CRAVES

A SCENT THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST

The morning unfolded without urgency.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, warming the apartment little by little until the chill of the night quietly disappeared.

She woke to the familiar sound of birds gathering outside the window.

For a while, she remained still.

The dream she'd been having dissolved before she could catch it, leaving behind only the vague impression of dark eyes and rain.

A sigh escaped her.

She pushed the blanket aside and crossed the room barefoot,the wooden floors greeted her with it's usual coldness.

The tiny cut on her finger had already begun to close beneath the plaster.

She peeled it back to inspect it.

Hardly noticeable.

Satisfied, she reached for the medicine box.

A fresh plaster replaced the old one.

The kettle began to hum behind her.

Soon the apartment filled with the comforting scent of tea and toasted bread.

The little routines that stitched one ordinary day to the next.

Across the city...

Morning never truly reached Ravenwood Manor.

The curtains remained drawn despite the bright sky outside.

The corridors rested beneath golden candlelight instead of sunlight.

Silence drifted from room to room like a patient ghost.

Bryan stood alone before one of the tall windows in his study.

The heavy curtains had been pulled back only a few inches.

Enough for him to watch the rainwater still clinging to the gardens.

His untouched breakfast rested on a silver tray nearby.

A cup of black tea.

Fresh bread.

Fruit.

None of it interested him.

His thoughts kept wandering.

Not to the council.

Not to the reports waiting on his desk.

To a small apartment with uneven floorboards.

To the scent of ginger.

To laughter that had arrived unexpectedly and disappeared just as quietly.

His fingers absently turned the page of the borrowed novel.

He wasn't reading anymore.

The words blurred together.

A knock disturbed the silence.

Benedict entered carrying another stack of documents.

He stopped after only a few steps.

His eyes settled briefly on the breakfast tray.

Untouched.

Again.

Without a word, he exchanged the now-cold tea for a fresh cup.

Only after arranging everything exactly as before did he finally speak.

"The physician is waiting."

"He may continue waiting."

Benedict inclined his head.

"The council has requested another audience."

"They've already had one."

"They insist."

Bryan's gaze remained fixed beyond the glass.

"So do I."

The old butler accepted the answer with a quiet bow.

He turned to leave.

His hand reached the door.

Then paused.

"If I may..."

Bryan looked over his shoulder.

"You've been distracted."

The words hung gently in the room.

Not accusation.

Observation.

Silence followed.

Then...

"I have."

It wasn't denial.

Benedict almost smiled.

Almost.

"I've known you for three hundred and forty-one years."

His voice remained as calm as ever.

"You've forgotten meetings."

Bryan said nothing.

"You've ignored correspondence."

Silence.

"You've read the same page six times."

The novel remained open in Bryan's hand.

A small crease had formed where his thumb rested.

Benedict's gaze lingered there before returning to him.

"I don't believe the book is the reason."

Another silence.

Long enough for the fire to c***k softly inside the hearth.

Finally...

Bryan closed the novel.

The sound echoed quietly through the room.

Neither agreed.

Neither denied.

The old butler bowed once.

Then disappeared.

The door clicked shut.

Bryan remained alone.

His eyes drifted toward the desk.

Among polished pens and neatly arranged documents rested something that didn't belong.

A pale blue ribbon.

Folded with impossible care.

His fingers reached for it before he realized they had moved.

The fabric slipped lightly between them.

Weightless.

Ordinary.

He frowned.

Why had he kept it?

The logical answer came immediately.

To return it.

Yet...

Two days had passed.

It still hadn't left the drawer.

He folded it once more.

Placed it exactly where it had been.

Closed the drawer.

Then stepped away from the desk.

As though distance alone could answer a question he hadn't yet allowed himself to ask.

The afternoon drifted lazily over the city.

Sunlight settled on rooftops, warming brick walls still damp from yesterday's rain. The streets bustled with familiar rhythms. Shopkeepers arranged fresh flowers outside their stores. Schoolchildren hurried home with oversized backpacks bouncing against their shoulders.

She left the café just after three.

Not because her shift had ended.

Because the owner had noticed the bandage around her finger and insisted she take the rest of the day.

She hadn't argued.

A canvas shopping bag rested against her hip as she wandered through the open market.

Fresh vegetables.

Rice.

A loaf of bread.

Tea leaves.

The list in her hand had been folded so many times the corners had begun to tear.

She moved slowly from stall to stall, comparing prices before choosing anything.

Every coin mattered.

An elderly fruit seller greeted her with a warm smile.

She returned it just as easily.

The old woman quietly slipped two extra oranges into her bag while pretending not to notice.

She noticed anyway.

A grateful smile passed between them.

Neither mentioned it.

The afternoon sun slipped behind a passing cloud.

A cool breeze wandered through the market, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth.

She paused beside a flower stall.

Buckets overflowed with white lilies, roses, sunflowers and tiny purple lavender.

Her eyes settled on a single pot tucked away beneath the table.

A struggling jasmine plant.

Several leaves had yellowed.

The stem leaned slightly to one side.

Nobody else seemed interested.

She crouched beside it.

One finger gently lifted a drooping leaf.

"It just needs a little patience."

The florist looked up from arranging bouquets.

"You like difficult plants?"

A small smile touched her lips.

"They bloom beautifully when someone refuses to give up on them."

The florist studied her quietly.

Then named a price much lower than expected.

She looked surprised.

He simply shrugged.

"It'll probably survive with you."

A few minutes later...

The tiny jasmine rested carefully inside her shopping bag.

Its leaves swayed gently each time she walked.

Far above the crowded streets...

A pair of crimson eyes followed her.

The figure stood motionless atop the roof of an old cathedral.

Dark clothing merged almost perfectly with the stone gargoyles surrounding him.

His gaze never left the young woman below.

The little apartment.

The café.

The market.

For two days...

He had watched every step.

His lips curved slowly.

"So..."

The whisper vanished into the wind.

"...this is the human."

He leaned forward slightly.

Not enough to lose balance.

Enough to study her more carefully.

Ordinary heartbeat.

Ordinary breathing.

Ordinary life.

Nothing about her explained the impossible scent lingering around Bryan.

Nothing...

Except the memory of dried blood.

The smile disappeared.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

He stepped backward.

The shadows welcomed him immediately.

By the time another bird landed on the rooftop...

He was gone.

The evening settled softly across Ravenwood Manor.

Bryan wandered through the eastern gardens without destination.

The estate stretched endlessly beneath the fading sky.

Stone pathways wound between ancient hedges trimmed with impossible precision.

Black roses climbed marble arches.

A fountain murmured quietly somewhere ahead.

He rarely came here.

Not because he disliked the gardens.

Because he rarely had time to notice them.

Today...

He walked without purpose.

His hands remained behind his back.

His pace unhurried.

The gardeners bowed as he passed.

He acknowledged them with the slightest inclination of his head before continuing.

One of the older gardeners paused beside Benedict.

"I don't believe I've seen His Grace in the gardens this week."

Benedict watched Bryan disappear among the trees.

"Neither have I."

"He seems..."

The gardener searched for the right word.

"...quieter."

Benedict almost smiled.

"He has always been quiet."

"No."

The old gardener shook his head slowly.

"Not that kind of quiet."

Neither spoke again.

Some observations required no explanation.

Bryan stopped beside the fountain.

Water spilled endlessly from carved stone into the pool below.

He looked down.

His reflection stared back.

Perfectly still.

Perfectly composed.

A breeze stirred the surface.

The image fractured.

For a fleeting moment...

Another face seemed to appear beside his own.

Soft eyes.

A loose strand of hair escaping a ribbon.

The impression vanished as quickly as it had come.

He looked away.

The sound of footsteps approached over the gravel path.

Cassian.

He stopped several feet behind.

Neither interrupted the silence.

Finally...

"My Lord."

Bryan didn't turn.

Cassian continued carefully.

"There is... someone watching the city."

The breeze died.

The fountain suddenly sounded much louder.

Bryan's reflection became perfectly clear again.

His eyes slowly lifted from the water.

"Who?"

Cassian lowered his gaze.

"We haven't identified him."

The answer settled heavily between them.

That alone made it unusual.

Bryan turned from the fountain.

"You lost him."

"He never allowed us to find him."

The gravel shifted softly beneath Bryan's shoes as he resumed walking.

Cassian fell into step several paces behind.

The path curved through rows of ancient oak trees whose branches stretched across the evening sky like dark hands.

Somewhere overhead, a raven called once before taking flight.

Neither man spoke until they reached the stone bridge crossing the narrow stream that wound through the estate.

Bryan rested one hand against the weathered railing.

The water below moved quietly around smooth rocks, carrying fallen leaves downstream.

"He isn't watching the manor."

"No."

"The council."

"No."

"The territories."

Cassian shook his head.

"No."

A silence followed.

Bryan already knew the answer before it came.

"The human."

The words barely rose above the sound of the stream.

Cassian nodded once.

"Since yesterday morning."

Bryan's eyes remained fixed on the flowing water.

"What has he done?"

"Nothing."

"What has he said?"

"Nothing."

"What does he want?"

"We don't know."

The answer lingered longer than either of them liked.

Unknown intentions were often more dangerous than known enemies.

Bryan pushed himself away from the railing.

"Increase the watch."

Cassian hesitated.

A rare thing.

"Without revealing ourselves?"

"Yes."

"And if he approaches her?"

The evening breeze stirred the branches overhead.

One dry leaf drifted slowly onto the stream before disappearing beneath the bridge.

Bryan watched it until it vanished.

Only then did he answer.

"He won't."

Cassian studied him quietly.

The certainty in Bryan's voice carried no arrogance.

Only conviction.

"If you're wrong?"

Bryan continued walking.

His expression never changed.

"I'm not."

Night settled over Ravenwood Manor.

Candles flickered softly behind stained-glass windows.

Servants moved through silent corridors carrying silver trays and folded linen.

The manor returned to the rhythm it had followed for centuries.

Predictable.

Orderly.

Unchanging.

Bryan's study remained lit long after the rest of the west wing had grown dark.

Documents covered the desk.

Reports waited to be signed.

Letters from neighboring territories remained unopened.

The pen rested between his fingers.

Ink touched paper.

His signature stopped halfway through the page.

His eyes lifted toward the window.

Nothing stood outside.

Only darkness.

The strange feeling returned.

Faint.

Almost impossible to grasp.

Like hearing a familiar melody from another room.

It disappeared before he could identify it.

The unfinished signature remained where it was.

A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts.

Benedict entered carrying a fresh pot of tea.

He stopped beside the desk.

His eyes fell naturally upon the unfinished document.

Then the untouched dinner tray.

Then Bryan.

Nothing escaped him.

He poured the tea in silence.

Steam curled gently upward.

The old butler placed a small plate beside the cup.

Two ginger biscuits.

Bryan looked at them.

His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long.

Benedict noticed.

Of course he noticed.

"You've never requested biscuits before."

Bryan said nothing.

The old man waited.

When no answer came, he inclined his head.

"They were baked this afternoon."

He turned toward the door.

Before leaving, his eyes drifted once more toward the untouched plate.

The corners of his mouth softened almost imperceptibly.

Not quite a smile.

Recognition.

The door closed.

Bryan remained alone.

The biscuits sat beside his tea.

Perfectly ordinary.

He reached for one.

Paused.

A memory surfaced without invitation.

A small kitchen.

An empty cupboard.

A quiet apology offered with an embarrassed smile.

"I would've offered biscuits if I had any."

His fingers slowly withdrew.

The biscuit remained untouched.

He looked at it for a long moment before quietly pushing the plate aside.

Across the city...

The lights inside the apartment dimmed one by one.

She sat cross-legged on the floor beside the tiny jasmine plant.

A fresh pot rested nearby.

Dark soil covered her fingertips.

Carefully, almost tenderly, she loosened the roots before settling the fragile plant into its new home.

The stem leaned against her wrist.

"So dramatic."

A soft laugh escaped her.

"It isn't that bad."

She pressed the last handful of soil gently into place.

The leaves trembled beneath her touch.

Outside, the wind brushed against the windows.

She carried the little pot to the empty place on the windowsill.

Now all three sat together.

The basil.

The flowering plant.

The jasmine.

She stepped back.

A quiet satisfaction settled over the room.

Small things.

Simple things.

Enough to make the apartment feel alive.

She turned off the kitchen light.

The room slipped into darkness.

Neither she nor Bryan noticed that, somewhere beyond the sleeping city...

A pair of crimson eyes had found the apartment once again.