Back at home

I toss my keys in the dish by the door, already kicking off my heels. My apartment greets me with the same cozy clutter I left behind, and for the first time tonight I let myself exhale. I step out onto the balcony and take a slow drag from my vape. The air’s cool against my bare arms, and the moon is high on the sky, beautiful and mysterious as ever.

The evening wasn’t the disaster I’d feared it would be, on the contrary. Fake smiles the accompanying shit, sure, but I walked away with some connections that might actually lead somewhere. Then there was Nikolai—smooth, magnetic, highly intelligent and definitely unique. Got to admit, his worldview matched mine. Hope I'll see more of him.

And then there was Carter. Of course my sleazy boss couldn’t resist trying his luck before the night was over. How the hell am I going to deal with him? One more “accidental” brush of his hand at work and I’ll have to decide whether to smile through it or bite his head off. Neither option feels great. It's one thing if I play a bit with him a bit, but straight out fucking my boss to get through career... that's not really me, especially if that boss is some old and **** douchebag like Carter. Now, if my boss would be someone like, say, Nikolai... I guess I'd be more flexible.

Anyways, nothing unusual happened tonight—despite all of Lucius’ grim warnings, there wasn’t a shadow of Ariadne or any other vampire in sight. No lurking menace. No supernatural drama, not this time.

I leave the balcony doors open, I like the night chill, and head to the bathroom where I peel off my dress. The mirror greets me with the faint ghost of a smirk—I actually had a good time. Go figure. My eyeliner hasn’t smudged, lipstick’s still intact. Honestly? I look good. Shame to waste it by wiping it all off, and I lean over to grab the makeup remover—

—then stop.

Something shifts. Not a sound, exactly, more like the air decides to move against me. A prickle slides down my arms. Something's wrong.

I step back into the living room, heartbeat quickening without reason I can name. And there—

She’s just there.

By the balcony doors, as though she’d been carved from the shadows themselves. Ariadne, in all black and lacy, both elegant and hot.

Her gaze fixes on me, sharp and calm, and for one wild second I think I’ve dreamed her up.

But no. She’s real and in my apartment.

She found me.

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