Page 35 of Vampire Soldier

Malachi nods once, turns, and disappears down the hall.

He doesn’t look back. And somehow, that stings more than anything.

By the time the electrician has come and gone and I’ve somehow managed to focus enough to put out other small fires, the place has emptied out. Even Perry and Carla are gone, leaving me with a vague memory of waving and promising I wouldn’t stay much longer. I can’t anyway, since Charlie is home alone until I make the 45-minute bus ride back to the Barrows.

My back, right between my shoulder blades, aches fiercely. I’ve always carried my stress there, and now there’s a big knot forming. I reach over my shoulder, trying to massage it out as I head back to my small office tucked away in the dressing room. I tell myself I just need a second to regroup. To breathe. To grab the notes I left in the dressing room and pretend I still know what I’m doing. But as I step inside, something stops me short.

A pristine white gift box centered perfectly on my desk. Not the cheap department store kind, but the type that speaks of designer labels and four-figure price tags. Gifts that men would lavish their favorite dancers with at the club. My steps slow as I approach, each fall of my steps against the floor suddenly too loud in the empty space.

I look around the small office and out the open doorway into the empty dressing room, as if suddenly I’d see someone in the shadows. Except I’m all too aware of how empty the building is.

My fingers hover over the thick satin ribbon before I steel myself and pull it loose. The box opens with a soft whisper that sounds like a warning. Inside, layers of tissue paper unfold to reveal something that steals my breath—a dress in deep burgundy silk that probably costs more than my monthly rent. Beneath it, wrapped in more tissue, is a matching lingerie set with delicate black lace trim. The kind of intimate apparel meant to be seen, to be removed slowly.

“The hell...” I breathe out.

The note sits on top, heavy cardstock in a familiar shade of blue. My hands shake as I pick it up, the words hitting me like ice water:

“I’m disappointed you didn’t appreciate the bracelet. I had thought you’d take it as a sign of how much I’ve grown to know you. Don’t ruin this gift by involving the vampire. It’s for you, not him.”

Bile rises in my throat. The beautiful dress suddenly feels poisonous, like touching it might burn my skin. Someone has been watching me. Learning me. And not just recently—they knew about the original bracelet, something only a handful of people were aware of.

My mind races to Malachi, but I know it isn’t him. He’s direct, almost brutal in his honesty. He wouldn’t play games like this. He didn’t give me the bracelet. Besides, the note specifically warns against involving him.

The security cameras. I need to check the feeds, figure out how someone got in here. But before I can move, the weight of it all crashes down—the violation, the implications, the fact that someone could get this close without anyone noticing. My legs give out and I sink into my chair, wrapping my arms around myself as if that could somehow ward off the chill seeping into my bones.

No. I refuse to fall apart. I am not some helpless victim for someone to toy with. I’ve spent too many years being strong for Charlie, building a life from nothing, to let some creep with expensive taste make me feel small.

But I also can’t ignore the warning signs. Working at the club taught me that some customers don’t understand boundaries, and don’t take rejection well. And this feels... different. More calculated. More personal.

I should tell Perry. Should probably tell Malachi too, given that this happened in his building. But the note’s warning nags at me. What if reporting it makes things worse? What if?—

Nope. Not going there. I quickly close the box and shove it into the bottom drawer of my desk. My hands are steady as I lock it, refusing to acknowledge the tremor in my chest. I can handle this. I have to handle this. There’s too much riding on the next few days to let myself unravel now.

But as I shove my notes and schedules into my bag, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Can’t ignore how the shadows in the corners seem deeper, how every unexpected sound makes my skin crawl. Tomorrow, I decide as I leave. Tomorrow I’ll throw away the dress and that will be that.

* * *

The apartment doorclicks shut behind me and I lean against it, finally letting out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding all day. The familiar scents of home—lavender candles, Charlie’s coconut shampoo, the lingering aroma of whatever she attempted to cook—wrap around me like a shield.

“Mom? That you?”

“No, I’m a kidnapper who stole your mom’s key,” I call back, managing to inject some humor into my voice. Charlie’s answering laugh floats down from upstairs.

“Well, in that case, there’s leftover mac and cheese in the fridge. The fancy kind with the bread crumbs on top.”

My heart squeezes. Of course she made my comfort food. Sometimes I swear this kid can read my mind.

I drop my purse and keys, toeing off my shoes before padding into the kitchen. Everything is exactly where it should be—Charlie’s homework spread across the table, dishes drying in the rack, the magnet collection on the fridge spelling out “DANCE LIKE EVERYONE’S WATCHING,” because my daughter thinks she’s hilarious.

It’s normal. Safe. Everything the rest of my day wasn’t.

I’m pulling out the leftovers when Charlie appears, already in her pajamas with her tablet tucked under one arm. “New episode of Married at First Sight dropped today,” she announces. “Want to watch while you eat?”

“Absolutely. Nothing soothes my soul like watching people ruin their lives in real time because they’re allergic to honest conversation.”

She grins and heads to the fridge, grabbing the lemonade and pouring two glasses for us. “But the drama!”

We settle into our usual spots on the couch, plates balanced on our laps as the show starts. I try to focus, to lose myself in the ridiculous drama of strangers who said ‘I do’ before ever meeting their spouse. Honestly, it’s one of our favorite shows, but my eyes keep drifting to the windows, checking the locks, scanning the shadows.

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