My heart is sinking, because this is starting to feel like an icy business contract. It isn’t how we came together, is it? Why should we do this now? And Haruka said he thinks we’re highly compatible—like magnets.

Jun doesn’t like ranked vampires, but am I really one? Even if I am by classification, am I by character? That’s what he takes issue with. Their toff manner and stiff way of thinking. But I’m not like that. Which is why he liked me to begin with.

Just as I’m telling myself to take deep breaths again, the doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone, and the only people I know have all been here in the past twenty-four hours (except for Sora, but she rang me this morning to check in—so kind). I stand, honestly happy to move away from the now forbidden object of my intense desire. When I open the door, I’m gobsmacked.

“You wanker. Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone?” Cyrus is standing there with a rolling suitcase beside him. His round, doe-like brown eyes are hostile.

Twenty-Five

Junichi

Someone rude and too loud for the present circumstance is at the front door. I crane my neck to lean over the back of the couch, looking toward the entry since it isn’t very far. A human man is there. He bumps shoulders with Jae, hard, as he passes him to enter the apartment.

“Cy—what the hell—”

“I have been ringing you every day since last Saturday, and you never pick up! What am I to do, Jae? You haven’t got any family except for your dad, and you’re stubborn as shit about making friends and asking for help. So what?”

“Dramatic,” Jae spits. “Christ—is Pippa here too?”

“No, she’s not, you tosser. Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I’m supposed to be your best mate.”

Clearly, this is Cyrus. Jae’s best friend and childhood crush. He told me all about him during one of our late-night phone calls while I was abroad—how confused he felt as a youth because of his feelings toward Cy.

Turns out he was a fucking vampire. We don’t label our sexuality like humans do. We are who we are, we like whomever we like. How painful to grow up not knowing who and what you actually are and what’s driving you—to be shamed, burdened and discouraged in exploring it. Humans really get it wrong.

When I stand and walk around the couch, Cyrus finally takes notice of me. He turns to face me, then draws back, his eyes wide. And wide eyes he has. They’re chocolate brown and shaped like oversized almonds. His skin tone is the same nutty color. He has short, silky ink-black hair, a very straight nose and a healthy shadow of a beard framing his thin lips.

Jae definitely has a type. And a sub-type—one level deeper than vampires. I realize I check two boxes for what he clearly likes.

“Who the hell are you?” Cyrus asks, his thick eyebrow raised. He and Jae are standing in front of me. They’re the exact same average-ish height, but one is warm vanilla while the other is caramel macchiato. Jae steps in between, exasperated.

“Cy, please. This is Junichi Takayama—Junichi, this is Cyrus Dayal.”

I smile. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard much about you.”

Cyrus sneers. “I wish I could bloody well say the same. You’re a vampire.”

“Correct.”

Cyrus shifts his gaze to Jae, focusing like a laser. “Christ, man—are you sleeping with him?”

“For God’s sake, Cyrus, please stop it, alright? Just calm down. You’re killing me here. Literally murdering me. Blood bath. All manner of forensic evidence.”

Jae’s typically airy English accent has suddenly become heavier, his words less rhotic and his vowels longer, with Cy’s appearance—as if he’s been curbing his speech pattern for us American-dialect speakers. As if we wouldn’t understand him in his natural state.

The loose cannon pauses, seemingly taking his friend into consideration for the first time since Jae opened the door. He inhales and exhales a deep breath before he reluctantly looks at me. “Sorry, mate.”

I raise my eyebrow and move around the two of them and toward the door. “It seems you both need some time to catch up. I’m going to the café down the street. Would either of you like anything?”

“No, thank you.” Jae sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose and lifting his glasses.

Cyrus lifts his chin, snide. “I’m good. Cheers.”

I nod politely before I make my exit. God. Cyrus is like a ball of fire and tension—essentially the last fucking thing we need right now. I’m already on edge about this entire ordeal, trying to be calm. To take ownership for the fire I’ve started.

What Haruka didn’t tell Jae is that he thinks my biting him was the trigger. I told him Jae has been fed from by other vampires before, but my bloodline quality is what makes this time different. Things have been tense between us since the moment I saw him almost two months ago, and the pull has only grown stronger the closer we become.

It scares the hell out of me.

It was one thing when I thought he was a special snowflake of a human. Knowing he’s like me—that he’s vampiric in nature and therefore capable of forming a bond—now it feels like I’m playing with matches in dry, dry brush. My entire lifestyle, everything I’ve built for myself, is being threatened. One wrong move and all of it goes up in smoke. I’ll be chained to him forever, without even knowing what kind of vampire he truly is.

Who will he become when his nature fully awakens? How much will he change? Is stiff, arrogant, ranked-vampire pride inherited within our blood, or is it learned? Nature or nurture? I can’t possibly know right now.

I like Jae. A lot. He’s hilarious and kind, intelligent, insightful and grounded… endearingly anxious, brazen and warm. Beautiful. If that wasn’t enough, he tastes amazing. I like him. But I can’t give up my freedom for him. Or anyone. Not forever.

Twenty-Six

Jae

“Tell me you’re not shagging him then.”

Cyrus is pacing back and forth in front of me. I’m sitting on my bed, my back pressed into the wall and my legs folded in a sort of Zen yoga position. It’s not helping me feel relaxed.

“Well?” He pauses, staring at me. Technically, I’m not sleeping with Junichi anymore. He just told me we can’t.

“I’m not,” I say simply.

Cyrus draws back. “So you haven’t? Ever?”

Well… that’s a different question, isn’t it? I dodge it.

“Will you please relax?” I ask. “Why have you come here to shout at me? Ever since I’ve moved here you’ve been completely unsupportive. Even before that, you make fun of my career and research, my sexuality—”

“I was just having a laugh with you about those things. Don’t be sensitive—”

“But it’s not funny, Cyrus.”

I hate it when people say, “Don’t be sensitive.” Such a twat thing to say. To me it reads, “Oh, don’t be an actual complex, living and breathing person with feelings, different experiences and perspectives than my own. Just accept that I’m an insensitive arsehole, will you?” People are horrid.

“That’s what I’m telling you,” I say. “You’ve been even more of a knobhead about me living here—but I always support you. In becoming a dentist, in getting engaged with Pippa… when you decided to do that fucking ‘juice cleanse’ for thirty days and you looked like a walking advert to help feed starving children.”

Cyrus folds his arms, pouting. “Prat.”

“Can you just be supportive of me—for once? Our lives… We’re changing. You’re getting married soon. I’m learning a lot about myself here, and it’s good for me. Can you please respect that and not scream at me all the time?”

Exhaling a heavy breath, Cyrus stalks toward me and climbs onto the bed. He sits beside me, facing me. His expression is sincere and relaxed for the first time since he’s stepped into my flat.

“I don’t mean to shout at you. I just… I miss you. You weren’t very busy back home, so I could see you or pop into your office anytime and bring you lunch—remember? The number twenty-six pad see ew with fried tofu and extra broccoli?”