Chapter 79: Fangs, Silence, and Unspoken Wounds
{CAROLINE}
"...Damn it," I hissed under my breath, clenching my fists. "That bloodsucker."
I dragged a hand through my hair, heart pounding harder now—not with fear, but with something far more unsettling.
"It must be that curse," I muttered, jaw tightening. "That venomous... euphoric aphrodisiac in their saliva."
I pressed my lips together firmly, as though I could seal the lewd thoughts away by sheer force of will.
"Yes," I said again, more insistently this time as hat pooled low in my stomach, settling in my core. "That must be it."
I repeated it like a mantra as I forced my legs to move, and I turned away from the shadowed corridor and made my way back toward the dormitories. Each step felt heavier than the last, my body sluggish, my thoughts tangled and unruly.
The night air did nothing to cool the lingering heat beneath my skin.
I hated it.
I hated that my body remembered more than my mind wished to acknowledge.
By the time the familiar outline of the dormitory rose before me, the final bell had not yet tolled.
Relief washed over me in a weak, breathless rush. Had I been even a minute later, the punishment would be dire.
I slipped inside just in time.
The bedroom was quiet, bathed in soft lamplight and the faint rustle of turning pages.
And there—
"Iris," I said, the word leaving me with more feeling than I’d intended. "You’re here."
Relief loosened something tight in my chest. Thank God. She was safe.
For a moment, guilt pricked at me—sharp and unwelcome. I had almost forgotten about her. Almost.
But that wasn’t my fault.
Those bloodsuckers—those cursed creatures—had clouded my senses, twisted my awareness, dragged my focus inward until the world beyond my own body had all but vanished.
Still, the guilt lingered.
Iris sat near the window, a thick school tome propped open in her hands.
She was still reading that? I had given up before I even flipped another page of that accurse boring tome.
She didn’t look up right away. When she finally did, her gaze flicked to me for only a heartbeat before returning to the page.
"Oh," she said quietly. "You’re back."
That was all.
I blinked.
"That’s it?" I asked before I could stop myself.
After everything—after I had nearly lost my life searching for her—that single syllable was all she offered?
"I’ve been looking for you," I said, my voice drawn taut with worry. "I found you gone and I grew worried. Curfew was nearing, and when you weren’t here, I went searching for you."
She turned another page, face so indifferent. The sound grated on my nerves.
"Looking for me?" she repeated. There was a faint smile on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Are you sure about that?"
The question struck deeper than it should have.
"Huh?" I frowned. "What’s wrong with you? Did something happen?"
Why did it feel like she was angry with me?
No—more than angry. There was something colder there. More than angry.
Iris closed the tome.
The sound echoed louder than it should have in the quiet room.
I flinched slightly at how hard she’d shut it, her fingers tightening along the spine before she drew a slow breath.
"...Sorry," she said, not meeting my eyes. "I’m going to bed first."
And just like that, she stood and walked away.
She lay down with her back to me, facing the wall, shoulders stiff and unmoving.
I stood there, rooted to the spot.
W—what...?
"What happened?" I whispered, though she didn’t answer.
I could feel it then—her anger. It radiated from her in waves, heavy and unspoken, filling the space between us with a suffocating weight.
What did I do wrong?
The question troubled me, sharp and relentless. My thoughts spun uselessly, replaying every moment of the night, every choice I’d made.
I felt foolish. Awkward. Strangely hollow.
I had so much to tell her.
About what happened to me.
About Lord Vladimir and what he said to me.
But one look at her rigid form told me she wasn’t in the mood to hear any of it.
So I stayed silent.
I left her be.
The bathroom welcomed me with sterile light and echoing stillness. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment, finally allowing my knees to tremble.
Only then did I look at myself in the mirror.
My cheeks were flushed. My eyes too bright. There was a softness to my expression that made my stomach twist with shame and confusion.
I turned away quickly, drew a bath, and sank into the water.
The heat should have soothed me.
It didn’t.
Even as exhaustion dragged me under later that night, Iris’s turned back lingered in my mind—an unspoken accusation I couldn’t yet understand.
And beneath it all, darker still, was the memory of fangs and warmth and a reaction I had no right to feel.
====
{CAROLINE}
"Iris... are you awake now?"
My voice was low, hesitant, as though I were stepping onto thin ice. Pale morning light crept through the narrow dormitory window, turning the stone walls the color of ash. Iris lay facing the wall, still and silent.
For a moment, I thought she might still be asleep which was weird since she should be awake right now.
Then she stirred.
"I am now," she said. "What is it?"
Relief slipped through me before I could stop it.
"You won’t believe what happened to me last night," I said, pushing myself upright. My hands wouldn’t keep still. I folded them into my lap, then unfolded them again. "I—do you know Vladimir Nightborne?"
Her body stiffened.
Not dramatically. Not obviously.
But enough.
"The Lord Nightborne?" she asked. Her voice was too even. "Everyone does."
"We met again," I said. "Last night."
The words seemed to hang in the air between us, heavier than they should have been.
Iris turned slowly, finally facing me. Her expression was calm—carefully so—but her eyes were sharp, alert.
