Chapter 08 / Happy Anniversary

December 15th, 15.002 La Paz, Ashveil Desert, Umbra [Vampire Continent] 19:00

The Red Moon had risen again. Fourteen months had passed since the last, though for some it felt like only yesterday. In La Paz, the Committee, the Triad and the school had spent weeks preparing, trying to shape the night into something understood rather than feared. To most outside these walls, the Red Moon was still demonized — a night of hunger, violence, and whispers of demons walking among the rest of the people. Here, it was taught as survival. As natural as eating, as inevitable as breath. Still, the tension was there. Doors closed earlier, class, training and shifts for vampires weren't mandatory and hearts beat a little faster as the bleeding light approached.

Dominique paced across the courtyard on the outsides of the Civil Wing, tie loose, sleeves rolled up and no jacket, a nervous energy sparking off her. The Red Moon hadn’t fully risen yet, but its glow already bled into the horizon, painting the city walls with a faint scarlet.

“Okay,” she said for maybe the fifth time, hands on her hips. “I want it to look like that day at the lake. You know the one — when she was talking about flowers for hours and we taught Risha how to braid his hair”.

“I looooOoved that day”, a tiny but loud voice stood up. 

“Uh, what are you doing here, pup?" she asked Risha as she petted his head. 

“He told me this was a lesson!” Risha pointed directly at Elon. 

Dominique’s throat tightened. She wasn’t used to saying the words out loud — I want to make her happy. So she didn’t. Instead, she crouched down, pointing to an empty patch of ground. “Make them here. Big ones. Not too colorful. She hates gaudy stuff.”

Risha was perched on a stone nearby, swinging his legs. He hadn’t even been part of the plan — Elon had dragged him along, insisting the kid should see how magic could be used for more than fire, wounds, or wards. Risha’s eyes were wide, glued to the shimmer of petals forming from nothing.

Elon stood a few steps away, calm as ever, hands already weaving threads of pale light into the air.

“Woooah,” the kid breathed, leaning so far forward Cloud had to nose him back into balance. “Magic is amazing”.

My job here’s done. Elon thought to himself and looked at Dominique, waiting for her final approval. 

Dominique glanced at him, torn between a smile and a huff. “Thank you so much.”

“OOoooOhhh.” Risha’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Is this a date?”

“Emm—” Dominique barked, face burning. “Not a— okay, yes, maybe. But not like that. It’s—” She tugged at her loose tie, groaning. 

Elon came back to look up from his work, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “It is a date. And we should leave them alone to enjoy it.”

Dominique froze, then shoved her hands in her skirt pockets, cheeks hot. He was right.

Slowly, the sand floor transformed. Petals shimmered, stems curled up from the ground, blossoms spread wide under the deepening red glow. It wasn’t perfect — some edges faded onto sand again where the magic thinned — but it looked like spring had cracked open in the desert.

Risha clapped, jumping to his feet. “It’s beautiful! She’s gonna love it!”

Dominique stared at the field, heart pounding in her chest. She rubbed at her neck, trying to mask the smile tugging at her lips. “...Yeah. I really hope so.”

21:00

By the time Eloise followed the location Dominique sent over a text message to the edge of the Civil Quarter, night had already fallen. The desert stretched black and endless, but in the middle of it, a small miracle bloomed — a patch of wildflowers, glowing under the Red Moon.

Dominique sat cross-legged in the center, jacket tossed aside, hair a mess from running back and forth. A picnic spread was set clumsily on a blanket: bread, fruit, a bottle of something she probably stole from Jeda’s stash.

When Eloise stepped closer, Dominique scrambled up too fast, nearly tripping over herself. “Hey. You came.”

Eloise smiled, soft and genuine. “Of course I did.” Her eyes swept the field, widening. “Domi… what is this?”

Dominique rubbed at the back of her neck, suddenly shy in a way that never happened in gatherings or political meetings. “I just— remember last year and how much we traveled together? When it was just the two of us? Well… not just the two of us, but we had a lot of time just the two of us. You’d talk about flowers, and plants, and I’d pretend I cared but really I just liked listening to you while doing your hair and— demons, I'm talking a lot.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I thought you’d like this.”

Eloise’s chest tightened. “I love it...” I mean, I love you, is it too much to say that now? Oh, Spirits, she looks so beautiful. I didn’t bring anything. I feel so nervous, what if she—

Before Eloise could keep going deeper in her thoughts, Dominique grabbed her and put her down. They sat together on the blanket, picking at food, their words tumbling out in fits and pauses. They talked about how much everything had changed — La Paz, the group, Risha growing so fast, and the endless noise of shared lives. How little time they’d had alone since the beginning, and how strange it felt to have a pocket of quiet for once.

Dominique shifted closer, her hand brushing Eloise’s without pulling away. Eloise leaned in, and the kiss came as natural as breathing.

When they parted, Eloise’s eyes glinted red with the rising moon. Her voice was softer, almost trembling. “Domi… I’m ready.”

Dominique stilled. “Are you sure? I know it didn’t hurt the first time, but that doesn't mean that this time—”

Eloise shushed her with her fingers. She nodded. No hesitation.

Dominique bent forward, her lips grazing Eloise’s skin before her fangs sank in — the same place as last time, just above her breast, where the pulse was strongest. She remembered Eloise telling her it hadn’t hurt there, only burned in a way she liked.

Eloise gasped. The sharp sting flared, then unraveled into heat spreading through her chest, down her arms, curling low in her stomach. She clutched at Dominique’s shoulders, her head tipping back.

It’s happening again. That warmth, that rush. Like fire without pain. Like flying without leaving the ground. How can something so sharp feel this good?

Her breath came fast, heart hammering. Every nerve seemed alive, every inch of skin aware of Dominique’s closeness, the press of her lips, the pull of her fangs. It was intoxicating — and terrifying, because she wanted it to last.

When Dominique finally pulled back, Eloise’s breath was unsteady, her cheeks flushed, eyes still half-lidded. Her voice came quiet, almost playful but carrying a weight beneath it. “More.”

Dominique blinked. “More?”

Eloise’s gaze held hers, steady now. “Not just this. I want… more of you. All of you.”

Dominique’s heart lurched, panic and joy crashing in the same beat. She almost laughed, almost said something dumb, but what came out was blurted and earnest: “Does that mean— do you want to be my girlfriend? Officially?”

For a heartbeat, Eloise just stared — then she laughed, not mocking but warm, so warm it almost undid Dominique. She hadn’t meant that kind of “more,” but it worked just as well. “Yes. Yes, Domi. I do.”

Dominique’s grin stretched so wide it hurt. She pulled Eloise into her arms again, the flowers swaying around them under the blood-red glow while they kissed again, and again, and again. 

♥︎

19:30

“Thanks, really, now go before Eloise sees you here!” — Elon turned, ready to shepherd Risha back toward the Civil Quarter.

But the boy hesitated, rocking on his heels. “Oh, sorry, I need to run!”

“Uh?” Elon’s hand shot out, catching the back of his collar. “Where?” His voice was calm, but iron lay beneath it. This isn’t a night to be wandering.

Risha twisted, wide-eyed but not guilty. “Umh– Reno… well, he’s sad. He said the Red Moon is the worst. I tried asking why but he punched me. So we all promised we’d stay with him. Haru, Nima, even Zev. We’re meeting in the square.”

This is indeed the worst night. Elon thought to himself, but was pretty sure that his reasons were very different from Reno’s. 

Elon’s jaw tightened. “The square isn’t a playground tonight.”

“OooOh. But it’s safe! They already explained how it works at school. And everyone’s walking around, and it’s right there.” Risha pointed toward the square with both arms. “We’ll stay together, I promise. And…” he lifted his chin, stubborn as always, “…I’ll be in the dining hall at ten. Tops. I swear.”

For a moment, Elon only stared at him, the sharp protest forming in his throat. But then he caught the earnestness in the boy’s eyes, the pull of loyalty stronger than fear.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered, too low for the kid to even listen, finally letting go of the collar. “I’ll be waiting for you to have dinner, nine-thirty. Understood?”

“Yes, byeeee!” Risha beamed, already bolting toward the Civil Quarter’s main square before Elon could add anything else.

Elon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Parenthood by blackmail and promises. Blessings, help me. Also, where is she? I haven’t properly seen her in the last month. 

♥︎

Five kids had claimed the square like it was their fortress.

Risha arrived last, breathless, his hair all messy as always. Haru sat cross-legged on a bench, carefully folding paper scraps into little boats, trying to teach the rest but not succeeding. Nima hovered close, knees tucked under her chin, watching quietly but with a small smile that hadn’t been there months ago. Zevran leaned against a lamp post, arms crossed, already glaring at Reno.

Because Reno — bandaged elbow, another elbow, not the same from last time, t-shirt stained, eyes bright — had decided the hammock in the center was his throne. He swung on it wildly, legs kicking, daring the ropes to snap.

“Finally!” Reno yelled when Risha came running. “I thought you were ditching me.”

“I would NEVER,” Risha protested, dropping beside Haru, very close, and nearly knocking over his boats. He grinned sheepishly, hugging Haru in apology.

“You’re always running and running late,” Zevran said flatly, but his glare was aimed at Reno. “And you’re going to break that hammock.”

“Jealous because you can’t balance like me?” Reno swung harder, almost flipping.

“It doesn’t count if you use that power of yours,” Zevran muttered.

“I believe it counts,” Haru said softly, picking up one of the fallen boats. “If you were a vampire, and had a special ability, you would use it… right?”

Zevran just made a noise. 

Nima giggled quietly. It was the kind of laugh she hadn’t let slip back in February, when they met, the kind that made Risha beam proudly like he’d earned it.

For a while, it was all noise and chaos: Reno shouting challenges, Risha trying to mimic him and falling flat, Haru rescuing what was left of his paper fleet, Zevran scolding everyone but joining the dare anyway, Nima quietly steadying the hammock ropes before someone cracked their skull.

And then, the daylight went away, and the Red Moon rose.

It burned higher in the sky, casting its light over the square. The noise around them dimmed — families retreating indoors, voices quieter, older vampires already shuttered behind their doors. The kids felt it too, though in different ways.

Reno stopped swinging. He stared up at the sky, grin faltering for once. His legs dangled, and he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“...I hate this night.” His voice was sharper than usual, but it cracked at the edges.

Risha tilted his head. “Why?” He closed his eyes and stayed still, ready to be punched again. But Risha was curious and very, very stubborn.

“Because I should be with my parents. I was always with my parents." Reno’s words were blunt, but his shoulders hunched. “That’s what this night is for. And I’m not. And I never will be again. They took them away”.

Silence pressed for a moment. Zevran looked away, awkward, as if shame burned in his chest for poking at Reno earlier. Haru set down his last paper boat and scooted closer, sitting down next to Reno’s hammock.

Risha leaned forward, touchy as ever, resting his head on Reno’s shoulder. “Then you’ll be with us. We’re your family too.”

Reno swallowed, fists curling against the chains. His red eyes flicked to Nima, then to Haru, then finally back to Risha. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Risha said instantly, as if it wasn’t even a question. “I remember when I lost my family… I don’t know what happened to yours, but I’m here whenever you want to talk.” Risha mimicked the same words Elon and Sukira said to him when he wasn’t ready to let the pain out. He remembered how good it felt, and he wanted the same thing for his friend. 

Haru, who already knew about Reno’s story, just shared a glance with the little vampire, one that was encouraging and warm. 

Nima’s small voice followed, steadier now than it had been months ago. “Me too.”

Zevran shifted uncomfortably, then sighed. “Fine. Sure. We all lost people, so we understand.”

After hearing him, the corner of Reno’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. His leg swung again, softer this time, Risha moved to the side. “Then prove it. Someone let me bite them.”

The square erupted with noise all over:

“I’ll do it,” Nima said first. Her hands were still folded in her lap, voice louder than ever, steady. “I don’t feel pain, not even a bit.” Her words hung oddly heavy, and for a second her brother glanced at her sharply, but she didn’t take them back.

“That’s weird…,” Reno muttered, blinking at her. But there was something like awe in his tone.

“No, I’ll do it,” Haru added quickly, voice gentler. His long sleeves slid down his wrists as he shifted closer the two hammocks. “I know it’s your first Red Moon without them. You shouldn’t feel alone tonight.” His smile was warm, patient, the kind that always seemed to balance out Reno’s fire.

Risha straightened, puffing his chest like he was braver than he felt. “I’ll do it too! Because—because I’m not scared!” He paused, grimaced, then admitted, “Okay, I hate pain. But I’ll do it anyway. I don’t mind. I can be brave.”

“You’ll cry your heart out,” Reno said flatly, grabbing Risha by his shirt, a smile coming through.

“Maybe a bit but I always cry, get used to it!!” Risha shot back, though his voice cracked halfway.

Zevran groaned and finally stepped forward, as if he couldn’t stand another second of the chaos. “All of you are ridiculous. It should be me. I’m the strongest. I can take it.”

“Strongest at what??” Reno shot back, eyes sparking.

“Stronger at everything.”

The others laughed, even Nima. The tension broke just enough.

Reno hopped down from the hammock, landing light despite the weight of the night, gravity control as its finest. He glanced at all of them — Nima’s too-serious eyes, Haru’s calm smile, Risha practically vibrating with nervous courage, Zevran glaring like he’d already won an argument no one else was having.

And then Reno grinned, sharp and mischievous again. “...Then I’ll bite the strongest.”

Before Zevran could protest, Reno grabbed his arm and sank his fangs in, quick and sure.

Zevran hissed, more in surprise than pain, his free hand clenching into a fist. “You little—”

But Reno pulled back already, wiping his mouth with his t-shirt, grinning wide and defiant. “And?”

“It actually… never mind.” Zevran walked towards the water fountain to clean the running blood. It felt… nice?  

“Okay, next time it's me!!! We will take turns”. Risha barked.

“It seems he managed just fine,” Axis said, exhaling smoke into the night. He stood beside Ryn, both of them half-hidden in the shadow of a light pole with a broken bulb, watching the chaos unravel in the square, a few meters away from them.

Ryn’s eyes didn’t move from her little brother. Her voice was flat, almost cold, but her grip on the cigarette was too tight. “He didn’t manage at all. It was all of his friends doing.”

“Not the worst thing in the world,” Axis replied evenly. “Better to stumble with friends than stand tall alone.”

A third voice cut in. “Speaking like a philosopher, but you’re still letting a bunch of kids play blood roulette under the Red Moon.”

Blood roulette was a real game. Not legend—back-alley tradition. Kids in Umbra’s low streets (and the rich brats who wanted to feel feral for a moment) played it all the time. Rules were baby-simple: tag, but you bite instead of touch. No feeding, no deep digs—two dots and run.

Sami strolled up, hands in the pockets of her oversized hoodie, which meant she was out of duty, expression both amused and scolding. 

“Where are you heading?” Axis asked her. 

“Dinner hall. Need to grab food and take it back to the lab before Tech faints from starving.”

“Working even after hours.” Axis flicked his cigarette away. “Wait. They’ll be hungry too.” He jerked his chin toward the square, and with a whistle he called the pack of kids a few meters in front of them.

Minutes later, a strange little parade left the square: five kids orbiting around Axis, Sami, and Ryn trailing like a reluctant guard. Reno kept hopping ahead, Zevran muttered threats under his breath but didn’t actually walk away; Haru tried to mediate them all, arms full of paper boats; Nima stuck close to Risha, who chattered nonstop as always.

Their questions spilled out before they even reached the hall.

“Is it true half-vampires don’t need blood, but they still want it?” “What will happen now to Zev? Will he become a vampire?” “Why do some vampires bite like it’s nothing, and others—like Sukira—never do?” “Psss. What happened to Reno’s dad and mom?” That one came out almost as a whisper. “Do the old vampires really believe names are more powerful than blood?”

Each question cut deeper, childish curiosity turning into little blades of truth. Axis answered some of the questions curtly, factually, while Sami filled the silence with softer edges, turning sharp lore into something the kids could chew on. Ryn said nothing, but her eyes flickered with the question about their family.

By the time the group reached the dining hall, the square’s chaos had softened into something heavier.

Elon was already there, waiting. He caught Risha’s wrist the moment the boy tried to bolt again.

Sami snatched a tray of sandwiches, waving lazily at the rest. “Good luck wrangling this circus. I’ve got a mad scientist to feed.” With that, she slipped out, straight toward the research wing.

♥︎

21:30

The lab lights were still blazing when Sami pushed the door open with her hip, a tray of sandwiches balanced in her hands. Boots on, but drowning in loose black joggers and a white oversized undershirt and a hoodie, her hair tied back in a messy knot that barely held. 

Tech, of course, looked exactly the same as he had at breakfast. Crisp white shirt, tie straight, black trousers and loafers, long white coat flaring when he shifted between tables. The only difference was his hair — swept back, strands pinned with binder clips with an absent precision, like he’d gotten annoyed with it falling in his face and shoved it away without looking in a mirror.

Sami squinted at him, setting the tray down with a thud. “Are you even mortal?”

He blinked, distracted by the half-finished schematics scattered across the table. “What?”

“You always look the same,” she said, dragging out each word with mock seriousness. “Same shirt, same pants, same coat. You don’t sleep, you barely eat… I’d bet my life you don’t even drink blood on Red Moons.”

That made him pause, his hand tightening slightly on the pen in his fingers. His voice came flat, even. “I don’t.”

Her brows shot up. “No way. For real? And here I thought Sukira was the only freak in the building.”

“I do drink,” he corrected, the words sharp but quiet. “But I’m not a savage that bites others.”

Sami leaned forward, propping her elbows on the desk, face close enough to invade his carefully kept distance. “That's so? Tell me more.”

Tech exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed she’d hit the nerve he usually kept buried. His eyes darted briefly to her, then back to the notes. “This thing—” he gestured vaguely toward the windows, toward the Red Moon burning high outside, “—I’m not letting anyone else’s blood in my system. Never.”

System. You mean your body. Sami tilted her head, watching him with the kind of grin that said she wasn’t letting this go so easily. “Never? Not even when you were a kid? What, did you come out of the womb with a lab coat and a syringe?” She pointed out his current look. 

Tech bristled, his jaw ticking. He hated how she could make him react with just a line. “When I was a baby, of course I did. But when I was a child,” he said finally, clipped, “our parents were absent. They left servants to handle it. I refused."

Normally, the Red Moon was the first lesson of intimacy for vampire families. Babies and children were fed by their parents, not only for survival but as a ritual of safety: to bite without fear, to understand hunger without shame. A parent’s wrist or shoulder became the safest classroom a young vampire could have. It shaped the bond that made the craving bearable in later years. Even Reno, reckless as he was, carried the echo of that: his longing to be with his parents during this night wasn’t just nostalgia.

“Refused?” Her tone was mocking, but the curiosity underneath was real. “So what then? Starve yourself? I’m really not following you”.

“Ha. No, I used my brain. I prepared,” Tech snapped, then forced his voice back down, colder. “I learned to draw my own blood months in advance. Preserve it properly. When the Moon rose, I just drank my own.”

Sami blinked at him, genuinely startled. Then she barked out a laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “You mean to tell me… you’ve been your own blood bank all this time?”

“It’s efficient,” Tech muttered, adjusting the papers on the table like they suddenly required urgent alignment. “Controlled. Clean. No one else’s blood contaminating mine.”

Sami leaned back, arms crossed, still laughing. “You’re insane. Brilliant, maybe, but insane. Do you hear yourself? Everyone else is out there biting necks and getting messy, and you’re sitting in a corner sipping on vintage Tech.”

He shot her a glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. “At least I’m clean.”

“You are lonely,” Sami countered. She wasn’t smiling now, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “You ever think maybe it’s not contamination you’re avoiding? Maybe it’s just people.”

For a moment, Tech didn’t reply. His hand stilled on the table, fingers curling slightly, as if holding something invisible.

Then, voice low, he asked, “And if it is? People are stupid.”

Sami tilted her head, watching him. She was a Velmore girl — raised on scraps, streets, survival. No servants, no silken corridors, no one to shield her but herself. And here he was: an incredible mind locked in his own fortress, raised behind walls so high no one had ever dared climb them. He hadn’t learned to read faces or hands or warmth; his world had been calculations, trials… absence. She almost pitied him for it. Almost. And she thought, briefly, of Dominique too — Tech’s twin, who had survived in the same home by breaking the walls instead of building them higher.

“Yes, people are stupid.” Her smile was infuriatingly warm, her tone both gentle and merciless. “And so are you.” She said it like a fact, like patting his cheek while shoving a knife into his ribs.

His mouth opened, ready with a retort, but she leaned in before he could deliver it.

“You know what, though? You should test the difference. Compare. Call it… a case study.”

That made him pause. His pen stilled mid-scratch. “Like research?”

“Mm-hm. That’s the only language you understand, right?” she teased, grabbing one of the sandwiches she’d brought, tearing a bite like this was the most casual conversation in the world.

Tech’s chest tightened unexpectedly. A case study. Rational. Controlled. That meant she was offering. His mind stuttered over the thought, pulse rising, betraying him before he clamped it down.

But then Sami ruined it — or maybe saved it. “Oi, oi. Don’t flush, teenage genius. It's not a romantic or sexual invitation. Just science. I know you don’t care about the rest.”

Something inside him dipped, low and bitter, before he could stop it. His quickened pulse leveled out by reflex now. So that’s her read of me, he realized. Science is the only tongue I speak. She really meant that. Am I… disappointed? Really? he cursed himself, covering it by scribbling nonsense in the margins of his notes.

Lying to a vampire is almost impossible. Bodies betrayed — blood pounds faster, skin flushes, breath gets caught. A trained ear could hear the rhythm, a trained nose could smell the shift. Sukira, for example, was a master at it: she could taste a falsehood in the air the way others tasted salt on their tongue. Tech knew all of this, had studied it in others. What he hated now was realizing that Sami had read him just as easily.

He forced his voice flat. “Okay. You convinced me. For science.”

Sami grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Rather easy to convince you…” She kept teasing him. After all of these months of hard work and having to deal with his personality, she at least earned that. “Then let’s do it properly.”

That threw him again. He started rattling off facts, like he always did when nervous:

“Okay. I need to calculate the pressure I will apply, I don’t want to mark you. Also, it's a fact that hurts less in places with more flesh. Should avoid the main arteries, obviously. There are chemical interactions… adrenaline changes taste, so you should be relaxed. Yes, stay calm.” –Was he saying that to her or to himself?– “Historically, families taught their young to bite here—” He faltered as his own hand hovered vaguely over his chest, insinuating the breast area. Heat crept up his neck.

Before he could retreat into more theory, Sami tugged her t-shirt over her head in one smooth motion. She wore a plain bra, unbothered, practical. Then she plucked Tech’s lab coat right off him and shrugged it on, oversized over her shoulders.

“I didn’t hear a word you said. You talked too fast.” She tapped her chest with two fingers, casual as ever. “Here it hurts less. Plenty of meat. I know because of experience, but also science says so, right?” She blinked an eye at him, beet–red already. 

Tech hesitated only a fraction longer before leaning in. His fangs grazed skin — colder than he’d imagined, yet alive with heat underneath. 

The taste hit instantly. Warm, sharp, metallic, but layered with something else: adrenaline rushing, a sweet flavor coming from her blood. His body reacted before his brain could — every nerve lit, his pulse pounding like he’d been running for miles.

“Oh—” His voice broke around the word. He pulled back just enough to talk, his hand already scrabbling for the pen on the desk. “This—this is completely different. Taste receptors are— Demons, I can feel the chemical composition—” He wrote erratically in the margin of his notes, still half-latched, blood running down his lip. “Nothing like preserved samples. The freshness, the feeling, it’s—”

“Hey.” Sami’s laugh cracked through his ramble, shaky but amused. She tilted her head, exposing more skin as if daring him. “Take notes later.”

But Tech couldn’t stop himself. “There are endorphin spikes — mine and yours — creating feedback. It’s— it’s extraordinary. You’re warmer, my pulse is—”

“Tech.” Her voice dropped lower, grounding.

He blinked, realizing his mouth was still stained, his notes already smudged red. He swallowed hard, breath ragged. “It’s… amazing,” he admitted, so quietly it almost wasn’t there.

And that was when Sami’s hand curled around his shoulder, steadying herself as she leaned in — and bit him back.

The shock froze him. His pen clattered to the floor. The sting was sharp, quick, but the rush that followed nearly knocked him breathless. No calculations. No data. Just sensation.

He stiffened, instinct screaming to shove her back — but instead, his hands gripped the edge of the desk, holding on like the world had tilted.

“You—” His voice cracked, eyes wide, lips trembling between outrage and awe. “This was not—”

Sami pulled back with a grin, blood on her mouth, laughter bubbling in her chest. “Case study goes both ways, genius. You test me, I test you. Now you can take notes of what you felt both ways: biting and bitten.”

Among vampires, every feeding left a trace — not just in the blood but in the body itself. Some called it “chemical match,” the subtle interplay between predator and prey. Hormones, endorphins, and even fragments of the body’s resonance aligned, producing either harmony or rejection, and all the levels that could lie in between. 

In old scientific texts, this bond was catalogued as a practical matter: who could safely feed from whom, which families paired their children for first bites, which warriors shared blood before battle to heighten coordination. But hidden between the lines was a more romantic, folkloric truth: some matches hit deeper, a current so precise it felt almost fated.

Sami meant to start a conversation, yet he was miles away. She chose to leave, to let him process things alone—to sift through the data he’d gathered.

Tech’s pulse still thundered, his throat raw with the echo of the bite. A… perfect chemical match? The words from half-forgotten manuals scrolled across his mind, ones he’d mocked before. Yet now… He hated the feeling. That it felt this good. Did she feel it, too? When he finally raised his head to ask, he noticed he was the only one in the laboratory —she was gone.

♥︎

00:20

The night stretched past midnight, the Red Moon burning at its peak, painting the Citadel in a red vibrant light. Voices had dimmed across La Paz: shutters closed, families hidden away, soldiers restless in their barracks, a few vampires having their feeding moment scattered.

Sukira had chosen the rooftop of the Command Tower, still under construction. She was crouched near the edge, boots braced on raw concrete, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark, her back against the wall. From there, she could see the entire Citadel: the Civil Quarter quiet, the training yards deserted, even the school as dark as a sealed vault.

“Well, well,” his voice drifted up before he even stepped into the light. “I should’ve known you’d hide up here. Moon this pretty, you’d rather smoke than bite?”

She didn’t look back. “I don’t need your blood this time.” Her tone was flat, factual.

He sat down a few paces away, back against the same wall she leaned on, stretching his legs out lazily. They were both in their pajama sort of outfits. 

“That’s the thing I’ll never get. Every single vampire in the world needs this feeding thing once in a while to exist, and you, what, too proud to join the party?”

“Imagine it would be that simple,” she muttered, flicking ash into the wind. “I just don’t want to depend on someone else to survive.”

He let out a low whistle, smoke curling from his lips. “Maybe that's just life. You can’t deal with everything alone.”

“And yet, up until now I’ve handled everything on my own just fine.” She put on the sunglasses she’d found in the pocket of her jacket in a mocking gesture. She looked at him, and he smiled at her. “Anyway, I hardly remember life before all this. Maybe I did back then, who knows.”

“Not even a bit?” 

“I have glimpses of, but I struggle understanding what’s real and what’s just my imagination, or memories others have implanted in me. The flower field where we met more than a year ago… Dominique told me we used to play there, and I didn’t have a single memory of it until she mentioned it… slowly some images came back. But are those real or just my mind playing a trick on myself?” 

Jeda touched with his fingertips the scar she left that day, right crossing his lips. “I love that you remember when we met”. He tried to light up the mood; he knew the conversation was getting too deep for her to feel comfortable. 

Silence stretched. Jeda studied her profile in the moonlight — sharp, stubborn, a wall no one could scale. And yet, she was here. Not running away, at least not now.

“Bite me, c’mon,” he said at last, a grin tipping into bravado as he turned to face her, pushing off the wall without coming any closer.

“No.” The refusal was immediate.

He tugged the collar of his t-shirt aside, revealing where scars and tattoos curved pale under the light—her own mark lost in a sea of ink. “You already did, remember? And you felt good”. 

“It felt good because I nearly died the day before”, she said, pointing out the obvious. She lost a ton of blood when she sacrificed herself for Elon. Recovering all that blood during the Red Moon must have felt like a big, energetic meal after a starvation period.  

“Details, details. But this can’t be undone, better get advantage of it”, Jeda added softly, showing Sukira’s mark on his neck, a tattoo, a heart made of thorns; a proof that certain things are permanent.

And some bites are forever, indeed. When a vampire feeds, it can be done by just biting the prey or… branding it. A lifelong bond between the bitten and the bitter. Sukira had marked Jeda during the last Red Moon, not out of desire, but strategy — a raw warning to keep Elon away from her. For Jeda, the pain had been excruciating, but he endured it as a demonstration of his devotion to her and her mission. But what had stayed was the fact of it: he carried her mark, permanent, undeniable. She can only be fed by his blood, from now until the end of one of their lives. 

In one smooth move, she crushed the cigarette under her boot and lunged, shoving him flat against the rooftop floor. Her knees pinned his sides, her hands gripping his t-shirt. Moonlight bled over them, her fangs brushing the skin of his neck.

The bite came swiftly. The taste of iron, the pull of heat, the rush of power — it ripped through him. And like last time, the sensation was vile and ecstatic all at once. His body arched, nails scraping against her back, a hiss tearing from his throat.

Sukira pulled back, sensually licking the blood dripping from her lips, grabbing him up along with her body with a strength that was amusing for her size. “I can see this feels like poison to you. Why do you insist?”

He was panting, sweat streaking his temples, but his grin remained. “I’m a masochist.” He caught her wrists where they were still fisted in his shirt, firm, forcing them a little closer. “I want you to keep needing me, even if it’s just like this.”

Her face twisted, unreadable. For a second, he thought she might soften. But she only leaned back, red eyes glowing when they had been full black until then. It lasted a second.

“What about your trip?” He asked, trying to bring her back. “To the Elunthar woods. Did you find anything?”

Her jaw clenched. “Nothing.”

“I imagined.” His grin sharpened, cruel but true, his eyes betrayed him with a pinch of bitter sadness. 

“How so? You didn’t have faith in me?” She mocked. 

“If you’d found anything, anything at all, your mission to find Elexi would already be moving forward somehow. You would’ve shared it with me, asked for help… but instead, you went straight to him.”

Her gaze snapped away, anger flickering in her chest. She shoved off him, standing in one sharp motion. “Go to hell, Jeda.”

He stayed where he was, sprawled on the rooftop, blood still drying on his neck, cigarette crushed in the dust. Watching her silhouette disappear after she voided herself out. Black and red dust lingering in the air. 

And when she was gone, his grin softened, eyes on the dark and tinted red sky. “Already there, sweetheart.”

♥︎

01:00

The dining hall glowed dim under red-filtered light that entered from the windows. Most families had shuttered themselves away, leaving only scattered groups behind.

At the long table in the center, some of the half-vampires had gathered — humans with silver hair, vampires with soft eyes, that middle ground that belonged to neither but carried the thirst all the same, only for this night. They shared bottles, traded jokes, some laughed too loudly, others sat stiff, enduring the itch under their skin. Ryn was there, her sword leaning against the wall, arms folded as she listened but never joined in, still wearing her messy uniform, even at this hour. Axis sat beside her, drink in hand, with the posture of someone who always seemed ready for duty, as always.

Lucius, the vampire representation from the Civil Triad, barked a laugh at something one of his fellow halves said, tattoos flashing as he poured another round; he clearly already had satisfied his need and decided to join the group just for the joy of the moment.

At a smaller corner table, apart from all of it, sat Elon, in a long-sleeve cotton shirt and gray pajama pants, his hair was messy and a bit humid still. He had a book open, cup of tea steaming quietly beside him, his expression was a bit uneasy for his usual poker face. The Red Moon didn’t burn in his blood, but something was unsettling him.

The doors opened, and Jeda strolled in like he owned the place — which, in his head, he probably did. A bottle of vodka dangled from his hand, two glasses clinking against it. He grabbed a chair from another table and dragged it across the floor, loud on purpose, before dropping himself down opposite Elon, straddling the seat with the backrest between them.

Elon looked up from his book, brows lifting in faint exasperation.

Jeda smirked, pouring vodka into both glasses. “Happy anniversary.”

One year ago, under another Red Moon, they’d sat together too. Back then, Elon had called him something Jeda hadn’t expected — a friend. It shouldn’t have meant much. But for Jeda, who spent his life laughing through walls he built, it cracked something open. That was the night he realized the weight of what he felt — not just for Sukira, but for Elon too. Complicated, inconvenient, but there, all the same.

Elon closed the book slowly, eyes narrowing. “Don’t get emotional, that ain’t like you”

“It is now,” Jeda shot back, sliding one glass toward him. “One year since you tolerated me long enough to drink together. That’s friendship, Sunshine. Tradition, even. Love? I wish.”

Elon stared at the glass, then at him. “You’re insufferable.” But he didn’t push it away.

They drank.

Elon stared at Jeda in silence. A silence that wasn’t uncomfortable. It had edges — it always did — but it held. Jeda was not only used to it, but enjoyed it. 

But his big mouth was stronger than his will. Jeda tapped the rim of his glass. “So. The kid. How’s he doing with his new double-barreled last name? Still bragging about being half you, half her?”

Elon’s jaw softened, just slightly. “He’s proud.” His eyes flicked toward the window, where the Red Moon bled light into the room. “But he deserves it.”

“You’re doing good with him,” Jeda said, too casually. “Better than I expected, I must admit.”

Elon’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you even know about parenting?” His tone was rougher than he meant, like the words had struck him in a raw spot.

Jeda laughed, leaning back in his chair, used to Elon's bite. The irony was thick in his voice. “I don’t know shit about that. But—” he raised his glass, almost like a toast, “I grew up in a beautiful house. My parents? The best. They did a great job with me and my siblings. I had a happy childhood. And when I see Risha, I feel like he’s gonna have that too… despite everything that happened.”

Something softened in Elon’s face. Not much — but enough. A small, contained smile, the kind that vanished as quickly as it came. Still, Jeda noticed. A small victory.

Leaning forward, Jeda dropped his voice just enough. “And her?”

That earned him the knife-blade glare. Blue eyes cutting him clean in half.

Jeda grinned wider, sipping his vodka like it was worth the wound. “Touchy. Noted.” He let the burn slide down his throat, but he couldn’t help himself — he had to push harder. “No, wait. What’s going on between you two? I asked her, and she gave me the same look. I swear my soul tried to leave my body.”

“Ah, so you have been seeing her. Did she bite you again?” His face and the tone in his voice were empty, like one part of him expected that would never happen again. 

Jeda’s grin tilted. “Of course she did, and of course I have been seeing her. What kind of weird shitty question is that?” He sighed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

I haven’t been seeing her. 

Elon downed the rest of his vodka in one swallow. The glass hit the table harder than it should have.

“Calm down, blondie,” Jeda chuckled, though his tone carried more weight now. “Look. You are raising a child together. You have eternity ahead, and a deeper, very scary, connection than anyone else could dream of. And me?” He shrugged. “I’ve got, what? Twenty, thirty years left? Maybe less, the way I live.” He gestured between them — the cigarette in his hand, the half-empty bottle between them. 

He lifted the glass, showing it off with a half-smirk that didn’t reach Elon’s eyes. “So give me a break. And give her a break, too. You’re judging her all the fucking time. Even when she looks out for you.”

His grin faded, voice sharper now, truth cutting clean. “Think about it. She came back running — literally running — after that stupid mission of hers. Dripping blood and Spirit knows what else. Straight to your door. And she left your room in minutes. I’ll bet an eye that exit was completely your fault.”

How does he know all that?

That landed.

Elon’s fingers curled tight around his glass, though it was empty now. He wasn’t the type to stay quiet after a scolding — not with him, not with anyone. But there was something about Jeda’s blunt honesty that cut through the walls he built, every damn time.

“I don’t judge her,” Elon said finally, low, steady. His eyes locked on Jeda’s. “I’m just terrified of something happening to her. And that’s worse.”

“You should accept that things are going to keep happening to her. All the time.” He put more alcohol in both of the glasses. “You need to decide if you want to stay out of it or not.” 

“I told her she should stop looking for my help. I can’t see her at the edge of death again”. Elon admitted. 

So that’s what's going on between them.“How stupid of you.” Jeda shook his head, slowly. “And how do you feel now?” 

Elon didn’t reply; he just let out a sarcastic laugh and drank from his glass. 

They talked politics next, trading dry observations. Concordia, Elaris, Umbra — the same loops of power, rumors of Calamities, the same weight of waiting for something to blow off.

And then, Jeda dropped it like nothing. “You should move. Out of the single rooms.”

Elon blinked. “Why? Where?” For a moment, Elon thought Jeda was telling him to leave La Paz. 

“Because you’re not just a guest anymore, and you are not staff either, therefore, you won’t be moving to the Command Tower once it's ready.” He stopped and took a sip. “You and Risha should have one of the apartments. Not some borrowed quarters.”

“It sounds like a big step,” Elon said simply, as if that closed the matter.

“You are his fucking father already,” Jeda agreed, smirking. “Plus, I don’t see you leaving this place any time soon.”

Elon stared at him, long and silent, as though weighing the truth in those words.

Jeda only leaned back on the chair, spinning the glass between his fingers. “Consider it a gift. Or bait. Whatever works for you. Either works for me.”

With that, Jeda stood up and bowed mockingly, calling it a night. The dining hall was almost empty by that hour, the Red Moon already starting to leave, the night was reaching its end. 

“Hey, Jeda”, Elon called him out, the other man already at the doorframe. “Happy anniversary”. 

♥︎