Lyra POV
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Vincent Moreau had a lightning-fast reaction time.
That was the first thing Lyra realized when the stress ball she threw across the lab bounced off the wall and landed squarely in his hand… without him even looking.
"You seriously have eyes in the back of your head, don't you?" she muttered, scribbling a note in her tablet.
Vincent reclined lazily on the examination bench, the stress ball now spinning between his long fingers. "Please. Give me a real challenge, Dr. Quinn. I didn't even flinch."
Lyra glanced up from her notes, scowling. "It wasn't meant to scare you. It was meant to see if you were paying attention."
He gave her a fangy grin. "I'm always paying attention when you're around."
"Oh god," she muttered. "Don't flirt during a reflex evaluation."
"Too late," he said with a wink. "Also, is it really flirting if it's just raw truth?"
She didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she walked over to the testing station and picked up a long metal pointer, flipping to the next part of the reflex test.
"Alright. Sit up straight, feet flat, hands on your thighs," she instructed.
Vincent sat up, but not before stretching in that very deliberate way that highlighted every taut muscle under his gray tank top. Tattoos swirled down his arms—beautiful, fluid designs that Lyra refused to be caught staring at again. They seemed to move when he moved, like shadows inked into his skin.
He caught her eye. "You were looking at my tattoos."
"I was not."
"Were too. You've been curious since day one. Want me to tell you what they mean?"
"Nope," she said quickly.
He leaned forward. "That's a shame. The one on my ribs means 'The wolf does not care about the opinion of sheep.' Very fitting, don't you think?"
"Lovely," she said, pretending to yawn. "Let's get back to the point of today. Reflex response. Not story time with the vampire."
Vincent smirked. "You're cute when you're trying to be serious."
She clicked her pen hard enough to break it.
---
The first few tests went… mostly as expected. Knee reflex: textbook perfect. Wrist reflex: annoyingly perfect. The one where she dropped a ruler and he had to catch it?
He caught it with two fingers. Behind his back.
Lyra crossed her arms, annoyed. "You do realize you're completely ruining the curve for the other test subjects, right?"
"Maybe they should try harder," Vincent said innocently.
"Oh yes, because it's just that easy for the non-supernaturals."
"You're lucky I like you," he said, grin widening.
Lyra paused in her note-taking.
She didn't even know how it started — the low-key flirting, the inappropriate winks during blood draws, the way he called her doctor like it was a private joke — but somehow Vincent had gone from "annoying vampire test subject #12" to "the highlight of her week."
Worse? She'd started looking forward to his sessions. She even shaved her legs this morning.
For science, obviously.
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Next test: visual stimulus.
She handed him a small headset to wear while seated in front of a screen that rapidly flashed color blocks and images. He was supposed to hit a buzzer every time he saw a specific color — red.
Lyra watched from the side as the simulation ran. His eyes darted across the screen, fingers poised. Fast. Focused. Ridiculously calm.
Then came the image of a woman in lingerie holding a beaker. Not her, but it looked suspiciously like her if she ever decided to moonlight in erotic lab cosplay.
Vincent hit the buzzer three times in a row.
"That wasn't red," she said dryly.
He tilted his head, teeth flashing. "It was emotionally stimulating."
"Are you taking this seriously?"
"Oh, very," he said. "Extremely hard, in fact."
She froze, pen hovering mid-note.
Vincent gave her an unrepentant smile. "Reflex pun. Relax."
She rolled her eyes so hard she almost gave herself a migraine.
---
After resetting the software and glaring at him the entire time, Lyra moved on to the tactile portion of the reflex test — which required close proximity.
Unfortunately.
"Alright," she said, stepping beside him with a small reflex hammer. "Hold out your arms. Palms up."
He did as instructed. His hands were large, warm-looking, and covered in subtle veins and ink. She ignored that entirely and focused on his elbow tendon.
A soft tap with the hammer. His fingers twitched.
She marked it down. "Normal."
Another tap. He caught her wrist.
Reflex, she told herself.
Except he didn't let go right away.
She looked up, startled — only to find him already watching her, a slightly amused look on his face. His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist once. A whisper of touch.
"Heartbeat's faster than normal, Doctor."
She yanked her hand away. "Maybe because you're acting like a damn Bond villain."
"Or maybe," he said, voice dropping, "because you like this a little more than you want to admit."
Her face burned.
He didn't look smug this time. He looked… interested. Curious. Like he was trying to read her reflexes emotionally now.
She cleared her throat and took a large step back. "Next phase. Audio response."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "That's where you whisper sweet nothings in my ear and check if I jump?"
She smiled sweetly. "That's where I blast airhorns into your headset and see if your eardrums explode."
"Such foreplay," he murmured.
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By the end of the hour, Lyra had concluded three things:
1. Vincent had elite reflexes.
2. He was even more annoying when he knew she was trying not to like him.
3. She was absolutely going to have to rewrite her ethics clause after this trial.
As she packed up her notes and turned off the sensors, Vincent leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head.
"So. Same time next week?"
Lyra glanced at him. "Maybe. Depends if I file you under 'uncooperative'."
He stood up, crossing the space between them in two easy steps. "You know I'd cooperate," he said softly. "If you asked nicely."
Her heart stuttered. But she held her ground.
"You're impossible."
"I'm genetically enhanced," he corrected. "Big difference."
She snorted. "You forgot insufferable."
"And devastatingly handsome."
She shoved her tablet into her bag. "Get out, Vincent."
He chuckled, but stopped in the doorway, looking back.
"You forgot to check one last reflex, Doc."
She blinked. "What?"
He grinned wickedly. "Kiss reflex."
And with that, he disappeared down the hallway — laughing all the way.
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