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Ophelia - Seven Years Ago

I never should have come to this club.

Music pounds and bodies sway on the tightly packed dance floor. Dim red sconces on silk-draped walls cast shifting shadows on cocktail dresses and suits that cost more than my rent.

From where I sit at the bar, I've spent the last hour being jostled and nudged aside as patrons three-deep attempt to flag down the bartenders for a drink, either of the alcoholic or sanguinary variety.

I could be home right now.

I could be tucked into bed nursing a glass of wine and my bruised pride instead of sitting here watching vampires and humans and paranormals of a dozen different varieties size each other up and pair off in shadowed corners.

On any other night, I'd be participating rather than watching. I'd be in the midst of all those swaying bodies, or tucked away in an alcove speaking softly to some tall, handsome vampire with his bespoke suit and gleaming fangs, more than eager to…

I stop the thoughts right there.

I have no business being here. Not tonight.

I wouldn't have bothered coming if Cleo didn't invite me, and even though she's my reason for being here, my sister is nowhere to be found. She wandered off half an hour ago to talk to a tall, beautiful redhead, and I haven't seen her since.

Friday night at the Raven has become a routine for my half-vamp sister and me. A ritual, to crowd into the tiny bathroom of the apartment we share and get ready for the night, music blaring and makeup scattered across the counter. A jumble of curling irons and bobby pins and two glasses of sparkling rosé kept topped-off as the promise of the evening glimmers before us.

But lately, Cleo's been distracted. I have a sneaking suspicion it's got something to do with the redhead, and an even stronger inkling I've seen the last of her for the evening.

Which… fine.

Good for Cleo.

I'm happy she's found someone, but that doesn't mean I want to sit alone at the bar and wait for her to remember I'm here.

I especially don't want to be here when I can't help but look over my shoulder every other minute, nerves on edge, hoping I don't spot a huge, hulking, handsome vampire in the crowd. Marcus is also a regular at the Raven, and the very last thing I want is to run into him after everything that…

Nope.

Not thinking about that.

Not tonight.

Again making myself stop my spiral of self-pity, I down the last of my drink and pull my phone from my tiny beaded clutch. I'll send Cleo a text and let her know I'm out of here so she doesn't worry whenever she remembers to look for me.

If I'm calculating it right, I can be home in less than thirty minutes, makeup off and shower done in forty-five, pajamas on and—

"So we meet again, sweet Ophelia."

A shiver races down my spine at the sound of a warm, softly accented voice behind me.

I turn on my barstool to face the vampire it belongs to, and that shiver turns into a full-body flush.

"Casimir."

Not the world's greatest opening line, but it's all I can manage as I'm pinned in place by a teasing crimson gaze. It's as cool as I can be as he leans in close so I can hear him over the din, as I try to mask the hitch in my breath and hope like hell my cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

"Don't tell me," Casimir murmurs.

"Tell you what?"

"That you're here alone. There are very few unforgivable sins in this world, but if some unfortunate creature decided to stand you up, that would certainly be one."

"I'm not." I huff a soft laugh. "Or, well, I wasn't. And the unfortunate creature is my sister."

Casimir nods sagely and glances out over the rest of the club. "Drawn away into temptation?"

I follow his gaze, eyes skimming over the crowd, the couples and trios and more, the permissive shadows. "Something like that."

"And you?" He turns, his smile something else now, something deeper, darker. "What temptation might draw you away?"

I swallow hard, pulse racing at the invitation in those words.

I've only talked to Casimir a handful of times. Always in clubs like the Raven, tucked away in secret corners of Boston. Hidden havens for beings like Cleo, like Casimir, like Marcus. For vampires and half-vamps and other paranormals to shed a bit of their secrecy amongst like company. And humans, of course, others like me who've been invited behind the veil of that secrecy through our connections to the paranormal world.

And every single time I've spoken to Casimir, I've felt out of my depth.

I barely know anything about him, other than he's centuries old and one of the most powerful vampires in the city. I don't know what circles he runs in or what kind of business—aboveboard or otherwise—he's a part of. I don't think I want to know.

Because even though places like this exist, and even though I've been invited in through Cleo and through my stepfather, Samuel, I'm just a guest here. There are dangers lurking even in decadent, temptation-filled clubs like this one, and I'm not na?ve enough not to know one of those dangers is standing right in front of me.

Even so, I'm also not strong enough to be unaffected by the low, teasing warmth in his voice. I'm not strong enough not to be swayed by the way he leans closer, close enough for me to smell the sharp spice of his cologne and to admire the roguish lock of platinum blond hair that falls over his forehead.

"I don't know," I murmur. "So far I've only been tempted to call it a night and go home."

Casimir clicks his tongue in disapproval. "And what a shame that would be, when the night is still so young."

His eyes rove over me. From the cascade of curls I spent an hour perfecting to the near-indecent hemline of my dress.

With more boldness than I feel, I return the favor. I look him up and down, from the tailored cut of his midnight black suit to the open vee of pale skin at his throat, to his face, where I can't help but linger.

Casimir is the most handsome man I've ever seen. Elegant, refined features, and lips that always seem to be set into a teasing smirk. An approving warmth in his eyes as he notes my inspection and goes still, like he's waiting for me to finish.

"Let me tempt you, sweet Ophelia?"

Another shiver runs through me, but I nod, lost in the spell of those crimson eyes and the offer in the hand he extends to me. Casimir helps me off my barstool, placing a gentle touch at the small of my back as he murmurs into the shell of my ear.

"Can I find us some place a little quieter?"

I nod again, though some part of me is well-aware I shouldn't, and his gaze darkens with satisfaction.

Casimir leads me from the bar and around the edge of the dance floor to the club's main entrance, set two stories below street level in the basement of a towering high-rise. The gargoyle bouncer nods at us as we head for the elevator.

A warning bell sounds in the back of my mind as Casimir hits the call button to take us up. Like he can feel that unease, he squeezes my hand.

"I thought the rooftop might be a good place to have a little privacy and talk."

"We're allowed up there?"

His lip curls into a conspiratorial smirk. "I know the building's owner. I can assure you we're allowed."

Still, as the elevator arrives and the doors open, as he steps forward and draws me in behind him, I hesitate.

"We can stay here if you'd prefer," Casimir says, all that teasing gone from his voice. "I didn't mean to make you feel—"

"No. It's alright. The rooftop sounds great."

His brow furrows slightly, but he nods as I step in behind him.

The doors close, and the elevator immediately feels small, too small, too close and confined. I wonder if he can hear the beating of my heart from where I stand beside him, the rasp of nervous breath in my lungs.

What the hell am I doing?

There's always been a flirtatious edge to our interactions, but it's never gone further than soft conversations in dimly lit clubs, a dance or two, nothing like this. I've never been alone with him, and as the elevator carries us skyward, I can't help but wonder if all of this was a mistake.

But there's no more time to think about it, not as the elevator glides to a stop at the very top floor.

A soft ding announces our arrival. The doors open, and as we step into the small vestibule between us and the rooftop, Casimir's hand ghosts along my wrist.

"Ophelia. If you're not—"

"I am." Determination is a stubborn, unerring force in the center of my chest.

I meet his eyes, and there it is again, the feeling that's bigger than all the warnings.

Attraction, maybe, but I've never felt so viscerally drawn to someone before. I've never felt this kind of whole-body wanting, enough to override all my better senses.

The phantom press of Casimir's fingers drops to lace with mine, grasping lightly as he swings open the rooftop door to let us out into the night.

I gasp at the view. The whole city spreads out below, lights sparkling like so many stars against the darkness, casting us both in a breathless golden glow.

Casimir leads me right to the edge, holding a hand at my back as I lean over and look down, stomach swooping at the wonder of the city below.

When I tear my gaze away from that panorama, he's right there. Waiting, watching, crimson eyes soft and searching as he tucks a stray curl behind my ear.

"Tell me something about yourself. Something I don't already know."

I arch a brow. "What do you know about me?"

Casimir's smile is sweet sin. "I know how very beautiful you are, and how delectable your scent is. I know you favor red wine over white, though you've also had a whiskey sour in hand two of the times we've spoken. I know the way your body moves against mine on a dance floor, and I know you've got a delicious little freckle on your neck I'd like to get a taste of someday."

My heart hammers in my chest and my throat feels light and fluttery where his eyes find that freckle for a moment before they meet mine once more.

"But I don't know you , sweet Ophelia, and I would very much like to."

"There's not much to know."

"I doubt that entirely."

He leans closer, and I can't stop myself from doing the same, skin tingling with a cascade of starlight when he rests a hand on my hip.

What can I tell him? Is there anything about me that would hold even the slightest flicker of interest for him?

Oh, let's see. I'm in my fifth year of college and have at least two semesters until I graduate since it took me so long to get my shit together and settle on a major. I live in a tiny two-bedroom apartment with my sister. I've watched the entirety of The Office at least six times over.

I'm normal. So achingly normal. Not a single thing special about me. Not like you, not like Cleo or Samuel or any of the dozens of paranormal folk I've met over the years.

I'm human. Just human. Just… Ophelia.

"I guess I could tell you I—"

My words cut off at the sound of the door behind us opening, at heavy footsteps and a pair of low, urgent voices. My heart jumps into my throat when I turn and see who those voices belong to.

Marcus steps out of the shadows, pulling a familiar human woman along with him. He's got his arm around her waist, his face nuzzled into her neck, and it's only Cassandra's startled gasp that clues him into the fact that they're not alone up here.

He pulls away, and her eyes go wide when she spots Casimir.

"I'm just gonna…" Cassandra murmurs, meeting my eye with another pulse of recognition and dismay. "I'm gonna head back down."

She gives Marcus's hand a tug, urging him to come, too, but Marcus doesn't budge.

After a couple more seconds of that struggle, Cassandra gives up. She throws Marcus one more glance before her worried eyes land on me, but I don't have time to interpret that look as she turns away and heads back inside the building.

Then it's just me, Marcus, and Casimir.

My stomach sinks to somewhere near the street below.

When I chance a glance at Casimir, his face is hard. But it's Marcus who gets the next word in.

"I thought you had better taste, brother."

Casimir's expression tightens at the use of the word brother , but he doesn't say anything as Marcus continues.

"I wouldn't have expected this little blood bag to hold any interest for you."

I feel like I'm going to puke. Blood bag . A vampire groupie, essentially. A human to be used and discarded.

"Especially considering what she's after. A bloodbond, isn't it, Ophelia? That's what you wanted from—"

"Enough." Casimir's harsh order cuts through the night.

Marcus's mouth snaps shut, and he gives me one more derisive glance before he chuckles and shakes his head. "I'll leave you to it. Hope you have better luck with this one, Ophelia."

Blood rushes in my ears as I watch him go, and stains my cheeks with hot shame.

The door into the building closes behind Marcus, leaving me and Casimir alone once more. But there's no more magic in the night. No sea of stars below us. Nothing but heavy, uncomfortable silence.

Casimir turns his gaze on me, hard and flat. "Ophelia? Care to explain?"

I open my mouth, then close it, reaching for some way to excuse Marcus's accusation.

Only to come up completely empty.

Marcus is an ass. A cocky, arrogant ass. I never should have gone near him, never should have let myself get involved, never should have lost my head over a handsome face and all those muscles.

And I especially never should have insinuated I would be open to a bloodbond with him.

It was stupid, a mistake, and he all but laughed in my face when I told him. Like I was so far beneath him the very idea of it was offensive.

I don't really blame him. At least not for that part.

If I'd thought it through for more than five seconds, I would have never said a word to him. I would have known that in no possible world would I ever want to be bound to a guy like him. But after three tequila shots and a night of feeling abandoned by my sister as she went off chasing the woman who might just be her own bloodbound one day, I'd been sloppy, careless, spoken without thinking.

So now, trying to come up with a way to explain myself, I can't.

I watch as Casimir's expression shutters even further. I shiver at the cool rush of night air between us as he steps away, and panic rises in the back of my throat at the hard, ancient, displeased glint in his crimson eyes.