The warmth of his arms still coiled around her waist like a vice. His chin, resting on her shoulder, felt heavier than it should have—like gravity itself bowed to him. And his voice—when he whispered, "You were always meant for more"—settled in her spine like frost.
Mika didn't open her eyes at first. She couldn't.
Not yet.
The mirror in front of her still reflected the thing she didn't want to see.
But Logan's bark shattered everything.
Sharp. Low. And frightened.
Her eyes flew open.
"Logan?" she whispered, twisting out of Lex's grip as if he were a phantom that could evaporate.
Lex didn't stop her. He only stood slowly, tilting his head like a cat watching something wounded and small crawl toward safety.
The mirror didn't matter now. The blood didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.
"Logan?" she called again, louder this time.
And then she saw him.
Her boy.
He stood just inside the doorway—hackles raised, eyes wide, tail tucked so far between his legs it almost disappeared. His ears were pinned flat against his skull, his whole body vibrating with tension.
Mika took one shaky step forward.
"It's okay," she whispered. "It's me—Logan, it's me."
But he didn't come.
He whimpered. Backed away.
Like she was something **wrong**.
Her heart cracked wide open.
"No… no, please…"
She dropped to her knees, ignoring the sting in her palms, the blood drying across her skin. Her hands shook as she reached out to him.
Logan growled. Just once. Not aggressive—but warning. Sad. Confused.
Like he didn't recognize her.
Or worse—like he **did**, and didn't know what she had become.
"Don't take it personally," Lex murmured behind her. "Animals always sense the shift first. Their instincts aren't clouded by denial."
She turned her head slowly, her breath fogging in front of her—though the room wasn't cold.
"You did this," she said. "You did this to me. You made me a monster."
He smiled, that same unbothered, gentle smile that made her blood boil now. "No, Mika. I just gave you a choice. You chose the rose. You chose the hunger. The rest… is simply following through."
She stood. Trembling. Bloody. Barefoot.
And something inside her **moved**. Not physically—but it uncoiled like smoke in her ribcage. Her stomach twisted, and the hunger came back.
Slower this time. More aware. Less animal. More **intentional**.
She didn't like it.
"I'm not like you," she whispered again, but it felt weaker than before.
Lex approached her, each step casual, slow. He passed Logan—who backed further into the hallway—and crouched beside Mika like he was teaching a child to tie their shoes.
"You don't have to be like me," he said. "You'll be something new. Better. Weaker now, but soon… you'll look back at this moment and laugh."
She glanced past him. Logan was still watching, but now from a distance. He hadn't left. But he hadn't come closer either.
"Please," she said, voice cracking. "Just come here. Please—"
She dropped to her knees again, ignoring the burn of movement. Her body still wasn't hers, not fully. Every limb felt like borrowed meat.
Logan whimpered again. But this time—he took one step forward.
Then another.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe.
He came closer, nose twitching, taking cautious sniffs at the air between them. And then he stopped just a few inches away.
Mika held her breath.
He looked into her eyes—straight into the black voids that had swallowed her irises—and let out a low, heartbroken whine.
And then… he licked her cheek.
Mika broke.
Tears spilled down her face as she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his thick fur. He trembled, but didn't pull away. His tail twitched once, unsure.
"I'm sorry," she whispered over and over. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to—I didn't want this—I'm still me—I promise—I'm still—"
Lex cleared his throat behind her.
Logan growled again, deep and quiet.
"That's enough," Lex said coldly.
Mika looked up. Her eyes narrowed.
"Stay away from him."
Lex gave a soft chuckle, but his eyes didn't match his voice.
"You're already getting protective," he said. "How sweet. But you can't keep pets, Mika. Not forever. One day, you'll slip. Your hunger will be worse than this, and you'll lose control. What then? You'll drain him dry before you even realize you've started."
"I won't," she said, standing. "I'll never hurt him."
Lex smiled.
"We'll see."
---
The next few hours passed in a haze of whispers and cold instructions. Lex led her through the apartment, pointing things out like a museum curator. He seemed to enjoy her dazed silence, basking in the shift of power. Every time she tried to resist, he brushed it aside with condescension wrapped in silk.
"Lesson one," he said, holding her chin between his fingers. "Heartbeat control. You can mimic a human rhythm. Helps with blending. Most of us don't bother anymore—but you will. For now."
"Lesson two. Light sensitivity. You're not made of ash, Mika. You won't burst into flames. But the sun will **hurt**. Your skin will feel like it's trying to peel itself off your bones. So be careful. Pick your hours."
"Lesson three: The craving comes in waves. You've tasted blood now—real blood. It will hit harder each time. Don't resist it. Redirect it. Take from animals, if you must. It won't satisfy for long. But it's better than slaughter."
She didn't answer. Just listened, burning each rule into her mind, clinging to them like railings on a crumbling staircase.
Somewhere in the corner of the room, Logan lay with his head on his paws, watching. Still unsure. Still scared.
So was she.
---
Later, when the moon was high and the world outside her window had gone still, Mika stood in front of her bathroom mirror again.
She stared at herself.
Her eyes were still dark. Still bottomless. Her face still too still. Her veins had faded some, but she could still see the shadows of them. Whispering things beneath her skin.
Lex stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he belonged there.
"You want to know how to feed without losing control?" he asked.
She didn't turn.
"Yes."
He stepped closer. The room chilled with his approach.
"You think it's about restraint," he said. "But it's not. It's about choice. Hunger makes you honest. But you still get to decide **who** you're honest with."
She turned to him, expression blank.
"Have you ever killed someone who didn't deserve it?"
He blinked. Once.
Then nodded.
"Yes."
Her stomach twisted.
"Did you care?"
Lex moved close enough to touch her.
"No," he whispered. "But I wanted to."
---
Later that night, she curled up on the couch, wrapped in Logan's blanket, the TV playing static because she couldn't decide what to watch—and the sound was soothing.
Lex sat nearby, flipping through one of her old journals. She didn't remember leaving it out.
"You used to draw flowers," he said.
"Put that down."
He didn't.
Instead, he tore out a page and held it up.
It was a sketch of a rose. One with thorns like knives. The date at the top was almost a year ago.
"You've been dreaming of it longer than you think," he murmured. "Your soul knew. Even if your mind didn't."
Mika's stomach churned. She looked down at her hand. The scar where the thorn had pierced her was still there. Small. But no longer healing.
She felt Logan shift beside her, his nose nudging her leg.
She clung to that.
To him.
To what was left.
But her teeth ached.
Her mouth watered.
And her soul whispered something she didn't want to hear.
That this was only the beginning.
That there was **no going back**.
---
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance. Mika could hear the panic in it. The heartbeat of a city gasping beneath its own weight. And beneath that—fainter, subtler—the pulse of something older. Something that watched from behind the veil of glass and stone.
She rose quietly, walked to the window, and stared down at the street. A man crossed the sidewalk below. His heart beat slower than most. Sick, maybe. Or tired. But each beat called to her like a drum.
Lex appeared beside her, silently.
"You'll hear them all eventually," he said. "You won't even need your eyes. Blood sings to its own."
She didn't answer. Just kept watching.
"You'll dream of them soon," he said. "Their faces. Their deaths. Even the ones you haven't met."
She turned to him slowly.
"You mean victims."
"I mean possibilities," he corrected. Then, after a pause, added: "Some of them will thank you."
Mika's expression hardened.
"I'll never be like you."
Lex smiled softly, almost tenderly.
"You already are."
--
---
Later that night, Mika stood at the edge of her bed, the moonlight casting fractured shapes across her floor. Logan was curled in the corner, awake but still silent, his nose twitching now and then as if sensing something just beneath the surface of the world.
She hadn't changed clothes. Her shirt still smelled like copper and dried fear. Her palms ached where the glass had cut her. But even now, the wounds were gone. Already sealed. Her skin looked clean—but it didn't feel like it.
She touched her throat. Her skin was cold.
Lex leaned against the wall beside her bedroom door. She didn't remember him coming in.
"You're afraid to close your eyes," he said. Not a question.
She didn't deny it.
"Don't be," he added. "Sleep is the only thing that still belongs to you."
Mika turned to face him, eyes bloodshot, ringed in black.
"I dreamed already," she whispered. "And it wasn't mine. You were in it. So was Logan. But I—I was something else. Something awful."
He stepped closer. "Then it was real. The first true dream always is."
She shook her head. "I don't want it to be."
Lex crouched, his eyes level with hers. "Then fight it. But remember—every vampire who ever lived started with that same lie. That they'd be different."
Her stomach churned. Her fangs hadn't fully descended yet, but she could feel the pressure behind her gums. Like they were waiting.
Waiting for her to slip.
Waiting for her to need.
"I don't want to lose him," she whispered, glancing toward Logan. "He's the only thing I have left."
Lex's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Then you'll have to decide what's more important. The hunger—or him."
She glared at him. "Why are you doing this? You say you love me—but you're trying to turn me into something I hate."
Lex smiled faintly. "Because love isn't softness, Mika. Not for us. It's survival. It's devotion twisted into obsession. What I feel for you—it's older than empathy. Older than guilt. But it's real. And I won't let you die a mortal death when you were meant for more."
She stared at him.
"I never asked for more."
"You didn't have to."
He touched her chest—right above her heart. "It's already begun. You'll hear them calling soon. Not just echoes. **Others.**"
"Others?"
Lex rose. "There are more of us than you think. Scattered. Sleeping. Hiding. And some will want you dead for what you are. Others will want to claim you."
Her breath caught. "What am I?"
"You're new," he said. "That makes you dangerous. And desirable."
He stepped closer. "But you're mine."
Her stomach flipped. Something cold and possessive echoed in those words.
Logan growled low again. Mika held up a hand, and he went quiet. Her fingers trembled.
She needed to get out of that room.
She needed to breathe.
Mika turned and pushed past Lex into the hallway, heart thudding—not from fear, but pressure. Her blood was wrong. Moving too fast. Or not at all. The fluorescent light above her flickered as she stepped into the living room, each footstep like thunder in her skull.
She collapsed onto the couch.
Logan followed.
Her hands buried into his fur like it was the only real thing left in her life.
She let her tears come again, silent and warm. The ache inside her wasn't grief anymore. It was grief's shadow—deeper, hungrier.
Logan nudged her arm with his snout.
And just like that, she started to hum.
A lullaby.
One her adoptive mother used to sing when she couldn't sleep. Her voice was hoarse, and the tune was crooked, but Logan relaxed. Slowly.
So did she.
Until the apartment went still again.
She was almost asleep when a whisper brushed across her ear:
**"You are not alone."**
She jolted upright.
"Lex?"
No answer.
She looked toward the hallway.
Empty.
But the mirror by the door was fogged.
She hadn't taken a shower. No steam.
Still, the words appeared, written across the glass in dripping condensation:
**RUN.**
She staggered to her feet. Her skin crawled. Her reflection looked back—lips moving on its own.
"I'm still in here," it whispered.
Mika backed away, gasping. Her throat was dry again. Her hands shook.
She looked at Logan. He whined, pacing.
She turned and saw Lex standing in the hallway.
"You felt it, didn't you?" he asked.
She nodded. "Something else is here."
He stepped forward slowly. "There are old things in the blood, Mika. Not all of them sleep willingly. Some are drawn to new awakenings. The rose didn't just curse you. It **called** something."
"I didn't ask for this!" she shouted, backing away.
"But you're in it now," he said. "The hunger. The dreams. The war in your blood. You can't pretend anymore."
She gripped the edge of the couch to steady herself. Her knees buckled.
"What happens to me now?"
Lex's voice was soft. "You learn. Or you die."
And as she stood there, trembling and broken, something inside her whispered again:
**Or you become something worse.**
---