Page 10 of Tainted Souls
He lets out a short laugh. “Please. I ride a motorcycle for a reason. Seems to work just fine on the plethora of girlsI pick up.”
“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the leather jacket.”
“Touché. I’ll give you that one. It does sell the image.” Evan smirks, taking a long drag from his cigarette, then challenges,“Now, name one spontaneous thing that he’s done in the last year.”
I race through memories, desperately searching for any evidence to prove Evan wrong. “He… he surprised me with breakfast in bed a few months ago.”
“On your birthday?”
“Two days after,” I admit, then quickly add, “but it wasn’t planned and we’d both been busy. You see? Spontaneous.”
Evan laughs, the rich sound attracting glances from people nearby. “Face it, Seraph. You’re with the most predictable human in Penn City. Which is fine if that’s what you want, but don’t pretend he’s something he’s not.”
My eyes spin skyward in exasperation.
“Look, I’m only saying this because I think you deserve better.” He flicks ash into the tray behind him, his eyes softening. “Someone who is actually unexpectedly romantic. Someone who matches your fire.”
I avert my gaze to hide how much his words sting. “Not everyone needs to be constantly chasing the next thrill, you know? Stability has its merits.”
“Stability?” Evan snorts. “Is that what we’re calling boredom these days?” His lips quirk upward at his own jest, but I don’t find it amusing at all.
What Max and I have might be unconventional, but Evan never misses a chance to undermine it. When I don’t reply, he shakes his head and extinguishes his cigarette. “Come, let’s grab a booth. I’ll buy you another drink.”
“No, I’m fine.”
His expression turns surprisingly somber. “I’m sorry, Serrie. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and your heart broken.”
“Whatever.” I stubbornly wave him off, not wanting to hear any more of his harsh views on my relationship. “Please leave before I gouge out your eyeballs.”
Evan chuckles at my threat, his red eyes glittering with amusement rather than fear. “Fine, fine. You win.” He smoothly pushes himself off the barstool. “But when your lawyer boy is a no-show, come find us. Marcus has some fascinating stories about blood bank protocols that’ll put you right to sleep—if he’s still sober by then.”
He slips away through the crowd, his blue hair disappearing among the sea of bodies. Part of me wants to chase after him, to lose myself in the comfortable familiarity of my vampire friends.
They understand the darkness inside me in ways my boyfriend never can.
But tonight isn’t about that part of me. Tonight is about the part of me that’s human. The part Max held together after my father died.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar to make sure nothing has slipped out of place. My charcoal hair falls in waves past my shoulders, anchored by a single tapered braid swept to the back, still behaving. The asymmetrical cut of my black satin corset exposes just enough skin to be enticing without crossing into impropriety. Shoulders back, the silhouette remains streamlined.
With a single tug at the hem of my skirt where it splits at the knees, the fabric settles into its flowing drape, revealing the stilettos that add four dangerous inches to my height and make my legs look endless.
The diamond necklace Max gave me for our third anniversary hangs delicately from a silver chain, nestled in the hollow of my throat. Even my nails are painted in a deep, glossy chrome that matches the color of the jewelry.
Everything looks perfect.
Though the hazel eyes staring back at me hold a glint of uncertainty.
Five years with Max has been a long exhale—steady, undemanding, and exactly what I needed to drown out the echoes of my past. Lately, however, something’s been feeling off.
Is it really a proposal? Or is something else going on?
As if on cue, the door swings open again, bringing with it a gust of wind and Max’s familiar scent: sandalwood cologne, coffee, and that uniquely living heat no vampire can replicate.
His tall frame stands out among the other patrons as he navigates through the crowd. Despite his casual demeanor, I notice how his eyes dart around the room, cataloging exits and potential threats.
A habit he’s picked up from me.
His usually scrupulously styled brown hair is disheveled, as though he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. Instead of meeting my eyes across the room with that smile that makes my stomach flutter, he presses his lips together nervously, his shoulders tense beneath his navy blazer.
