C h r i s t i e 

The first panic attack I had was shortly after the engagement party to Rudolph. I woke in the middle of the day, heart pounding, gripped by a crushing sense of dread. I thought I was dying—poisoned by my fiancé.

I called for the servants, who fetched the doctor. To my mortification, he told me I wasn't dying—it was just psychological. All in my head. But it had felt of real.

My parents didn't believe in therapy. Probably because admitting I needed help would mean admitting there was a problem—namely, Rudolph. So I learned to cope the best way I could—by hiding it from everyone.

I smiled at Jacques, forcing my face into something that resembled normal.

"I'm fine, just a little chilled. I haven't had blood in a while," I said.

Jacques nodded, though his eyes didn't quite believe me.

"You're breathing a little fast, baby doll," he murmured, easing the car to the side of the road.

Panic rose in my throat. I glanced back at the rearview mirror. "What happened to putting distance between us and Nico?"

Jacques killed the engine. "You hungry? Eat," he said, casually offering me his wrist like it was nothing more than a mint.

I stared at his hand. Blood was the last thing on my mind—and more importantly, I'd never fed directly from someone before.

"I'm really not hungry," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

He frowned. "Then what is it?"

I bit my lower lip, ashamed to say it aloud. "Can we just drive? I'm really worried about Nico."

Jacques narrowed his eyes, leaning in to study me. "Your heart's going a mile a minute."

Damn it.

"It's a panic attack, okay?" I said, the words snapping out before I could stop them. "It'll wear off in a minute."

His expression softened. "You feeling overwhelmed?"

"A little," I admitted.

He didn't hesitate. He swept a few food wrappers into the back seat, clearing the space beside him. Then he reached over, undid my seatbelt, and patted the centre seat.

"Come on," he said, gently.

I hesitated. When I didn't move, his fingers curled around my wrist and gave a light tug. I slid over, and he draped his arm over my shoulders.

"Rest your head on my chest," he murmured.

The closeness of his body to mine sent my brain into chaos. It felt strange—intimate in a way I wasn't used to. But also... safe. I hovered for a moment, unsure, then finally gave in and let my head rest against his chest. He was warm, and he smelled like rain and leather. Beneath my ear, I could hear the steady thump of his heart.

"I'll take care of you, Christie," he whispered, starting the car again. "Just rest, okay?"

I stayed there, curled into his side, the beat of his heart gradually coaxing mine into rhythm. His fingers stroked lightly along my arm.

It felt odd at first, having someone sit with me through the storm. But after a few minutes... it started to feel nice. Easy.

"How long have you had these attacks?" Jacques asked quietly.

"A couple of years," I murmured, my cheek still pressed to his chest. "It started after I got engaged to Rudolph."

Jacques didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Did your family know?" He finally asked.

"They did it, but they didn't care. Wedding me to Prince Rudolph was far more important," I replied.

He said nothing, but I could feel the muscles tense under his shirt. His heart thudded beneath my ear—steady, sure—and it made my own racing pulse feel foolish. Or maybe just fragile.

Then his voice came, low and thoughtful. "Looks like we're coming up on a crossroads."

I blinked, lifting my head slightly. The road forked ahead into three lanes of empty darkness, each disappearing into the woods.

He glanced down at me with a teasing smile. "Left, right, or straight into the great unknown?"

"Left," I said quickly, too quickly.

"Left it is," he said, smoothly turning the wheel, the movement easy, like we weren't fugitives on the run. Like this was just a late-night drive and not our entire future hanging in the balance.

I tried to focus on the rhythm of his breathing, the soft hum of the tires beneath us. "How much farther can we go before we run out of gas?"

"Half a tank. That's a good hundred miles." He gave me a sideways glance, his smile curling at the edge. "Plenty of room to vanish."

The word sent a shiver down my spine. "Vanishing's a lot harder when someone like the Captain is tracking you."

Jacques was quiet again, then his arm curled more firmly around me. "Nico won't find us."

"You don't know that," I said. "He's ruthless."

"He's a pussycat, once you get to know him," Jacques said with a grin.

I stared at him. "You're joking, right?"

My mouth opened, then closed again. Words failed me.

The Captain was one of the oldest vampires in Port Cressida—older than Port Cressida itself, if the stories were to be believed. He'd served the last three kings without ever once breaking rank or protocol. Efficiency was his religion. Ruthlessness, his creed.

"They say he spent a hundred years working as an assassin in Florence," I said, my voice tight. "He emigrated here in the late 1700s after leaving a trail of bodies so long it made the Medici uneasy."

Jacques shrugged like I'd just said Nico once got a parking ticket.

"He once tracked a werewolf across eight states without stopping to feed," I continued, heart starting to thud harder. "When he finally caught her, she begged for death. He made her walk back with him instead. Every step. Chained in silver."

"Very character-building," Jacques said, unfazed.

"You think this is funny?" My voice cracked slightly. "The Captain isn't a joke."

Jacques waved a hand, his expression annoyingly relaxed. "Nico is Nico. Predictable, if nothing else. With any luck, he'll assume we've gone west—probably think I'm hiding you with one of my less savoury contacts. Maybe holed up in a dive bar with a fake passport and Casper's wallet."

He shifted gears, eyes scanning the empty road. "He's not going to guess we've run off into rural oblivion and blended in with the humans, where the biggest threat is someone posting blurry raccoon sightings on the local Facebook group."

I wanted to believe him—I really did—but my fingers curled tighter in my lap.

"He won't stop," I said quietly. "You know that, don't you?"

Jacques glanced at me, then reached over and squeezed my knee.

"Yeah," he said. "But neither will I."

I gave a weak laugh, the tension still coiled tight in my stomach. "So, you're really not scared?"

"Oh, I'm terrified," he said. "But mostly about teaching you to bartend without eating the customers."

I huffed. "Finishing school taught me how to walk with books on my head, not how to pour drinks."

"Well, lucky for you," he said, squeezing my arm, "you've married an expert in all things disreputable. I'll teach you everything. Cocktail mixing, fake smiles, running from vampire assassins. The essentials."

I let out a half-laugh and buried my face back into his chest. "You're ridiculous."

"But charming," he reminded me. "And I meant what I said earlier. We'll figure it out. Whatever happens."

"I just..." My throat tightened. "I don't want you to regret this. You've given up everything. Your title, your position. You stole from the king."

"And I'd do it again," he said easily. "For you? Every time."

My heart stuttered. His voice was so steady, so sure of me, and I didn't know what to do with that.

"Thanks, Jacques," I eventually replied. "I'm so glad that you came for me."

"No problem, babe," he replied.