When The Spotlight Turned
1422 Words
When the Spotlight Turned
ELENA spotted them easily.
Marcus and Tiara stood a few feet away, pressed too close, fingers interlocked, her head tilted toward his shoulder as though it belonged there. The sight no longer stabbed her heart the way it had minutes ago. Instead, a slow, wicked smirk curved Elena’s lips.
She walked toward them with deliberate elegance, every step measured, every sway intentional.
As she passed, she brushed her left arm lightly against Marcus’s hand– the one holding his drink. The glass tipped dangerously, red wine sloshing toward Tiara’s dress.
“Hey—!” Tiara gasped, jumping back.
Elena didn’t stop nor turn. She didn’t even spare them a glance.
Marcus felt the contact and spun around in a full circle, eyes searching wildly for the culprit. Tiara turned too.
“Hey!” he called out when he saw the retreating figure.
Elena didn’t answer. She kept walking.
Then recognition hit him like a slap.
“You?” Marcus blurted, disbelief lacing his voice. He turned to Tiara, who only shrugged, equally stunned.
They followed her.
Elena didn’t slow down until she reached the stage. A few heads turned as she climbed the stairs and stepped into the light, silver gown shimmering under the glow. She turned to face them, her aura looking all inch calm, radiant and untouchable.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Marcus demanded, breathless.
Elena smiled, a slow, composed and devastating smile.
“Well,” she said, her voice steady, “today I finally realized you are not worth even a second more of my life.”
Marcus burst into mocking laughter, bowing his head. Tiara joined him.
“And,” Elena continued, unfazed, “even though I can’t get back the years I f*****g wasted on you—” she slipped her wedding ring off her finger, holding it up for all to see, “I can give this back.”
She threw it. The ring hit Marcus’s chest and fell to the floor.
“Hey!” he snapped, recoiling. “Are you kidding me?”
Elena brushed her hair back gracefully.
“Tell me,” Marcus raged, “who needs you, huh?”
A presence shifted the air behind him.
“I do.”
The commanding voice was low and final. Marcus stiffened and turned to see Eamon stand there like a shadow made solid.
Fear drained Marcus’s face instantly. He took a step back.
“This is ridiculous,” he scoffed weakly, grabbing Tiara’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
They stormed off, Tiara shooting Elena a glare and Marcus flashing a crude middle finger over his shoulder. Elena only scoffed.
When they were gone, silence stretched between her and Eamon.
She stepped down from the stage slowly. Eamon moved toward her, his gaze openly admiring now, no attempt to hide it. The woman before him was everything, breathtaking, stunning, powerful, luminous, alive.
“Hi,” Elena said softly.
“Hi,” he replied, smiling. “You look… fantastic.”
“Thank you.”
“I would had offer you my hand,” he said lightly, “but I can’t touch you.”
“I thought of that,” she replied.
Curiosity flickered in his eyes as she opened her purse and pulled out silver-colored gloves. She slipped them on carefully, then held out her hand.
Eamon hesitated, then took it.
Nothing happened. No burn, no pain.
For the first time in over a century, touch felt… right.
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her palm. Elena’s breath caught. The connection was electric. It was new. It was dangerous, and undeniably good.
The music softened into something slower and richer, wrapping around them like silk.
“So,” Elena asked quietly, her fingers fidgeting at her side, “what do we do now?”
Eamon studied her face, the glow of the lights catching in his eyes.
“Whatever you want,” he said, his voice low, “and even more.”
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her features.
“Shall we?” he added, extending his hand. “A dance.”
Wow! Elena swallowed, then nodded.
She placed her left hand on his shoulder, tentative at first, while his right hand settled at her waist with an ease that made her breath hitch. They began to move, slow and fluid, bodies swaying in rhythm as though the music had been written for them alone.
Eamon felt it almost immediately, the tension in her shoulders, the stiffness in her steps. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper against her ear.
“Are you… really embarrassed to dance with me?”
She shook her head quickly.
“No, no. It's not that,” she said, forcing a small smile. “I just… I don’t like people staring at me.”
A faint smile curved his lips.
“Well,” he murmured, “we can fix that.”
Before she could ask what he meant, the world shifted. The crowd vanished.
The dance floor emptied in the blink of an eye, leaving only the two of them beneath the pulsing lights, the music echoing in a space suddenly intimate and vast.
Elena froze, her hands slipping from his shoulders as she gasped, eyes darting around in disbelief. Eamon’s brows furrowed instantly, worry flashing across his face.
“Oh— wow!” she laughed breathlessly, her shock melting into amazement. “I swear… I will never stop being amazed by your power.”
His expression softened.
“Then,” he whispered, “I will never stop amazing you.”
The music carried them again, and this time she moved freely, laughter bubbling from her lips as she leaned into him. As they danced, Eamon’s fingers brushed the edge of the silver glove on her left hand. He hesitated, watching her face for any sign of fear– then gently tugged it off.
Slowly and cautiously, he placed his bare hand against her skin.
Nothing happened at all. There was no burn and no pain. Only warmth.
Elena’s breath caught. Eamon stared at their joined hands in disbelief. Heart pounding, he reached for the other glove and removed it as well, his fingers tracing her arm.
Still nothing. They could touch.
A startled laugh escaped Elena, half joy, half disbelief. Eamon’s eyes darkened with something deeper, more like wonder, hunger and restraint.
Moments later, he snapped his fingers. A waiter appeared as if summoned from thin air, offering two flutes of champagne. They drank, laughed, and danced again, the night unfolding like a dream Elena never wanted to wake from.
For the first time in years, she felt seen. She felt valued. She felt desired.
But somewhere beneath the laughter, doubt stirred. Was this love? Could something this intense, this sudden, be real? Or was it only the magic of the night, the illusion of escape?
Then it happened.
A sharp sting pierced her finger as she brushed against something unseen. Elena winced, instinctively lifting her hand. A thin line of blood welled up.
The scent hit him instantly.
Eamon stiffened.
His breath hitched, his pupils dilating as his fangs slid into view. In a blur of motion, he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her gently but firmly against the wall, his body caging hers in. Hunger roared through him, raw and uncontrollable.
Elena gasped, her heart pounding as she stared into his eyes.
So this was it. He really was a monster. A vampire. And there was nothing like love with someone like him.
“You don’t have to take me by force, Eamon,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady.
He growled softly, eyes squeezed shut as if fighting himself.
“You can do it willingly,” she continued. “It doesn’t have to control you.”
His grip loosened slightly.
“I have had the best night of my life today,” she said, tears pricking her eyes. “Because of you. You made me see my worth. Ending it like this… it wouldn’t be nice.”
An awkward silence stretched.
Then his eyes opened, and his fangs retracted. His hand slipped from her throat, shaking with restraint. She saw the war raging inside him.
And then he did the last thing she expected.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
In the next second, he captured them with his own, kissing her fiercely, desperately, pouring every ounce of restraint, longing, and promise into that single, burning kiss.
- Writer
