Black Swan

𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓿𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽

The final guests of the Hartland Haunted Hotel tour were a group that consisted of a few couples, an older man, and some unruly teenagers. Three boys and two girls who all looked around the age of 19. They laughed loudly, snapped selfies in front of each haunted artifact, and made grotesque moaning sounds that echoed through the corridors. Selene's patience frayed with every obnoxious joke, every flash of a phone camera, every disrespectful mimicry of the tragic stories she took pride in telling.

She guided them toward the infamous Bridal Wing, pausing in front of the bloodstained corridor said to still echo Clarissa Fitzgerald's poor husband's screams. One of the boys threw his head back and released a high-pitched scream, meant to imitate the murdered man. The lights flickered rapidly.

"Oh my god, I think I summoned his ghost!" he laughed, high-fiving his friend.

Selene's voice sliced through the din. "That's enough, guys. Let's let everyone enjoy the tour." Her tone was flat, cold as the crypt air. The group quieted momentarily, then the laughter rose again.

"Please leave."

They blinked at her, unsure if she was serious, until she stepped back and waved to the hotel security guards who had been stationed at the hallway entrance. Two uniformed security guards strode forward with calm authority, their presence enough to scatter the teens like dandelion seeds. Muttering curse words and protestations about "freedom of expression," the teenagers were escorted out, their sneakers squeaking on the polished floors until the heavy oak door thudded shut behind them.

The silence that followed was almost spiritual.

Selene let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She gave a polite nod to the remaining guests, apologizing for the inconvenience and making a quick joke to settle the mood. The she brought the tour to the bottom of grand staircase where Theodore Hartland had once met his end. Her voice was steady, every detail delivered with practiced elegance, but her mind started to drift tiredly. She was ready to go home.

After her tour ended, she went to clock out. She slipped her phone into her pocket, using the flashlight to guide her steps as she left through the staff door. Her heels tapped against the worn pavement of the parking lot, the moon casting everything in a silver sheen. Spanish moss swayed from the trees like ghostly lace, and the iron gate creaked faintly in the distance.

Her tour badge still hung around her neck, swinging lightly as she walked toward her car.

Footsteps.

Soft, rhythmic. Behind her.

She froze.

She turned, expecting maybe a coworker, or one of the guests who had followed her out.

Nothing.

Only the glint of parked cars, the hum of the city muted beyond the cemetery gates. She exhaled, shaking her head at herself. The hotel had a way of playing tricks on your senses, especially if you were like her. Hopefully those kids weren't waiting out here to f**k with her.

She turned again to keep walking, only to crash into something or rather, someone.

A hard chest met her face, solid and firm, stopping her in her tracks. She stumbled back with a small gasp, and immediately, warm hands steadied her by the arms.

"Forgive me," said a velvet voice, low and gentle. "Didn't mean to startle you."

He stood tall, his figure bathed in a mix of the moonlight and the soft gold light from the lamppost overhead. Standing almost a foot over her with broad shoulders, he would've seemed intimidating. Blondish-brown hair tousled as if by a small gust of wind that made Selene shiver. Emerald eyes so green they shimmered like gems in sunlight. And there, just below his left eye, a single freckle, like a punctuation mark on a face that might've belonged to an angel.

He let go of her arms slowly, hands lingering as if reluctant.

"I'm so sorry to run into you like that, dear. I attended your tour."

Selene blinked, confused and momentarily dazed, "You did?" She would've remembered a face like that.

"Yes, I stayed near the back. I find the theatrics charming. Shame about the kids. A bunch of ingrates."

He smiled, lopsided and effortless with dimples to accentuate it.

"I'm glad. I mean, I–I'm glad you enjoyed it." She stepped back, a cautious smile curling her lips. Her fingers fumbled with her badge, sliding it off her neck.

He stepped forward, closing the gap again. "Would you ever consider doing a private tour?"

Selene's brows lifted. "I don't do private gigs."

"Oh, but this wouldn't be just any gig." He reached into his coat pocket and produced a black business card, ink shimmering red in the moonlight. "The Harrison Estate. Out near Bonaventure. We'd like to host a private evening tour. You would, of course, be compensated handsomely." His smile was easy and calming.

Her breath caught. There was something about him, his voice, his manner, his almost-too-perfect appearance. It unsettled her just a bit. But not in a frightening way. It was more... intoxicating.

She looked down at the card but didn't take it. "I don't think that's something I can do, my boss would kill me."

He tilted his head, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and something more intense, something primal. "A little competition never hurt," he murmured with a smirk.

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Most people," he continued closing in the gap, "Jump at the chance to take an opportunity of a lifetime."

Selene's heart beat faster, he was so close to her. Every instinct screamed at her to walk away. But she couldn't. She was rooted, staring into those green eyes, every hair on her arms standing on end.

From the hotel entrance, she saw a few coworkers stepping out, laughing among themselves, waving their goodbyes. The spell broke.

She turned her head for only a second. When she looked back...

He was gone.

Just like that. As if the night itself had swallowed him.

The card, however, lay at her feet.

Selene bent to pick it up, fingertips brushing its glossy surface. The name "Harrison" written in that dark red ink.

Her fingers trembled.

She clutched the card tightly, slipped it into her bag, and walked to her car without looking back.

That night, her dreams were thick with fog and music. A piano played somewhere in the distance, melancholic and soft. She stood in the middle of a ballroom she'd never seen before, its chandeliers glittering like icicles. And across the dance floor, in the shadows, stood the man from the parking lot.

He did not speak.

He only watched her.

His eyes glowing faintly.

And when she awoke—heart racing, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets—the card still rested on her nightstand, placed neatly beside her phone.

She hadn't taken it out of her bag.

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The old oak doors of the Harrison Estate groaned open as Lucas stepped inside, the silence of the mansion greeting him. His brother, Liam, was out doing god knows what, and he needed it that way for just a moment.

Going into is study, Lucas didn't bother turning on more than one light. He only needed the amber-glow from the fireplace and a single brass lamp on his desk casting a long shadow across the leather chairs and towering bookshelves of his study. He unbuttoned his black coat and threw it over the back of the chaise, then loosened the collar of his shirt with a sigh.

He crossed to the far cabinet, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew a dark leather-bound file—one he hadn't opened in weeks but could never seem to get rid of.

Selene Brooks & Malik Brooks.

The names were etched in elegant black ink on the cover. Just a job. Just another name on the council's long list of quiet eliminations. But Lucas had stalled for months.

He lowered himself into his chair, laying the file flat on the desk before flipping it open. Several pages slid out. Surveillance reports, ancestry charts, and hospital records. Any piece of information he could get his hands on. The vampire council was nothing if not thorough. Among the pages was a photograph, a candid shot of Selene walking out of the Savannah Hartland Hotel.

She was mid-step, her curls caught in the wind, her eyes fixed ahead as if searching for something beyond the frame. He stared longer than he should have, the way her lips curved even in seriousness, the quiet storm in her gaze.

He caught himself leaning closer.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath and shoved the photo back into the folder. But it was too late. That tight sensation in his chest, it was alien and unwelcome, but it was already taking it's place there. He had no business feeling this way. She was supposed to be a target. She was the daughter of traitors, and that made her and her brother traitors.

He reached into the drawer again and pulled out the yellowing newspaper clipping, the headline bold and unflinching:

"Local Couple Dies in Fiery Crash: Jackson and Seraphina Brooks, Philanthropists and Community Leaders."

Lucas leaned back in his chair, reading it for the thousandth time. The photo beside the article was of Selene's parents, their smiles radiant, arms around each other like nothing in the world could hurt them. They had no idea what they were walking into the night their car veered off the bridge. No clue their deaths were orchestrated. By him.

He and his brother were ordered by the southern quarter prince of Vampires to have the family eliminated. With the help of some poor fool, it was done, and he signed the order that marked their deaths. The council had been clear,"Eliminate the Brooks bloodline. Quietly. No suspicion."

Jackson and Seraphina had been defying vampire jurisdiction, and, worst of all, hiding something the council feared. Lucas was never told what. Only that the children had to go next.

Malik was always around people, and it was hard to take him out alone. And Selene... she was easy to watch but still somehow impossible to touch.

Every time Lucas tried to execute the final part of the plan, something in him hesitated. He had told himself it was logistics, that it would draw attention from the humans, that Liam could handle it—but deep down, he knew the truth.

Selene was beautiful. She looked like she could never harm a fly.

Lucas shoved the newspaper clipping away and stood abruptly, pacing to the tall window behind his desk. Outside, the estate stretched in shadow and moonlight. Fog was curling at the tree line like shadowed fingers.

He pressed a hand against the glass, cold seeping into his palm. If the council found out he'd delayed this long, that he'd even spoken to Selene, let alone touched her hand, they'd assume betrayal. And betrayal was punishable by staking or worse...meeting the sun.

Liam wouldn't hesitate to carry out the execution in his place. That made Lucas clench his jaw. The idea of him getting near Selene—of anyone else sinking their fangs into her—twisted something in Lucas's gut.

She wasn't his. She couldn't be. And yet...meeting her...finally talking to her made him want to talk to her more.

Lucas walked back to the desk and pulled the photograph of her out again. He stared at it for another beat, then slipped it back into the folder.

Tomorrow, he'd execute the order. Or maybe he wouldn't. He'd have to decide: finish what he started... or protect what he wasn't supposed to care about.

And that choice might get them both killed.