BLOOD & RHYTHM

Chapter 8: Old Friends

I was playing when the door opened without a knock.

Alexander's hand shot up, signaling me to stop. The music died on my strings, and I looked toward the entrance of the music room with a strange mixture of curiosity and dread.

A man stood in the doorway.

He was beautiful—impossibly, dangerously beautiful. Golden hair that caught the firelight like spun sunlight. Eyes the color of amber, warm and cruel at once. A smile that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure. He wore white—immaculate, pristine white—that should have looked absurd in this room of shadows and ancient things.

It didn't. It looked like a challenge.

"Dorian." Alexander's voice was ice. "You weren't invited."

"Since when have I needed an invitation, old friend?" The man—Dorian—stepped into the room, his gaze sliding past Alexander like he was furniture. It landed on me, and his smile widened. "Ah. I see why you've been neglecting our little gatherings."

I gripped my bow tighter, suddenly aware of how small I must look to someone like him. How human. How breakable.

"Leave her out of this," Alexander said, rising from his chair. The movement was fluid, dangerous—I'd never seen him move like that before. Like a predator preparing to strike.

"Out of what?" Dorian circled the room, his eyes never leaving me. "We're just talking, aren't we, darling? Getting to know each other." He stopped before me, close enough that I could smell him—something expensive and old, like whiskey left too long in oak. "I'm Dorian. Alex and I go way back. Centuries, in fact."

"Luna." My voice came out steady, which surprised me. "I'm his—"

"His what?" Dorian's eyebrow arched. "His pet? His entertainment? His latest distraction?" A soft laugh. "Don't look so wounded, sweetheart. We all play that role eventually. The only question is how long you last before he gets bored."

"Enough." Alexander was there suddenly, between us, his back to me like a shield. "You will not speak to her. You will not look at her. You will leave. Now."

Dorian's smile didn't falter. "Still so possessive. I remember when you used to be fun, Alex. When you understood that humans were toys—beautiful, breakable toys meant to be enjoyed and discarded."

"I was a different person then."

"Were you?" Dorian circled Alexander now, and I watched the dynamic between them with growing unease. They moved like old enemies who knew each other's every weakness. Like wolves circling before the fight. "I think you're the same man you've always been. You just got better at lying to yourself."

"I'm warning you, Dorian—"

"Warning me what? You'll kill me?" Another laugh, this one colder. "We both know you can't. Not alone. Not without the Council's permission. And we both know what the Council thinks of your little... hobbies."

Alexander's hands curled into fists at his sides.

Dorian turned his attention back to me, stepping around Alexander with the confidence of someone who knew he couldn't be touched. "Tell me, Luna—is that your name? Luna?" He said it like a joke. "Has he told you about us? About what we used to do together, back when this city was young?"

"Don't listen to him," Alexander said.

"Oh, but she should. Knowledge is power, after all." Dorian leaned closer, and I forced myself not to flinch. "We were brothers once. Not by blood—by choice. We ruled this city together for a century. We took what we wanted, when we wanted. And what we wanted most was *them*." He gestured vaguely, encompassing all of humanity. "So sweet. So warm. So desperate to be noticed by creatures like us."

"You're lying."

"Am I? Ask him about Paris. Ask him about the opera singer whose blood we shared on a night much like this one. Ask him—"

Alexander moved.

I didn't see it happen—he was too fast. One moment he was standing a few feet away, the next he had Dorian pinned against the wall, one hand around his throat.

"You will leave," Alexander snarled, his voice barely human. "You will leave now, and you will never come near her again. Or I don't care what the Council says. I don't care about any of it. I will end you."

Dorian should have looked afraid. He didn't. He looked *pleased*.

"There you are," he murmured. "There's the man I used to know."

Alexander's grip tightened. Dorian's face began to pale—or paler, anyway, the blood draining from features that had never had much color to begin with.

"Alexander." I didn't know why I spoke. Didn't know what I intended. But my voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Don't."

He looked at me. His eyes were black again—completely black, no gray remaining. The hunger I'd seen before, but magnified. Twisted. Mixed with rage until they were inseparable.

"He deserves—"

"I know. But not like this. Not because of me."

For a long moment, we stared at each other across the room. I watched him fight for control, watched the black war with gray in his eyes, watched the monster battle the man.

The man won.

Alexander released Dorian so suddenly that the other vampire stumbled, catching himself against the wall. His hand went to his throat, rubbing the spot where Alexander's fingers had been.

"Well," Dorian said, his voice slightly hoarse. "That was illuminating."

"Get out."

Dorian straightened his jacket, adjusted his cuffs, smoothed his golden hair. All the casual movements of someone who had never truly been afraid.

"I'm going," he said. "But this isn't over, Alex. The Council knows about your little pet. They're watching. And when they decide she's a threat—" He shrugged. "Well. You know how they are."

He walked to the door, then paused, looking back at me.

One last smile. One last piece of poison.

"Ask him about Elena," he said. "Ask him what happened to the last human he loved."

Then he was gone.

The silence he left behind was worse than any words.

I sat frozen in my chair, the cello forgotten between my knees, the bow still gripped in my hand. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. My skin felt cold and hot at once.

Alexander didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, his back to me, his shoulders rigid with tension.

"Alexander." My voice came out small. "Who is Elena?"

He flinched. Actually flinched, as if the name was a physical blow.

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me." I stood, setting the cello aside carefully, giving myself something to do with my shaking hands. "You said you'd never lie to me. So don't start now."

Silence.

Then, quietly: "Elena was someone I loved. A long time ago."

"Loved how?"

"The way I—" He stopped. Turned to face me. His eyes were gray again, but haunted. So haunted. "The way I'm beginning to love you."

The words hit me like a wave. I'd known, I think. Felt it growing between us with every note I played, every look we shared, every moment of impossible connection. But hearing it—hearing him say it—was something else entirely.

"What happened to her?"

"Dorian happened." Alexander's voice was flat. Lifeless. "He was jealous. He told the Council. They decided she was a threat to our secrecy, our safety. They gave me a choice: turn her, or watch her die."

My blood ran cold. "Turn her? You mean—"

"Make her like me. Vampire. Immortal. Damned." He laughed, and the sound held no humor. "I refused. I couldn't do that to her—condemn her to this existence, this endless night, this hunger that never truly fades. So they killed her instead. And made me watch."

"Oh, Alexander." I crossed the room to him, not caring about danger, not caring about anything except the pain in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"They let me keep the body. Bury her properly. I think that was meant to be mercy." Another laugh, bitter and broken. "I visited her grave every night for a century. Talked to her. Told her about my day. Pretended she could hear me."

I reached him, put my hands on his chest, felt the cold that never warmed. "You're not going to lose me the same way."

"You don't know that. You can't promise that."

"I can promise I'll fight. I can promise I won't let them take me without a fight. I can promise—" I swallowed. "I can promise that whatever happens, I'm glad I met you. Glad I stayed. Glad I—"

I stopped. The words were too big. Too much.

But Alexander heard them anyway.

"Luna." His hands came up to cover mine, pressing them against his chest. "You should run. You should run so far and so fast that neither of us can ever find you. It's the only way to be safe."

"I know."

"Then why don't you?"

I looked up into those storm-gray eyes, so old and so young at once, so full of pain and hope and desperate, terrible love.

"Because running never saved anyone," I said. "And because—" I took a breath. "Because I think I'm falling in love with you too."

The words hung between us, fragile and terrifying and absolutely true.

For a long moment, Alexander didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't do anything except stare at me like I'd just handed him the sun.

Then he kissed me.

And this time, there was nothing careful about it.