Elena woke up feeling completely off. Instead of the usual symphony of annoying honks and the faint stench of the gutter from the alleyway, she was greeted by the subtle, expensive aroma of coffee wafting into her room. She glanced toward the window of her new apartment. Damn. The view of London from the seventh floor was something else. But then, Zavier popped into her head. The guy was ridiculously handsome, but when he went quiet, he was about as warm as a walk-in freezer.
She threw on a low-effort outfit—an oversized tee and her favorite jeans—and grabbed her bag. She was already mentally bracing herself for Mr. Moustache to lose his mind or scream his head off at her, like he always did.
***
The moment Elena stood in front of the old bookstore, she took a long, deep breath.
"Okay, Elena. You've got money now. You're free. Don't let the old man get to you."
The bell chimed as she pushed the door open. Elena walked in, shoulders squared, trying to look tough. But the sight inside stopped her dead in her tracks.
Mr. Moustache was crouching on the floor, his hands shaking violently as he tried to shelve some books. When he heard the door, he practically bolted upright like he'd been electrocuted, dropping the books all over the floor again.
When he realized it was Elena, his face went ghost-white—literally the color of a blank sheet of paper. His eyes were wide with terror, looking at her like she was the Grim Reaper herself coming for his soul. Elena instinctively took a step back, baffled. Her boss, usually a world-class grump, looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack.
"S-Sir? Are you okay? Look, I wanted to apologize about the book last night, but I also—"
"Take it! Just take it all!" Mr. Moustache interrupted, his voice high-pitched and frantic. He backed away until he hit a bookshelf, trembling like a leaf in the wind.
With a shaking hand, he tossed a thick brown envelope onto the counter and immediately hid his hands behind his back, as if terrified she might touch him.
"That's... that's your pay. All of it. The fines from before... I'm giving them back. There's a bonus too. A big one. Just take it and go, please!" he cried out, his voice hoarse with sheer panic. His eyes kept darting nervously toward the door behind Elena before snapping back to her with a pathetic, pleading look.
Elena was floored. She blinked, looking at the fat envelope on the table, then back at the traumatized old man.
*Uh, is he okay? Did someone swap his brain overnight?* she wondered.
She'd come here to apologize and resign properly, but instead, she was being met with this weird hysteria. Mr. Moustache pressed himself further against the wall, his legs giving out until he slowly slid down into a heap in the corner. He didn't dare say another word; only his heavy, ragged breathing broke the silence of the shop. He looked like a man who had just seen the gates of hell swing open.
Elena was speechless. She noticed the shop, usually a cluttered disaster, was now spotless—as if an entire cleaning crew had just blitzed through the place. And the strangest part? There was a faint, lingering scent of sulfur in the air.
Seeing him shaking and pointing desperately at the envelope, begging her to just take it and leave, Elena finally moved forward. She grabbed the envelope—which was way heavier than her usual pay—and left her resignation letter on the counter.
"Sir... I'm resigning. Thanks for the... um, severance pay," she said hesitantly.
Mr. Moustache just nodded frantically with whatever strength he had left, cowering in the corner, unable to even look at her.
Elena walked out of the shop, her brain still lagging behind. She carried a box of her things with a wad of cash tucked in her bag. The world had started feeling very strange ever since Zavier showed up. As she walked down the sidewalk, lost in thought, a familiar deep voice rumbled in her ear.
"All settled?"
Elena jumped. Zavier was standing right there beside her, looking effortlessly cool with a coffee in hand. He looked perfect—black shirt with the top two buttons undone, slightly messy hair, and that look in his eyes that made every girl walking past do a double-take.
"Zav! What did you do to Mr. Moustache?!" Elena went straight for the jugular.
Zavier shrugged, his face a complete mask of indifference.
"I didn't do anything."
"Liar! He looked like he'd seen a ghost, Zav! He gave me all my money back, plus a massive bonus. You didn't use... violence, did you?"
Zavier gave a faint smile—the kind that made Elena's heart skip a beat but also made her feel like he was hiding something big. "Violence is for people without brains, Elena. I didn't lift a finger."
Elena didn't buy it for a second, but she chose to drop it. She looked at Zavier's hand holding the cup. His fingers were long and elegant, but they looked strong. His skin was so pale it was almost unnatural, especially for someone who spent his time hunting for photos outdoors.
"Zav, where are you actually from? Your skin is so white, it's like you've never seen the sun—even by London standards," she asked as they wandered toward a park.
Zavier went quiet for a moment. He looked at her with an unreadable expression.
"I come from a place far away. A place where sunlight is just a myth. That's why I like London; the gloom reminds me of 'home'."
"No wonder you're a bit weird," Elena laughed softly. "But thanks. Since you showed up, I feel like my luck has turned around completely."
Zavier stopped walking, forcing her to stop too. He pulled her toward a large oak tree where the shadow was deep and wide. Suddenly, the air felt still and cold.
"I'll make sure no one ever makes you cry again, Elena. No matter who they are," Zavier said. His voice was low, heavy, and carried a weight of possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.
Elena felt her face heat up. She wasn't used to this. Usually, people just saw her as a random courier or a mediocre editor. But with Zavier, she felt... precious.
"Zav, don't say stuff like that... I'll actually start falling for you," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.
But Zavier didn't laugh. Instead, he stepped closer, pinning her against the rough bark of the tree. He placed a hand on the trunk, trapping her between his body and the wood. His nose was only inches from her forehead.
Elena could feel a chill radiating from him—but strangely, it felt comforting. Up close, his face was flawless. No pores, no blemishes, just like expensive porcelain.
"And what if you do have feelings for me? What then?" Zavier asked softly.
Elena swallowed hard. Her heart was doing a full marathon now.
"Then... then don't. We barely know each other. You're a mysterious photographer, and I'm just a recently unemployed, suddenly-rich editor."
Zavier's gaze dropped to her trembling lips. A dark urge surged within him to taste her soul. Below their feet, the shadows began to writhe on their own, coiling around the tree roots like they were mirroring their master's hunger. But suddenly, a sharp sting hit the back of Zavier's neck.
*My Sire... Lucius has sent another message. He does not approve of you being this close to the 'girl',* a voice hissed in his mind.
Zavier pulled back instantly. His eyes, which had begun to darken, snapped back to normal. He clenched his fist inside his jacket pocket.
"Let's go back. It's about to rain," he said, his voice returning to that flat, cold tone.
Elena blinked, confused by the sudden mood swing. What was that? Was he about to kiss her? Or was he just messing with her head?
She followed him, watching his broad shoulders. He was keeping secrets, she knew that. But for now, she just wanted to enjoy the safety he provided.
She didn't see the shadow of the oak tree behind them morph into a grinning monster before sinking back into the earth. Even the monsters were afraid of Zavier.
"Zav, wait up! Your legs are way too long!" Elena shouted, breaking into a light jog.
Zavier stopped, waiting for her to catch up. He reached out and gently stroked her hair—a very human gesture, even while his mind was busy picturing the most brutal way to kill Lucius if his commander ever dared to ruin a moment like that again.
"I'm not going anywhere, Elena. I'll be right here, right behind your shadow," Zavier whispered, his words lost to the cold London wind.