Get her a harem

Alice looked her mother in the eyes.

Alice swallowed.

“But Mom?” she said again.

Maria’s hands tightened faintly on her arms. “Yeah?”

Alice’s silver eyes glowed softly in the warm apartment light. Her fangs pressed against her lower lip as she searched for the least insane way to say what had just occurred to her.

“One girl isn’t going to be enough.”

Maria blinked.

Alice grimaced immediately. “That sounded bad.”

“It did,” Maria said carefully.

“No, I mean emotionally. Probably sexually but mostly emotionally.” Alice rubbed both hands over her face, then immediately regretted it when one pointed ear twitched under her fingers. “Nia has spent years turning me into the center of her entire world. That’s not a crush. That’s not even normal obsession. That is full religious architecture. She doesn’t need a girlfriend, Mom. She needs a whole support structure with benefits.”

Maria stared at her.

Then her mouth twitched.

Alice pointed at her. “Do not laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re thinking about laughing.”

“I am thinking many things.”

Alice groaned. “I’m serious.”

Maria’s amusement faded, not because the idea stopped sounding ridiculous, but because she recognized the look on Alice’s face. That stubborn, too focused, too young expression she got when she decided the world was awful and somebody had to do something about it.

“What are you saying?” Maria asked.

Alice took a breath.

“I think I’m going to build Nia a harem.”

The apartment went very still.

Below them, the bass line from the bar thumped faintly through the floorboards. Someone laughed downstairs. A glass clinked. Life continued, apparently indifferent to the fact that Alice had just said the single most insane sentence of her entire adult life.

Maria slowly sat down on the arm of the couch.

“Alice.”

“I know.”

“Baby.”

“I know.”

“That is not usually a healthy relationship.”

Alice threw both hands up. “Neither is divine matchmaking vampirism, but here we are.”

Maria pressed her lips together like she was physically holding back a dozen responses. Alice knew that face. It was the same one Maria wore whenever Alice said something so absurd that parenting and bartending instincts began fighting for control.

Alice paced once across the living room, boots scuffing against the old rug. “Look, I’m not talking about grabbing random girls and shoving them at her until something sticks. I’m not Dice. I have standards. I mean carefully. Properly. People who can handle intensity. People who actually like her. People she might actually like back if she gets her head out of the shrine room long enough to look at them.”

Maria’s expression shifted at that.

“The shrine room?”

Alice went very quiet.

Right.

Maria had not seen it.

Alice looked away first. “Yeah.”

Maria stood again, slower this time. “How bad?”

Alice laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “Bad enough.”

Maria’s face tightened.

Alice shook her head. “We’ll talk about that later. I can’t do that and this right now. But it made something very clear. Nia’s love for me is too concentrated. It’s all been compressed into one impossible point until it turned poisonous. If I just reject her and walk away, she breaks. If I give in, she gets worse. If you date her alone, she might just use you as a way to stay close to me, even if she doesn’t mean to.”

Maria flinched slightly.

Alice noticed and softened, but only a little.

“That’s why one person isn’t enough,” Alice said. “She needs other bonds. Real ones. Not replacements for me. Not substitutes. People who see her as Nia instead of as this tragic love bomb waiting to detonate. She needs to be wanted by more than one person for more than one reason.”

Maria stared at her daughter for a long moment.

Then, softly, she said, “You sound like a Paladin.”

Alice made a face. “Do not say that. I’m still grieving Necromancer.”

Maria smiled faintly despite herself. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

Alice took one more breath, then reached for the door.

Maria’s smile vanished. “You’re going down now?”

“Nia is downstairs.”

“Yes, and she is probably a wreck.”

“Exactly.”

“Alice, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Alice stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

No.

Absolutely not.

She was not ready. She was twenty years old, level one, newly Dhampir, freshly sworn to a goddess she had not planned to worship, still processing her mother’s pregnancy, still furious about Maria and Nia, still aching with guilt over Nell, still carrying the mental image of her own face pinned to Nia’s wall beneath the words my future wife.

Ready was not even visible from where Alice was standing.

But downstairs, Nia was waiting.

And if Alice waited too long, the silence would start doing the talking for her.

“No,” Alice said honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”

Maria crossed the room and caught her hand before she could open the door.

Alice looked back.

For a moment, Maria looked like she was going to say something motherly. Something like be careful, or let me handle it, or you do not have to carry this. Instead, she squeezed Alice’s hand once.

“I’m with you,” Maria said.

Alice’s throat tightened.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I know.”

Then she went downstairs.

The music grew louder with every step.

The Velvet Bottle wrapped around her again as she descended. Smoke. Jazz. Liquor. Laughter. The smell of fried food, perfume, old wood, sweat, and a hundred different kinds of trouble. Alice heard it all sharper now. Too sharp. The clink of ice in glasses. The murmur of a couple arguing quietly in a booth. A waitress laughing near the bar. Mako’s voice, low and frantic, trying very hard to sound like he was not panicking.

“Okay, so, breathing is good. We like breathing. Big fans of breathing in this family. Huge supporters of oxygen.”

Alice reached the bottom of the stairs.

Nia sat in the back booth.

Mako stood beside it, holding the pastry box like a shield.

Nia looked worse than Alice expected.

Not physically. Physically, she was still Nia. Tall, powerful, striking enough that half the bar was clearly pretending not to glance at her. White hair falling around her face, crimson eyes too bright in the dim light, rabbit ears lowered in a way that made her look wounded despite every dangerous line of her body. She sat too still, hands folded on the table with such careful restraint that Alice knew the wood would splinter if she lost control for even a second.

Her eyes snapped to Alice immediately.

Everything else in the room seemed to vanish from them.

Alice felt it.

She could feel the shape of Nia’s devotion from across the bar. Not through the system. Not as a skill. Just as a person standing under the weight of someone else’s entire world. Nia looked at her like nothing else existed. Like the Velvet Bottle could burn, the city could fall, the gods could die, and Nia would still only be waiting for Alice to tell her what to do.

Alice stopped moving.

For one awful second, she understood with perfect clarity that if she said the word, Nia would kill everyone in the room.

The thought chilled her so deeply that her hunger went quiet.

Mako saw her expression and followed her gaze back to Nia. His face tightened with something sad and familiar.

Nia stood halfway, then froze, like even that much movement might scare Alice away.

“Alice,” she said.

The bar did not go silent.

But Alice’s world did.

Maria came down behind her and stopped a few steps back.

Alice walked to the booth.

Mako shifted aside immediately, still clutching the pastry box.

“I successfully guarded the pastries,” he whispered.

“Good job,” Alice murmured.

“I ate one carrot cake.”

“Mako.”

“It was for morale.”

Nia’s eyes moved over her face again, Hunger flashed there. Not just physical hunger. Worship. Awe. Pain. A fresh layer of obsession attaching itself to the new shape of Alice like ivy finding another wall.

Alice knew, right then, that gentle would not be enough.

She had to be kind.

But she could not be soft.

“Nia,” Alice said.

Nia’s breath caught. “I’m here.”

“I know.”

“I stayed.”

“I know.”

“You told me to, so I stayed.”

The words were so simple. So obedient. So wrong.

Alice’s hands curled at her sides.

“Nia, listen to me.”

Nia nodded immediately.

Alice hated this.

“This won’t work between us.”

Nia went pale.

Mako looked down.

Maria’s hand tightened on the stair rail behind them.

Nia shook her head once. “Alice.”

“No.” Alice’s voice sharpened before Nia could start. “You need to hear me. Not the version of me in your head. Me.”

Nia’s mouth closed.

Alice held her gaze. She did not look away, even when every survival instinct in her body wanted to retreat from the intensity staring back at her.

“I don’t love you like that,” Alice said. “I’m attracted to you. I’m not going to lie about that. You’re beautiful and powerful and terrifying in a way my body apparently has very stupid opinions about. But attraction is not love.”

Nia trembled.

Alice continued.

“I already have feelings for someone else.”

Nia’s eyes sharpened.

The air around the booth seemed to tighten.

Alice saw the thought form before Nia said it.

She stepped on it immediately.

“And killing them won’t change that.”

Nia froze.

Mako’s head snapped up.

Maria went very still.

Alice did not blink.

“I know you thought it,” Alice said quietly.

Nia’s lips parted.

No words came out.

Alice’s chest hurt so badly she almost had to stop, but she kept going.

“It won’t. If Nell died, I would not love you. I would grieve him. I would hate whoever took him from me. And if that person was you, Nia, there would be nothing left between us but fear.”

Nia looked like Alice had carved something out of her.

“I wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“I want to believe that.”

For a moment, the only sound between them was the music.

Nia slowly sank back into the booth seat.

Alice sat across from her.

Mako hovered awkwardly, then slid into the booth beside Nia after she made no move to stop him. Maria approached more slowly, but did not sit yet. Her presence changed Nia’s breathing.

Gods, this was impossible.

Nia looked at Alice with ****, fractured hope. “What do you want me to do?”

Alice exhaled.

There it was again.

The wrong question.

“What I want,” Alice said, “is for you to stop making me the answer to everything.”

Nia flinched.

Alice reached into her system panel and let the rose gold Matchmaker sigil shimmer faintly above her palm. A small blue rose bloomed around it, thorned and luminous.

“I chose Liliana’s oath,” Alice said. “I became a Matchmaker Paladin.”

Nia stared.

Mako leaned back and muttered, “Still sounds fake every time.”

Alice ignored him.

“I picked this path because of you,” Alice said.

Nia’s breath hitched hard enough that Alice saw the danger immediately.

So she continued before Nia could turn that into another chain.

“Not because I’m secretly choosing you. Not because I’m promising myself to you. Because you need more love than I can give you. More than any one person should be asked to give.”

Nia’s brow furrowed, confused and wounded.

Alice leaned forward.

“I am going to help you move past me.”

Nia shook her head. “I don’t want to move past you.”

“I know.”

“I want you.”

“I know.”

“You’re my whole world.”

“That’s the problem.”

Nia recoiled slightly.

Alice’s voice softened, but her eyes stayed firm.

“No one should be your whole world. Not me. Not anyone. Worlds are too heavy to put on one person. You need a life, Nia. You need friends. Family. Lovers, maybe. People who can hold different pieces of you so you stop trying to crush everything into one shape.”

Nia looked at her like she was speaking another language.

Alice almost laughed, because maybe she was.

Healthy emotional boundaries probably did sound like ancient magical theory to someone who had built a shrine.

“I tested the skill,” Alice admitted. “Not much. Just enough to know it works.”

Mako groaned. “Here we go.”

Alice shot him a look, then returned to Nia. “Jen has high compatibility with you.”

Nia blinked.

That actually got through the fog.

“Jen?”

“She chased you across half the city.”

“She was angry.”

“She is always angry,” Mako said.

Alice nodded. “But she was worried too. And the skill says there’s something there. Not simple. Not safe. But real enough to matter.”

Nia looked down at the table, processing that with visible difficulty.

Alice continued. “I also met someone at the mall. Jett Havoc.”

Mako lifted the pastry box slightly. “Rockstar. Vibes immaculate. Safety rating unclear.”

Nia looked up slowly. “You’re matchmaking me already?”

Alice held her gaze.

“Yes.”

Something dangerous flickered in Nia’s expression.

Hurt. Jealousy. Betrayal.

Alice raised a hand before it could grow teeth.

“Not to get rid of you,” Alice said. “To save you.”

Nia’s jaw tightened.

Alice leaned closer.

“One girl is not going to be enough to untangle this. Not Jen. Not Jett. Not my mom. Not anyone by herself. You have spent years pouring every feeling into me until it became something huge and starving. So I’m going to build you something bigger than your obsession.”

Mako went very still.

Maria’s eyes widened slightly.

Nia stared at Alice.

Alice took a deep breath.

“I’m going to get you a harem.”

The silence that followed was so complete Alice could hear someone at the bar drop an olive into a martini.

Mako slowly turned his head toward her.

“Alice.”

She held up one finger. “Do not.”

“Alice.”

“I said do not.”

“You cannot just announce you’re getting my sister a harem like you’re organizing a surprise birthday party.”

Alice did not look away from Nia. “I can if I’m right.”

Mako opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Looked at Maria.

Maria looked like she wanted a drink more than ever.

Nia’s expression was unreadable.

Not blank. Never blank. Too much moved behind her eyes. Confusion, longing, suspicion, anger, and something so fragile Alice almost did not want to name it.

Hope.

“You want me to love other people,” Nia said slowly.

“Yes.”

“Instead of you.”

Alice shook her head. “Not instead. Beyond. Around. Away from, eventually. I don’t know. I’m not pretending this is clean.”

Nia’s fingers dug into the table.

Alice noticed and kept her voice steady.

“You are allowed to love me,” she said. “I can’t stop that. I’m not going to tell you your feelings aren’t real. They are. That’s why this hurts. But you cannot live inside them forever. You cannot make them my responsibility. And you cannot build your entire future around someone who does not want to be your wife.”

Nia swallowed.

Nia looked down, and for the first time all night, she seemed smaller than she was.

“What if I can’t?” Nia whispered.

Alice’s heart clenched.

“Then we do it slowly.”

“We?”

Alice looked at Mako. Then Maria. Then back to Nia.

“We,” she said. “If you let us.”

Nia’s gaze flicked toward Maria.

Maria finally stepped closer.

Nia tensed as if expecting rejection, accusation, or something worse.

Maria did not give her any of that. She only rested one hand lightly on the back of Alice’s booth seat and looked down at Nia with complicated eyes.

“Nia,” Maria said softly.

Nia’s throat bobbed.

“Maria,” Nia said.

Alice heard it clearly. Not just the sound, but the weight under it. Guilt. Want. Shame. Fear.

For all her usual recklessness, for all the ways she could turn a room with a smile and a tilt of her hips, she knew when not to crowd someone. She kept one hand on the back of the booth and let the other hang at her side, fingers loose, palm open. Her face was soft in a way Alice did not see often downstairs.

Just Maria.

“Nia,” she said again, quieter this time. “I need you to understand something.”

Nia’s throat worked.

Her gaze flicked from Maria to Alice, then back again, like she was trying to figure out which disaster she was supposed to answer first.

Maria gave a small, sad smile.

“You and me?” she said. “A relationship between us wouldn’t work. Not like that.”

Nia went still.

Alice saw the impact hit her and hated that part of her was relieved.

“But that doesn’t mean nothing works,” Maria continued before Nia could retreat into that awful silent obedience. “It doesn’t mean I hate you. It doesn’t mean I want you gone. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t get to be part of this baby’s life, if you want to be.”

Nia’s eyes widened.

The change was small, but it rippled through her entire body. Her ears lifted by the smallest fraction. Her fingers loosened against the table. The breath she had been holding left her all at once.

“The baby,” Nia whispered.

Maria nodded.

“The baby,” she said. “I’m having this child. Alice is already way too happy about being a big sister for me to even pretend there’s another option.”

Alice’s face burned.

“I am being a normal amount of happy.”

Mako looked at her.

Alice glared. “Do not.”

Mako wisely looked down at the pastry box.

Maria’s smile warmed for one precious second before she looked back at Nia. “You gave her that. Do you understand? Whatever else happened, whatever mess we made, whatever we still have to sort out, you gave Alice joy tonight. Real joy. The kind I wasn’t sure she’d get to feel after everything else.”

Alice looked away quickly because that was unfair.

Nia looked at her like the words had punched clean through her ribs.

“I did?” she asked.

Alice swallowed.

The truthful answer was complicated. Nia had also terrified her, hurt her, and turned her life into something that looked like a conspiracy board built by a horny god with too much free time. But Maria was right too. The baby was joy. The thought of being there this time, of being present, of having a tiny sibling grow up above the Velvet Bottle while Alice actually got to help, was still glowing somewhere untouched beneath all the fear.

“Yeah,” Alice said softly. “You did.”

Nia stared at her.

For a moment, she looked like she might break from that alone.

Maria took the opening carefully. She slid into the booth across from Nia, beside Alice but angled toward both of them, and finally reached across the table.

Nia flinched before Maria touched her.

Not away.

Just a full body tightening, like a leash had snapped taut around old instincts.

Maria stopped immediately.

That hurt to watch.

Nia noticed that everyone had noticed and looked down at the table, humiliation flashing across her face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Maria said gently.

Nia’s jaw tightened.

Maria lowered her hand but left it visible. “You don’t have to be sorry for being scared.”

Nia’s expression twisted. “I’m not scared.”

Alice almost snorted, but caught herself.

Maria only gave her a look.

“Nia,” she said. “You are terrified.”

The booth went quiet.

Mako’s shoulders tensed beside his sister.

Nia’s voice came out low. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“No,” Maria said. “I know.”

That seemed to make it worse.

Nia looked away.

Maria’s voice softened even further. “You’re afraid of mothers.”

Alice went cold.

Mako closed his eyes.

Nia did not move.

Not even a breath.

Maria did not push into the silence right away.

Then Nia said, very quietly, “I had a mother.”

Maria nodded once.

Nia’s visible composure cracked by degrees. Not dramatic. Not a collapse. More like ice splitting under pressure.

“She was cruel,” Nia said.

The words were flat.

Alice felt her stomach tighten.

Nia stared at the table. “I don’t remember all of it. Not clearly. Some things are just noise. Smell. Pain. Her voice when she was calm was worse than when she shouted.” Her fingers curled against the tabletop again. “My father died before I was born. I never knew him. So when Riven...” She stopped.

Mako’s expression had gone painfully still.

Nia swallowed and tried again.

“When Riven became my dad, it was different. There was no old shape for him to fit into. No wrong memory already there. I didn’t know what a father was supposed to feel like. He made one. Slowly. Badly sometimes.” Her mouth twitched faintly, then trembled. “But Kaia...”

She could not finish.

Mako moved.

For all his usual noise, the motion was quiet. He slid closer on the booth seat and wrapped both arms around his sister before she could decide whether she deserved it. Nia went rigid immediately, every muscle in her body flexing so hard Alice could see the strain run through her shoulders and neck. Mako was strong in that strange constructed way of his, but Nia was stronger. Much stronger. If she panicked and shoved him away, she could rip him apart without meaning to.

He knew it.

He held on anyway.

His jaw clenched. His arms shook. The synthetic muscle under his pale plating flexed hard enough that Alice heard a faint mechanical whine.

“Mako,” Nia whispered.

“Shut up,” he said, voice muffled against her shoulder. “Sibling bonding. Mandatory.”

Nia’s hands hovered uselessly in the air.

Alice watched her fight herself.

Then, slowly, Nia set one hand on Mako’s back.

Mako exhaled like he had been holding his breath for years.

Maria watched them with wet eyes.

“I don’t want to be like her,” Nia said, the words barely audible.

No one asked who.

They all knew.

“I don’t want to hurt a child. I don’t want to make them afraid of me.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how to be a mother. I don’t know how to be anything like that.”

Maria leaned forward then.

This time, she did touch Nia.

She took one of Nia’s hands from the table.

Nia froze, but did not pull away.

Maria’s grip was careful and warm. She guided Nia’s hand across the space between them and placed it gently over her belly.

Alice stopped breathing.

Nia stared.

Her palm rested flat against Maria, fingers trembling against the fabric of her shirt. There was nothing obvious to feel yet. No kick. No visible swell. Nothing that would have told a stranger anything had changed. But Alice’s new senses could feel it now that she knew what to look for. That small thread of life beneath Maria’s familiar warmth. Fragile. Bright. Real.

Nia’s face changed.

The obsession did not vanish.

The fear did not vanish.

But something else entered the room.

Awe.

Maria covered Nia’s hand with her own.

“You don’t have to know what to call yourself tonight,” Maria said. “Father. Sire. Second mother. Other mom. Terrifying bunny parent with emotional issues. We can figure out the words later.”

Nia made a broken sound that might have been a laugh.

Maria smiled. “But this baby is happening. And if you want to be part of their life, you can be.”

Nia’s eyes filled.

“You would let me?”

“Yes.”

“After everything?”

“Just because we can’t be together doesn’t mean we can’t make each other’s lives better.”

Nia stared at her.

Maria’s voice warmed.

“It doesn’t mean we can’t bring each other joy.”

Alice’s chest tightened.

There it was again.

For one impossible second, Alice thought maybe this could work.

This single breath where no one ran.

Then Maria, because she was Maria and apparently allergic to letting a moment remain sacred for more than thirty seconds, sniffed once and said, “Besides, with a huge fucking horse cock like yours, you’re probably going to knock up every girl my daughter introduces you to.”

Alice had chosen that exact moment to take a sip of water.

It went catastrophically wrong.

The water hit her tongue, her new Dhampir biology immediately objected to the bland uselessness of it, and then Maria’s sentence punched through her brain like a thrown brick. Alice choked so hard she sprayed water across the table, barely turning enough to avoid hitting the pastries directly.

Mako yelped and threw himself over the box. “The trauma pastries!”

Alice coughed, one hand braced against the table, fangs bared as she wheezed. “Mom!”

Maria looked entirely unrepentant.

“What?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“A lot. We covered this.”

Nia was frozen.

The dangerous kind of stillness had been easy to recognize by now. Nia went silent like a drawn blade, all restraint and pressure, every muscle ready to turn the next breath into ****. This was not that. This was stranger. This was Nia staring at Maria with her hand still pressed against Maria’s belly, crimson eyes wide, ears lifted, lips parted slightly, like someone had just handed her an answer to a question she had not known she was allowed to ask.

Alice saw the idea enter her.

No.

No, no, no.

Nia’s gaze shifted from Maria to Alice. Then to the pastry box. Then back to Maria’s stomach.

“Oh gods,” Alice rasped, still coughing water out of her throat. “I know that face. I hate that face.”

Mako slowly raised his head from where he had thrown himself protectively over the pastries. A smear of frosting clung to his cheek. “What face?”

“The face where someone insane thinks they just found a solution.”

Nia’s eyes sharpened.

Not with rage.

With purpose.

Maria, because she was apparently committed to making the entire situation worse.

“I mean,” Maria said, “I’m not wrong.”

Alice stared at her mother.

“Mom.”

Maria shrugged with one shoulder, utterly unrepentant. “What? She’s part horse, part bunny. Breeding is practically written into her DNA.”

Mako made a sound like his soul had tried to leave through his nose.

“Maria,” he said, voice strangled. “Please remember that is my sister.”

Maria glanced at him. “Right. Sorry.”

“Were you?”

“No.”

“Appreciate the honesty.”

Nia looked down at Maria’s belly again.

Her fingers trembled.

Something moved across her face so fast Alice almost missed it. Not lust, not exactly. Not even the old obsessive hunger that had clung to Alice like smoke. This was different. It was awe wrapped around a new kind of ambition. Nia had been told she could be part of a life. She had been told she could be a parent, a sire, a second mother, whatever word she eventually found that did not cut her on the way out. And now Maria had accidentally opened a door in Nia’s mind labeled purpose.

Alice felt the whole plan tilt sideways.

“No,” she said.

Nia looked at her immediately. “No?”

Alice lifted both hands. “No as in slow down. No as in we are not taking Mom’s incredibly inappropriate joke and building a reproductive crusade out of it.”

Nia’s brow furrowed.

Maria bit her lip.

Alice pointed at her. “Do not encourage this.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was making an observation.”

“You made a grenade.”

Maria’s mouth twitched again.

Nia’s voice came carefully. “If I can make people happy that way...”

Alice closed her eyes.

Mako whispered, “Oh no.”

Nia kept going, each word gaining weight as she arranged the thought into something that sounded almost reasonable to herself. “If I can give people families. Children. Joy. If that is something I can do. If that is part of what I am. Then maybe I should.”

Alice opened her eyes and stared at her.

There it was.

The pivot.

The terrifying little click where Nia’s obsession did not vanish, but found a new hallway to run down at full speed.

Maria sobered slightly. “Nia.”

But Nia was looking at Alice now, and Alice hated the way hope burned in her eyes.

“You said I need more than one bond,” Nia said. “You said one person is too small for everything I feel. You said you would help me build something bigger.”

Alice’s stomach sank.

“I did say that.”

Nia nodded once, as if this confirmed everything.

“Then I agree.”

Mako’s head turned slowly toward her.

Alice’s mouth went dry.

Nia sat straighter, and for the first time since Alice had come downstairs, the brokenness in her posture rearranged into something almost frighteningly focused.

“I will accept the harem,” Nia said.

Alice stared.

Maria’s eyebrows climbed.

Mako whispered, “That is not a normal sentence.”

Nia did not seem to hear him. Her eyes stayed on Alice, intense and obedient in that way that made Alice’s skin prickle. “If this is what you want for me, I’ll do it. I’ll love them. I’ll learn. I’ll make them happy. I’ll give them children if they want children. I’ll make a family.”

Alice’s brain tried to process that and immediately hit a wall.

“A family,” she repeated weakly.

Nia nodded. “Yes.”

Mako slowly reached for a pastry, took one bite, and then seemed to remember he was emotionally overwhelmed. “I’m going to die here.”

Alice held up both hands again, palms out. “Okay. Wait. Hold on. We are not skipping twelve steps and landing on children.”

Nia blinked. “We aren’t?”

“No!”

Maria coughed into her hand. “Probably.”

Alice whipped around to glare at her. “You do not get to say that after lighting the fuse.”

Maria raised both hands. “Fair.”

Nia looked confused now, which was better than inspired but still not great. “Then what are the steps?”

Alice opened her mouth.

Closed it.

That was a horrifyingly good question.

Mako leaned back in the booth, frosting still on his cheek, and looked like a man watching a bridge collapse in slow motion.

“Dating,” Alice said finally. “The first step is dating. Like normal people.”

Mako pointed at the table. “We don’t know any normal people.”

“Like healthier people,” Alice corrected.

Nia nodded slowly, absorbing this with grave seriousness.

Alice tried not to scream.

“You don’t just decide to impregnate someone because my mom made an awful joke and your brain turned it into a life plan.”

Maria muttered, “It was a good joke.”

“Mom.”

“It was at least memorable.”

Alice stabbed a finger toward her without looking. “Pregnant people do not get to be this smug.”

Maria sat back with a grin. “That sounds discriminatory.”

“It is survival.”

Nia’s attention drifted away from Maria and back to Alice. “Jen.”

Alice froze.

Mako stopped chewing.

“I'm going to breed Jen.”

Mako began coughing so violently that he nearly inhaled the pastry.

Alice reached across the table and slapped his back while he wheezed, both hands flailing. “Breathe, idiot.”

Mako coughed into his fist.

Nia looked mildly offended. “I was thinking.”

“That’s the problem,” Mako said hoarsely.

Alice rubbed her forehead.

Nia continued, “You said Jen has high compatibility with me.”

“I said the skill showed potential,” Alice corrected quickly. “Potential. Not a royal decree from the goddess of love ordering you to go claim our party’s martial artist.”

Liliana’s rose gold text bloomed in the corner of Alice’s vision.

[Thank you.]

Dice appeared beneath it.

[For the record, I would absolutely decree something like that.]

Alice ignored him.

Nia frowned. “But she followed me.”

“Yes.”

“She was worried.”

“Probably.”

“She’s strong.”

“Definitely.”

“She is angry often.”

“Constantly.”

“I like that.”

Mako wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Of course you do.”

Nia’s gaze sharpened with alarming certainty. “Then I’ll start with Jen.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “Start?”

Maria pressed her lips together again.

Alice could see the laugh trying to escape and decided, with deep daughterly love, that she would throw Maria through a window if it did.

“Nia,” Alice said carefully. “Please, for the love of Liliana, Dice, and whatever god handles common sense, can we try a date first before you start planning to knock up our party’s martial artist?”

The entire booth went still.

Then Mako made a tiny dying noise.

Maria looked at the ceiling.

Nia stared at Alice with absolute seriousness.

“If you ask that of me,” she said, “I will.”

Alice’s soul tried to crawl out of her body.

Because that was technically progress.

Terrible progress. Horrifying progress. Progress wearing spiked boots and carrying a flag that said I Have Misunderstood the Assignment But Am Enthusiastic.

But progress.

Alice leaned back, both hands pressing into her hair.

“I need a drink.”

Before Maria could call for anything, Lila appeared beside the booth like she had been summoned by exhaustion, poor decisions, and the smell of emotional catastrophe.

Lila was one of the Velvet Bottle’s best waitresses, which meant she moved like a dancer, heard everything, forgot nothing, and had the survival instincts of a cat in a room full of drunk adventurers. a smile that always looked like she knew the punchline three seconds before everyone else. In one hand, she carried a tall red drink over ice, garnished with celery, a little tiny plastic sword skewer of lime.

She placed it in front of Alice.

“Bloody Mary,” Lila said brightly. “Seemed appropriate.”

Alice stared at it.

Maria stared at Lila.

Mako whispered, “That’s actually incredible service.”

Alice looked up at Lila. “Did you hear all of that?”

Lila smiled professionally. “I work here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

Alice looked at the drink again.

Her new hunger stirred, curious rather than ****. The tomato scent hit her first, rich and savory under pepper, citrus, salt, and something faintly iron warm that made her fangs ache. She lifted the glass cautiously, expecting disappointment, because water had tasted like someone had dissolved boredom into a cup.

She took a sip.

Then blinked.

“Oh.”

Maria leaned forward. “Good?”

Alice took another sip.

The flavor unfolded across her tongue like her body had been waiting for it. Tomato, spice, salt, heat, citrus, and something her Dhampir senses translated into not blood, but close enough. It was not the same hunger silencing clarity she suspected real blood would bring, but it soothed the edge in a way water had absolutely failed to do.

“This is really good,” Alice said, slightly disturbed.

A blue red system note popped into her vision.

[Dice: Fun fact! Dhampir often develop a strong preference for tomato juice.]

Alice stared.

A rose gold note followed.

[Liliana: It can help manage mild hunger between proper feedings.]

[Dice: Also, Dhampir would be huge fans of Italian food if garlic hadn’t declared war.]

Alice lowered the glass slowly.

“Apparently Dhampir like tomato juice.”

Alice continued reading.

[Dice: Tomato sauce, tomato soup, spicy tomato cocktails. Tragic limitation, though. Garlic remains a problem.]

[Liliana: Not fatal. Just deeply unpleasant.]

[Dice: Like family dinner.]

Alice looked at Maria. “I can’t have garlic now.”

Maria winced. “Oh, baby.”

“I know.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know.”

“We’ll adapt.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like you’re already planning vampire safe pasta night.”

“I am.”

Alice hated how much that warmed her chest.

Then she looked back at Lila.

Lila was not looking at Alice anymore.

She was looking at Nia.

More specifically, she was looking at Nia with the casual interest of someone who had absolutely heard enough to understand that Nia was currently the most emotionally dangerous person in the booth and had decided that made her worth smiling at.

Then Lila winked.

At Nia.

Alice’s brain stopped.

Nia blinked once, startled.

Lila’s smile widened by a fraction, then she turned away with her empty tray tucked against her hip and drifted back toward the bar like she had not just thrown another lit match into the room.

Alice gripped her Bloody Mary.

No.

No, absolutely not.

Her new Matchmaker’s Sight itched immediately.

She refused to use it.

Then it itched harder.

Alice stared at the drink.

(Do not compare Lila and Nia.)

The skill seemed to hum.

(Do not compare Lila and Nia.)

Liliana’s text appeared gently.

[You are allowed to wait.]

[Dice: Coward.]

Alice took another long sip of the Bloody Mary to avoid answering either god.

The problem was not Lila flirting with Nia.

Actually, that was a problem, but not the main one.

The main problem was that Alice very much did not want Nia finding out that Lila had been Alice’s first.

Not first kiss. Not first crush. First girl.

It had been a couple years ago, late after closing, when Alice had been old enough to know better and young enough to confuse being desired with being understood. Lila had been kind, funny, and experienced enough to make Alice feel less terrified of her own body for one night. It had not become a relationship. It had not become drama. They had both been careful with it, then folded it away into memory with the strange tenderness of something that mattered but did not need to last.

Alice liked Lila.

She trusted Lila.

She also knew, with the bone deep certainty of someone who had just seen Nia’s shrine, that Nia learning Lila had touched Alice before Nia ever got the chance would complicate the evening in ways no amount of tomato juice could fix.

Alice woke up warm.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not the light.

Not the faint throb behind her eyes.

Not the horrifying cotton dry taste in her mouth that somehow still carried the ghost of tomato, pepper, ****, and regret.

Warmth.

Heavy blankets. Soft breath against the back of her neck. An arm draped across her waist with awkward, careful weight, like whoever it belonged to had fallen asleep trying very hard not to hold her too tightly and failed.

Alice did not open her eyes immediately.

She just lay there, still and slow breathing, letting her mind crawl up from the deep pit where too many Bloody Marys had apparently murdered it.

(Okay.)

(Inventory check.)

(Alive. Probably.)

(Bed. Mine.)

(Naked. Concerning but not automatically catastrophic.)

(Arm. Not mine.)

Her eyes opened.

Gray darkness greeted her, soft and familiar.

Her room.

Definitely her room.

That was good.

Probably.

The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray that Maria had once called “aggressively teenage” and Alice had insisted was “atmospheric.” Fairy lights looped along the corners of the ceiling in uneven strands, their tiny warm bulbs glowing like captured fireflies against the dark paint. Horror movie posters covered most of the visible wall space, some framed, some taped up, some curling at the edges. Old classics. Foreign creature features. Slashers. Haunted house films. Weird experimental horror.

A row of artificial candles flickered across her dresser, her desk, and the narrow shelf above her bed. Not real flame. Maria had banned real candles in Alice’s room after the incense incident when Alice was fourteen and “trying to establish a necromantic vibe.” The fake ones were safer, nicer than Alice wanted to admit, and currently casting soft gold shadows over everything in a way that made the room feel almost peaceful.

Almost.

Alice slowly looked down.

She was, in fact, naked.

The black plaid comforter was pulled up over her chest and tucked around her body in a way that suggested someone had made sure she was covered before passing out beside her. The blanket was ridiculously warm. Too warm, maybe, but her new Dhampir body seemed to like being bundled up more than she wanted to admit. Her skin felt cool under the fabric. Not dead cold. Just different enough that the heat around her felt precious.

Behind her, Nell breathed softly.

Alice froze.

Then turned her head by fractions.

Nell was asleep.

Curled behind her in the narrow bed, his body pressed carefully along her back because there was nowhere else for him to go. Her bed had always been small, barely big enough for one person. Two people turned it into a negotiation. Nell had apparently solved the space problem by becoming as compact as possible behind her, one arm around her waist, knees tucked slightly, face half buried in her pillow.

His feathered hair was a mess.

Brown and white strands spilled over his face and across the pillow, softer than Alice had expected, the feathery texture catching candlelight in little pale edges. His glasses were missing, which made his sleeping face look younger, gentler, almost painfully ****. His mouth was slightly open, and when he breathed out, the warmth brushed against the back of Alice’s neck.

Her heart did something stupid.

(Oh.)

(Oh no.)

The memories came back in pieces again.

The Velvet Bottle. Nia’s eyes. Maria’s hand over her belly. Mako guarding the pastries. Lila’s Bloody Mary. Then another Bloody Mary. Then Alice deciding tomato juice was proof that Dhampir biology rocks. Then a third Bloody Mary because the night was awful and also because she had fangs now and someone had toasted “vampire Paladin nonsense” and Mako had made it everyone’s problem.

Nell had arrived later.

She remembered that.

He had come in carrying a garment bag and a nervous expression, the new armor safely stored back at the guild but the fitting notes and claim paperwork tucked under one arm like sacred documents. He had seen her sitting in the booth with silver eyes, pointed ears, fangs, a half empty drink.

And he had smiled at her.

Not brightly.

Not like everything was fine.

Just soft. Relieved.

Like she was still Alice.

She remembered hugging him.

Gods, she remembered that.

She had practically crashed into him near the foot of the stairs, wrapping both arms around him before she could think better of it. Nell had gone stiff with surprise for half a second, then melted into the hug so completely that Alice almost forgot how many people were watching. He had smelled like parchment, dust, faint soap, and the warm nervousness of someone who cared too much to pretend otherwise.

After that, things got fuzzier.

Not gone.

Just blurred around the edges by Bloody Marys, emotional exhaustion, and the fact that her body had apparently decided tomato based **** was the nectar of the dramatic undead adjacent gods.

She remembered inviting him upstairs.

She remembered Nell asking, very carefully, if she was sure.

She remembered saying, “I am drunk, not mind controlled, and I want you near me.”

Then, because apparently she had no survival instinct left, she had added, “But if you do anything weird, I’ll bite you.”

Nell had gone red enough that even her drunk self had noticed.

Mako had yelled from somewhere behind them, “That is not the threat it used to be!”

Alice squeezed her eyes shut.

“Oh gods.”

Behind her, Nell stirred.

His arm shifted against her waist.

Alice went still again.

Nell made a soft, sleepy sound, not fully awake yet, and his face pressed a little closer to the back of her neck. His breath warmed her skin. His fingers curled slightly against her stomach, then relaxed, careful even in sleep.

Alice stared at the wall in front of her.

For a long, warm, deeply dangerous second, Alice considered simply staying there. Nell’s arm was still around her waist. His breathing was soft against the back of her neck. The black plaid comforter had become a tiny pocket dimension of safety, and her room, felt separate from the rest of the world in a way that made responsibility seem like something that happened to other people.

Then her bladder, her hangover, and the distant knowledge that she had become a vampire adjacent Paladin all reminded her that life hated peace.

Alice closed her eyes.

(Okay.)

(New objective.)

(Get dressed before Nell wakes up.)

(Simple. Clean. Normal.)

She moved slowly at first, carefully lifting Nell’s arm with two fingers as if it were a sleeping animal. He made a tiny sound, his fingers curling once against the blanket before relaxing. Alice froze so hard even her breathing stopped. Her new ears strained toward him, picking up every soft exhale, every tiny rustle of feathers against the pillow, every little sleeping shift.

Nothing.

Still asleep.

Good.

Alice slid out from beneath the blanket with the stealth of someone who had watched too many horror movies and absolutely understood how floorboards betrayed people. Her feet touched the cold floor. She hissed silently, because apparently Dhampir toes still hated morning. Or afternoon. Or whatever time it was. The artificial candles flickered across her skin, pale and faintly cool in the dim gray room.

She crouched beside the bed and began searching for clothes.

Her shirt was on the desk chair.

Her pants were half under the bed.

Her bra was on top of a stack of vintage horror magazines beside the closet.

Alice stared at it.

(Okay. Not asking questions.)

She gathered the scattered clothing in an armful and backed toward the corner near the dresser, moving with exaggerated silence.

Her underwear was hanging off the corner of the armor stand.

Alice stared at it.

The armor stared back with silent judgment.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

The armor, being armor, did not respond.

She managed the underwear first. Mostly. The pants came next, though she nearly fell over getting one leg through because her head throbbed the second she bent down too fast. She caught herself against the dresser, knocking one of the fake candles sideways. It flickered aggressively at her.

“Shut up,” she whispered at it.

Still, Nell did not wake.

Small miracles existed.

Then came the bra.

Alice turned her back to the bed, lifted it into place, and had just gotten one strap over her shoulder when she heard the bedding shift.

She froze.

Behind her, Nell made a soft waking sound.

Alice whipped around so fast her hair slapped her cheek, both arms crossing over her chest.

Nell was awake.

Not fully. Not enough to be useful. Just enough to blink at her from the pillow with unfocused amber eyes, his feathered hair an absolute disaster around his face.

For one second, they stared at each other.

Alice’s face caught fire.

“I know they’re small,” she blurted.

Nell blinked.

Alice immediately wanted to crawl into the wall and die there.

“I mean, that’s not the point. The point is I’m embarrassed. Don’t look.”

Nell’s eyes widened as consciousness arrived all at once. His face went bright red and he snapped his gaze to the ceiling so fast Alice heard his neck pop.

“I wasn’t trying to look.”

“You were looking.”

“I woke up facing that direction.”

“Convenient.”

“It is not convenient. It is mortifying.”

Alice clutched the bra against herself, ears burning so hot she was sure the pointed tips had turned red. “Just look at the wall.”

“I am looking at the ceiling.”

“The ceiling is too close to me.”

“I don’t know where else to look.”

“The poster.”

“Which poster?”

“Any poster!”

Nell turned his head with stiff, panicked obedience and focused on a framed slasher poster near the desk. He swallowed.

A beat passed.

Then, very softly, he said, “For what it’s worth, I think they’re cute.”

Alice’s body reacted before her brain had time to form a legal defense.

She grabbed the nearest object and threw it.

It was one of the fake candles.

It bonked Nell directly in the forehead.

Not hard enough to do serious damage, thank gods, but hard enough to make a thunk and send him flopping backward onto the pillow with a startled yelp.

Alice gasped.

“Oh my gods!”

Nell’s hands flew to his forehead. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry!” Alice rushed forward, then immediately remembered she was still holding her bra against her chest and jerked back again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“It’s okay,” Nell said, rubbing the spot. “I deserved that a little.”

“You did not deserve battery by mood lighting.”

“Don’t be nice about this. It makes it worse.”

Nell, still looking firmly at the wall now, lifted one hand with careful politeness. “You should finish getting dressed before apologizing more.”

“Right. Yes. Good. Don’t turn around.”

“I will not.”

Alice scrambled into the bra with the frantic speed of someone disarming a bomb. The hooks caught wrong twice. She swore under her breath, fumbled, got it fastened, then yanked her shirt over her head so violently her new ears almost caught in the collar.

By the time she turned back, Nell was still facing the wall like his life depended on it.

The fake candle lay on the bed beside him, flickering cheerfully after committing ****.

Alice’s guilt hit fully.

“Nell.”

“You can say when it is safe.”

“It’s safe.”

He turned back slowly.

There was a tiny red mark in the middle of his forehead.

Then a thin line of blood welled beneath it.

Alice’s entire body went still.

It was barely anything. A little scratch. A tiny bead of red from where the hard edge of the fake candle must have clipped him. Any normal person would have dabbed it with a tissue and laughed it off.

Alice was not normal anymore.

The scent hit her.

Iron, heat, life.

But not just blood.

Nell.

His blood had a smell before it had a taste, Warm, sweet, faintly spiced. It wrapped through her senses with the same softness as his voice and the same nervous warmth as his hand hovering near hers. Her mouth watered so suddenly she had to clamp her lips shut.

Her fangs ached.

The hunger under her ribs lifted its head.

Nell noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“Alice?”

She tried to answer.

What came out was a shaky breath.

Her eyes were fixed on the blood. Just that tiny line sliding down from his forehead toward his brow. A single bright trail. Nothing. Almost nothing. And yet her whole body leaned toward it like a starving thing smelling bread.

She swallowed.

It did not help.

“Nell,” she said, voice rough. “You’re bleeding.”

He touched his forehead, looked at his fingers, and blinked. “Oh.”

Alice took one step toward him.

Then stopped so abruptly her knees locked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I should get a towel.”

“That would be reasonable.”

She did not move.

Her breath came faster now. Not because she needed air. Because her body remembered wanting. Her tongue touched one fang and she shivered. The scent of blood filled the tiny room, old posters, warm blankets, and Nell’s skin.

She hated herself for how good it smelled.

Her mouth watered.

Actually watered.

A thin line of drool gathered at the corner of her lips before she realized what was happening.

Alice clapped a hand over her mouth and stumbled back.

Nell went still.

“Alice?”

She shook her head hard.

“I’m fine.”

Her voice came out wrong.

Too breathy.

Too thin.

Too hungry.

Nell’s eyes widened. Not with fear, exactly. With understanding.

The blood kept sliding down his temple.

Alice’s pupils narrowed to thin silver slits.

Her fangs ached so badly it felt like pressure had built in her jaw. Her hands curled at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She could hear Nell’s pulse now, faster than before, fluttering with concern and embarrassment and something else she did not want to name because she was already barely standing.

“I’m fine,” Alice repeated, panting like she had run up twelve flights of stairs.

“You’re drooling,” Nell said softly.

Alice’s hand snapped tighter over her mouth.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

She was.

Just a little. Enough to make her want to evaporate.

“I hate being alive,” she said, then immediately corrected herself. “Adjacent. Whatever.”

Nell’s expression softened in that impossible way that kept ruining her ability to maintain panic.

Mortification burned through the hunger for one whole second.

Then the smell hit again.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m sorry.”

Nell shifted in the bed.

The mattress creaked.

Alice’s eyes snapped open. “Don’t move.”

He stopped immediately.

She swallowed hard. “Sorry. I mean, please don’t move. I’m trying very hard not to be weird.”

Nell looked at her for a long moment.

Then he reached up, touched the blood on his forehead, and glanced at his fingers.

Alice made a small, helpless sound.

Nell’s expression softened.

“You can drink it,” he said.

Alice stared at him.

“What?”

“My blood,” Nell said, voice quiet but steady. “You can drink. If it helps.”

Alice shook her head instantly. “No.”

He sat up more carefully, holding the blanket to his chest with one hand. His face was still red, but his eyes were steady now. Shy, yes. Nervous, obviously. But not afraid.

That made the hunger worse in a way Alice did not know how to handle.

“You should mind,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because it’s blood.”

“Yes.”

“And I want it.”

“I know.”

“And that should scare you.”

Nell looked at her with that same open, devastating gentleness that had made her pick Paladin instead of Necromancer.

“It doesn’t.”

Alice’s throat worked.

“That is an insane thing to say.”

“Alice.”

“I trust you.”

The words hit her harder than the smell.

Alice looked away first, because his eyes were too open and her hunger was too close and the room was too small for both of those things.

“You don’t know what that means yet.”

“Probably not,” Nell admitted. “But I know you’re hungry. And I know you’re scared of hurting me. And I know you won’t if we do it carefully.”

Alice laughed once, strained and miserable. “You cannot logic your way into being vampire breakfast.”

“I am not trying to be breakfast.”

“You are offering me your blood from my bed while half dressed.”

His face went scarlet.

“That is... less clinical when phrased that way.”

Alice pressed both hands over her face. “Oh gods.”

Nell shifted closer, still sitting on the bed. The blanket pooled around his waist, and his shoulders looked narrow and pale in the candlelight.

“I’m okay with it,” Nell said quietly. “Really.”

Alice lowered her hands.

Her voice came out smaller. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“You can say no at any point.”

“I know.”

“If I scare you, push me away.”

“You won’t.”

“Nell.”

“I’ll tell you,” he corrected softly. “If I need you to stop, I’ll tell you.”

That was better.

Still terrifying.

But better.

Alice stood there for another breath, then another, fighting the urge to either run away or lunge forward. Neither seemed helpful. Finally, she crossed the room slowly, each step careful, like she was approaching something sacred.

Alice inhaled slowly.

The breath did not help much.

She moved onto the bed carefully, one knee sinking into the mattress. Nell shifted to make space, though there was barely any space to make. Their tiny bed **** closeness immediately. Alice ended up kneeling beside him, one hand braced against the pillow near his shoulder, the other hovering uselessly because she did not know where to put it without feeling like she was about to fall into him.

Nell looked up at her.

His glasses were still missing.

His eyes looked too soft.

Alice’s gaze flicked to the cut on his forehead.

The blood there had started to slow.

Some hungry instinct snarled in protest.

She **** herself to look away from it.

“Not your forehead,” she said.

Nell blinked. “No?”

“I don’t want to bite your face.”

“Oh. That’s reasonable.”

Alice made a strained little sound. “Collar. Shoulder. Something easier.”

Nell nodded, then shifted the blanket and tilted his head slightly to the side.

The movement exposed the line of his neck and collarbone.

Alice’s brain went completely blank for half a second.

Then every thought returned at once, screaming.

(Oh.)

(Oh, that is so much worse.)

Nell’s skin was warm, pale under the candlelight, marked faintly by the shadow of his collarbone and the soft hollow above it. His pulse moved there. She could see it. Could hear it. Could smell the blood beneath, sweet and spiced and waiting.

Alice’s mouth opened.

The mattress dipped, pressing them closer than she intended. Nell’s breath hitched, but he did not pull away. Alice could hear his heartbeat now, faster than before, a soft fluttering rhythm beneath skin and bone. Not fear exactly. Anticipation.

She leaned in.

Stopped.

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

Her lips brushed his collarbone first.

Not biting.

Just contact.

Nell shivered.

Alice froze.

“Bad?”

“No,” he whispered. “Good.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her mouth more firmly against the place just below his collar, where the skin was warm and soft and close enough to his heartbeat that she could feel it through her lips. Her fangs rested against him. The hunger surged, urging her to bite hard, drink deep, take.

She did not.

She breathed.

Then she pierced him gently.

Nell gasped.

His fingers clutched the blanket.

Alice almost pulled back immediately, but his other hand rose and settled against her shoulder, not pushing away. Holding. Permission. A trembling little yes.

Blood touched her tongue.

The world went gold.

Not red.

Gold.

Nell’s blood tasted like a cinnamon bun fresh from the oven, soft dough and sugar and spice and impossible comfort. Not literally, not entirely, but that was what her mind gave her because nothing else made sense. It was sweet in a way, rich with warmth, threaded with something sharp and serpentine beneath it, like spice hiding under frosting.

Alice made a small, helpless sound against his skin.

Nell’s fingers curled into her shirt.

The act should have felt predatory.

It did, a little.

But more than that, it felt intimate.

More intimate than kissing.

More intimate than waking up tangled together. More intimate than her drunken confession. She could feel him in the blood, not thoughts exactly, but impressions. Nervousness. Trust. A shy, aching affection that did not demand anything from her. The faint electric flutter of fear, not of her, but of being wanted and not knowing what to do with it.

Alice’s hand found his.

Nell laced their fingers together.

Alice made a sound against his skin.

Mortifying.

Helpless.

Nell’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

She drank.

Careful pulls, each one sending warmth through her chest and down her limbs. The hunger beneath her ribs uncurled, not ravenous now but deeply satisfied, purring in some dark corner of her new body. Her senses widened. The candlelight seemed softer. Nell’s pulse steadied under her mouth. His breath came unevenly, but not with fear.

Alice pulled back after only a few mouthfuls, fangs sliding free with a tiny ache of ****.

A bead of blood welled at the punctures.

She licked it before thinking.

Nell made a soft, broken sound.

Alice went very still.

His face was bright red. His eyes were half lidded. His hand had not left her hers.

Alice stared at him, mouth still stained with his blood.

“Are you okay?”

Nell nodded too quickly.

Then swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Was that a real yes or a panic yes?”

“Real,” he whispered. “Embarrassed, but real.”

Alice’s heart tried to explode.

“That was...” She stopped, because no word felt safe.

Nell looked at her.

Alice touched the corner of her mouth and saw red on her fingertip.

“That was really intense,” she said finally.

Nell nodded. “Yes.”

“Good intense?”

His blush deepened.

“Yes.”

Then something inside her opened.

A system panel unfolded softly in rose gold, then flickered as red blue Dice text shoved itself into the corner.

[Unique Vampiric Ability Awakened.]

[Bloodborrow.]

Alice froze with her fangs still in Nell’s collar.

Nell’s breath hitched. “Alice?”

She pulled back quickly,

Alice stared at the panel.

[Bloodborrow: Initial Echo Acquisition Complete.]

[Source: Nell.]

[Blood Profile: Chimerin, Owl/Snake.]

[Affinity Notes: High emotional trust. High magical compatibility. Low resistance. Voluntary offering.]

[Echo Eligible Skills Detected.]

Alice’s mouth hung open.

Dice appeared immediately.

[Dice: Aww. First boyfriend blood. How romantic. How nutritious.]

[Liliana: Dice.]

[Dice: What? I’m celebrating.]

Alice ignored them both.

Her heart was beating too fast now. Or maybe that was Nell’s. She could hear both, hers slower and stranger, his soft and quick beside her.

More text unfolded.

[Bloodborrow]

[Classification: Unique Vampiric Expression]

[Core Function: Temporarily copy one compatible skill from the donor.]

Alice stared.

Nell blinked.

Dice’s commentary appeared beneath it.

[Congratulations! You drank the shy boy and unlocked plagiarism.]

Liliana’s text followed, much gentler.

[Liliana: It is not plagiarism if it is freely given.]

[Dice: That is exactly what someone defending divine plagiarism would say.]

Alice ignored them both, barely breathing.

The panel continued.

[Donor: Nell]

[Compatibility: High]

[Blood Flavor Profile: Cinnamon Bun]

Alice’s face went scarlet.

Nell made a tiny noise.

[Dice: Adorable.]

“Delete that line,” Alice snapped.

[No.]

[Liliana: Dice.]

[Dice: Fine. Archiving it privately.]

“That is worse!”

The system, traitorous and smug, continued anyway.

[Random Echo Selection Initiated.]

Alice stared at the panel.

“Random?” she said.

Nell blinked beside her, one hand still hovering near the tiny bite mark below his collarbone. “It selects randomly?”

“Apparently.” Alice narrowed her eyes at the glowing window. “That feels like something I should have known before drinking my boyfriend.”

Nell’s face went red again. “When you phrase it like that...”

[Dice: Please continue phrasing it like that.]

[Liliana: Alice, darling, Bloodborrow is still newly awakened. Your body has not learned how to choose yet. For now, it draws what resonates most strongly in the moment.]

Alice looked at Nell. “What does that mean?”

Nell adjusted his posture, immediately slipping into that focused, thoughtful expression she was quickly learning meant he was about to become adorable in an extremely academic way. “Maybe the system is reading emotional state, mana compatibility, and recent usage patterns instead of letting you consciously select from all viable skills. A young unique ability might not have enough internal mapping to sort available echoes manually.”

Alice stared at him.

He paused.

“Sorry. I started talking.”

“No,” Alice said, still staring. “Keep doing that. It’s weirdly hot.”

Nell stopped functioning.

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again with absolutely no sound coming out.

Alice’s face went hot too because apparently her brain had decided blood drinking was a direct path to saying every thought out loud.

“Forget I said that.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Try harder.”

“I am trying very hard.”

The panel pulsed.

[Bloodborrow Echo Stabilized.]

[Acquired Echo: Bullet Time.]

Alice blinked.

Nell blinked.

They both leaned closer at the same time.

[Bullet Time]

[Source: Nell]

[Classification: Cash Shop Skill, Perception Enhancement]

[Original Skill Market Category: Gunslinger, Duelist, Ranged Combat Specialist]

[Adapted Use Case: Spellcraft Acceleration, Precision Casting, Emergency Reaction Windows]

[Effect: Temporarily accelerates the user’s perception of time, allowing enhanced reaction speed, projectile tracking, and high precision movement decisions. Physical speed is not directly increased, but the user may act more efficiently within the perceived window.]

[Duration: Short.]

[Cost: Moderate Mana Drain. Increased mental fatigue with repeated use.]

[Dice: Congratulations. You stole gamer slow motion from the snake nerd.]

Alice’s eyes widened.

Nell’s eyes widened in an entirely different way.

“Oh my gods,” Alice whispered.

Nell leaned closer, all embarrassment briefly shoved aside by pure magical excitement. “That one?”

“You have this?”

“Yes,” he said, and now he sounded almost shyly proud. “I bought it from the Cash Shop.”

Alice slowly turned to him.

“You bought a gunslinger skill?”

Nell’s ears, or rather the feathered edges around his hairline, seemed to fluff slightly with embarrassment. “It was listed under gunslinger, yes.”

“You don’t use guns.”

“No.”

“You bought gun slow motion.”

“I bought enhanced time perception,” Nell corrected, suddenly very serious. “The market labeling was misleading. Most people use it for aiming, but the effect isn’t actually tied to firearms. It expands the user’s subjective reaction window, which means you can use the extra perceived time to finish rune geometry before a spell collapses.”

Alice stared at him.

Nell stared back, nervous but determined.

Then Alice whispered, “That’s genius.”

Nell’s blush deepened, but this time he looked pleased. “It works best with raw magic. If I’m drawing a binding circle and the outer ring starts destabilizing, Bullet Time gives me enough subjective time to correct a broken line or reroute mana through a secondary rune.”

Alice’s hangover vanished from the front of her mind like someone had thrown it out a window.

Not literally. Her skull still felt like a goblin was hammering nails into it. But now the pain had competition.

“Wait,” she said, crawling closer on the bed without realizing it. “I

Nell’s expression brightened.

“Probably.”

Alice grabbed one of her notebooks from the side table and flipped it open to a blank page. “Okay. So if Thorn of the Devoted Rose uses Charisma as part of emotional command structure and Magical Control for shape precision, Bullet Time could let me correct malformed thorn growth before the vine fully manifests.”

“Yes,” Nell said immediately, shifting closer to look at the notebook. “And if your thorns can form temporary weapons, you might be able to change the weapon shape during summoning instead of after. Faster correction means less mana waste.”

Alice pointed at him with the pen. “Like converting a binding whip into a shield lattice.”

“Or a shield lattice into a spear cage.”

They both bent over the notebook, shoulders pressed together, hair and feathers brushing as Alice sketched a rough magical circle with thorn lines wrapping around the outer ring. Nell reached for the pen, hesitated, then looked at her for permission. Alice handed it over without thinking. He adjusted two of her runes, then added a stabilizing mark between the second and third root nodes.

Alice stared at the change.

“Oh, you absolute beautiful nerd.”

Nell made a tiny sound and nearly dropped the pen.

“What?”

“That’s better. That’s so much better. You made the thorn loop self correcting.”

He swallowed, flustered and glowing. “Only theoretically.”

“I want to test it.”

“Maybe not in your bedroom.”

Alice glanced around.

Her room contained one bed, too many horror posters, several artificial candles, a suspiciously judgmental armor stand, and exactly enough floor space to make testing thorn magic indoors a terrible idea.

“Coward,” she said.

“Alive coward.”

“Valid.”

A heavy thump sounded outside her room.

Both of them froze.

Another thump followed.

Then a muffled voice from the hallway said, “Tilt it left. Left. No, your other left. Gods below, how are you employed?”

Alice and Nell stared at each other.

Nell whispered, “Is someone moving furniture?”

Alice’s stomach sank.

“Oh no.”

Alice rolled off the bed, grabbed the first oversized shirt she could find, and yanked it down over herself.

Alice looked at him.

He looked at her.

Then both looked toward the door.

“Alice?” Nell said carefully.

“Stay behind me.”

“I’m not in danger.”

“You’re in my house. That means you are in danger from my mother.”

Before Nell could respond, Alice crossed the room and pulled open the door.

The hallway outside had been transformed into chaos.

Two moving men were carrying a bed frame through the narrow upstairs corridor with the grim determination of people who had made peace with dying under furniture. One was a broad shouldered human man with a shaved head and a back brace. The other was a lanky blue skinned oni with four arms, all four currently occupied preventing the bed from scraping the wallpaper. Behind them, several boxes were stacked along the wall, labeled with neat block letters.

NELL: BOOKS.

NELL: CLOTHES.

NELL: SPELL COMPONENTS, FRAGILE.

NELL: PROBABLY IMPORTANT NERD STUFF.

Alice stared.

Across the hall from Maria’s bedroom, the old storage room door stood open. The room that had once held seasonal decorations, spare bar linens, old speakers, broken stools, and Maria’s graveyard of abandoned hobbies had been completely cleared out. All of that junk now sat in the living room in towering piles. A fake palm tree leaned against the couch. Three crates of old festival lights were stacked on the coffee table. Someone had placed a dusty karaoke machine on top of a box labeled TAXES MAYBE.

The movers angled the bed through the open storage room door.

The shaved headed man grunted. “Where do you want it?”

Maria’s voice came from inside the room. “Against the far wall, sweetheart. Leave space for the desk. He looks like a desk boy.”

Nell made a strangled sound behind Alice.

Alice slowly turned.

Nell was standing in her doorway with the blanket clutched around his waist and horror dawning on his face. His hair was still a mess. His glasses were still missing. The tiny bite mark beneath his collarbone was visible.

Alice looked at him.

Then back at the hallway.

Then back at him.

“Nell,” she said slowly. “Why are your boxes here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why does that box say spell components?”

“I recognize that box.”

“Why do you recognize that box, Nell?”

“Because it is mine.”

Alice closed her eyes.

Maria appeared in the doorway of the freshly cleared room with a clipboard in one hand and the radiant confidence of a woman who had already committed a crime and was now daring reality to file charges.

“Good morning, baby,” Maria said brightly.

Alice opened her eyes. “Mom.”

Maria smiled. “You’re awake.”

“There are movers in the hallway.”

“Yes.”

“With Nell’s stuff.”

“Yes.”

“Moving it into our apartment.”

“Yes.”

Nell’s voice came from behind Alice, faint and panicked. “Miss Maria?”

Maria’s eyes slid past Alice.

Her smile sharpened.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Nell froze.

Alice turned just in time to see the exact moment Nell realized he was standing in the hallway wrapped only in Alice’s blanket.

Maria’s eyebrows lifted slowly.

Nell went red from throat to hairline.

Alice stepped sideways to block him, which did almost nothing.

Maria put one hand over her heart with shameless theatrical delight. “Look at you. Adorable little thing.”

Nell made a noise that did not count as language.

Alice pointed at her mother. “Do not.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You were absolutely going to say something.”

Maria tilted her head, gaze sparkling. “I was only going to point out that he left your bedroom completely naked.”

Nell’s soul visibly departed.

“I am covered,” he whispered.

“With a blanket from my daughter’s bed,” Maria said. “Which is not the defense you think it is.”

Alice’s face burned. “Mom.”

Maria’s eyes flicked downward for half a second, then back to Nell’s face.

“And with his little snake trying very hard not to be involved in the conversation.”

Nell made a strangled, dying sound and vanished behind Alice so fast he nearly tripped over the blanket.

Alice’s entire body went rigid.

“Mom!”

One of the movers made a **** noise from inside the storage room.

The four armed oni muttered, “I am paid by the hour, not by the trauma.”

Maria waved a hand. “Oh, relax. I’m being complimentary.”

Nell whispered from behind Alice, “I’m going to pass away.”

“You are not passing away in my hallway,” Alice said, though she was also considering it.

Maria laughed, warm and wicked and far too pleased with herself. Then, because she was apparently capable of switching from chaos to sincerity without warning, her expression softened as she looked at Nell properly.

“I’m moving you in,” she said.

The hallway went quiet enough that even the movers paused.

Nell blinked. “What?”

Alice stared at her mother. “You’re what?”

Maria tapped the clipboard against her palm. “Moving him in. Temporarily, officially, and with paperwork if anyone downstairs asks.”

Alice’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“What?”

Maria stepped fully into the hallway. “Nia is unstable, my daughter is newly Dhampir and attached to you, and you are currently living in a tiny guild compartment with one lock, three shelves, and a bed that folds into the wall.”

Nell adjusted his grip on the blanket, still red faced but listening now. “The lock is decent.”

“No, sweetheart,” Maria said gently. “It is cheap.”

Nell looked wounded. “It has two rune catches.”

“It has two decorative suggestions.”

Alice rubbed both hands over her face. “Mom.”

Maria looked at her.

“Alice,” she said, quieter now. “You know I’m right.”

That shut Alice up.

Because she did.

Guild housing was convenient. Cheap. Close to work. Safe enough for most rookies because nobody cared enough to break into a room the size of a closet unless they were stealing boots or unpaid debts. But Nell was not just some random rookie anymore. He was Alice’s boyfriend. Nia knew that. Jen knew that. The party knew that. Depending on how drunk Mako had gotten after Alice went upstairs, possibly half the Velvet Bottle knew that.

Nell was fragile compared to the people moving around him.

Not weak. Alice hated thinking of him that way. He was clever and steady and good with magic in ways that made her want to steal every notebook he had ever touched. But physically? He was soft in a world full of blades. And Alice had seen Nia’s eyes when she mentioned Nell. She had seen the thought of killing him form before Nia could stop it.

Her stomach twisted.

Maria’s voice stayed gentle. “I’m not saying he has to stay forever. I’m not saying you two need to play house or whatever panic your face is inventing right now. I’m saying he needs a safe place until this mess settles.”

Nell looked down.

His shoulders hunched slightly, and Alice realized with a sharp little ache that he was embarrassed. Not just because of the blanket. Because being protected felt too close to being helpless.

Alice turned toward him.

“Nell.”

He glanced up.

She softened her voice. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”

Maria opened her mouth.

Alice shot her a look.

Maria closed it.

Nell looked from Alice to Maria, then down the hall where his boxes were being stacked into the newly emptied room. His whole life from the guild compartment had apparently been packed and transported while he slept. Books. Clothes. Spell supplies. Probably three emergency notebooks and six jars of ink sorted by mana conductivity because of course Nell would have those.

“I don’t want to impose,” he said.

Maria scoffed immediately. “You are not imposing. I am imposing you.”

“That’s not better,” Alice muttered.

Nell looked overwhelmed enough to turn translucent.

Alice reached for his hand, then remembered he was holding the blanket in place and settled for touching his wrist.

“You can stay,” she said. “I mean, if you want. Across the hall. Not, like, in my bed every night unless...” She stopped. “Forget I said that.”

Maria’s smile returned with lethal speed.

Alice pointed at her. “No.”

Maria raised both hands again.

Nell’s blush was now so strong Alice wondered if he was going to catch fire.

“I would like to stay,” he said softly.

Alice’s heart did the stupid thing again.

Nell swallowed. “If it is really okay.”

Maria’s expression softened fully.

“It is,” she said. “And for the record, this house could use a desk boy.”

Nell blinked. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither do I,” Alice said. “Don’t encourage her.”

The movers emerged from the room, bed frame placed, mattress following behind them on a floating dolly. One of them looked at Maria. “Where do you want the wardrobe?”

Maria pointed toward the living room. “Against the wall after you move the tax box. Not the karaoke machine. I may need that.”

Alice stared at her. “You do not need the karaoke machine.”

“I’m pregnant. Don’t argue with me.”

“That’s not how pregnancy works.”

“It is now.”

Nell, still wrapped in the blanket, gave a small, helpless laugh.

Alice looked at him.

He looked ridiculous. Mortified. Sleep mussed. Still faintly marked by her bite. Standing in her hallway while his entire life got moved into the room across from her mother’s.

He also looked safe.

The thought settled in Alice’s chest with terrifying ****.

Maria noticed, because of course she did. Her teasing softened around the edges as she looked between them.

Then she clapped her hands once. “All right. Nell, go put pants on before the movers start charging extra.”

Nell squeaked.

Alice grabbed his wrist and dragged him back toward her room before Maria could say anything else.

Behind them, Maria called cheerfully, “And Alice?”

Alice stopped in the doorway. “What?”

Maria smiled. “Welcome to having a boyfriend in the house.”

Alice stared.

Then slammed the bedroom door.

Nell stood inside the room, still clutching the blanket, face completely red.

Alice leaned against the door with both hands over her face.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Nell said quietly, “I should probably find my pants.”

Alice lowered her hands.

His pants were still half under the bed.

Her armor stood in the corner, white and red and silent.

Her fake candle lay on the blanket, still flickering, smug after drawing first blood.

Alice looked at Nell.

Then at the door.

Then at the armor.

Then at Nell again.

“I need another Bloody Mary,” she said.