"We have a problem," I sighed as I stepped out onto the terrace, the crisp night air hitting me like a slap. The faint glow of moonlight lit up the ornate garden below, a picture of serenity that sharply contrasted the storm swirling inside me.

Clocksworth was lounging in a deck chair that looked ludicrously out of place against the gothic stone terrace. Smoke curled lazily from his cigar, adding to the surreal ambiance. He was the picture of relaxation—half-empty whiskey bottle at his feet, a devil-may-care grin plastered across his face.

"Are you sure I'm part of the problem?" he teased without looking up, flicking ash over the side of the railing. "Because if I'm not, I really don't want to get involved."

I rolled my eyes, the weight of the papers in my jacket suddenly heavier. I snatched up the whiskey bottle, taking a swig to steady my nerves before muttering, "Someone's stealing from us."

The grin slipped from his face as he swung his legs down, planting his boots on the stone tiles with a deliberate thunk. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his expression turned sharp, serious. "Do you have proof?" His voice, usually tinged with mocking amusement, had an edge now—a knife's glint in the dark.

I nodded, pulling out the bundle of papers and unfolding them to reveal highlighted lines and scribbled notes. "These shipments never arrived," I explained, tapping the incriminating entries.

"Merde," he hissed, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "Does he know about it?"

"Not yet," I replied, careful to keep my tone neutral.

He nodded slowly, his gaze scanning the terrace like he expected shadows to start moving. "Good. Let me look into it first. Say nothing until we have more details. You don't want to worry him with small matters."

The mention of "him" made my stomach churn, but I nodded anyway, shoving the papers back into my pocket. I took another swig from the bottle, handing it back as his dark eyes bore into me.

"Everything else okay?" he asked casually, but there was something under his tone—something probing.

 "It's fine, a lot to learn," I replied as casually as I could. 

 Clocksworth leaned back in the chair again, and the playful grin was back on his lips, "working for me would have been easier." 

I snorted, "What does your group even do?"

 He leaned back, his smirk widening. "We... watch over the premises, collect money, check up on people to make sure they're behaving. Torture some poor bastard now and then."

I nearly choked on the whiskey. It burned my throat as I coughed, and Clocksworth's laughter boomed, echoing against the stone walls. He clapped me on the back, his hand lingering just a moment too long. "Damn, you're weak, Little One," he teased.

"Stop calling me that," I wheezed, glaring at him.

He ignored me, his grin softening into something almost... endearing. "We can toughen you up, you know," he said, his tone dripping with mischief.

"I'm fine as I am," I snapped, but my voice lacked conviction.

He stood then, towering over me as I leaned against the stone railing. His movements were slow, deliberate, and predatory. "Are you scared?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes," I admitted quietly, turning my gaze to the garden below. 

"Do you know what I am yet?" Clocksworth teased, his voice dripping with amusement. He took a long drag on his cigar, the embers glowing like a predator's eyes in the darkness.

I stiffened at the question, my mind racing. What the fuck did he mean with what? A murderer? Torturer? Member of some weird clan of princes? But there was something else, wasn't there? They were different in ways I couldn't explain. My breath hitched as the pieces started to fall into place, but I couldn't bring myself to say it aloud.

He leaned closer, his grin widening. "Oh, come on, Little One. Don't tell me you haven't figured it out. I've given you all the clues."

"What do you mean?" I asked a bit nervously, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt. 

 "If you really want to be one of us—" 

 I shivered, "stop it, damn it, I don't want to know," I muttered and went to sit on the stone railing.

He followed me with his gaze, and I felt him studying me closely. "You've hardly moved around the castle." 

 "No." 

 He chuckled as he stood up and joined me at the railing. "I can give you a tour." 

Slowly, I turned around so my legs dangled inward, and he stood lazily in front of me, hands on either side of me. "No one will hurt you, you know that." 

 "That's not what I'm afraid of." I mumbled quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear me. 

I couldn't even meet his gaze, which was intensely fixed on me as he leaned closer. His tongue flicked slowly over his upper lip as he took hold of my chin and tilted my head upward. "Look at me." 

 Reluctantly, I did as he said, and I saw the change in his eyes again, a burning desire and hunger lurking within. Something I had seen before but had tried to avoid. I didn't want to complicate life even more because something told me the guy in front of me carried a handful of problems and a lot of skeletons in the closet.

 "I know you guys are... different," I whispered, staring deep into his eyes. 

Suddenly, it felt like time stopped. Something about him made me forget everything; my head felt empty, and my body didn't respond. I felt completely petrified while my body was drawn to him. In his mouth, I could see his canines growing—but then he shook his head and looked away, and the feeling was gone. 

 "Sorry, Little One, a bad habit of mine," he grinned and lit a new cigar. 

 "What the fuck did you do to me?!" I rubbed my temples and shook my head. "What the hell, Tick-Tock, what the hell was that?!" 

 "I know. I'm sorry. One shouldn't play with their food," he smirked, winking at me with one eye.

I closed my eyes and sighed heavily before hiding my face in my hands. "It doesn't matter what you are." The words felt hollow even as I said them, my voice betraying the knot of fear twisting in my chest.

His laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, echoing off the stone walls of the terrace. "Adorable," he said, straightening with an amused smirk. "But denial won't get you far here."

I dropped my hands and glared at him. "You're not going to tell me then?"

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming like he was savoring a private joke. "Let's play a game," he said, his tone light but with an undertone of something darker. "You get three guesses, and I'll tell you if you're right or wrong."

I huffed in frustration, the air between us charged with a tension I couldn't name. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

He grinned, cigar dangling lazily from his fingers. "Go on, Little One. I'm all ears."

I hesitated, searching his face for some kind of hint. "A criminal?" I ventured, half-serious.

"Close," he said with a sly grin, "but not quite."

"A cult leader?" I guessed, more out of spite than actual belief.

Clocksworth threw his head back and laughed. "Creative! I like that one. But no."

My stomach churned as I stared at him, dreading what I knew deep down but couldn't fully accept. But he was right, the clues were there. "You're... vampires," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Clocksworth's smile widened, slow and predatory, like a wolf watching its prey finally stumble. "There it is," he said softly, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Good job, Little One. You win."

I stared at him, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. "That's insane," I muttered, shaking my head. "Vampires aren't real."

He leaned forward, the shadows shifting across his face, his grin sharp and menacing. "Oh, we're very real," he said, his voice dropping to a low, silky tone. "Do you want me to prove it?"

I froze, the words hanging heavy in the air between us. My instinct screamed at me to say no, to step back, to put as much distance as possible between myself and whatever he was offering. But my curiosity, reckless and stubborn, got the better of me.

"What does 'prove it' even mean?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my attempt at defiance.

Clocksworth chuckled, a dark, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "You're a brave one," he said, his brown eyes gleaming with something primal, something hungry. Before I could respond, he moved—not like a man, but like a shadow given form, a blur of motion that left me reeling. One moment he was standing a few feet away, and the next he was directly in front of me, his hand gently gripping my wrist.

"Feel this," he murmured, guiding my hand to his chest.

I half-expected warmth, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath his skin. Instead, there was nothing. No pulse. No rise or fall of breath. Just an eerie, unsettling stillness.

My stomach twisted, and I pulled my hand back as if burned. "What the hell..."

He grinned, his sharp canines catching the faint moonlight. "Still think I'm not real?"

I took a step back, my legs brushing against the railing behind me. "You're messing with me. This is some kind of trick."

"Call it a trick if it makes you feel better," he said, his voice almost gentle now. "But deep down, you know the truth."

His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, I was caught—caught in the depth of his gaze, caught in the terrifying realization that everything I thought I knew about the world was about to shatter.

"Prove it," I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.

His smile deepened, and he leaned closer, his breath cool against my neck. "Careful, Little One," he murmured, his voice a soft purr. "Once you open this door, you can never close it again." 

I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. My mind screamed at me to back away, to retreat, but my body betrayed me, rooted in place by equal parts fear and morbid curiosity.

"Then don't open it too wide," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Clocksworth's grin widened, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Bold," he murmured, straightening. "I like that about you."

He stepped back, the tension breaking slightly, though the air between us still felt charged. He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "You have no idea what you're getting into, do you?"

"And now I can't leave."

"We saved you," he interrupted, his voice suddenly cold. The playful smirk vanished, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. "If it weren't for us, you'd be nothing."

I flinched, the weight of his words hitting like a punch to the gut. "Saved me for what? To keep me locked up in this castle? To—to—"

"To give you a chance," he said, cutting me off again. His voice softened, but the intensity remained. "A chance to survive. To be something more than prey."

"Prey?" The word tasted bitter on my tongue.

Clocksworth smiled again, but this time there was no humor in it. "That's the game, Little One. Predator and prey."

The scent of tobacco filled the air as he exhaled a long plume of smoke. He watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning and walking toward the edge of the terrace, giving me a brief moment to think it all through. "Vampires? A castle full of fucking vampires?" I whispered with a sigh. 

"It's not as bad as it sounds," he smirked, offering me the bottle. "Take the rest; you look like you need it." 

 But I pushed the bottle away from me and ran my fingers through my hair, closing my eyes. "Are there more humans living here?" 

 "No." 

 "Just me?" 

 "Just you." 

 "Great," I muttered sarcastically. 

 Clock reached out a hand and mirrored my earlier movements, running his fingertips through my hair down to my waist. "You're already one of us, but one day he will ask you to cross over for real." 

 The words made my heart pound in my chest. I started to sweat and felt faint from all the questions swirling around in my head, but I didn't know if I wanted to know the answers. Not yet. 

 With a smile, he took my hand and pulled me down from the railing. "Come on, we're going out."