Chapter 4

The vampire hadn’t gone far. I found her on the stairs in front of Nike of Samothrace. She stood in the middle of the grand staircase, staring at the magnificent monument with wide eyes and a pounding heart. I lingered at the bottom, leaning on the railing and watching her for a few minutes. Twice, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve; it came away bloody both times. Her hands trembled when she took out her phone to take a picture.

I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d come after her. It didn’t affect me if she went around flashing her fangs to every human she passed. She was right; no one would believe in vampires. And if they did… well, she wasn’t my problem.

But there was something in her eyes that I recognized all too well.

Loneliness. Helplessness.

Whatever it was, it made my heart ache to know she was going through it so profoundly.

When she started her ascent up the stairs, eyeing the sign pointing tourists toward the Mona Lisa, I followed. I stayed fifty paces behind her, letting myself lose her in the crowd a couple times so she didn’t see me. She lingered in front of each painting in the massive corridor on the way to the Mona Lisa for what seemed like an eternity. Some she took pictures of, while others she stared at before moving on to the next.

It was like she was trying to enjoy herself, to live in the moment of being in the Louvre, but couldn’t muster up the courage to appreciate any of it.

I followed her into the Apollo Gallery, watching as she admired the Crown Jewels of France and every shining, golden corner of the room. Since it was the middle of the day, the room glowed from the direct sunlight. Her face did, too, her cheeks glistening in the golden aura of the room. A few times, I watched her almost smile. Almost. Then, something reminded her she wasn’t allowed to enjoy this, and a dark cloud settled over her face again.

I was so focused on waiting for the golden light to hit her face just right that when she turned to leave the gallery, I forgot I was supposed to be hiding.

Her eyes settled on me and a storm brewed within them. My stomach twisted. She stormed across the gallery. “What do you want?” she spat.

I blinked and motioned to the room. “I’m admiring the art.”

A deep, dangerous growl rumbled in her chest. “Who are you?”

I held out my hand. “Sophie. Nice to meet you.”

To my surprise, she batted my hand away. “I’m not interested in your name. I want to know why you’re following me.”

I opened and closed my mouth several times, searching for a reasonable explanation but finding none. When I said nothing, the anger in her eyes grew.

“Keep following me,” she warned, “and I’ll tear out the throats of every person in this room.”

I jolted in surprise and stepped back. “Understood,” I rasped.

She tugged her backpack closer against her shoulders and bared her fangs before storming off.

I could do nothing but watch her go.

Some twisted part of me couldn’t bring myself to leave the Louvre entirely, so I bought a sandwich at the cafe and lingered outside in the Tuileries to see if the vampire would leave this way. A few pickpockets wandered too close, and the irony of scaring them away with my fangs was not lost on me.

The moment she stepped out of the Louvre, I knew.

I turned on my bench, sitting cross-legged, and watched her through the shrubbery as she refilled her water bottle at a fountain. To my surprise, she dumped the water over her head instead of drinking it and shook her hair out. Then, she filled it again and tucked it in her backpack before walking on.

Even dripping wet, she was beautiful.

Unfortunately, she heard my intake of breath, and her head spun in my direction. I braced myself for another round of fury, for her to hurt someone like she threatened to. Instead, her eyes seemed… tired.

She licked her lips and glanced between me sitting among the shrubbery and the way out through the gardens. I stayed as still as possible, as if I could fade into the surrounding trees. To my surprise, she abandoned her way out and walked over to sit on the bench next to me.

“You’re still here,” she said tiredly.

I shrugged. “I live here.”

She blinked at me. “At the Louvre or in Paris?”

I raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was a joke. “In Paris. I live near the Latin Quarter.”

She was quiet for a while, kicking her feet in the dirt. “Your accent is strange,” she said eventually. “Almost British, but not quite.”

“I was born in a little town in England,” I said. “I’ve lived in a lot of places since then.”

She pursed her lips, rocking back and forth. “I wouldn’t have killed anyone back there. I wanted to tell you that.”

I nodded. “That’s a relief.”

She almost smiled at that, but smothered whatever amusement she felt again. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and she said nothing else for a long while, but I let her sit silently. She sipped her water bottle occasionally and mostly watched the passers-by. I stayed where I was, nibbling on my mediocre sandwich in companionable silence.

When I genuinely thought she wouldn’t say anything else, she lifted her head to meet my gaze. “I’m Eliza.”

Eliza.

Her name washed over me like the gentlest of tides, filling every inch of my soul with exhilaration.

I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Eliza.”