The next time Aria saw Dorian, it was almost midnight.
She couldn't sleep. Elmsvale was quiet, too quiet. The kind of town where the night felt… watched. Her bedroom window faced the woods—and that night, something moved beyond the trees. Not an animal. Not quite.
Drawn by instinct and an unhealthy amount of curiosity, Aria grabbed her flashlight and snuck out the back door. She crept down the dewy path that led to the Blackthorn Estate—an old mansion that looked like it belonged in a gothic novel, complete with gargoyles, iron gates, and roses that only bloomed in moonlight.
People whispered that it was haunted.
They didn't know how right they were.
Halfway up the hill, Aria stopped. Someone was standing beneath the weeping willow near the edge of the cliff.
Dorian.
He wasn't wearing a coat. Just a white shirt, open at the throat, fluttering like wings in the wind. His back was to her, but somehow… he knew she was there.
"You shouldn't be out this late," he said without turning.
Aria stepped forward, narrowing her eyes. "Neither should you."
"I don't sleep much."
She crossed her arms. "Let me guess—you meditate under the stars while reciting Latin poetry?"
He turned this time, and his eyes—those impossibly gray eyes—flashed in the moonlight. Not reflected. Glowed.
"You joke," he said softly, "but you're closer to the truth than you realize."
She stared at him. Something about the way he stood… the stillness… the unnatural grace. No normal man moved like that.
"I've seen you before," she said. "In town. You never eat. You never laugh. You never… blink."
He tilted his head, amused. "Do you always investigate strangers like this?"
"Only the ones who give me the creeps."
"Yet here you are."
Touché.
He stepped toward her, slow and careful, as if not to startle her. The air around him felt colder. He was too perfect—his features carved like marble, his presence hypnotic. And yet… she wasn't scared. Not really.
"What are you, Dorian?" she whispered. "I know you're hiding something."
A silence stretched between them, heavy with truth neither was ready to say.
Then—suddenly—a scream pierced the night. Sharp. Human.
Aria whipped around toward the sound. "That came from the woods!"
But Dorian was already moving.
No—not moving. Vanishing. One moment he was there, the next he was a blur of wind and shadow, gone into the trees.
Aria ran after him, heart pounding, feet slipping on wet leaves. The flashlight shook in her hand. She reached a clearing—and froze.
A man was on the ground. Pale. Blood on his neck. Still breathing—but barely.
Above him, crouched like a demon in a black coat, was Dorian.
His eyes were glowing red.
His fangs were bared.
And when he looked up at Aria… he didn't look human at all.