The days dissolved into a haze of strobe lights and pounding bass.
For Natalie, time was no longer measured in hours or classes, but in the intervals between visits to the club.
Reality beyond those concrete-and-velvet walls felt washed out, like an old photograph left too long in the sun, while life inside pulsed in high definition.
From the mezzanine of Club Eclipse, Ruby watched the dance floor, rolling an olive in her martini. Beside her, Rose kept her eyes fixed on the entrance with the patience of a predatory statue.
"You know…" Ruby began, smirking. "I've seen you play before, Rose. But this? This is starting to look like a long-term investment."
Rose didn't look away.
"She's not food, Ruby."
Ruby raised an eyebrow, surprised by the seriousness in her tone.
"Oh? Then what is she? A pet? Because if that's the case, you know humans break easily. They age. They get sick. They die."
Rose finally turned to her. There was a shadow in her blue eyes — an ancient melancholy she rarely let surface.
"Alice is making a mistake with Kara," Rose said quietly. "She loves her, but she lets her remain human. She's condemning them both to an inevitable tragedy." Rose tightened her grip on the edge of her glass. "I won't do that. I won't watch someone I care about rot while I stay the same."
Ruby stopped playing with her drink. The amusement drained from her face.
"So… you want to turn her."
"I want to give her a choice human life never offers," Rose said, exhaling as she turned back toward the door. "The chance to be eternal. Alice thinks humanity is a gift. I know it's a weakness."
Before Ruby could reply, the club doors opened and Natalie stepped inside.
She was dressed in leather and lace, but beneath the heavy makeup her eyes looked hungry and lost.
Rose smiled.
"She's here."
Natalie walked toward the VIP section as if in a trance. The noise of the crowd faded when she sat beside Rose on the velvet couch. There were no formal greetings. Only need.
"You're late," Rose murmured, running her fingers through Natalie's hair.
"I tried… to stay home," Natalie confessed, her voice shaking. "But I couldn't."
Rose pulled Natalie onto her lap, positioning her so she faced her — Natalie's legs, wrapped in fishnet, spread around the vampire's waist.
"You know you don't have to fight this."
The music around them was deafening, yet on that shadowed couch it felt like only the two of them existed. Rose leaned in and kissed Natalie. It wasn't gentle. It was hungry, tasting of wine and iron.
Natalie moaned into Rose's mouth, feeling the vampire's cold hand slide down her back and grip her thigh with possessive intent.
Rose broke the kiss and lowered her mouth to Natalie's neck. Natalie threw her head back, exposing her throat, breathless.
"Please…" Natalie whispered, unsure whether she was begging for pleasure or pain.
Rose sank her fangs in.
Natalie's world exploded into white and red. The venom flooded her bloodstream, colliding with adrenaline. She felt Rose drinking, the pull of her mouth syncing with the frantic beat of her heart.
As she fed, Rose's hand slid beneath Natalie's short skirt. Cold fingers found the slick heat between her legs. The touch was shocking — and exquisite.
Natalie arched, a muffled cry dying in her throat as Rose touched her with relentless rhythm, draining her life as she unraveled her body.
It was a consensual violation. A sacred profanation.
The pleasure was so intense it bordered on agony. Natalie clawed at Rose's shoulders, nails digging into expensive fabric, utterly undone.
When Rose finally pulled back, blood stained her lips. She looked at Natalie — shattered, trembling, euphoric.
Rose leaned in and kissed her again, sharing the metallic taste of Natalie's own blood.
"Mine," Rose whispered against her mouth. "You're mine."
Dazed and addicted, Natalie only nodded, unable to imagine a world where that wasn't the only truth.
The next morning was cruel.
Sunlight pouring through the windows of the Arts building felt like needles in Natalie's eyes. She walked the halls of the Literature department clutching her books, trying to hide the tremor in her hands and the deep shadows beneath her eyes that makeup couldn't fully conceal.
She avoided the cafeteria. Avoided friends.
But she couldn't avoid Kara.
Kara stood outside the Literary Theory classroom, arms crossed, her expression tight with concern — concern Natalie, in her altered state, interpreted as judgment.
"Nat," Kara said, blocking her path. "We need to talk. Now."
Natalie forced a tired smile.
"Hey, Kara. I'm in a hurry — I've got a paper to turn in—"
"Lie," Kara said, grabbing her arm. "You've missed the last three Comparative Literature classes. The professor asked if you'd dropped the course."
Natalie pulled free, defensive.
"I didn't drop out. I'm just… going through a rough patch. Insomnia."
Kara searched her face. She saw the red in the whites of Natalie's eyes, the sickly pallor, the sudden thinness.
And she saw the scarf. Always the scarf.
"This is about Rose, isn't it?" Kara asked bluntly. "She's back. You've seen her."
Natalie's heart slammed against her ribs. Rose's name was a filthy, precious secret.
"What? No. Of course not," Natalie snapped. "Rose disappeared after the snow, remember? Alice chased her away."
"Nat, don't lie to me." Kara lowered her voice, eyes shining. "You're acting like an addict. If she's threatening you — if she's hurting you — you have to tell me. Alice can help. We can protect you."
Protect.
The word almost made Natalie laugh.
She didn't want protection. She wanted the club. The bite. Rose.
"No one's hurting me, Kara. God, stop being paranoid. I'm just tired."
Kara exhaled, defeated by the wall Natalie had built. On impulse, she pulled her into a hug.
"I just don't want to lose you, Nat," Kara whispered. "You're not alone. I'm here."
Natalie stiffened in the embrace. Kara's warmth felt wrong. Uncomfortable.
She didn't want human warmth.
She wanted Rose's cold.
"I know… thanks," Natalie lied, gently pulling away.
"Call me?" Kara asked.
"I will."
Natalie turned and hurried down the Arts building hallway, leaving Kara behind.
Kara stood there, watching her go.
The sense of danger — once a suspicion, had hardened into certainty. The scent clinging to Natalie wasn't just exhaustion or cigarettes.
It was sweet. Metallic. Ancient.
And Kara knew exactly who it belonged to.