The room felt heavier with each passing second. Darkness wrapped itself around us like a second skin—thick, suffocating, inescapable. Every breath seemed louder than it should have been, the silence between us thick with unspoken things, an electric charge humming in the air. I could hear the faint clink of his glass as he took another sip, the sound of it reverberating in the back of my mind. I watched him.

I watched as his throat bobbed when he swallowed the amber liquid, the muscles in his neck tensing with the movement. It was as if I could feel the burn in my own throat, the heat sliding down my chest. I bit my lip, trying to steady myself, but my pulse betrayed me. He hadn't taken his eyes off me since I lay down.

But neither had I.

My gaze wandered to the ceiling, but even then, the weight of his presence pressed down on me, heavy and unrelenting. The silence between us wasn't peaceful—it was thick, charged, as if one wrong word would snap the tension in the air like a too-tight coil. I tried to keep my breathing steady, to make my body calm, but it wasn't working. Not with him so close. Not with the conversation of the last few hours swirling through my mind, each word entangling me deeper in something I didn't understand.

Rhyon. A vampire. My enemy.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He sat by the window, the moonlight casting pale streaks across his face, making his features look sharper, more dangerous. His bare chest gleamed faintly in the dim light, the play of shadows making his muscles look taut, coiled—like he was waiting for something. Maybe he was. His long fingers rested lightly on the arm of the chair, gently gripping the wood. He didn't move. Just sat there, perfectly still, except for the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest.

He was in control. And I wasn't.

The thought gnawed at me, more than it should have. I didn't trust him, not completely. But I couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him, and that unsettled me to my core. It was maddening. I shouldn't feel this way. He was a vampire, and yet, the fear I should have felt had dulled. His presence was overwhelming, but not in the way I expected.

His voice broke through the quiet, soft and calm. "You're not sleeping."

It wasn't a question.

I blinked, the tension in my chest tightening. "Neither are you."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he took another sip of his drink. "You're in my bed, and... I don't need to."

The response was simple, almost too casual, but it sent a shiver down my spine. I should've expected it—vampires didn't need rest like humans did. And yet, hearing him say it—hearing that reminder that he wasn't like me—pulled me back to reality. It was dangerous to forget. Dangerous to think I could ever trust him.

And yet, here I was.

He stood then, moving with a grace that was too smooth, too inhuman. His gaze never wavered from mine, those green eyes watching my every move, as though he could see right through me. Like he could see the war I was fighting inside, the struggle to keep my heart from betraying me.

The bed shifted under his weight as he sat at the edge, still watching me. I turned my eyes back to the ceiling, forcing my body to remain still. But the tension between us was suffocating, the air thick with something I couldn't define. My heart, once steady, began to race, a traitor to the calm I was trying so desperately to maintain.

I shouldn't feel this way. Not with him.

The mattress dipped again as he leaned back slightly, his arm brushing against mine, and I inhaled sharply, my skin burning where we touched. His presence beside me was all-consuming. He was too close, the heat of his body radiating in waves, and every inch of space between us seemed to collapse under the weight of it.

"You're not scared anymore," he murmured, his voice low, a note of surprise lacing his words, though curiosity hovered just beneath the surface.

I swallowed hard. "Should I be?"

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "Most would be, and I almost killed you."

I turned my head, meeting his gaze again, and for a moment, my breath caught. There was something different about him now. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, flickering with an intensity that both pulled me in and sent a chill down my spine. He was beautiful, yes, but there was more beneath the surface. A raw danger, power that simmered just below the calm exterior he wore so well.

But strangely enough, I wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

"I'm not most people", I whispered.

He didn't reply. Instead, he watched me for a long moment, the silence between us growing heavier, the tension palpable. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it lingered on my lips before returning to my eyes, as though he was weighing something. Deciding something.

I should've moved. I should've said something to break the spell that seemed to have wrapped itself around us, tightening with every breath. But I didn't. I couldn't.

He shifted, turning his body fully toward mine, and the mattress dipped again. His hand moved closer, resting on the bed near my arm, but not quite touching. His presence washed over me, overwhelming every one of my senses. My pulse quickened, my breath hitching in my throat as the space between us seemed to shrink even further.

"But, you don't trust me," he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His eyes bore into mine, sharp and piercing, yet vulnerable, as if the admission hurt him somehow.

"I shouldn't," I whispered back, my voice shaky but firm. And maybe that was what unsettled me most in all this situation. It wasn't just the fact that he was a vampire—it was that, deep down, I wasn't sure I could trust myself around him.

His lips twitched into another small smile, but this one was different. It was darker, edged with something almost sad.  "No," he said quietly. "You shouldn't."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against my skin, sending a shiver through me. My heart raced uncontrollably now, my mind screaming at me to pull away, to move, to say something—anything to break whatever this was between us. But my body wouldn't listen. He was so close. Too close.

I stared at the ceiling again, trying to steady the wild beat of my heart, trying to control the flood of emotions that threatened to drown me. His hand hovered near mine, his fingers barely grazing the sheets, so close to touching me, but not quite. The tension was unbearable, and I knew that if I moved even an inch, something would happen. Something I wasn't sure I knew how to stop.

But then, he pulled back.

Slowly, deliberately, he stood, the bed shifting under his weight as he moved away. The air in the room shifted with him, the tension easing slightly, but my heart was still pounding, my thoughts still spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

He didn't look at me. Not even once. It was as if the moment had passed, as if it had all been in my head.

"Get some rest," he said, his voice cold, distant. "We leave in the morning."

I swallowed hard, watching the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly into fists at his sides. He was trying to put distance between us, I realised. Trying to control whatever instincts he had battling inside him.

And I hated that I didn't want him to.