----------------------------------------

As darkness took over the library, the vibes totally morphed—from my solo chill zone to creep central. Being half-vamp and half-witch is no joke when you're in a tug-of-war with yourself, and right then, as I soaked in the scene playing out in front of me, it was like an epic battle royale in my veins. The vamp side of me—I usually keep that part on a tight leash—suddenly snapped to attention thanks to Hunter getting his snack on. Major gross-out alert for my witchy half, but the vampy bit of me? Oh, it woke up big time, all ravenous like I hadn't let myself feel in forever.

There was Hunter, locking eyes with me like he knew the chaos swirling inside. "Ever wonder what your blood's like?" he threw out there, all casual but with this hungry spark that sent shivers down my spine. "Gotta be top shelf, with that Valerius magic in your veins." His voice dropped to this hush that hung between a threat and some twisted daydream. He laid out this pitch-black picture of drinking me dry and watching me just... crumple. He got a sick kick out of it.

But man, even with scared stiff stamped all over me, I couldn't ignore how the air was thick with that coppery tang of blood—it clung to every breath and messed with my head like nothing else. The kind of hunger I'd shoved down deep, the thirst I'd never even let myself taste—it came crashing through my walls like a wrecking ball.

Before I knew it, Hunter was closing in on me like some kind of stealthy predator, completely snapping me out of my daze. My body tensed up as he inched closer and went straight for the journal under my arm—the one I'd carried along just because, without giving it much thought at all. His fingers grazed mine in a brief, electrifying touch as he grabbed it from me, sending this unexpected shiver of longing zipping through my whole body. "Hey!" escaped my lips before I could stop it, heavy with this weird mix of revulsion and a craving that I didn't really want to acknowledge.

He held my notebook just beyond where I could reach it, smirking and dodging every time I made a grab for it. His teasing was infuriatingly playful, yet his moves were quick, almost like he was taunting me. Trying to get it back was like stumbling through one of those silly playground games—'keep-away'—except this was no child's play; the guy in front of me was as dangerous as they come.

After his fill of amusement at my expense, Hunter lounged against a bookcase. Nonchalantly flipping through the pages of my journal with unexpected gentleness that clashed with his earlier prankster vibe. "Why am I not surprised you're into the Brontës?" he threw at me casually after spotting my collection of quotes from their books.

Reading's always been my escape—the one luxury I let myself sink into whenever life’s pressures ease up enough to let me breathe. But these intimate encounters with the written word—my secret rendezvous with the haunting lines penned by the Brontë sisters—were sacred and personal. Something I had kept to myself... until now. "Because I have taste," came out my sharp reply as heat crept into my cheeks, almost embarrassed but mostly defiant. "Not that you’d get it."

Hunter's smirk stretched even wider, as if he knew exactly what effect he was having on me, and I could feel my skin practically crackling with annoyance. Why did he have to be so infuriating? More than anything, I wanted to shove him out the door and lock it—a fantasy of sweet relief from his maddening ability to unravel the calm I struggled so hard to maintain.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Yet, here he was again, inching closer in that slow, deliberate way that forced me to mirror his movements in reverse. It was like we were caught in this weird shuffle that kept playing over and over—a dance we had both memorized but neither of us had wanted. Then, all of a sudden, he started quoting lines from my favorite book, speaking them in this hushed tone that somehow made them sound more intense, more... alive. "Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same." He let those words hang in the air between us for a moment, and I swear I actually got chills.

And it wasn't just because he was standing way too close or talking in that accent that sent waves of whatever straight through me—it was because with those words, it hit me: Hunter had caught a glimpse into a piece of me I'd kept locked away. I'd never meant for him to see that soft spot, that tender part of my soul I barely acknowledged myself. His gaze softened then, shining with something I couldn't quite name but it made him look... different—like the sharp edges of him had blurred into something resembling kindness.

"Underlined and highlighted," he noted, all casual-like while his eyes scanned over mine, trying to read me. "So this is a favorite, huh? Strange choice..." His voice trailed off as if inviting me to explain why—why those words mattered so much—but wasn't everything about this complicated enough without adding my secret favorites into the mix?

Feeling totally attacked, I couldn't help but snap back, "What's that even supposed to mean?" My voice was this weird cocktail of defiance and like, a crazy amount of curiosity.

Hunter just gave me this look that seemed to last forever—kind of searching—and then, just as quickly as it came, he was over it, diving back into his book. "Nothing," he said super casually. Ugh, that just one word though? It felt like a ton of bricks loaded with things he wasn't saying.

But we didn't get to go into that because the girl lying on the ground picked that exact moment to make a comeback to reality. I immediately zoned in on her, feeling how real everything was getting. Hunter had totally fed on her, and now she was waking up, totally clueless about what went down. And there I was, stuck with this image of her looking all lost and breakable and the haunting thought of Hunter's kind of terrifying charm.

As I shoved my belongings into my bag, carefully trying to still the tremors in my hands, I made a slow trek to the exit. Hunter lingered for a fleeting moment, as if he had some lingering responsibility left in this chaos. “Just so you know,” he said, his voice cutting through the eerie silence, “she’s still alive.” Those words sent icy fingers skittering down my spine. He dropped that bombshell like it was nothing, and added with a nonchalant shrug, “But, you might want to bounce before she’s 100% again.”

In a flash, he vanished—a silent shadow slipping away—leaving me to deal with the aftermath along with the wounded girl and that haunting warning ringing in my ears. This library, once my personal hideaway—the sanctuary where I devoured words and dreamed—now seemed like a prison. The shadows seemed hungrier somehow, more insistent as they edged closer while I frantically stuffed my scattered notes into my backpack.

My pulse hammered in wild rebellion against my ribs as I bolted from the library. Every echo of my footsteps screamed 'run faster,' with fear nipping at my heels and the tang of iron sharp on my tongue—a vestige of blood and terror hanging heavy in the air. It was a stark reminder of that primal craving deep within me—the thirst that clawed at me from inside, begging for attention I refused to give it. Tonight had flicked some switch inside me; I felt it there in the marrow of my bones as I plunged out into the crisp night air on campus. Clinging onto the tattered edges of determination, I recognized a truth that clenched deep in my gut—the battle raging within me was only just beginning.

----------------------------------------