Zane didn't move at first.

  He just stood there in the doorway, eyes moving slowly between the two men sitting in my living room. The moment stretched longer than I wanted it to.

  Finally he nodded once.

  Slowly.

  "Are you writing another paper?" he asked.

  I ignored the question.

  "Guys," I said quickly, stepping back into the apartment. "This is Zane."

  Xavian didn't bother standing.

  He just leaned back slightly on the couch, watching the whole thing with that same amused smirk like this was the most entertaining morning he'd had all week.

  Cazaro, however, stood.

  The movement felt deliberate.

  He stepped forward and extended his hand.

  "Cazaro," he said calmly.

  Zane hesitated for half a second before shaking it.

  The tension in his shoulders was obvious.

  "A pleasure to meet you," Cazaro added.

  "You too," Zane replied.

  But the words came out tight.

  Polite.

  Forced.

  The room felt like it was holding its breath.

  I clapped my hands together suddenly.

  "I'm starving," I said.

  "Let's make food, shall we?"

  "You just skipped breakfast at—"

  Xavian started to say.

  My head snapped up.

  I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

  He stopped.

  The smirk returned immediately.

  "Hungry, Zane?" I asked quickly.

  But I didn't wait for an answer.

  I stepped into the tiny kitchen and grabbed a pot from the cabinet, filling it with water and setting it on the stove. My hands moved quickly, pulling noodles and a jar of sauce from the cupboard like cooking pasta at noon was the most normal thing in the world.

  Behind me, I could feel them all shifting around the small living room.

  Too many people.

  Too many secrets.

  "So," Xavian's voice floated into the kitchen.

  "Zane."

  I froze slightly as the water began to heat.

  "How do you know Allysia?"

  I glanced back toward the living room.

  Zane was still standing near the door, arms crossed loosely now, eyes flicking once toward me before returning to the vampires.

  "He was best friends with my brother," I said quickly, before Zane could answer.

  The room went quiet again.

  "I was," Zane said.

  His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind the words that made my shoulders tighten slightly as I stirred the pot.

  "But now I'm her friend."

  The room went quiet again.

  Then Zane's eyes shifted between the two vampires sitting on my couch.

  "Why are you here?" he asked bluntly.

  I froze for half a second at the stove.

  No hesitation.

  No polite dancing around it.

  Just straight to the point.

  Of course.

  Zane had never been subtle.

  From the living room, I heard the couch creak slightly as Cazaro leaned back.

  For a moment he didn't answer.

  Then his gaze slid toward the kitchen.

  Toward me.

  Like he was waiting to see what I would do.

  I kept stirring the water.

  Very focused on the noodles.

  Cazaro shrugged lightly.

  "For pasta," he said.

  Silence followed.

  I risked a glance over my shoulder.

  Zane stared at him.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Xavian was clearly trying not to laugh.

  My kitchen timer clicked as the water finally began to boil.

  Perfect timing.

  I turned quickly back to the stove and dumped the noodles into the pot.

  Cazaro didn't say anything.

  He just watched the whole thing unfold like it was the most interesting entertainment he'd seen all week.

  Zane's jaw tightened slightly.

  "Allysia," he said.

  I hated the tone he used when he said my name like that.

  Like he already knew something was wrong.

  "I'm making pasta," I said.

  "Yes," he replied slowly.

  "I can see that."

  The water bubbled loudly on the stove.

  The noodles floated to the surface.

  And somehow my tiny apartment felt even smaller than it had ten minutes ago.

  The noodles hit the boiling water with a soft splash.

  I stirred them quickly, keeping my eyes on the pot.

  Behind me, the silence stretched too long.

  Zane wasn't buying any of this.

  "You skipped something," he said.

  My shoulders tightened.

  "What?"

  "The part where you explain why two vampires are sitting in your living room while you pretend this is normal."

  I kept stirring.

  "It's just lunch."

  "Bullshit."

  The word hit the room hard.

  I turned slowly.

  Zane was staring at me now, arms crossed, his patience clearly gone.

  "Zane—"

  "No," he cut in. "Don't start that."

  My heart started beating faster.

  "They show up here, you won't answer simple questions, and suddenly we're making pasta like it's a dinner party?"

  I swallowed.

  "I was fired."

  The words came out sharper than I meant them to.

  The room went still.

  Zane blinked.

  "You what?"

  "I was fired," I repeated, my voice tighter now.

  "For the article."

  For a moment his expression softened.

  Then I stepped forward.

  And his eyes dropped to my neck.

  He saw it.

  The small mark just above my collar.

  His entire body went rigid.

  Slowly, he stood up.

  "You are a blood whore."

  The accusation hit like a punch.

  "It's not like that," I said quickly. "If you'd just let me explain—"

  "You're disgusting."

  The words came out venomous.

  "And when I tell Eric—"

  He stopped himself mid-sentence.

  The room felt suddenly smaller.

  "You're supposed to be my friend," I said quietly.

  "Friend?" he snapped.

  His laugh was bitter.

  "You aren't even who I thought you were."

  He stepped closer, anger radiating off him now.

  "You sell yourself to vampires?"

  "Zane—"

  "I hope it's worth it," he said coldly.

  His voice dropped lower as he leaned in slightly.

  "Because no one's letting you back in that room when they find out."

  The meaning was clear.

  Church.

  Community.

  Everything I'd grown up around.

  Gone.

  "When they find out you're fucking a vampire for money."

  The words might as well have slapped me.

  I felt the sting behind my eyes instantly.

  But Zane wasn't done.

  He looked me up and down once more, anger twisting his face.

  "If I knew how easy you were," he muttered, "I'd have asked years ago."

  My breath caught.

  "So what's your going rate?"

  The tears came anyway.

  Hot and humiliating.

  Zane didn't wait for an answer.

  He turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the cheap frame.

  The room went silent.

  The pasta continued boiling behind me.

  And suddenly the embarrassment hit harder than anything he'd said.

  "Allysia—"

  "Don't."

  Xavian's voice had barely started before I held up a hand.

  The pot behind me was still bubbling loudly, the water rolling over the noodles like nothing had just happened. I turned quickly, shutting off the stove before the sound could make the moment any worse.

  "I need a moment," I said.

  My voice sounded tighter than I meant it to.

  "Please. Just... a moment."

  Neither of them answered.

  I didn't wait for one.

  I stepped away from the kitchen and walked straight into my bedroom, closing the door behind me before the tears that had been building all morning could spill over.

  The second the door shut, I broke.

  A sob ripped out of my chest before I could stop it. I pressed a hand to my mouth, pacing across the small room as the anger started rising right alongside the humiliation.

  Angry.

  God, I was so angry.

  At my editor.

  At the stupid article.

  At the church and their judgment.

  At Zane for saying those things.

  And at myself for letting any of it happen.

  "Fuck," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.

  I paced again, back and forth across the worn carpet like I was trying to burn the anger out of my body.

  Over a dumb fucking article.

  That was all it had been.

  A story.

  A chance at a career.

  And somehow it had spiraled into this—losing my job, being shunned by the church, and getting called a blood whore in my own apartment.

  My chest tightened suddenly.

  The breath caught halfway in my lungs.

  I stopped pacing.

  The room felt too small.

  Too tight.

  I dragged another breath in, but it didn't feel like enough.

  "I can't..." I whispered.

  My hands shook as I ran them through my hair again.

  I turned sharply, pacing faster now.

  Back and forth.

  Back and forth.

  My chest felt like it was closing.

  "I can't breathe."

  The words came out thin and shaky.

  My heart pounded harder, every breath shorter than the last as panic started climbing up my throat.

  "Fuck!" I growled, louder this time.

  The word bounced off the walls of the tiny room as I stopped in the middle of the floor, hands gripping my hair like that might somehow keep everything from falling apart.

  A knock came from the door.

  Sharp.

  Quick.

  "Go away!" I yelled.

  My voice cracked halfway through the words.

  Silence followed for about two seconds.

  Then the door opened anyway.

  Xavian slipped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

  I turned sharply, wiping angrily at my face.

  "I told you to—"

  The rest of the sentence died when I realized it wasn't Cazaro.

  "Oh."

  Xavian leaned casually against the door like he had simply wandered into a normal conversation.

  "You expected my brother," he said.

  "Yeah."

  "That makes sense."

  I stared at him for a second, my chest still tight from the earlier panic.

  "What do you want?"

  He shrugged.

  "You sounded upset."

  I blinked.

  "You're... checking on me?"

  Xavian considered the question like it was complicated.

  "I'm not very good with emotions," he admitted.

  Then he tilted his head slightly.

  "But apparently you are."

  I let out a short, bitter laugh.

  "Not really."

  The anger that had been boiling in my chest was still there, sitting just under the surface.

  "Your friend is an ass," Xavian said calmly.

  "Ignore him."

  I looked down at the floor.

  "He's right," I muttered.

  Xavian frowned faintly.

  "I am a whore," I said quietly.

  The word tasted ugly coming out of my mouth.

  Xavian's brow furrowed slightly.

  "Whore," he repeated.

  Then he shrugged.

  "That's a word someone made up."

  I looked back up at him.

  "So what?" he added.

  The simplicity of the response caught me off guard.

  He stepped a little further into the room, leaning against the dresser now.

  "You sell blood," he continued.

  "Humans sell their time. Their labor. Their bodies to factories and offices every day."

  His shoulders lifted slightly.

  "You're just more honest about it."

  His answer didn't make me feel better.

  If anything, it annoyed me more.

  I wiped my face again and glared at him.

  "That's easy for you to say."

  Xavian lifted one eyebrow.

  "You're not the one who just got called a blood whore in your own apartment," I continued. "You're not the one losing everything because of it."

  He didn't respond right away.

  He just watched me, calm as ever, like he was observing something interesting instead of someone falling apart.

  "You act so... normal," I snapped.

  His head tilted slightly.

  "Normal?"

  "Yes," I said, pacing again. "You talk like a person. You stand there giving advice like you're some guy I met at a coffee shop."

  Xavian folded his arms.

  "And that bothers you."

  "Yes."

  I threw my hands up in frustration.

  "Your brother is the leader of the entire fucking human race and vampire kind," I said. "And somehow both of you just stand around my apartment acting like you're... people."

  The last word came out almost disbelieving.

  Xavian's expression didn't change.

  "You expected monsters."

  "Yes."

  "That's unfortunate."

  I stopped pacing.

  "Why?"

  "Because monsters are simple," he said calmly. "People are complicated."

  I stared at him.

  "Your brother literally drinks blood."

  "Yes."

  "And runs the world."

  "Yes."

  "And yet you're both standing in my shitty apartment talking about pasta and feelings."

  A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  "You did make the pasta."

  I shot him another glare.

  The silence stretched.

  Then Xavian's gaze shifted toward the door.

  "He almost killed your friend."

  The words made my stomach drop.

  "What?"

  "My brother," he said.

  "He wanted to."

  I stared at him.

  "He was there," Xavian continued calmly. "He heard everything Zane said."

  My chest tightened.

  "He didn't look like he was going to—"

  Xavian cut me off with a quiet shake of his head.

  "You don't know what he looks like when he's deciding whether someone lives."

  The room suddenly felt colder.

  "He didn't do it," I said.

  "No," Xavian agreed.

  His voice was softer now.

  "Because you were standing there."