Kyle
I noticed the moment Amelia turned away.
It was subtle—something no one else would have caught. Just a hesitation. A shift of her shoulders. The way her steps quickened as she chose a different hallway.
But I noticed.
I always noticed her.
For three years, Amelia had been the one constant I allowed myself. The one mistake I never corrected. And now, as she disappeared into the crowd of students pouring through Winfred Academy's halls, something sharp twisted in my chest.
She had never avoided me before.
Not once.
Not even when I'd tried to act nonchalant, ignoring the pull between between us.
My fingers curled too tightly around the metal door of the school locker, listening to the sounds of school life resume around me. Laughter. Lockers slamming. The mundane noise of a human world that had never truly been mine.
My eyes followed the empty space where she had been.
She's scared.
The realization settled deep, heavy and cold.
I'd known Amelia since middle school.
Since the day she'd walked into the classroom with a shy smile and eyes too bright for a world as dull as this one. She had been new—nervous, hopeful, alive in a way that hurt to look at.
And her scent.
God.
It had nearly driven him feral.
I remember gripping the edge of my desk as the teacher introduced her as a transfer student, every sense on high alert. I'd smelled blood before. Thousands of times. It was usually background noise—something controlled, catalogued, ignored.
But Amelia's scent had been different.
Warm. Bright. Almost… musical.
Not just blood. Life.
It had wrapped around me, soaked into my lungs, and whispered things I had spent years learning not to hear.
Mine.
That had been the first moment I'd realized something was wrong. The possessive feeling that came over me was unlike anything I'd felt.
I was only seventeen, still learning to control the urge. It was normal, I'd get used to her scent and move on.
But I didn't.
At first, I'd told himself it was curiosity.
Why did her presence make my control fray at the edges? Why did my instincts sharpen whenever she laughed? Why did I find myself positioning my body between her and danger without even thinking?
So I watched her.
From the back of classrooms. From across hallways. From the edges of her life where I could exist without touching.
I learned the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was concentrating. The way she smiled with her whole face when she thought no one important was watching.
Three years of restraint.
Three years of discipline.
Three years of telling myself that what I felt was just hunger dressed up as something else.
But hunger didn't ache.
Didn't soften at the sound of her voice.
Didn't make me feel like tearing something—someone— apart every time she laughed with another boy.
And yet, I had never crossed the line.
Until her birthday.
The memory burned.
I had gone to her party knowing I shouldn't. Had stood at the edge of the room, telling myself I'd leave after ten minutes. That I'd wish her a happy birthday and disappear like I always did.
Then I saw her.
The dress clung to her like it had been made for her alone, pale blue against her skin, her hair loose around her shoulders. She was laughing—radiant—spinning as her friends pulled her into the center of the room.
Something inside me had snapped.
The music had blurred. The scent of human blood had grown too loud, too chaotic—but hers cut through it all like a blade.
I'd imagined stepping behind her. Lowering my face to her neck. Breathing her in until the world stopped spinning.
I could almost taste her.
That was when I'd left.
I hadn't trusted myself enough to stay.
The girl in the woods hadn't been planned. She had been careless, drunk, alone—an easy target to burn the edge off the hunger clawing through my veins.
Collateral damage.
She wouldn't remember. Never.
It was supposed to end there.
But Amelia had followed me.
My jaw tightened at the memory of her standing there, eyes wide, fear blooming as she saw me for what I was.
I could have erased her memory.
It would have been easy. One touch. One command. One gentle push of compulsion, and the night would have blurred into nothing more than a bad dream.
I'd done it to hundreds of humans.
But when I'd looked at Amelia—pale, shaking, real—I couldn't
Because if I erased her memory, she might totally forget about me. The risk was little, if I controlled it, I could choose which memory to delete, but in my state, I couldn't take the risk.
I might lose her forever.
And some selfish, damned part of me hadn't been willing to gamble.
Now, standing in the hallway where sunlight streamed through tall windows, I could feel the consequences of that choice closing in around me.
She avoided me all morning.
In first period, she took a seat two rows ahead instead of her usual spot near the window. She didn't look back. Not once.
In second period, she arrived early and left late.
By lunch, it was undeniable.
Amelia was afraid of me.
The thought hurt more than I expected.
I didn't follow her. Didn't force proximity. I had learned long ago that pressure only made humans break.
Instead, I watched.
And waited.
By the end of the day, the halls emptied, shadows stretching long and familiar. I lingered near the courtyard, senses stretched outward.
She emerged alone.
Her shoulders were tense, her steps careful, like she expected something to jump out at her.
Guilt twisted in my chest.
I did this.
I stepped into her path.
"Amelia."
She stopped so abruptly it was like hitting a wall.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then she looked up.
Her eyes met mine—and she flinched.
Not dramatically. Not obviously.
But enough.
It felt it like a blade between my ribs.
"I—" Her voice wavered before she steadied it. "I need to go."
She tried to step around me.
I didn't touch her. Didn't even move closer.
"Did I scare you?" I asked quietly.
Silence stretched.
Her fingers clenched around her bag strap. "You… you don't have to pretend," she said softly. "I saw you."
There it was.
The truth, laid bare between us.
I closed my eyes for a brief second, then opened them again.
"I would never hurt you."
She laughed weakly. "You say that like it's supposed to make sense."
I deserved that.
"I should have erased your memory," I admitted.
Her breath caught. "You could have done that?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
I held her gaze, letting her see the truth I'd hidden for years.
"Because I didn't want you to forget me."
Amelia swallowed. "That doesn't make this better."
"I know."
She stepped back, shaking her head. "I need time. I don't know what you are—or what you expect from me—but I can't just pretend everything's normal."
Before I could respond, she turned and walked away.
This time, I didn't stop her.
I stood there long after she was gone, the echo of her fear lingering like a wound that wouldn't close.
I had broken the one rule that mattered.
And now I would pay for it.
Amelia Hart was no longer just a girl I watched from the shadows.
She was now a secret.
And secrets never stayed safe for long.