HIM

I saw him for the first time on a Tuesday.

It was late—close to midnight—and the streets were nearly empty, the kind of quiet that settled over small towns like a thin layer of frost. I perched on the cracked ledge of an old bookstore rooftop, knees tucked close, my boots dangling over the alleyway below.

The night tasted of rust and rain.

From up here, I could see everything: the single streetlight buzzing like a dying firefly, the rows of shuttered shops with their hand-painted signs, the stretch of asphalt glistening under the damp glow of the moon. Humans thought night was silence. To me, it was a symphony—every sound sharp, every heartbeat distinct, every breath of wind carrying a story.

I wasn’t expecting anything to change tonight. Most nights didn’t.

And then I saw him.

He came from around the corner, moving with that unremarkable gait humans have when they think no one is watching. Hoodie up, headphones in, head down. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement, their rhythm uneven, like he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going.

A perfect stranger.

Or at least, that’s what he was supposed to be.

But the moment my gaze fell on him, something inside me shifted.

It wasn’t fate. Not in the way humans talk about soulmates or destiny. No, this was different. Wilder. Older.

My heart didn’t beat anymore—not really—but something deep within me clenched, sharp and sudden, like an ache I’d spent decades pretending didn’t exist. It was hunger, yes, but not just that. It was recognition. A pull so visceral it left me breathless.

Mine.

The thought struck before I could stop it.

He had this quietness to him, a weight in his shoulders like he carried a private grief. The world didn’t see him. But I did.

I noticed the way his posture curled inward, as if bracing for a blow. The way his head tilted just slightly, listening for footsteps behind him. Twice, he glanced over his shoulder before crossing the street.

Like he knew what it was to be hunted.

He didn’t know I was there.

Didn’t know that something older than his country, his town, his entire bloodline crouched above him, watching.

Didn’t know he’d just stumbled into the center of my world.

I stayed perfectly still as he passed beneath me, his scent rising up in a warm rush that made my throat tighten. It was unlike anything I’d ever known—sweet, electric, alive.

By the time he disappeared around the corner, my body was already moving, following before my mind had even caught up.

His name was Luca Morgan.

Eighteen. Recently moved to town. Lived with his aunt in a small, faded house two streets over from the cemetery. Top of his English class, according to the papers I’d lifted from the principal’s office after hours.

And—this part was important—he didn’t have many friends.

That made things easier.

Over the next few nights, I learned more. His route home. His favorite corner store snack. The exact time he flicked his bedroom light off. He kept his blinds half-drawn, a mistake I took advantage of. Humans were careless like that.

I watched. I listened. I waited.

Until finally, the waiting wasn’t enough.

The next morning, I walked through the front doors of his school.

A new face in the sea of students, carrying a borrowed backpack and a forged transcript. My records weren’t just fake—they were flawless. A fabricated address. A carefully woven backstory. One soft, whispered compulsion in the principal’s ear, and just like that, I was Eden Reed, seventeen again, ready to slip seamlessly into their world.

No one suspected a thing.

I made sure of it.

My locker was three doors down from his. Coincidence? Of course not.

He was already there when I arrived, leaning against the dented metal, earbuds in, hoodie still pulled up. Same gray sweatshirt as the night before. His hair fell messily across his forehead, shadowing his eyes.

I opened my locker and stole a glance.

Up close, he was even better.

Dark lashes framed those tired, storm-gray eyes. Faint freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, barely visible unless you were close enough to count them. He looked worn down, like sleep had long since stopped being a comfort. Purple half-moons clung stubbornly beneath his eyes, and I wanted to press my fingers there, to smooth them away, to claim even his exhaustion as mine.

He felt fragile. Breakable.

I liked that.

He noticed me watching.

Our gazes met for half a second, and I smiled. Slow. Intentional.

He didn’t smile back. Not yet.

Our first conversation happened by “accident.”

I timed it perfectly. The narrow hallway between classes, his hands full, his guard lowered.

I turned the corner too quickly and collided with him. Books and papers spilled across the floor, scattering like fallen leaves.

He cursed under his breath, voice rough.

“Sorry,” I said, breathless and wide-eyed, playing my role perfectly. “Totally my fault.”

He dropped to one knee, gathering his things. His hand brushed against my knuckles as he handed me the novel I’d dropped, and the contact was like fire. My throat tightened, hunger sparking sharp and fast.

“That’s okay,” he said, quiet. Hesitant.

“You’re new, right?”

I nodded, forcing a small, nervous laugh. “Eden. Just moved here.”

“Luca.”

He didn’t offer a last name. He didn’t need to. I already knew everything about him worth knowing.

For a moment, we just… stood there. A pause stretching between us, full of unspoken things. He seemed uncertain, like he couldn’t decide whether to walk away or stay.

So I made the choice for him.

“I like your art,” I said, nodding at the sketchbook in his hands before he could tuck it away.

His eyes flicked up, sharp and suspicious. “You didn’t even see it.”

“Didn’t have to,” I said smoothly. “The cover’s good enough.”

It was a simple line, but it worked. A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth, quick and unguarded.

My chest ached.

I wanted more.

The rest of the week was a game I’d already mastered.

I slipped into his orbit with precision, weaving myself into his days like a thread he didn’t notice until it was too tightly wound to break.

Three shared classes. A seat beside him in English. A table across from him in the library. I didn’t push too hard. Just enough to make my presence familiar.

He laughed once—really laughed, the sound sudden and bright—and I replayed it every night before dawn, memorizing the exact shape of it.

No one knew what I was. That part was easy. A hundred years teaches you how to mimic the living. How to blend.

But the longer I spent near him, the harder it became to control myself.

His scent was maddening, sweet and wild, a storm brewing beneath his skin. When he sat beside me, I could hear the rush of his blood, the flutter of his pulse. It called to me in a way nothing had in decades.

I didn’t feed often anymore. Not since… before. Not since the last time I’d lost control.

But the thirst was rising.

And Luca… Luca was right there.

Friday afternoon, I sat perched on the metal railing outside the school entrance, pretending to scroll through my phone.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of gold and bruised purple.

When Luca walked past, he gave me a single nod. “Hey.”

Just that.

Three letters. One heartbeat. Mine.

“You heading home?” I asked, casual.

He shrugged. “Eventually.”

“Cool.” I dropped lightly to the pavement, falling into step beside him. “Mind if I walk with you?”

He hesitated. “You don’t even know where I live.”

I smiled, sharp and knowing. “Then lead the way.”

We walked in silence for several blocks.

His hands stayed shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the sidewalk. I could tell he wasn’t used to company, that he didn’t quite know how to exist beside another person without bracing for something to go wrong.

But he didn’t tell me to leave.

“You always this quiet?” I asked finally.

He gave a small, almost embarrassed shrug. “Only when I don’t know what to say.”

I nudged his shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “What about you? You always this forward?”

I laughed, letting it spill warm and easy between us. “Only when I see something I want.”

His breath caught, just slightly. He didn’t respond, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

God, he was beautiful.

We reached his street as the sky deepened to navy blue.

“I’m up that way,” he said, jerking his chin toward a narrow driveway lined with weeds.

I didn’t ask to follow. Not yet.

“See you Monday?” I asked instead.

He nodded. “Yeah. See you.”

He turned, walking up toward the porch light that flickered weakly overhead.

I stood there, watching, until his door closed behind him.

Then I moved.

The block was easy to circle, shadows clinging to me like old friends.

I slipped through the alley, vaulted the back fence without a sound, and settled into the tree line behind his house.

From here, I had a perfect view of his second-story window.

The light flicked on.

Luca appeared, peeling off his hoodie, raking a hand through his dark hair. The soft yellow glow painted his skin gold, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat.

My hunger roared.

I didn’t need to breathe, but I inhaled anyway, imagining what it would be like to be human. To feel air rush into my lungs, to feel blood race beneath my skin.

To feel alive.

I stayed there for a long time. Watching. Wishing. Wondering what it would be like if he ever looked at me the way I looked at him.

Then, without warning, his head snapped up.

Straight toward the window.

Straight toward me.