Chapter 7 | The Weight of Accusations
1142 Words
Seraphine’s POV
Uncertainty coiled inside me like a serpent, venomous and relentless, as I stared at Lucian. The blood he consumed pulsed through him now—my blood. Not taken by force, not spilled in battle—but drunk. Willingly. And I couldn’t decide if it was an act of protection or a reckless rebellion. Was it for me? Or for the humans he clung to like a duty he didn’t choose?
He didn’t move. Didn’t shove me away. And that alone terrified me more than his touch ever could.
I yanked myself back, slamming into the bathroom door hard enough to rattle the hinges. A low hiss escaped me. Stupid move. Drawing attention like that could summon every werewolf in a ten-mile radius—especially the ones who worshipped the very blood he now carried. I might as well have lit a flare and screamed dinner's ready.
“Why?” I breathed, the word barely a whisper. “Why would you do something so... dangerous?”
My voice cracked with something raw and unspoken. There was a hunger gnawing at the edges of my control, clawing through the surface with every breath I took near him. My fangs ached. My throat burned. I wanted—no, needed—to taste that warmth again, to feel our bloods merge like a song only I could hear.
But I didn’t move. I held the line. Barely.
He just stood there, like a statue, lips sealed and unreadable. The silence wrapped around us like fog. His eyes—those damn eyes—looked straight through me, past my armor, into the mess of contradictions I fought so hard to bury. It felt like he saw the truth before I even knew how to speak it.
He saw me.
Not just the vampire.
Not just the predator.
Me.
And I hated that.
I didn’t come halfway across the world to be seen. I came to hide—to vanish beneath shadows, to start fresh in a place where no one knew that I was half-human. That I was weak. That I could feel.
But Lucian was stripping that away with a single look.
And I felt exposed.
I loathed that sensation. The memories rushed in—of being cast aside, stomped on, treated like something less than dirt. Of always being other. But this? This was worse. Because he wasn’t mocking me. He was trying to understand me.
And that? That made me want to scream.
I stepped closer, fists clenched at my sides. “Lucian,” I said, voice trembling, “why did you drink the blood?”
Please. Just give me a reason that made sense.
His exhale was slow, controlled, but there was a storm brewing behind his eyes. “To protect the human boy,” he said finally. “Jeff.”
He spoke the name like a curse.
His gaze darkened as his anger finally erupted, sharp and scorching. “Since the moment you arrived, everything’s been chaos. I don’t care what pretty story you’ve told yourself—vampires like you don’t belong here. You bring danger, darkness, death. If Jeff had drunk what was in that cup, would you have stopped him? Or would you have watched him choke on your corruption?”
The venom in his voice cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
I didn’t flinch, but the guilt bloomed hot in my chest.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I never meant for any of that to happen,” I said, quiet but firm. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
He scoffed, bitter. “Not yet.”
“I came here to get away,” I said. “To change.”
“Words,” he snapped. “Just words. I’ve seen what your kind can do. I’ve buried what’s left of their victims.”
The words hit harder than a stake to the heart.
He didn’t just hate vampires.
He feared them.
And somewhere along the way, that fear had become something else—something personal.
I didn’t ask what he'd lost. I didn’t need to.
Because I’d lost things, too. People. Pieces of myself.
I closed my eyes for half a heartbeat and when I opened them, my voice came softer. “I know I can’t erase my past. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve fought the darkness in me every single day just to keep breathing. But I’m trying, Lucian. Isn’t that worth something?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me, jaw clenched, like he couldn’t decide whether to believe me or burn me alive.
“And if you don’t trust me,” I added, “I don’t blame you.”
Because if I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either.
Not after what I’d done. Not after what I’d wanted to do.
I remembered the first time I saw him. That flash of blood in the air, so pure it made my knees weak. I chased it, broke every rule to taste just a drop. I trespassed on his land. I gave in to the hunger. And now here we were—standing in a bathroom with history dripping from our mouths like a secret we couldn’t swallow.
And despite everything, I still wanted him to see me as more than a monster.
Which made me just as foolish as the humans I used to mock.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” I whispered, eyes locked on his.
He blinked, confused.
“The blood,” I clarified. “You shouldn’t have drunk it.”
And before he could respond, I was gone—slipping out the bathroom door like a shadow chasing the night.
I walked back into class, heart pounding, senses still buzzing with the scent of him. Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire. And of course, every eye in the room turned the second I entered. Great. Exactly the kind of attention I didn’t need right now.
All I wanted was to sit down, blend in, pretend I wasn’t unraveling from the inside out.
But the universe? It clearly had other plans.
The door creaked open behind me.
My stomach dropped.
Lucian stepped in—tall, composed, the very picture of command.
No.
No. No. No.
“Unfortunately,” he said, voice smooth as poison, “your science teacher has fallen ill. I’ll be taking over this class... and math... for the next two weeks.”
A ripple of shock ran through the room. Someone cheered in the back. I sat frozen in my seat, fingers curled so tightly my nails bit into my palms.
I didn’t look at him.
I couldn’t.
Because I already knew.
The scent of his blood still called to me like a lullaby.
And now?
There would be no avoiding it.
No running.
No escape.
- Writer
