Moon carves sharp shadows. Hugo tweaks his jacket. Halloween beats pulse from Thomas’s house behind us. Too crowded. Fake laughs. We crave isolation. Gravel crunches underfoot toward the municipal cemetery. Steles line up like silent soldiers. Bushes whisper.
‘You sure?’ I ask, cape from the costume pile draped over my shoulders. Elodie here—daytime lawyer, fierce in court. Night? Something unchained stirs.
The Mutation
‘No,’ Hugo grins, nervous edge. ‘But quieter.’
Gate swings silent. Air reeks of chrysanthemums, dead candles, cold dirt. Flashlight catches a grave: Louise. 1896-1917. Twenty-one years old. Dead over a century.
Hydromel from his flask. Pour a stream at the stone’s base. I sip. Heat burns throat. ‘Cheers,’ I whisper. Liquid traces a glowing circle around a pristine white candle. To Louise, who asked nothing. To us, reckless.
Cold climbs ankles. I grab his arm. Need living warmth. Mausoleum ahead, moss-covered. Inside: damp walls, mold stench. Names bulge in stone. Epitaphs fade.
‘I’ll lock it,’ Hugo says. Phone flash slices dark. I slap hand over his mouth. ‘Shh.’ Eyes lock. Cape drops to slab. I sit. Legs cross. Stockings snag faint glow.
‘Sex in a graveyard protect the living?’ I tease.
‘Doubt it.’
Candles flicker alive. Dust motes dance. His hand finds mine. Lips brush—awkward. We laugh. Kiss deepens. Heat fights stone chill. Mask cracks. Daytime me fades. Primal rush surges. I grip his shirt. Rip open.
‘Vampire,’ I growl, thumb on his lip. ‘Bite.’
That’s the mutation. Control flips. Power floods veins. No more holding back. Adrenaline spikes like courtroom wins, but rawer. Hungrier.
I stretch on cape. Arms back. Body offered. Drip echoes—water clock ticking our seconds. His hands hunt. I guide. Fingers slip under fabric. Nipple hardens under touch. I arch. Breath slams stone.
Hand slides cool ass curve. Nails rake neck. Lips claim throat hollow. Fear? Fuel. I pull hair. Demand more.
His mouth trails down. Kiss—not bite yet. I sigh. Yank him. Back arches full.
‘Sure, Elodie?’
‘Now.’
He thrusts in. Shock shared. Stone cold vanishes. Heat builds. Hips grind. My palm claims his back. Nails dig. I set rhythm. Dominate pace. Walls etch our shadows—wild, synced. Sanctuary. Dead watch mute.
Car hums distant. Cypress muffles. He pauses. Forehead to shoulder. I kiss lip corner. Wipe stray lipstick.
‘Feel that?’ I breathe.
‘What?’
‘They’re listening.’
‘Everything listens. Let’s perform.’
Candle snuffs. ‘Not me,’ he says.
The Exploit
‘Someone rehearsing.’
Dark swallows. Bar light grids floor. Silence sweet. We dive blind. ‘There.’ ‘Like that.’ Laughs punctuate gasps.
Drip stops. I freeze.
‘Hear?’
Leaf rustle outside. Bell tolls—split note. No church near.
Door shifts on breath. Stockings tear on stone. Fuck it. Moon pierces bars. Dead wick reignites. I ride harder. Domination peaks. Lips bite bloody to muffle scream. Back bows. Thighs clamp him vise-tight. He shatters. Bodies quake. Hearts hammer. Wax, sweat mingle.
Branch snap. Raven flaps.
‘Heard,’ he murmurs.
‘Or too loud.’
We linger. Breathe. Dress. Cheeks flushed. Eyes clear.
‘Out?’
‘Yeah.’ Hand squeeze.
Moon shifted. Gravel eats steps. Pass graves. Names, dates silent.
Stop at Louise. Wax circle perfect. Center: dark L. ‘Louise?’
‘Or ‘leave’.’ Palm near—chill radiates. Gooseflesh.
‘Hydromel,’ he recalls. ‘But this…’
Mark smears under thumb. Wrist grip. ‘Go.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. To who?
Wind stirs branch. Gate creaks. Street reclaims: orange lamps, bins, crooked scooter.
‘My place?’
‘Not tonight.’ Sweet smile. Part.
The Shadow: Back home. Light off—not by me. Smile in dark. No fear. Chrysanthemum scent drifts. Louise—cut short at 21. Maybe missed this fire. Secret burns brighter. Day me? Stronger. Unbreakable. Court tomorrow. But nights? Mine. Power owned. Ghosts approve.