Page 41 of Vampire Soldier

The air between us tightens.

His grin softens. His eyes catch the faint city glow—still golden, but now rimmed in the faintest shade of red.

“Want to see the view too?” he asks, voice lower.

I shake my head, voice thin. “I’ll pass.”

Not because I’m afraid of heights.

But because looking too closely at him feels more dangerous.

Because every time he looks at me like that, like I matter, I remember how easily the ground can disappear from under you.

He chuckles—a low, almost amused sound—but there’s an edge to it now. Something that curls around my ribs and pulls tight.

He moves back inside, smooth as water, and Charlie trails after him, chattering about how tiny the streets look from above.

Only once she’s inside do I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

He ruffles her hair in passing, a small, casual gesture that lands heavier than it should. Then he seals the balcony closed with a soft hum of mechanical glass.

I look around, slower now.

The place is stunning. Expensive. Cold.

There’s no mess. No clutter. No framed pictures. No threadbare blankets thrown over the backs of chairs. No little piles of mail on the kitchen counter.

It’s safe here. I know that. I feel it.

But it isn’t home.

It’s impossible not to feel the gulf opening between us. Malachi’s life is marble floors and bulletproof glass and private elevators with names instead of numbers. My life is secondhand furniture, photos stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets, hand-me-down quilts on the beds.

I fought to build a life where Charlie would feel warm. Wanted. Safe.

Here, I feel like a piece of furniture that doesn’t match the set.

Malachi disappears upstairs with our bags, and his absence leaves a hollow in the room. The traitorous part of my brain whispers that it’s not the place that makes me feel safe, it’s him. I can’t handle that realization right now, so I bury it deep. I want to gather Charlie up in my arms and hold her until the world makes sense again. I’m the parent, though. It’s my job to make her feel comfortable, not the other way around.

Charlie spins in slow, sleepy circles by the window, her reflection ghosting across the glass. She clutches her narwhal to her chest, murmuring, “He has a movie theater in his living room.”

The absurdity makes a breath of sound escape my throat—almost a laugh.

“I wonder if he has to deal with an hour of previews when watching anything,” I say, moving toward her.

She tests the sectional couch with a cautious flop, then grins.

It’s a small thing, but seeing her smile—even here, even now—untwists something in my chest.

Malachi returns—jacket gone, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The button-up shirt fits him almost too well. He looks less like a vampire now and more like a man stepping into his own skin.

Charlie edges closer to me as he approaches. I slip an arm around her shoulders, feeling the small tremble still lingering under her skin.

“Your place is... huge,” Charlie mumbles.

I clear my throat, forcing a little more air into my lungs. “Malachi, we—I can’t thank you enough. You didn’t have to do all this.”

His response is immediate, smooth. “I wanted to.”

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