The roar of the crowd still clung to my skin like smoke. Even backstage, hours after the last encore, their voices echoed in my skull—thousands of heartbeats, thousands of breaths, all pulsing, screaming, begging for me. For us.
But out of all those voices, only one remained.
Her heartbeat.
I leaned back against the dressing room chair, eyes half-closed, replaying it in my mind. Quick, sharp, nervous fluttering like a trapped bird when I stepped close. The sound had been so pure I nearly lost myself right there under the stage lights.
Ruth.
Even now, just thinking her name stirred something deep in my chest. Something inconvenient. Something dangerous.
"Earth to Theo."
I cracked one eye open. Marcus, our drummer, lounged on the couch across from me, sipping from a crystal glass filled with liquid so dark it could only be one thing. His mouth was stained red, his grin lazy.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he teased.
"Maybe I have."
"Or maybe you're starving," he countered. "Don't tell me you skipped again."
I said nothing.
His grin widened. "Unbelievable. Only you would leave a stadium of screaming humans and come back empty. Tell me, what's her name this time?"
My jaw tightened.
He chuckled. "Ah. So there is one. I knew it. Every damn tour, Theo finds a new obsession. You're predictable."
"This isn't the same."
Marcus raised a brow, clearly amused. "It's always the same. You pick one. You stalk for a while. You sulk when she inevitably runs. And then—poof—onto the next poor soul."
He wasn't wrong. But this time, he was.
I thought back to the way Ruth had looked at me—half awe, half terror, all fire. So many others melted into the crowd, faces blurred by time and hunger. Not her. She burned brighter. Too bright.
"I knew her name," I murmured before I could stop myself.
Marcus blinked. "And she told you?"
"No."
That shut him up for a moment. He swirled the glass, crimson swirling like a whirlpool. "Careful, Theo. That kind of knowing doesn't come from nowhere. It smells like fate. Or curses. Either way, dangerous."
I ignored him.
Because deep down, I already knew.
Later that night, when the others disappeared with their conquests—some girls leaving starry-eyed with autographs, others leaving a little paler than they arrived—I slipped away into the city.
The moon was high, bleeding silver over the skyline. I didn't need to hunt. I didn't need blood tonight. All I needed was distance.
But my feet betrayed me.
They led me back toward campus.
I stayed in the shadows, watching from across the street as students drifted in and out of the dorms. Laughter carried in the air. The smell of cheap pizza and stronger beer drifted under the cool night breeze.
And then there she was.
Ruth.
Hair messy, cheeks flushed, eyes alight as she gestured wildly at her friends. Even from here, I could hear her voice—animated, breathless—reliving the moment we'd shared like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her.
A part of me preened at that.
Another part wanted to run.
I should have. Every instinct screamed to leave, to erase her from my thoughts before she became another mistake. Humans were fragile, fleeting things. I'd ruined enough of them to know better.
But still, I lingered.
I leaned against a lamppost cloaked in shadow, unseen, and listened to her laughter echo like a melody made only for me.
The hunger gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Not just for her blood, though that temptation pulsed in every vein of mine. But for something else I hadn't allowed myself in years.
Connection.
The way she looked at me backstage—it wasn't fear alone. It was recognition.
As if she had always known I'd find her.
And maybe she had.
Hours later, when she finally disappeared inside the dorm, I stayed. Watching the darkened window where her light had gone out.
Marcus was right about one thing: I was predictable.
But this time, I wasn't moving on.
This time, I couldn't.
This time, Ruth was mine.
And God help me I wasn't letting go.