The first week after waking up, Seraphina convinced herself she was handling immortality surprisingly well.

That illusion lasted exactly six days.

On the seventh night, she nearly attacked a medic for opening a bandage too close to her.

God.

The smell hit before she even saw the blood.

Warm.

Fresh.

Alive.

Her body reacted instantly.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

The hunger slammed through her hard enough her vision sharpened unnaturally while every sound in the safehouse suddenly faded behind the violent roaring instinct inside her chest.

Blood.

The thought arrived immediate and ugly.

Need it.

Seraphina backed into the hallway wall so fast the poor medic almost dropped the supply tray.

“Seraphina?”

Lucien appeared from the adjoining room before she even answered.

Of course he did.

He probably felt the panic through the bond the second it hit her.

The moment his eyes landed on her face, his expression changed.

Not fear.

Recognition.

God.

That somehow made it worse.

The medic looked between both of them nervously.

“I can leave—”

“Yes,” Seraphina said too quickly.

The woman vanished instantly.

Smart honestly.

Seraphina pressed both hands hard against her mouth after the door shut.

Her entire body shook.

Lucien stayed several feet away without approaching.

Always giving her room first.

“How bad?”

She hated that question because she heard the gentleness inside it.

Not judgment.

Never judgment.

“I wanted to bite her.”

The confession came muffled against her palms.

Silence settled briefly between them.

Then Lucien answered quietly:

“That happens.”

“No.” Seraphina looked up sharply. “You don’t understand. I didn’t just notice the blood. I wanted it.”

Lucien’s face softened painfully.

“I understand exactly.”

God.

Right.

Of course he did.

That realization landed like another fresh wound.

Because Lucien had lived with this for centuries.

Every day.

Every conversation.

Every moment near another living person.

Seraphina slid slowly down the hallway wall afterward until she sat on the floor with her knees pulled against her chest.

“I hate this.”

Lucien finally moved closer then.

Not touching her yet.

Just lowering himself beside her quietly against the opposite wall.

The safehouse around them remained mostly silent tonight. Rain tapped softly against distant windows while exhausted survivors slept in nearby rooms after weeks rebuilding what remained of Prague.

Normal sounds.

Ordinary sounds.

And underneath all of it—

heartbeats.

So many heartbeats.

God.

Seraphina squeezed her eyes shut hard.

“How do you live like this?”

Lucien leaned his head back lightly against the wall.

“You stop expecting the hunger disappearing.”

“That’s a terrible motivational speech.”

“It’s an honest one.”

Fair.

Seraphina laughed weakly despite herself.

Then immediately hated herself for that too.

Lucien noticed instantly.

“You don’t need feeling guilty for finding this difficult.”

“I almost lost control over a paper cut.”

“You didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

Lucien turned toward her fully then.

The hallway light caught faint traces of black veins still lingering beneath his skin from the corruption. They faded more every day now, but sometimes Seraphina still caught him staring too long at mirrors like part of him expected the monster returning eventually.

Maybe it never fully left either of them.

“I need you hearing this carefully,” he said quietly. “Wanting blood is not the same thing as wanting violence.”

Seraphina looked away.

“It felt violent.”

“Because you were raised believing hunger itself makes people monstrous.”

God.

The sentence hit hard.

Because yes.

Every lesson from the Order taught restraint through shame. Hunters spoke about vampires like creatures born wrong from the beginning, as though craving blood automatically erased morality entirely.

And now that craving lived inside her own body.

Seraphina rubbed both hands hard across her face.

“I keep thinking about how terrified I used to be of becoming like this.”

Lucien stayed quiet for several seconds afterward.

Then softly:

“And now?”

She swallowed hard.

“Now I’m terrified you spent centuries hating yourself this much.”

The expression on Lucien’s face nearly broke her apart.

God.

He looked away first this time.

Not dramatic.

Just tired.

Like he genuinely didn’t know what to do with kindness directed toward him without conditions attached anymore.

The hunger twisted again suddenly beneath Seraphina’s ribs.

Sharper this time.

Her body reacted immediately, senses locking onto the heartbeat inside Lucien’s chest before she consciously realized it happened.

Warm.

Steady.

Close.

No.

Seraphina jerked backward instantly.

Lucien noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Humiliation burned straight through her.

“Don’t.”

The word came out rough.

Lucien’s expression shifted immediately.

Not offended.

Worried.

“Seraphina—”

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

Silence.

God.

She hated how ashamed her voice sounded.

“I know.”

“And it sounds…” She stopped hard.

Lucien waited quietly.

“Good,” she admitted finally, horrified.

Something complicated crossed his face then.

Not fear.

Something sadder.

Understanding.

Lucien reached into his coat slowly afterward and pulled out a small silver flask.

He held it toward her carefully.

“Animal blood,” he explained softly. “It helps early on.”

Seraphina stared at the flask like it personally insulted her.

“You carry emergency blood around?”

Lucien looked genuinely confused.

“Yes?”

“Like all the time?”

“Seraphina.” He blinked once. “You’re a newborn vampire.”

God.

That word.

Newborn.

She groaned softly and dropped her forehead against her knees.

“This is humiliating.”

“You once stabbed me through the shoulder with a silver knife.”

“That felt emotionally different.”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of Lucien’s mouth.

“There she is.”

The warmth in his voice hurt worse than pity would have.

Because he sounded relieved hearing her complain normally again.

Seraphina took the flask reluctantly.

The scent hit instantly after opening it.

Not human.

Still blood.

The hunger surged hard enough her hands shook.

God.

Lucien pretended not noticing.

That was somehow the kindest part.

“You don’t have looking away,” she muttered bitterly.

“I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

Lucien glanced down the hallway innocently.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Despite everything, a laugh escaped her.

Small.

Embarrassed.

Still real.

The hunger remained painful, but somehow the panic loosened slightly around the edges.

Seraphina drank carefully.

Warmth spread through her body immediately afterward.

Not pleasure exactly.

Relief.

Like a headache easing after hours of pressure.

She hated how good it felt.

Lucien watched her quietly without judgment.

Just patience.

God.

“How many times did you go through this alone?” she asked softly.

Lucien leaned back against the wall again.

“A while ago, vampires weren’t especially kind to each other during transitions.”

The casualness of that sentence hurt her chest.

Seraphina lowered the flask slowly.

“You should’ve had someone.”

Lucien smiled faintly.

“I do now.”

The hallway fell quiet after that.

Rain continued tapping against the windows while the safehouse breathed softly around them through distant footsteps and sleeping heartbeats.

And for the first time since waking immortal—

Seraphina stopped feeling entirely monstrous sitting beside him.