A Thousand Lives Between Us

Luna adjusted the focus on her camera, exhaling softly as she framed the next shot.Deverell and Kensy laying across the velvet couch in the center of the set, their bodies draped in perfect elegance. The world around them caught its breath, as if even time itself didn’t dare disturb the illusion they had established.She should be used to this.Photographing beautiful people, actors like this, trained in seduction, in longing, in looking at someone as if they were the only thing that mattered in the whole world.But watching Deverell this way? It was not the same.She told herself it was just the lighting. The way his bare chest caught the glow of the overhead bulbs, the way his long fingers skimmed Kensy’s arm, his touch was just enough to suggest intimacy and not possession.It was only a role he was playing. That’s what she needed to remember. And why should it matter ro her.But still, her fingers tightened a little around the camera, a strange tension coiling in her chest as she

The first thing she noticed was the sheets, they were soft, unfamiliar, and felt expensive.The second was the room, dark, minimalistic, or hollow of emotions, and nothing like her apartment.A slow, heavy pounding in her head reminded her of the alcohol still thick in her system. She groaned, shifting beneath the sheets, only to realize, "This isn’t my bed."A sharp breath left her lips as her body went rigid, her heart slamming against her ribs.She forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze, taking in the unfamiliar space she was in. The bedroom was spacious but cold, decorated in sleek blacks and deep grays. The air smelled faintly of something woody, expensive, and dangerously intoxicating.And then she looked down, at her own self under the sheets. She was not in her clothes from last night.Instead, she was wearing a loose black T-shirt and drawstring sweatpants, clothes far too large to belong to her.From the looks of them, they were men's clothing.Oh, hell no.Panic c

The lights were too bright.Deverell sat on the edge of the worn-out leather chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his shirt rumpled from the previous scene. The set around him was silent now, just the quiet hum of cameras, the occasional murmurs from the crew, the hollow emptiness that came with the final day of filming.The last scene. The last time he would step into this role.Most actors felt a kind of grief when wrapping up a film, an ache for the character they had embodied for months, but Deverell felt nothing.The cameras cut. The world reset. And he walked away. As he always did.The director clapped his hands, voice booming across the space. “That’s a wrap! Congratulations, everyone!”Cheers erupted, some of the crew embracing, others already breaking down equipment.Deverell stood, slipping off the heavy coat he had worn for the scene, rolling his shoulders as he smiled at the producer approaching him. After an exchange of conversation, he grabbed his things.He had sear

The Cabinet had convened. At its head sat Elias Wrenn, the true leader of this council. Unlike the others, he did not hide beneath a hood. His face was carved with age and authority, his eyes a piercing gray that saw far beyond the present. He was just as pale as Deverell himself.To his right, draped in sapphire and shadow, was Isolde Vexmoor. Her hair, black as crow feathers, was pinned in an old style no one dared wear anymore. Her lips were dark, her eyes darker. She said nothing as he entered, but the look she gave him made his fangs itch.While three others occupied the remaining seats: Lady Marcella, a woman draped in deep blue, her fingers adorned with rings that hummed with unseen power. Derek Cross, his arms crossed, his silver-blond hair falling over sharp, calculating eyes. Father Guillaume, the only one dressed in white, his presence silent but observant, the rosary in his hands was shifting like a living thing. Taking off his hood, Deverell took his place without a