it better?"

"Not enough."

Rachel stared at him, too exhausted to decide whether she was angry, frightened, or relieved that she had not woken alone.

"You should not have stayed like that," she said.

"I know."

The answer was quiet enough to disarm some of her anger, but not all of it. Darius looked tired, which surprised her. She had not thought of vampires as creatures who could look worn down by guilt.

She pushed herself upright, but dizziness struck before she could stand. Darius reached out instinctively, then stopped before touching her.

"Rachel."

"I'm fine."

"You are not."

Her stomach grumbled loudly enough to betray her.

Darius's expression tightened. "You have been getting weaker. Sleeping more. Your body is trying to survive on too little essence."

"I'm starving," she muttered.

"Food may help the human part of you, but it will not be enough."

"I am really starting to hate everyone who says things like that."

He gave her a faint, apologetic smile. "I know."

Rachel threw back the blanket and stood more carefully this time. Her legs trembled, but she made it to the edge of the room before she noticed the clock.

Tuesday.

Late morning.

"Oh no." Panic cut through the fog. "Is it really Tuesday?"

Darius rose from the bed. "You need rest."

"I need my job."

"Rachel."

"No." She looked around for her phone. "Where is it?"

"On the coffee table."

She hurried into the living room, ignoring the way the apartment tilted slightly beneath her feet. Her phone was exactly where he said it was, flooded with missed calls and messages from Lindon. The tone had escalated from forced concern to irritation to the brittle professionalism of a manager preparing a paper trail.

"This is perfect," she muttered.

Darius followed her into the kitchen while she grabbed an overripe apple from the fruit bowl. She bit into it despite the bruised skin, too hungry to care.

"You should not go back there," he said.

Rachel looked up at him. "I am not doing this again."

"Humans are dangerous."

"Before the weekend, I was one of these humans."

"You were hidden among them."

"I live among them. I work with them. My best friend is one of them. My parents are human, as far as I know. You can't just talk about humans like they're some abstract threat."

"With the science humans have now, it is dangerous if they discover what you are."

"I need money to live. I need my job."

"You do not need to be a slave to a human establishment."

Rachel lowered the apple. "It's called employment."

"He mistreats you."

"Lots of bosses mistreat people. It doesn't make my office a supernatural death trap."

"No," Darius said. "But it makes you vulnerable."

She hated that he was partly right. She hated even more that his concern carried that same intensity from the previous day, as though her wellbeing had become a commandment he was trying not to worship.

"Do you work?"

"I serve the king and Vlad."

"Serve?"

"We are warriors. We have lived long lives and accumulated enough wealth to avoid human employment."

"Congratulations. I have rent."

Darius glanced towards the paintings leaning against the wall. "You have your art."

Rachel stiffened. "How do you know about that?"

"The paintings smell fresh. I saw supplies. I also know about the exhibition."

"You went through my things?"

His expression tightened. "Only enough to understand what mattered to you."

"That is still going through my things."

"You are right."

Rachel stared at him, thrown again by how quickly he accepted fault. Vlad would have smirked. Darius looked genuinely ashamed, which made the violation harder to hold cleanly in anger.

"I'm late for work," she said. "You should go."

Darius did not move. "If this human troubles you, your powers can protect you."

Rachel laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "I can't even break the bond with Vlad. What could I possibly do to my dipshit boss?"

"You are angry with him. Anger can focus power. Touch him and think about your light."

The idea made her stomach twist. "My powers are apparently love, lust, devotion and whatever other horrifying words Myus used. The thought of using any of that on Lindon makes me sick."

"Aphrodites once commanded the loyalty of entire cities."

"Fantastic. If I work hard, maybe I can become the Aphrodite of middle management."

A flicker of amusement crossed Darius's face despite himself. "It sounds absurd now, but there must be a reason the Abaddon wants you."

The mention of the Abaddon chilled the room more effectively than any warning about humans.

Rachel turned away. "I need to get ready."

She called Lindon while pulling clothes from her wardrobe. His voice came through sharp and controlled, the kind of anger that pretended to be concern.

Rachel apologised, lied badly about being unwell, and promised she would be in soon. When she ended the call, her hands were shaking.

Darius watched her from the doorway.

"You could stay," he said.

"I know."

"You are choosing not to."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Rachel looked at him properly. "Because if I let this world take everything from me in three days, then what am I? I need one part of my life to still belong to me."

Darius did not answer.

That silence, at least, felt respectful.

Rachel arrived at work later than she had ever arrived in her life.

She hurried past the cubicles, relieved that Beth was not at the front desk and most of her coworkers were in meetings. The floor was unusually quiet, broken only by the repetitive murmur of an assistant answering calls and the distant hum of printers.

She dropped her bag beside her desk and powered up her laptop, but before the screen had fully loaded, Lindon appeared with a chair from the next cubicle.

"Rachel," he said, all formal concern and sharpened teeth without fangs. "I think we need to talk."

"I'm sorry, Lindon. I've been under the weather."

"So you said." He sat beside her, hands clasped. "The final draft was due Sunday night, and I still haven't seen it."

"I know. I was really unwell."

"What was the diagnosis? Do you have a medical certificate?"

Rachel clenched her jaw. "I'll get one today."

"I need to be clear that this is becoming difficult to manage. We are all under pressure, and the client is expecting professionalism."

His tone scraped against every raw place inside her. She thought of the weekend he had demanded from her, the pitch he had praised before blaming her for the client's lack of enthusiasm, the way he always wrapped control in concern.

"Why didn't you request an extension from the client?" she asked. "They would have agreed."

Lindon's expression tightened. "Do you feel you were unable to perform?"

The familiar trap opened between them.

Rachel heard Darius's voice in her mind.

Touch him and think about your light.

She should not. She knew she should not. Whatever Myus had said, whatever power lived in her, using it here felt wrong before she even tried. Yet Lindon was already leaning forward, already preparing to turn her exhaustion into failure.

Her anger sharpened.

"I did my job," Rachel said. "I put together a good pitch. You reviewed it and said it was strong. The client wanted a different perspective, and you set a ridiculous deadline over the weekend. Now you're acting like my being sick is a performance issue."

Lindon glanced around the office. "Let's keep our voices down."

"Oh, you don't want people hearing this?"

"Don't be ridiculous." He lowered his voice. "Can you complete the revisions by tomorrow morning?"

Rachel stared at him, then softened her voice with deliberate care. "Sit down, Lindon. Let's talk about what's achievable."

He hesitated, then sat back down.

Her pulse quickened.

Rachel reached out and touched his elbow.

At first, nothing happened. Then warmth stirred beneath her fingertips, faint and violet, curling from her skin into his. She focused on what she wanted, not love, not desire, nothing that made her stomach turn. She wanted him to listen. She wanted him to take responsibility. She wanted him to stop pressing his boot against her neck and calling it support.

Lindon went still.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Rachel held his gaze. "I need your help."

His expression shifted. The arrogance thinned, replaced by confusion and then something softer, too soft. His eyes moved over her face as if he were seeing her differently.

"I'm trying to help you," he said slowly. "Rachel, what you need to do is..."

His voice faded.

"Lindon?"

"You look different today."

Rachel's skin crawled. "Different?"

"You look beautiful."

Revulsion hit so hard she pulled her hand away at once. "Oh God."

A tiny purple light trailed down his arm before vanishing beneath his cuff.

The victory, if it was one, lasted less than a second. Lindon smiled at her as if she had become the centre of his small, miserable world, and Rachel realised she had not won an argument. She had reached inside him and changed the shape of his wanting.

"Lindon," she said carefully, forcing herself not to panic. "Can I count on your help?"

His smile warmed. "Of course. Whatever you need."

"I need you to do the revised pitch. I need it by tomorrow. Can you do that?"

"For you," he said.

The words made her feel ill.

"And can we keep this between us? No HR. No performance concerns. No mention of me being late."

"For you," he repeated, his hand lifting towards her cheek.

Rachel knocked it away. "No touching. We're at work. Now please go."

He blinked, dazed, then nodded and rose from the chair. As he walked back to his office, he scratched his head, confusion crossing his face as if some part of him knew the conversation had gone wrong but could not find the shape of why.

Rachel sat frozen at her desk.

She had done it.

She had used her power.

And it had worked.

The thought should have thrilled her. Instead, it sat inside her like a stone. She had wanted control for one moment, and the power had given it to her, but it had done so by bending a person around her desire. Lindon was awful. He was manipulative, selfish and cruel in the small, ordinary ways people excused every day. But he was still a person.

Rachel looked down at her hand.

No glow.

No proof.

Only the memory of his face softening into devotion.

She left work early, unable to sit there any longer. The office felt too bright, too normal, too full of people who had no idea that something ancient and hungry had followed her into a performance conversation. Beth brought her coffee twice, but caffeine did nothing against the exhaustion pulling at her bones.

When Rachel stepped out of the building, the late afternoon heat rolled over her like breath.

Darius was waiting near the entrance.

He leaned against a dark car parked at the kerb, dressed with effortless calm, as if collecting a half-starved Aphrodite from work on a Tuesday was ordinary.

Rachel stopped. "Please tell me you're not stalking me now too."

"Vlad asked me to collect you."

Her stomach tightened at the name. "Why?"

"He is not well."

"Join the club."

Darius's expression did not soften. "Rachel, I am serious."

"So am I. I used my power on my boss today, possibly committed some kind of supernatural workplace violation, and now you're telling me Vlad has sent a car?"

"You used your power?"

She looked away. "It worked."

"And?"

"And I feel disgusting."

Darius opened the passenger door, but he did not touch her. "Then you need to understand what it did to you, and what your hunger is doing to him."

Rachel looked at the car, then back at the building. "Where are you taking me?"

"To Vlad."

"No."

"He asked me because he knew forcing you would make this worse."

"That is surprisingly self-aware of him."

"He is trying, in his own way."

Rachel folded her arms. "And if I say no?"

"Then I will tell him you refused, and he will probably come himself."

"That is not as persuasive as you think."

"No," Darius said. "But it is honest."

Rachel hated how often honesty worked on her now. She was tired, hungry, frightened, and still shaken by what she had done to Lindon. The bond beneath her ribs had been restless all day, a dark thread tugging at her whenever she tried not to think about Vlad. If he was truly deteriorating because of her, avoiding him would not solve anything.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm not being collected like property. And no one touches me."

"Understood."

Rachel got into the car.

The club looked different with the lights on.

Without the night crowd, the red glow, and the pulse of music, the place felt stripped bare. Black walls, polished tables, leather booths, and the curved VIP lounge looked less seductive and more severe. Staff moved quietly in the background, preparing for the evening, but the club had not yet opened. The silence made every footstep sound deliberate.

Vlad stood near the bar with his sleeves rolled up and his white shirt wrinkled, as if he had been awake for days. His hair was unkempt, his skin paler than before, and shadows gathered beneath his eyes in a way that made him look both exhausted and dangerous.

Rachel stopped several paces away.

"What happened to you?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Vlad's mouth curved without humour. "You."

Darius closed the door behind them and remained near the entrance, watchful but silent.

Rachel looked at Vlad's hands. They trembled before he curled them into fists.

The sight frightened her more than his anger would have.

"You haven't fixed our little problem," Vlad said.

"I already told you I don't know how."

"I have duties, Aphrodite."

"Well, good for you, bloodsucker. I had a job until this week ruined my life."

His eyes flashed, but the anger did not fully take. He looked too tired to enjoy the fight.

"I am tired as well," he said. "Myus says our bond runs deep. Your refusal to replenish your essence affects us both."

"He hurt me. I don't trust him."

"You should not trust Myus. But he is ancient, and in this case, he is probably right."

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. "Stop spying on me."

"As long as this bond exists, I will do everything in my power to understand what and who you are."

"You mean control me."

"I mean survive you."

The words landed hard.

Vlad moved closer, but stopped before her shield could rise. The restraint cost him. She could feel it through the bond, a tight, burning hunger that was not entirely his and not entirely hers.

"What duties are so important?" she asked. "Eating humans?"

His gaze darkened. "You think this is amusing because you do not understand what restraint costs."

"No. I think it's terrifying because I'm starting to."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The thread between them tightened, and Rachel felt the ache beneath his anger: hunger without satisfaction, exhaustion without rest, desire distorted by a need that had nowhere to go. She had spent the day starving. Vlad had spent it feeding and still starving.

"I'm hungry, Aphrodite," he said quietly.

Her pulse jumped.

"I know."

"No, you do not." His voice remained low, which made it worse. "I feed and I feed, and there is no satisfaction. I am getting weaker because your body is calling for something mine cannot answer. If you will not feed, this will only worsen."

Rachel glanced at Darius. "And what exactly do you both expect me to do?"

Darius stepped forward. "No one expects you to surrender yourself to either of us."

Vlad's eyes flicked to him. "Do not speak for me."

Darius's expression hardened. "Then speak carefully."

Rachel looked between them, a bitter laugh escaping before she could stop it. "Great. Very reassuring."

Vlad dragged a hand through his hair, and the movement exposed how badly he was shaking. "I do not want to force you."

"Then don't."

"I am trying not to."

"That is not enough."

His red eyes met hers, and for once she saw the truth beneath the threat. He was angry, yes, but there was fear there too, buried so deeply he probably hated that she could sense it.

"If I stay away another night," he said, "someone may die."

The room seemed to still.

Rachel swallowed. "Because of me?"

"Because of the bond."

Her throat tightened. She thought of Lindon smiling at her with sudden devotion. She thought of Darius giving her the dove pendant, his voice turning reverent. She thought of Vlad trembling before her, a creature of darkness being starved by a hunger she did not know how to feed.

"For a creature with a reputation for bringing love," Vlad said, his voice roughening, "you have brought me nothing but pain."

The words cut deeper than she expected.

"I didn't ask for this."

"Neither did I."

Rachel felt the bond pulse, not with anger now, but with something rawer. His pain touched hers, and for a brief, frightening moment she understood him too clearly. He was not trying to frighten her for sport. He was holding himself back from the edge of something monstrous.

She stepped closer before she could think better of it.

Darius tensed. "Rachel."

"I know," she said, though she did not know at all.

Vlad went very still.

Rachel lifted her hand, not to touch him, but to see whether the shield would rise. Purple light flickered faintly beneath her skin. Vlad watched it with the hunger of a starving man watching flame.

"I hurt you," she whispered.

His jaw tightened. "Yes."

"I don't know how to stop."

"Then learn."

The answer was harsh, but not cruel. Not this time.

Rachel's exhaustion surged suddenly, as though the brief contact through the bond had taken what little strength she had left. The room blurred at the edges, and she swayed.

Darius reached her first, catching her before she could fall.

Vlad's eyes flared. "Do not."

"She is fainting," Darius snapped.

"I can feel that."

Rachel tried to pull away from Darius, but her legs would not hold. The hunger inside her twisted with Vlad's until she could no longer separate them. She had spent the day trying to keep one foot in her ordinary life, but that life was receding, office lights and emails and deadlines fading behind a darker truth.

She was not only Rachel.

She was something old enough to have enemies.

Something powerful enough to make men kneel.

Something dangerous enough to starve a monster.

Her eyes closed despite her efforts to keep them open.