4 - CAELITH - DAMNED ATTRACTION

I smell her before the door even opens.

Samiel found another one.

The moment the doors swing wide, her scent hits me like a fucking punch to the gut. Blood. AB-, the only kind we can drink.

Sami walks in grinning. Finding one of those is a prize, especially when we weren’t even hunting.

Something in the way she looked at me — too naïve, too untainted — grates on me. I don’t like the pure ones. I like the corrupted, the ones already standing on the edge, needing just a push to become as I am.

I need her blood for the clan, but I don’t need her innocence staring back at me. So I shove Zara off the couch and walk out of the game room.

Moments later she’s on the dance floor, letting Samiel grind against her, clueless that he’s only presenting her to me. He needs my approval before moving forward with the plan to bring her into the clan.

Watching her like that — vulnerable, but wild — makes my decision falter. The pull isn’t just for her blood. It’s the way she moves, straddling that line between provocation and surrender.

Then her eyes lock on mine. I could deny it. I could refuse. But I don’t. My body reacts, pulse quickening — not for blood, but for the shape of her body, every curve I already know would fit against mine.

My hand lands on her hip — slow, claiming. She doesn’t back away. Good. Her body bends to mine, molding to my strength, yielding to my will like instinct. Every thrust of my hips against her ass asks the same question: Do you want to belong to this now, little mortal?

The dance becomes a silent trial. Every grind, every drag, I measure and approve. And Samiel knows he has my answer.

By the end, I know my decision’s made: she has what it takes. Innocence doesn’t matter anymore. She has fire. Hunger. Strength enough to join the clan. She isn’t just another victim — she’s raw potential. And I’m not resisting the pull. No more than my father, or Sami’s father — or any of the other fallen — ever resisted theirs.

So why the hell don’t I want her near me?

—------------------ // —------------------- // —--------------------

— What did you say? — I ask Samiel. My voice is low, flat, but inside I’m burning.

— I offered her a job here. — He says it like it’s nothing.

I stare at my vicarius, my right hand, sitting across from me in the office.

— You brought an outsider into the clan.

— Come on, Cael, we’re not gonna find anyone like her again. Gorgeous… no family…

— I haven’t said yes.

— You liked her. I saw it. You reacted to her more than to the others.

— I haven’t said yes, Samiel. — I repeat, this time with less patience. He’s my friend, sure, but he’s one step away from crossing a line. Not that he gives a damn.

— We need to keep this girl close. I don’t know how she hasn’t been claimed by another clan already. If it’s not us, it’ll be someone else.

He pulls something from his pocket and drops it on the desk. The sound is a soft click against the wood.

I pick up the round — metal alloy with a quartz tip — they used on Samiel.

— Quartz, huh? — I study the bullet. — They’re getting bold.

Onyx and amethyst slow us down, burn like hell. They use those rounds when they want to put up boundaries. But they don’t kill us.

Quartz though… the damned sacred stone…

— That was a serious warning. They don’t want us in this city. — Sami says.

— How long did it take her to heal? — I ask. That says everything about how her body reacts to our blood.

He flashes one of those smiles that makes human women drop their panties.

— Fast, man. Really fast.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a breath.

— How’d she lose her job? 

He folds his arms across his chest, and I know this is about to piss me off. Samiel knows I like to stay discreet when I move into a new place.

— I made a call to the right person.

— And what the hell do you plan to do with a dancer in this club? Change the whole theme?

He leans back in the leather chair and laughs loud.

— She’s not a dancer, man… she’s an accountant.

Silence.

My temples throb.

— And what the fuck am I supposed to do with an accountant?

He shrugs.

— Accounting.

— Get out, Samiel — I say, low. He knows my tone. — And no details with her until I say so.

He’s right. She’s perfect for a victus — a donor.

And yet again I catch myself thinking I don’t want that woman anywhere near me. Even if it makes no damn sense.

What the fuck is happening to me?