All Chapters of A Vampiric Kiss : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

51IsabellaReturning to the city felt like walking into an old house that had been gutted and restaged. The bones were the same, but everything smelled unfamiliar. Too clean. Too bright. Like someone had tried to erase what used to live there.The drive in was long, but not unbearable. Noah drove, Sienna sat in the back with her shoes off and a thermos of something herbal, and I rode shotgun, watching mile markers blur past the window.I’d made this drive before.But it was never like this.The last time I left this city, I had tear stains on my blouse, a duffel bag full of rejection letters, and nothing but a canceled lease and two overdrawn credit cards to my name. It had taken everything in me not to look back.Now, I was coming back with a man who’d once carried me to bed after I screamed in my sleep, and a woman who could light candles with her mind and still make the best damn tea I’d ever tasted.It felt... weird.Good-weird. But still weird.I glanced at Noah. He was focused

53IsaacPeople always assume you need stealth skills or spy gear to tail someone. You don’t. All you need is patience, a good coat, and the ability to look like you belong wherever you are. I’ve spent the last century perfecting all three.Natasha made the job easier than I expected. She didn’t look over her shoulder once. Probably too used to being the predator.That morning, she left Damian’s estate dressed in all beige. Wide-leg trousers, a tailored coat, sunglasses far too large for the weak sun. She looked very composed. She drove herself in a silver BMW and drove into the city in high speed. I followed on foot for a while, then slipped into a rideshare a few blocks behind her. She had a head start, but I knew where she’d go.She always went where people could see her.Her first stop was a hotel lobby with far too much gold trim and not enough taste. She didn’t check in. She just lingered in the lounge, pretending to flip through a menu. A man approached her in his mid-forties,

55SiennaI hated town events.They were always too loud, too decorated, and filled with people who thought cinnamon-scented candles made things festive. I didn’t do “festive.” I did practical. Controlled. Predictable.But Isabella had asked me to come, and that meant I came.So there I was, standing under a string of fairy lights wrapped around a poorly pruned sycamore, watching people sip tiny glasses of sparkling cider like it was an Olympic sport.The event was technically a fundraiser,some vague thing about restoring the old school theater,but it was really just an excuse for the town’s social circle to parade around in their softest scarves and loudest personalities. The local café had catered, complete with gluten-free pastries and pumpkin-flavored everything.Isabella looked good.Calm, even. She wore that green sweater that made her eyes pop, and when she laughed, it sounded beautiful and calming.It had been two days since she got the PI report. Two days since Damian started

57Isabella. It was a quiet kind of storm.The kind where everyone already knew the answer, but we still had to wait for the official words. We stood in my father’s study, Noah, Sienna, me, and my father, and watched as Natasha paced the room like she hadn’t just confessed to multiple crimes just a day ago.The police weren’t here yet. They’d been called, tipped off by the investigator and Isaac, who’d sent copies of the files directly to the city bureau. But Natasha hadn’t run. She stayed, as if she still thought she could talk her way out of everything.I didn’t move. I just watched her from across the room.“You’re all so dramatic,” she said, voice sharp. “I said what I said in the heat of the moment. You think that counts as a confession?”Damian didn’t speak. He was seated in the armchair, his hands resting on the cane between his knees. His face was pale, but alert.Sienna stood beside me, arms crossed.Noah was closer to the door. Watching her, always watching.“You said you s

59Isabella. I received an email from my old publishing firm. Short, cold and very corporate but in form of an apology.“Dear Ms. Rune,We acknowledge our prior misjudgment in the handling of your manuscript. A formal retraction has been issued regarding the previous publication under Ms. Nadia Rune’s name. We sincerely apologize for any harm this caused to your reputation.”There signature from a real person. Just “The Editorial Board.”Still, I stared at it for a long time. It should have made me feel good. Elated, even. Instead I just felt numb about it. I kept staring at it for minutes.Then I deleted it. The apology wasn’t for me. It was for show, just to cover their own legal tracks.It was something, but still I wasn’t moved.Two hours later, my phone lit up with a message from Madison, a literary agent I hadn’t spoken to since before the collapse.“Saw the retraction. Let’s talk. I still believe in your voice.” Straight to the point, as expected. Again, while I appreciated it