The Scars He Left

AYA

His voice reached my ears before my eyes found him. That voice. It was deep, rich, and slightly rough. It sent a chill down my spine, not of desire, not of fear—but of pure, unadulterated anger.

My body stiffened, every muscle preparing for a fight. My breath hitched. No. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.

But then his scent hit me—like damp earth after a rainstorm, aged blood, and something uniquely his, something that once felt like home but now felt like venom coursing through my veins.

My heart pounded, beating against my ribs as if it wanted to break free. My stomach churned. I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to see him.

But I had no choice. And when I did, my world shifted.

He was there, as tall as ever, broader than I remembered. His dark hair fell over his forehead, still messy, still effortlessly perfect.

His clothes were torn and covered in dried blood and grime, but somehow, that only made him look more menacing. More tangible. More like the monster he truly was.

Tom was huddled against the cobblestones, his head bowed in submission. Alexander towered over him.

My heart gave a single, warning thump. My breath became shallow. Anger surged within me.

But my fear was just as potent. I was still scared. Not of him. Of losing him.

For a fleeting moment, our eyes locked. His usually icy-blue gaze flickered—just for a second, just long enough for me to catch something unexpected.

Surprise? Recognition? Remorse? Then it vanished.

I gritted my teeth, suppressing the memories that were fighting to surface. The nights I had spent by his side. The way his voice had once comforted me.

The way I had trusted him. The way he had ~destroyed~ me.

My fists tightened so much that my nails dug into my palms. Every part of me was ablaze with anger. Old wounds reopened.

Then I let it all out—~all~ of it. All my hatred. All my fury.

A flood of memories rushed through my mind—his betrayal, his detestable indifference, his arrogance. I swung at him, hard and fast.

He slammed into the wall behind him. He even had the nerve to look surprised. I didn’t hesitate.

My blood was boiling, my eyes glowing a bright crimson. I wanted to kill him.

I lunged at him, my legs straddling his chest. I yanked his head up and bit into his throat, ~tearing~, trying to sever his head from his body.

His blood exploded onto my tongue, a dark pleasure coursing through me. I barely had time to gasp before his hands gripped my waist and ripped me off him.

He flung me to the ground. I rolled away but sprang back at him.

This time, he was prepared. He barely moved—his hand caught my wrist before I could land a blow.

In a flash, he twisted my arm behind my back. I gasped in pain.

With a swift move, he spun me around and pinned me against him, my back pressed against his chest. The fight was over before it had even started.

~Foolish~ of me to challenge a pureblood. ~Foolish~ of me to challenge Alexander.

I felt his breath on my neck, his lips near my ear, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me in place.

“Stop struggling, Aya,” he whispered.

And my entire body went limp with submission. I wanted to melt into him.

My muscles strained to obey his command, even as I fought against it.

“Let me go,” I spat, infusing all my anger into those three words.

Alexander’s grip loosened. He stepped back, and I stumbled forward—right into Tom’s arms.

Alexander’s icy blue gaze darkened, turning crimson as he eyed Tom’s hand on my waist. A cold smirk played on his lips.

“Aya,” he drawled as if we were old friends—as if he hadn’t ripped me to shreds.

As if he hadn’t left scars that would never fade. How dare he stand there as if nothing had happened?

How dare he look at me like that, like I still belonged to him? I could barely breathe past the hatred clawing at my throat.

My blood was boiling, my vision clouded with red. I wanted to hurt him.

I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, to make him ~feel~ the years of torment I had endured because of him.

But above all, I wanted him to know—I wasn’t his anymore. I held his gaze, unyielding, and let my words fall from my lips like poison.

“You should be dead.”

His smirk only grew wider. “You missed me.”

“So…you two know each other?” Tom’s voice sounded almost foreign to me.

“He’s my maker,” I said, my eyes never leaving Alexander.

Alexander’s lips tightened into a thin line.

“I see,” Tom said, his eyes wide. “It’s getting late. Aya and I have a place to stay tonight. Do you? You look like you could use some fresh clothes and a shower,” Tom’s voice wavered.

“Forget it,” I retorted.

Tom shot me a disapproving look.

Alexander’s gaze returned to me, and to my dismay, that same smug, infuriating smirk that had haunted my dreams and fueled my anger for years appeared on his face.

He nodded. “I could use a shower,” he agreed.

“My name is André Eternelle.” He extended his hand, and Tom, the fool, practically buzzed with excitement as he shook it.

Alexander winked at me. If Tom hadn’t been standing between us, I would have wiped that smirk off his face.

“An Eternelle,” Tom murmured, in awe. “They’re related to the royal family.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled through clenched teeth.

Alexander was ~relishing~ this—relishing the way my body had stiffened, the way my breathing had quickened despite my best efforts.

Tom led Alexander and me back to the Airbnb, rambling about purebloods and their power while I remained silent, my body wound tight like a spring.

The place was a basement studio—small, without windows. The owner had been so apologetic that she’d given us two bottles of her family’s wine.

A kind gesture. I wondered what she’d think if she knew we’d just invited a monster in.

As we entered, I heard the door click shut behind us. I could feel his eyes on me—searing into my back.

I refused to turn around. I heard him exhale sharply, amused, as he took in our cramped living space.

I didn’t need to see his face to know he was unimpressed. A prince, born into wealth, into excess.

He would never have stooped to stay in a place like this.

He turned back to us, one eyebrow raised.

“Shower?”

Tom pointed toward the bathroom.

Alexander grinned at him. Then he turned to me and winked.

“Care to join me, Aya?”

My blood boiled.

“No,” I snapped.

His chuckle was low, knowing. “Another time, then.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and I let out a slow, controlled breath. I hadn’t realized I was shaking.

Tom cleared his throat.

I spun around to face him. “Why the hell did you invite him over?”

“He’s a pureblood, Aya!” Tom’s eyes were wide. “You never told me you were turned by a pureblood—an ~Eternelle~ at that!”

I crossed my arms tightly, my jaw set. “Maybe there’s a good reason I wanted to leave that in the past.”

Tom hesitated. “He was filthy, Aya. He’s obviously been sleeping in ditches the past few nights. It was the least I could do. He could have killed us both if he wanted to.”

“He still can.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “They really are something, aren’t they? Purebloods.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Tom.” I turned to face him fully. “The vampire in there was ~born~ a vampire. Born into privilege, into power. He’s from one of the most dangerous families to ever walk this earth. There’s not a shred of humanity in him. Not an ounce of kindness. He doesn’t ~care~ about anything but himself.”

I took a slow step closer. “He’s not impressive, Tom. He’s a ~monster~.”

Tom swallowed.

“What happened, Aya?” he asked softly.

I shook my head, looking away.

The sound of water stopped. I heard Alexander stepping onto the bath mat.

I clenched my fists.

“He took everything from me,” I whispered. “And he never cared what it cost me.”

The bathroom door opened.

Alexander stepped out, a towel hanging low on his hips, his skin glistening with water droplets.

My breath hitched—only for a moment, but he saw it. I knew he did.

His smirk widened.

“You left me, Aya,” he said. “Remember?”

My entire body froze.

Tom sat quietly on the bed, watching.

I made myself look into Alexander’s eyes. I kept my voice steady, uninterested. “What brings you here?” I asked, my tone icy. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Aya,” Tom warned.

Alexander took a step closer.

I forced myself to stay calm.

He stopped just inches away, so close I could see a bead of sweat trickling down his collarbone.

His voice was barely audible. “Can’t I be here for you?”

I laughed sarcastically. “If I had my way, I’d throw you out into the daylight.”

His smirk didn’t fade, but I noticed a flash in his eyes—red, predatory. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“You’ve forgotten your place, Aya,” he said softly.

I held my head high. “No. ~You’ve~ lost yours.”

A shadow passed over his face—something ominous.

“You’ve become even more beautiful,” he said quietly.

I pushed him away. “Fuck off.”

He didn’t move. He just laughed.

“Don’t resist, Aya.” He tilted his head. “You never could resist me.”

I smiled frostily. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I leaned in, just slightly. “~You~ could never resist ~me~.”

His eyes sparkled.

“Up for a game, Aya? Like the old days?”

“Never.”

His fingers grazed my arm, trailing up to my throat, sending a shiver down my spine. I despised myself for it. His fingers flicked my earrings. They spun, making a jingling sound.

“I always liked your jingles,” he said quietly. “You can take the girl out of the club, but you can’t take the club out of the girl.” His smirk was back. “Still terrible at sneaking up on people.”

“Why are you really here?” I asked, my voice stern. “You ~shouldn’t~ be here.”

“I’m looking for my sister,” he replied.

I laughed sarcastically.

“Which one? The one who used to yank my hair or the one who enjoyed pushing me into the sunlight?”

He laughed. He lifted his hand, tilting my face up to look at him.

“The one who pushed you into the sunlight.” His voice was softer. “I need to save her.”

I laughed harshly. “Bullshit. You’re not here to save your sister. You’re here because you fucked something up. What did you do this time?”

His fingers tightened on my jaw.

“Watch your words, Aya.”

I pulled my face away, stepping back.

He followed.

I backed up until I hit the wall. He cornered me.

“What did you fuck up this time?”

His eyes turned crimson.

“Don’t push me, Aya,” he growled, his fangs gleaming.

“You haven’t changed at all,” I whispered. “Still a selfish jerk. I had hoped these last fifty years might have changed you. Wishful thinking.”

His face hardened.

“You’ve crossed the line, Aya.”

Before I could react, his hand was behind my neck.

Suddenly, I was off the ground, my back against the wall. His body was against mine, his fangs in my throat.

I gasped, the pain sharp, familiar, electrifying.

Behind him, Tom yelled, but Alexander swung his arm, sending Tom crashing into the opposite wall.

His grip was unyielding.

I hated how my body responded.

My breath hitched, my hands gripping his shoulders, my pulse pounding in my ears.

When he finally pulled away, I almost fell.

He wiped his mouth, his crimson eyes fixed on mine.

“You will ~always~ be mine, Aya,” he whispered.