Chapter 5
Anna
The intruder didn't open the door.
He smashed straight through it.
A splintering crack—wood shards and metal fragments scattering like shrapnel in the moonlight. Before I could even process what was happening, my body was already flying backward, hurled off my feet by the sheer force of the door's rebound. The back of my skull struck the floor with a sickening thud, the impact sending a sharp ache shooting through my gums. The momentary weightlessness faded, and I made out the silhouette of the figure in the doorway.
It was Easter.
His eyes were a red no human could possess. Not the red of anger—the red of a predator whose pupils have fully dilated. He stood in the shattered doorframe, chest heaving, and paused for exactly one second. In that single second, my mind flashed to the night Eunice lost control.
Her eyes had looked exactly like that. She'd nearly drained me dry—I'd been one heartbeat away from meeting death. And now Easter would plunge me into the same nightmare. Out of control like this, he would kill me.
"No—" I couldn't even finish the word before my voice shattered into something shrill and jagged. I braced my hands against the floor, legs not yet steady beneath me, and was already scrambling toward the window on all fours. The curtains shimmered blue-grey in the moonlight, and on the glass I could see his reflection closing in.
Second floor. I can jump. Get outside. Maybe find a way to survive.
That was how naively I was thinking. But before my body could reach the window, an arm clamped around my waist from behind.
Easter's strength was staggering—there was simply no room to maneuver. I thrashed wildly, legs kicking, and my back pressed against something cold and hard: his body. My gasping dissolved into choked sobs, a drowning sensation surging straight up my throat. Death was close. So close I could feel its temperature.
"Don't move." Easter's voice came from just behind my ear, hoarse in a way I'd never heard before. No gentlemanly composure, no tenderness—nothing but raw, undiluted possessiveness. "Jumping will only hurt you, Anna. Calm down."
But I would rather hurt myself. A leap from the second floor and I'd be free of him. I clenched my teeth, swallowing my hatred. "You're insane—let go of me! Let go!"
His arm only tightened. The helplessness of being trapped, unable to break free, made my whole body shake uncontrollably. Easter lowered his head. I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to stop a terrified whimper from escaping: "Nn…"
But I allowed myself only that one sound before pulling my weakness back inside. Easter's teeth drew close—then retreated. Close again—then away. After several of these oscillations, I cracked one eye open and realized he seemed to be struggling with himself. Was he actually fighting his own bloodlust?
God, that's absurd.
The next second, the world spun.
Easter pinned me to the floor. Maybe the angle had been wrong before—was that why he hadn't torn into my throat immediately? Not that it mattered; I could still fight. My fingernails scraped across the floorboards with an ugly screech. He seized both my wrists in one hand; the other settled against my neck, icy fingertips tracing across my skin. In the moonlight I watched his Adam's apple bob, fine beads of sweat glistening on his pale skin. His gaze grew darker, heavier, something unnameable settling over him like a shroud. He stopped holding back. Pinning my struggling body beneath him, he lunged for my throat.
When Easter's teeth came down, I closed my eyes.
But the pain never came.
No tearing. No hot rush of blood flooding from my throat. I opened my eyes and saw his hand—broad, with sharply defined knuckles—hovering in front of my face. His palm blocked my vision; all I could feel was a searing heat at my neck.
Not a bite. What I felt against my throat was the cool press of his lips.
My breathing stopped. My brain short-circuited. What is this? He was kissing my skin. I could feel teeth testing the surface, and I held my breath involuntarily, unable to suppress the fear coursing through me.
Easter's ragged breathing filled my ear. I could even hear the sound of him swallowing—he was craving my blood, yet he was toying with me, licking and kissing my neck without delivering the mercy of a quick end.
Despicable vampire. Absolutely vile.
"Mm…" The sensitive skin of my neck, stroked and kissed, wrung a single syllable from me. I hunched my shoulders, trying to shrink away from the maddening tingle.
This is a vampire's trap. There's a substance in their saliva that induces euphoria in prey before death—makes everything feel blissful. That had to be what this was. But Easter hadn't actually bitten down. Had vampires evolved to the point where saliva alone, seeping through skin, could produce hallucinations?
No—wait. I dug my nails into my own palm. The jolt of pain cleared my head a fraction. Easter's hand still covered my eyes; even with them open, all I could see was darkness.
Then—something warm and damp against my lips.
Wait—what?
Easter. He was kissing me. Truly kissing me. Once again my ability to think simply collapsed, because this was so utterly, fucking absurd. This was not part of any survival plan I had ever conceived. My brain had encountered some unknown file format and simply could not open it.
I couldn't see his face—only feel his breath, and the temperature of his lips. Warm. Genuinely warm, not the cold a vampire's should be. The way he kissed me was nothing like a predator on the verge of losing control. It was more like…
No. I couldn't let myself think that.
I tried to struggle, but the movement was feeble. Maybe it was the hallucinogenic effect. Maybe it was—something else entirely. My hand pressed against his chest, and beneath my palm I felt a heartbeat. He had a heartbeat. Strong, irregular, like a drum pounding in a storm.
Easter gradually released me, though not completely. His hand slid away from my eyes and came to rest at the curve of my waist. At last, I saw his face.
In the moonlight, Easter's complexion was a near-translucent porcelain white, utterly bloodless, with a faint cool-jade luminescence beneath the skin. Thick lashes hung low over irises of deep wine-red—still and quiet, they resembled aged amber steeped in blood, but the moment they met my gaze, an unsettling, otherworldly glow rippled through them. His features were sculpted and severe: a high, straight nose, lips stained an almost too-vivid red. The feral savagery that had filled his eyes moments ago had receded. He stared at me, his expression blurred and unreadable, like a photograph that had never been brought into focus.
"You…" My voice fractured into fragments. "What do you want?"
I couldn't fathom his purpose. He was an enigma; his actions were beyond anything I could predict.
"Anna." Easter finally spoke, his voice restored to that familiar tone—cool, detached, edged with gravel. "You shouldn't have left your room. Your scent… it's too sweet."
I stared at him—at those eyes still tinged with red, at the chest still heaving with labored breath—and the realization struck me: he had truly been on the brink of losing control. Perhaps he still was. But he had reined himself in. He had not savagely torn open my veins.
"I'm sorry." Easter looked away, exhaling a heavy sigh. His fist clenched at his side, as though restraining something by sheer force of will, and he rose to his feet, putting distance between us.
I stood slowly, legs still trembling. The blow to the back of my head, the struggle—it all caught up to me at once. My skull throbbed, the room tilted, and nausea crawled up my throat. I tried to open my mouth, to say something—
And then my vision went black, and I collapsed once more into unconsciousness.
