"Oh, dear brother… are you avoiding me?"
Her voice flowed down the staircase like silk—soft, refined, and deceptively sweet. Each word was carefully enunciated, carrying that polished, aristocratic cadence their family had perfected over centuries.
Michael really wasn't trying to hear any of that right now.
He just wanted a shower.
A bed.
Silence.
Instead—this.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face before looking up at her properly.
"I am not," he replied flatly. "I would very much rather be asleep right now than having to entertain this."
His tone was calm. Controlled.
Deliberately uninterested.
She smiled.
Soft. Gentle. Almost shy.
It didn't reach her eyes.
Those emerald-green eyes studied him carefully as she descended another step, her gaze moving from his face… to his shoulders… to the faint stiffness in his posture.
Analyzing.
Dissecting.
Taking him apart piece by piece without ever touching him.
Then—
She paused.
Something clicked behind those eyes.
A subtle shift.
"…I see."
Her smile deepened slightly.
Not wider.
Just… sharper.
"Very well," she said lightly, tilting her head with an almost playful elegance. "If my dear brother does not wish to spend time with me…"
Her fingers brushed along the banister as she took another slow step downward, her movements graceful, controlled—every inch the noble lady she appeared to be.
"…then I shall simply occupy myself elsewhere."
A pause.
Then, casually—
"I believe I shall pay your little friend a visit."
Her tone remained sweet.
Pleasant.
Polite.
But the meaning behind it?
Not even remotely.
Even Sebastien stiffened.
Because now—
Her fangs were out.
Not subtle at all, since Sebastien….the human…could see it.
She wasn't talking about a friendly visit.
Not even close.
Michael's eyes shifted instantly.
Deep crimson flooded his irises.
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees in a heartbeat.
It wasn't gradual.
It was immediate.
Violent.
Sebastien inhaled sharply—and froze.
The air burned cold in his lungs.
When he exhaled, all that left his mouth was visible frost, his breath turning to mist right in front of him.
The warmth of the mansion vanished.
Replaced by something far more predatory.
Michael moved.
There was no warning.
No buildup.
One moment he stood at the base of the stairs—
The next—
He was in front of her.
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her throat with inhuman speed. His grip tightened instantly, nails pressing into her porcelain skin hard enough to leave faint cresed marks.
Not quite breaking skin.
But close.
Very close.
His crimson eyes locked onto her emerald ones, all traces of laziness gone.
Cold.
Sharp.
Lethal.
The air between them felt like it might shatter.
"Don't," he said quietly.
"You fucking dare" His nails were pratically digging into her skin at this point.
Elira's eyes widened slightly.
Her brother was genuinely about to snap her neck.
And yet—
There was no fear.
Not even a flicker.
Only… confusion.
A soft, almost curious tilt of her head as his fingers tightened around her throat, his nails pressing into her porcelain skin.
Fresh, bright red blood welled up instantly, slipping down in thin streams along her neck and collarbone, staining the pale fabric of her dress.
"Hm?"
She hummed softly, like she was pondering a minor inconvenience rather than the fact she was being strangled.
Her fingers came up—lightly, delicately—resting against his wrist.
Not pushing.
Not resisting.
Just… there.
"Why are you so angry, dear brother?"
Her voice was breathy. Gentle. Perfectly refined.
Innocence dripped from every syllable—as if she hadn't just threatened to hunt his friend for sport.
Michael's grip tightened.
The sound of flesh tearing under pressure filled the quiet hall.
Blood flowed faster now.
It should have been messy.
It should have been violent.
She should have been choking.
Struggling.
Panicking.
She wasn't.
That same soft, wounded expression remained on her face.
Eyes wide. Lips slightly parted. Like a fragile noble girl being wronged.
If Sebastien hadn't known better—
He might have tried to save her.
That's how convincing she looked.
"I am not doing this with you," Michael said coldly, his crimson gaze unwavering.
"You are not going anywhere near him."
His grip tightened further, veins rising along his forearm.
"Did I make myself clear?"
She blinked.
Slowly.
"But… big brother," she murmured softly, almost pleading. "I only wish to play with him."
"Find something else," he replied without hesitation.
Her lips curved.
Not wide.
Not obvious.
Just enough.
A teasing glint flickered in her emerald eyes.
"But I want to play," she said sweetly. "All my previous toys break far too easily. I am quite certain he will be… different."
A pause.
Her smile sharpened ever so slightly.
"Not like the first—"
She never finished.
Snap.
A sickening sound echoed through the hall.
Michael twisted his hand.
Her neck broke instantly.
Her head turned at an unnatural angle—nearly ninety degrees.
Her body went limp.
Completely.
Like a puppet with its strings cut.
He let go.
She collapsed.
Her body tumbled down the stairs, limbs loose, dress twisting around her form as she rolled—once, twice—before landing at the base in a quiet, lifeless heap.
Silence.
Michael didn't even look back.
He simply turned and continued up the stairs.
Unbothered.
This wouldn't kill her.
Nothing short of decapitation and complete incineration would truly end their kind.
Well—
That, or a werewolf bite.
And even that wasn't always guaranteed.
He hadn't even made it halfway up the staircase when—
Crack.
Pop.
A sharp series of sounds echoed from below.
Bones realigning.
Muscles stitching.
Flesh pulling itself back together.
Her head jerked violently—
Then snapped back into place.
Perfect.
As if nothing had happened.
Elira rose smoothly to her feet.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Graceful.
Like she had simply stood up after tripping.
"You are such a meany," she pouted softly.
Her voice carried upward, light and offended in the most delicate way.
"…You truly are," she added, almost whispering it.
Michael stopped.
Slowly—
He turned his head just enough to look at her.
"Don't push me."
Her expression remained soft.
But there was a faint hint of something else now.
Hurt.
Or at least the imitation of it.
"What?" she asked innocently. "Are you going to hurt me if I do?"
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"You already did. Remember?"
And then—
She moved.
No.
She glided.
Mist curled faintly around her feet as she ascended the staircase—not step by step, but as if the space itself bent to accommodate her movement.
One moment she was at the bottom—
The next—
She was in front of him.
Close.
Too close.
Her fingers reached up, brushing gently against his cheek.
"You used to be nice," she murmured softly.
"Come now, big brother… let us hunt."
Michael's expression hardened.
Annoyance flickered across his face as he pushed her away.
His hand passed through her.
Her body dissolved into mist instantly, dispersing into a faint cloud before reforming a few steps away.
Improved.
Her control had gotten better.
"Come now, big brother," her voice echoed lightly, playful. "I am quite certain you have not feasted in a while. Would you not indulge me just this once…?"
A pause.
Her lips curled into a small, teasing pout.
"…pwease?"
Yeah.
He wasn't having it.
"You will not touch my friend," he said, voice dropping—sharper now. "Did I make myself fucking clear?"
This time, when he reached for her—
He caught her wrist.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Forcing her to face him.
His crimson eyes locked onto hers, burning with something far more dangerous than anger.
A warning.
A line.
Do not cross it.
She looked at him.
Then—
A slow, coy smile spread across her lips.
"How curious…"
She stepped closer.
Light.
Elegant.
Predatory.
"You care quite a bit, don't you?" she mused.
"For a human."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Sebastien—
Then returned to Michael.
"Such fragile things," she continued softly.
"They break so easily. Age so quickly…"
A faint, dreamy smile.
"Die so… permanently."
Her tone held no malice.
No hatred.
Just… observation.
To her, humans weren't equals.
They weren't even opponents.
They were fleeting.
Breakable.
Cattle.
Though—
There were exceptions.
Sebastien, for example.
Smart enough to recognize his place.
Strong enough—in his own way—to survive by serving something greater.
Unlike most.
Her gaze returned to Michael.
Lingering.
Studying.
Searching.
Then—
"…Unless."
There it was.
The shift.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
Michael's spine stiffened.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Barely noticeable.
But to her?
It might as well have been a confession.
Her smile vanished.
Completely.
What replaced it—
Was something else.
Sharp.
Hungry.
Ancient.
"…Oh."
"So he is a special one."
Her fangs slid fully into view now.
No longer subtle.
No longer hidden.
Predatory.
"So tell me, dear brother…" she murmured, voice lowering slightly, growing more refined—more deliberate. "Is it his blood… or his birth?"
Michael stayed silent for a second.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Not answering would be worse.
Letting her curiosity roam unchecked?
That would end badly.
For everyone.
Especially James.
He exhaled slowly.
"He's resistant to my charm," Michael said flatly. "He doesn't react the way others do."
He looked annoyed.
"There. Are you happy?"
Elira tilted her head.
Thinking.
Analyzing.
"Oh…"
Her voice softened, contemplative now.
"Someone capable of resisting your charm…"
A pause.
"Perhaps," she added lightly, "my elder brother has simply grown weaker."
Michael's jaw tightened.
Yeah.
There it was.
That little devil.
"Or…"
Her smile returned.
Wider now.
More genuine.
"The human possesses a strong will."
And that—
That excited her.
A lot.
Weak-willed humans were boring.
They broke too fast.
Too easily.
But strong ones?
Those were fun.
Because in her mind—
If you were weak…
You had no right to possess a strong will.
Strength justified defiance.
Nothing else.
Breaking that contradiction?
That was entertainment.
That was art.
But—
Her brother had claimed this one.
How rude.
By the laws of their kind, she couldn't simply take him.
Not without permission.
Or a fight.
Or…
Her smile turned playful again.
There was always a third option.
"Very well," she said at last, stepping back gracefully.
"I shall refrain."
A soft smile.
"I will not hunt him."
She turned slightly, beginning to drift away.
"He is yours."
A pause.
Her head tilted just enough for her voice to carry back toward him—
"I do, however, wish to meet him soon, dear brother."
And then—
She was gone.
Like mist dispersing into the air.
Leaving behind only the faint chill in the room.
Michael stood there for a moment longer, jaw tight.
"…Crazy ass demon," he muttered under his breath.
Then he turned.
And continued toward his room.
He needed sleep.
He'd deal with the rest of this bullshit later.
A/N one more chapter with Michael to go.