CHAPTER4: Teeth Behind the Tongue

Lydia’s POV

Two days later.

I don’t go looking for him.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I tell myself I’m out here because another body was found; drained, mauled, unburied, the kind of kill that makes both our kinds look bad. I tell myself it’s duty. A means to survive, a means to maintain reputation.

I tell myself a lot of things I don’t believe anymore.

The truth? I haven’t slept.

Not really.

Not since the dream came back.

That boy. That nickname. That bracelet on my wrist like a brand I can’t remove. My mind’s a mess, a tangle of memories that don’t make sense, instincts I can’t explain, and a name I taste like a prayer I never meant to say:

Leonidas.

The alley is narrow, the kind that stinks of piss, spoiled beer, and secrets nobody meant to leave behind. Dark walls, cracked bricks, broken glass. The dull shimmer of blood pooling near a dumpster.

The body’s still intact..

Not human but a Vampire.

Young and sloppy.

Whoever did this didn’t care about hiding it. Or maybe they wanted it found.

I crouch beside the corpse, eyes narrowing at the bite.

There are teeth marks, jagged and rushed.

Not Leonidas.

But the scent...

It coils through the air and slams into me with no warning. That same heat. That same quiet, wild burn. It’s not strong, like the echo of something long gone, but it’s him.

He was here.

I close my eyes and breathe through my teeth.

Control yourself, Lydia.

And still, I can’t help but wonder, why?

Why is he showing up around deaths like these?

Is it coincidence?

Or something else entirely?

What does a wolf like Leonidas do, anyway? Who does he report to? What does he hunt? Is he... looking for something?

Or someone?

I hear him before I see him, the steady, low rhythm of boots against pavement. Unhurried. Confident. Like a heartbeat made of iron and war. My heart skyrocketing in my chest, excitement evident in my veins.

I don’t turn around.

I don’t have to.

“You’re late,” I say coolly, rising to my feet.

“You’re predictable,” comes the answer, voice like gravel soaked in smoke.

I finally face him. My eyes drifting higher to reach his face. I forgot how tall he is adding more to his appeal.

He’s standing at the mouth of the alley like he owns the shadow it was built in. Hands hidden in the Leather jacket that hugs his huge muscles and broad shoulders tightly, almost ripping off. Torn collar, blood on his knuckles like he didn’t bother washing it off. His hair’s a wild halo around his face. And his eyes—

They glow.

Not bright. Just faintly. Like moonlight caught in the act of remembering fire.

He’s not handsome the way my kind are. He’s not smooth or ethereal.

He’s ruin made flesh. A beauty nevertheless.

And somehow, I can’t look away.

“Another one?” he asks, nodding toward the corpse.

“Yours?” I counter.

“Do I look that messy?” He teases. I arch a brow.

He doesn’t smile. But the corner of his mouth twitches like it wants to remember how.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“And you’re assuming I care.” I step forward, glass crunching underfoot.

I keep my voice even. “Why are you even here, Leonidas? Hoping I’ll bleed this time?”

His eyes find mine, no hesitation. Like looking into a storm that doesn’t fear drowning.

“Hoping you’ll admit you’re not just here for the body.”

My jaw tightens.

He takes a step closer.

And I don’t move.

Not just because I’m frozen.

Because I also want to know what he’ll do when I don’t flinch.

He stops inches from me. Close enough that I can count the faint flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that his breath ghosts against my cheek, warm and alive and maddening.

There’s a silence between us. Heavy breathing.

Then he speaks.

“You’ve been thinking about me.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a sin, said aloud.

I tilt my chin. Hatred seeping into my veins at how much he knows, how much he sees, just like the boy in my past.

I shake it off.

“You flatter yourself.”

He leans down slightly, not touching, not quite. But I feel it. That burning hum of tension.

“You smell different when you lie,” he murmurs.

I inhale sharply. My body betrays me before my mind can catch up.

“You don’t scare me,” I whisper.

“Good.” His voice is softer now. “I’m not here to scare you.”

“Then why are you here?” My voice is sharper than I mean. I didn’t mean to sound angry and curious, but I didn’t care.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he lifts a hand, slow and deliberate, like he’s reaching for a weapon.

But all he does is tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

It shouldn’t feel intimate.

But it does.

His fingers graze my temple, goosebumps scattering around my skin, and something inside me flinches. Not from fear.

From recognition.

It’s like my body knows his hands, even if I’ve buried the memory.

And then his touch is gone, a ghost retreating into itself.

“You look tired, Lydia.” His voice is low. Not mocking.

Just... too knowing.

“I sleep fine,” I lie.

“Liar.” He turns from me, finally, like it costs him something to look away.

But then he crouches near the body, inspecting the wound. His expression shifts, not disgust, not pity. Something sharper.

Like curiosity.

Fascination.

“This was personal,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Too much rage. Not enough control.”

He looks back at me.

“You know him?”

“No.” I glance at the body. “But he looks young.”

“Reckless.” His fingers graze the edge of the bite. “Whoever did this wasn’t just getting entertained. They were sending a message.” The same thing I thought about the rogue in the alley.

I stare at him, suddenly aware of how serious he looks when he’s working. Focused. Calculating. Like he’s hunting something he’s been chasing for a long time.

The kind of man who studies his enemies as deeply as his own reflection.

“Next time you want to see me,” he says, rising to his full height, “just ask.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap, but the heat in my voice is weak, too hollow.

He gives me a wink then turns to walks away without another word, disappearing into the shadows like they were built for him.

And I stand there, lips dry, fists clenched, heart loud. Eyes staring after him even after he’s long gone.

I hate him.

I hate that he knows me without trying.

I hate that he gets under my skin with barely a touch.

I hate that I still remember how he looked at me in that ballroom.

And most of all...

I hate that for the first time in years, I don’t feel dead inside.

********

I don’t go home right away.

I wander the city like it owes me an answer, but all I get is fog, sirens in the distance, and the constant hum of streetlight buzz.

Eventually, I give up pretending I’m not shaken.

I head to Rina’s.

Her apartment smells like peach tea and nail polish remover, warm, sweet, chaotic in a way that’s always felt like a fever dream to me. She’s got shoes by the couch, cereal on the floor, and a half-done painting drying near the window. It's a mess. It's her. And tonight, it’s the only place that doesn’t feel like it’s closing in on me.

She answers the door in a silk blue robe and a bonnet, holding a glass of red wine and a single eyebrow raised.

“Look what the crypt dragged in,” she says, stepping aside.

I roll my eyes and walk in. “Cute.”

“Don’t start with me,” she warns. “You’ve got ‘bad decisions’ written all over your face.”

I shrug off my jacket, try not to flinch when it brushes against my wrist, where the bracelet is. Still cold. Still there. Still a reminder of a past I have tried to forget.

“Pour me something,” I say instead, collapsing on her couch.

She does. She knows better than to push too fast.

But the silence doesn’t last long.

“So…” she starts, swirling her wine like it’s a crystal ball, “wanna tell me why you look like you’ve seen a ghost, ran a marathon, and kissed someone you shouldn’t have — all before sunset?”

I scoff. “I didn’t kiss anyone.”

“Oh? So it was just ‘seen a ghost’ then?”

“I’m not in the mood, Ree.”

“You never are, and that’s kind of the problem.”

I exhale through my nose and take a sip. It's not blood, but it’s sharp enough to feel like punishment.

Rina flops down beside me, knees folded under her. She watches me for a beat too long.

“Lyds,” she says gently, “talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You mean aside from the fact that you look like you got steamrolled by fate and still haven’t brushed your hair?”

I let out a laugh, short, bitter, too honest.

She softens. “Hey. I’m serious.”

“I found a body tonight,” I finally say.

Her eyes widen. “Another one?”

“Vampire. Young. Someone didn’t like him much.”

She winces. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. She waits. I don’t speak.

“Was he there?” she asks softly.

I look up. Her eyes are too smart and too kind.

“Who?”

We both know who. I told Rina about all that went down at the ball the other night, the strange actions of my father and the all consuming, all familiar, big muscle of man I saw. I kept the thought I had about Leonidas and the bracelet boy to myself but still..

“You know who.”

I pause. Then nod once.

Her mouth forms a thin line. “Leonidas.”

His name tastes too familiar in her voice. I hate that she knows it. I hate that I know it. I hate that my heartbeat jumped just hearing it.

“I don’t get him,” I say finally. “I don’t get why he keeps showing up. Or why—”

“You keep showing up where he might be?”

I shoot her a glare. “That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me, Lyds.”

I look away.

She sighs and refills my glass. “Okay. So maybe you don’t want to talk about him. Fine. But don’t pretend this isn’t doing something to you. You’re not okay. You haven’t been okay for a while. But this? This is different.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I said—”

“You’re not!” she snaps, slamming the wine bottle down. “You don’t eat. You barely sleep. You stare at that damn bracelet like it’s whispering secrets. And now you come into my apartment smelling like blood and regret and you expect me not to notice?”

I freeze, remembering exactly why I love Rina. She’s my voice of reasoning. The only one who cares for me.

She takes a breath, softer this time.

“Lydia... please don’t shut me out.”

I look at her then.

Her wide eyes. Her trembling hand. Her human heart that breaks far too easily for someone like me who doesn’t deserve it. Deserve her.

And I hate that I almost do tell her. Everything.

About the dream.

About the boy.

About the way Leonidas touched my hair like he had every right to.

But I don’t.

I can't.

Not yet. Not until I’m sure about what I’m feeling, what I’m seeing.

Instead, I lean my head on her shoulder. Quiet. Still.

She doesn't say anything more.

She just lets me stay there.

And for a while, we sit in the middle of her chaos two girls, one human, one something else, pretending that wine is enough to keep the monsters out.