Vincent POV
It was almost 2 a.m. when I heard the click of Dr. Lyra Quinn's heels echo down the corridor. The sound was hypnotic. Sharp. Intentional. Each step a countdown to my sanity.
I sat cross-legged on the edge of the containment bed, bare chest damp with sweat from the enforced darkness of the observation room. The lights had been off for hours—part of the simulation, I was told. "To monitor nocturnal instinctive behavior," the clipboard lady had muttered while avoiding eye contact.
Apparently, vampires in near pitch-black conditions were expected to display primal behavioral tendencies.
They weren't wrong.
Especially when the only source of light was a glowing green "EXIT" sign above the observation window, casting a dull hue over the room. The smell of synthetic pine still lingered from a very enthusiastic cleaning attempt earlier that evening. I was almost impressed they thought vampires needed the scent of fake forests to feel at home.
Lyra stepped in with her usual calm demeanor and a clipboard hugged to her chest. Her oversized lab coat did little to hide the fact that she was wearing fitted leggings and a black tank top underneath. Maybe she forgot it was see-through under certain light. Or maybe she wanted me to notice.
"Evening, Subject V," she greeted, barely glancing at me as she checked a few readings on the panel. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, loose strands brushing her neck. I wanted to bite those strands off. Gently. With my teeth.
"You're here late," I said, stretching just enough so the light caught the tattoos on my shoulders. I saw her glance. Ha.
"The night study calls for monitoring during vampire active hours," she replied crisply. "Besides, you're the only subject who hasn't gone completely feral under the simulated lunar cycle."
"Must be my charming personality," I smirked.
"More like your inability to follow lights-out protocol."
She finally looked at me, pen tapping her clipboard.
"You were humming. Again."
I shrugged. "Is that a violation?"
"Depends on the song. If it's ABBA again, I'm requesting a straightjacket."
She was joking. I think. With Lyra, you never really knew. Her deadpan delivery could rival a professional assassin. One with a PhD in bio-neuro studies.
"What's tonight's experiment? Or are you just here because you miss me?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she walked over to the corner of the room and hit a button on the wall. A panel slid open, revealing a small table with two chairs and a setup that looked suspiciously like a romantic dinner setting.
Candle. Synthetic candle, yes. But a candle.
"Table for two?" I teased. "Careful, doc. You're giving mixed signals."
She ignored me, pulling out a file. "Tonight is the Nocturnal Behavior Observation, which includes environmental stress simulation and human-vampire proximity tolerance in enclosed spaces."
"In simpler words?"
"We're having a sleepover."
Oh. Well, fuck.
---
Lyra POV
I shouldn't have added the candle. That was on me. But the setup was required per test guidelines—simulate a comfortable yet enclosed nighttime environment. The temperature had been dropped to 18°C, dim lighting engaged, and the cameras were running.
Also: the floor mattress was not my choice.
He lay on it with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he looked like half-naked. The tattoos across his chest and arms—old script, constellations, vines—stood out even more under low light. I should've added a lab note: Subject has disturbingly attractive musculature. Threat level: High.
He patted the empty space beside him. "Doctor Quinn, surely you're not going to observe from the corner all night."
"This is not a slumber party."
He gave me a look. "Says the woman who brought snacks."
I blinked. "I didn't—"
He held up the small tray of sealed protein bars and synthetic blood bottles I had prepped for observation recovery.
"You're lucky I have no shame," he said. "Because I'm about to get cozy."
To my horror—and morbid fascination—he pulled the blanket over himself and dramatically flopped onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.
"Are you seriously planning to sleep?"
"Unless you have a better way to observe my nighttime behavior."
I narrowed my eyes. "I do. REM tracking, pulse scan, muscle twitch sensors—"
Vincent yawned loudly, cutting me off. "Wow. Sexy."
---
Vincent POV
She was trying so hard not to laugh. I loved that.
Halfway through the hour, she finally gave in and sat beside me—technically, on a separate mat—but it still counted. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Something citrusy. Blood orange, maybe. Her scent had shifted slightly in the dark.
Comfort.
Vampire noses were tricky like that. In dark environments, we detected emotional markers. Fear. Lust. Sadness. She smelled… curious. Cautiously warm.
"You're not afraid of me," I said quietly.
"No."
"Even if the room's locked and it's just us?"
She didn't blink. "You haven't given me a reason to be."
"You trust me that easily?"
Lyra turned her head to face me. "I trust my data. You've never lashed out. No predatory instincts triggered even under stress. And when I simulate vulnerability, you look away."
My brow lifted. "You simulate vulnerability?"
She nodded. "Trick of posture, voice tone, gaze angle. Most vampires respond to cues of weakness."
"And I don't?"
"No. You respond to… amusement. And maybe ego bruising."
"I am a complex man," I said solemnly.
She smiled.
I swear something tugged in my chest at the sight.
We lay in silence for a while. Just… existing. Her hand was close to mine. Not touching, but close enough that my fingers itched.
I could hear her heartbeat. Calm. Rhythmic. But the occasional spike told me she was thinking things she wouldn't say out loud.
Same.
The candle flickered. The cameras whirred. The fake night dragged on.
And finally, she spoke. Soft. Cautious.
"Why did you volunteer for this study, Vincent?"
I turned toward her. "I didn't."
She frowned.
"My company sponsored it. One of our top biomedical arms helped develop the synthetic blood you're testing. I came in to check on the project and got suckered into signing a volunteer clause buried on page 23."
She blinked. "You mean you're that Vincent Moreau?"
"CEO. Investor. Nighttime exhibitionist. The usual."
Her eyes widened.
I shrugged. "Didn't seem like a big deal at the time. Then I met you."
Silence.
Then she muttered, "This is so getting flagged by the ethics board."
---
Lyra POV
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Not the candle. Not the mattress. And definitely not the eye contact that made me feel like I was the one under observation.
When I signed off on this project, the consent forms were airtight. Or so I thought.
But now the subject of our most sensitive vampire integration study was not just some test subject—he was one of the key sponsors, and I had accidentally skipped over the clause that didn't ban romantic fraternization.
This is why scientists shouldn't do their own paperwork.
I was about to sit up and escape into my professional bubble when Vincent's hand grazed mine.
It wasn't forceful. It wasn't demanding.
It was there.
Warm. Intentional. Electric.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't pull away.
---