The Invitation

AYA

^A DECADE AGO^

The evening was a whirl of music and laughter. After three martinis, I surrendered to the dance floor’s rhythm. It was heady—this imitation of being human.

The bass pounded in my chest, nearly silencing the whispers of hunger scratching at my consciousness. I twirled around, joining groups of strangers who accepted me with open arms.

Men held my hand and placed theirs on my waist, their touch initially tentative but growing more confident with each song. I reveled in their attention, their flushed faces, and the excitement in their voices.

Their heartbeats, accelerated by booze and closeness, created a rhythm of their own—a tempting tune I struggled to resist. For a few brief hours, I felt almost alive. Almost human.

But the pain in my throat, the hollowness gnawing at my core, reminded me that this was just a façade. As the night dwindled, the crowd thinned out, spilling onto the streets in giggling, staggering groups.

Some sought the next party; others vanished into taxis or shadowy alleyways. I stayed at the bar, observing Felix as he cleaned glasses and wiped down the counters.

He worked with a quiet efficiency, his gaze darting to me every few minutes. When the last customer stumbled out, silence blanketed the room.

I rose and crossed the vacant space, my heels tapping softly on the wooden floor. “Need help cleaning up?” I offered.

Felix looked up, surprised. “Oh, no, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “You should sit. Or—would you like another drink?”

I smiled, moving closer. “I’m fine. But I really don’t mind helping—I’m good at it.”

His eyebrows arched in mild curiosity. “What makes you say that?”

“I used to work as a maid,” I said casually, watching his expression change to surprise. “For a very rich, very powerful family.”

“And now?”

“Now, I travel. I go where I want, when I want.” I tilted my head, letting the words linger for a moment. “I’m free.”

“That sounds incredible,” he murmured, his blue eyes wide and sincere.

I took another step closer, closing the gap between us. His scent—a blend of sweat, soap, and something uniquely him—wafted into my senses, tantalizing me.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, and I could almost taste the warmth radiating from his skin. I lifted a hand, running my fingers along his jawline.

His stubble was coarse against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the soft blush spreading across his cheeks. He let out a quiet, involuntary moan.

The sound sent a shiver down my spine; my fangs ached. I smiled. “I don’t think I can wait any longer, Felix,” I whispered, my lips grazing his ear.

“Would you like to come home with me tonight?” His breath hitched. For a moment, he froze.

Then he nodded, his voice a husky murmur. “Yeah. I would.”

I smiled and took his hand, leading him toward the door. He hesitated briefly, glancing at the scattered glasses and rags behind the bar, but I felt the moment his resolve crumbled.

Outside, the streets were quiet, the city’s noise muted by the late hour. Felix’s hand was warm in mine, his steps eager as he kept pace.

When we turned onto a shadowed side street, he stopped abruptly, pulling me toward him. His arms wrapped around my waist, one hand sliding up to tangle in my curls as his lips found mine.

They were warm, soft, and impossibly inviting. My hunger surged. For a split second, all I could sense was his blood; all I could hear was his heartbeat.

I clenched my fists, controlling my strength. I couldn’t just tear his head off. I nipped at his lower lip, drawing the faintest bead of blood.

The taste was electric, sharp and sweet, and I couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped my lips. Felix responded eagerly, his kiss deepening as though he couldn’t bear the distance between us.

I guided him back, pressing him against the rough brick wall of a nearby building. My hands slid into his hair, tilting his head to expose the pale curve of his throat.

His pulse thudded wildly beneath his skin. I kissed the spot once, twice, relishing the saltiness of his sweat before sinking my fangs into his neck.

He gasped, his body tensing against mine. I clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound and drank deeply. The blood was divine—rich, full-bodied, and teeming with life.

It filled the emptiness within me, the bliss washing away all else. I clung to him tighter, losing myself in the sensation. His soft moan echoed in my ears, his hands feebly pushing against my shoulders, but I couldn’t release him.

He was the most satisfying meal I’d had in ages. And once I was done, the night would swallow me up, leaving me in solitude once more.

I drank deeper, drawing directly from the vein, wasting not a single drop. His body slumped heavily against mine.

As the blood comforted me, invigorating my muscles, the buzz of Berlin’s nightlife seemed muffled, like a distant hum beneath a blanket of stifling silence.

The usual twinkle of streetlights above appeared sharper, more severe, casting shadows that danced eerily against the brick walls. Then there was the scent—an odd mix of stale blood and smoke, faint but undeniable.

It wormed its way into my consciousness, setting my nerves on fire. I froze. The soft shuffle of footsteps pierced the silence, so gentle they could’ve been mistaken for the wind.

But they weren’t the wind. They were too purposeful, too steady, as if someone wanted to be heard but not too soon. My muscles tightened.

“Hello there,” a deep voice emerged from the darkness, smooth and disconcerting. “Mind if we share?”

I spun around, my bloody fangs bared, instinctively pulling Felix closer as a growl rumbled from my throat.

A tall man loomed behind me, his frame slender yet strong, his fitted shirt and jeans highlighting the lines of his physique. Auburn hair tumbled over his eyes in careless waves, and a thick beard framed his sharp features—high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and a jawline that exuded unwavering confidence.

But it was his eyes that ensnared me. Crimson. Bright, predatory, and focused on me with unsettling ease. When he smiled, revealing sharp, ivory fangs, I felt a familiar tension knot in my chest.

A turned vampire. I could detect it on him—the scent of human blood tinged with the faint, bitter smell of his own transformation.

“Mind if I share?” he asked again, his voice smooth, his German softened by a faint, unidentifiable accent.

His relaxed stance—almost too casual—put me on edge. Vampires didn’t share. Especially not meals. His friendliness wasn’t just unusual; it was threatening.

I shifted slightly, using Felix’s limp body as a barrier between us. “There’s not much left,” I responded tersely, my voice hardening.

He shrugged, moving closer. “A little’s better than nothing. I haven’t fed in days. And trust me,” he added, his lips forming an easy smile, “you don’t want to see me on an empty stomach.”

Was he like me then?

The lightness in his voice clashed with the tension coursing through me. I wiped the blood from my chin, stepping back. “Fine. Go ahead.”

He moved swiftly, faster than I anticipated. One moment he was several feet away; the next, he was holding Felix’s body with a proficiency that set my nerves on edge. He drained him in seconds, the life fading from Felix’s pallid face with horrifying finality.

When the vampire pulled away, his crimson eyes dimmed, transitioning to a deep, unsettling green. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me, smiling as if we were sharing a bottle of wine instead of a life.

“Thanks,” he said cheerfully, the casual warmth in his voice starkly contrasting the cold body at his feet. “I owe you one.”

I stared at him, rigid and silent.

He extended a hand as if we were old friends. “I’m Thomas. Tom, actually.”

I hesitated, then accepted it. His hand was smooth, cool, and firm.

“Aya,” I replied curtly, observing his reaction.

“Aya,” he echoed, his smile broadening as if savoring the name. “Nice to meet you. Do you live around here? I haven’t been back to Germany in over a century.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know—my accent’s probably terrible.”

His casual conversation threw me off balance. Vampires didn’t talk like this. Not to each other. Not to me.

“It’s fine,” I said, softening my tone slightly. His smile was disarming, and I despised that.

He gestured vaguely at the deserted streets. “I’m originally from Vancouver. Turned in 1880. You?”

I squirmed, feeling a bit uncomfortable under his nonchalant probing. “Cairo,” I answered, my words slipping out in English without a second thought. “1923.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction, but he didn’t push further. “Beautiful city. I bet you miss it.”

I gave a noncommittal shrug. “I steer clear of other vampires.” My tone was more assertive now, the words serving as a caution rather than a confession.

He nodded, his face taking on a contemplative look. “I understand. Many of us can’t be relied upon. Particularly the purebloods.”

I tensed up, my defenses instantly back up. “You’ve encountered many purebloods?”

He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of any ill intent. “Not exactly. Just one, ages ago. Intense fellow. They always are, aren’t they?”

My lips pressed into a tight smile. “You could put it that way.”

He leaned casually against a nearby lamppost, scrutinizing me with a gaze that felt too discerning. “You know, we weren’t designed to do this solo. All this roaming, hunting—it starts to mess with your head after a while. That’s why the purebloods keep their kin so close.”

“They’re not kin,” I retorted, surprising even myself with the bitterness in my voice.

He arched an eyebrow, but his smile softened. “Fair point. But you don’t strike me as the lone wolf type either, Aya. That kind of solitude… It wears you down.”

His words struck a chord, and I resented the fact that he could see the chinks in my armor. I hadn’t allowed anyone this close in years—decades.

Tom cast a glance at Felix’s body and sighed. “Look, I’ve got some buddies in London. We’re gathering next week. You should join us. They’re…tolerable. For vampires, at least. And I promise, if they’re not, I’ll let you tear their heads off.”

His laid-back humor almost coaxed a smile out of me. Almost.

“Why?” I questioned.

He cocked his head, genuinely pondering my question. “Why not? You seem like you could use a break from all this.” He waved vaguely at the city—the darkness.

I hesitated, the burden of years influencing my decision. Isolation had kept me alive, but it had also chipped away at parts of me I wasn’t sure I could ever reclaim. Memories of my own journeys, of shared escapades, came rushing back. Despite everything, those had been my most joyful moments.

“Mull it over,” he suggested lightly, stepping past me. “I’ll be here tomorrow night if you have a change of heart.”

I watched him leave, his relaxed gait carrying him into the shadows, leaving behind a peculiar void I didn’t want to recognize.