Chapter 3 The Vampire.

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Rochelle stood frozen, shock pinning her in place as the gruesome scene before her unfolded. A scream tore from her throat, raw and desperate.

"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh! Help!!!"

Before she could flee, Damien was there in an instant, his presence a wall between her and the exit. The door slammed shut behind him, trapping her inside, shielding their secret.

"I... I..." Rochelle stammered, fear choking her words.

"How dare you!" Olivia's voice cut through the tension, sharp and icy.

Rochelle turned to face Olivia, confusion battling with terror.

"But he was... you were..."

"You do not come into Mr. Tolland's office unannounced," Olivia snapped, her tone more frightening than Damien's looming figure.

Damien, calm and precise, swiped a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Olivia.

"Thank you, Damien."

"You're welcome," he replied smoothly, then pierced his right index finger with a single fang. Pressing it gently to Olivia's neck, the blood flowed instantly and just as swiftly, the bite marks healed, vanishing as if they'd never been.

"Wha-?!" Rochelle's mind struggled to keep pace with the impossible scene... Unimaginable.

"My God."

"I honestly didn't think you'd find out so soon," Damien said quietly, turning his piercing gaze to her.

"Wait, were you really drinking her blood?" Rochelle's voice wavered, equal parts disbelief and fear.

"That's generally how this works," he answered evenly.

"Yes or no?" she pressed, heart hammering.

"...Yes. I was drinking her blood."

The admission spun Rochelle's world. She steadied herself, trying to anchor her racing thoughts.

"With all due respect, Damien, I think she should be removed. Permanently," Olivia's voice cut through, cold and resolute.

Rochelle's breath hitched. "Wait... you're not actually going to kill me, are you?" Her fear seeped into her words.

Damien smirked, eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"I'm not that bloodthirsty, pun intended."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yes, I was feeding off Olivia, but it was entirely consensual."

Rochelle turned to Olivia, her voice trembling. "And it isn't hurtful?"

Olivia's gaze was unreadable.

"Define 'hurt'..." She paused, then added softly, "...on second thought, don't."

She shifted her attention back to Damien. "We need to debrief her now."

Rochelle's nerves frayed further. "Wait, what does that mean?" she asked, skittish as a deer surrounded by wolves.

Damien offered a calm, almost gentle smile.

"I'd do it now, but I suggest we take it slow. No need to rush. Seeing me like this must've been quite the scare. She needs time to process."

Olivia nodded, then glared at Rochelle.

"Why are you here?"

Rochelle fumbled, trying to focus. "Right! I forgot to give Damien the mandrake extract Ezra gave me earlier. When I realized, I rushed over... but I guess that's irrelevant now."

"That's fascinating to the average person," Damien said, taking the vial deftly from her hands without spooking her. "But I find it rather useful."

Olivia, buttoning up and primping herself without looking up, said, "Your meeting with Celeste is in about an hour."

"Wait, you have another meeting tonight?" Rochelle asked, stunned.

"Yes." Damien's eyes locked on hers, piercing, unsettling.

"Would you like to come with me?"

Rochelle hesitated. "Um...?"

A slow smirk curved Damien's lips, and suddenly everything clicked.

"Right... vampire. Practically nocturnal."

"So, you're coming? As my assistant. Don't worry, I'll pay you overtime." His devilish smile sent her heart racing.

"Oh, I expect double overtime! You're a vampire-you should be extra rich!"

"That can be arranged."

"I should like to know I opposed this spectacularly horrible idea, publicly," Olivia quipped, gathering her things and casting Rochelle a sharp look before giving Damien a coy glance.

"Noted, Olivia," Damien said smoothly.

With everything in hand, Olivia headed for the door.

"See you Monday," she said before giving Rochelle a final serious side-eye.

As the door clicked shut, Rochelle and Damien were alone. He moved gracefully, a little farther away, then asked, "Are you okay?"

Still on edge, alone with a vampire who could unmake her with a thought, she flinched at his movement but forced herself to answer.

"I think I'm fine."

Turning toward the farthest window, she took a deep breath.

"This is by far the wildest, scariest thing to ever happen to me in a single day," she thought, avoiding his gaze. "Who knows what those eyes could do to a mortal?"

Damien's voice dropped to a low rumble, as if reading her thoughts.

"I never really lied to you... if that's what you think." He paused, then added with a faint smile, "Just left a few things out of the conversation. Didn't seem appropriate at the time."

Her heart leapt. Can he read my mind?! The thought sent her spiraling-her mind was a racetrack, and Damien an F1 car zooming through.

"I think 'Oh, Rochelle, I'm a vampire' was a pretty big thing to leave out," she muttered.

Damien gave a light chuckle, shifting the mood.

"We really should get to our meeting. Celeste doesn't like tardiness."

"Right," Rochelle agreed, following him toward the door.

"But I have a lot of questions-based on what I know about vampires from TV."

"We can remedy that," Damien smiled. "Though most of what you see on TV is wrong. For starters, I do not sparkle. No vampire I know does." A small curl of amusement tugged at his lips.

"But you're immortal?"

"Yes. I do not age.", He corrected.

"How old are you, really?" Rochelle asked, curiosity piqued as they reached the private elevator.

"Born in 1813," he said casually. "So, just over two hundred and fifty years old... not quite three hundred yet."

Rochelle stopped, awed by how casually he spoke of centuries.

"That's not that old. I've seen older vampires-my parents, for example."

Damien's voice brought her back.

"Aren't you getting on?"

She stepped inside the elevator just as the doors hissed closed.

He glanced at his watch, mumbling about Celeste's dislike of lateness.

The name sparked a realization.

"Wait, are we going to meet the Celeste von Frietag?"

"Yes," Damien replied curtly.

"The daughter of the founder of the automobile company?"

"Yes, Rochelle. And if we don't hurry, we'll be late for the unveiling."

The elevator opened to the bustling ground floor lobby. Rochelle's face fell.

"I can't go to a von Frietag show in this outfit."

Damien smiled knowingly.

"That won't be a problem. I had Olivia grab a few things for tonight's event, but since she's not coming and you're filling in, how about a quick change in the lobby restroom?"

He disappeared into the elevator and returned in seconds, holding a dress bag.

"This was lying around. Looks like your size."

Inside, the dress shimmered green with gilded tips and a plunging neckline. Rochelle changed quickly and stepped out of the lobby restroom.

Damien's expression shifted from surprise to something darker: satisfaction.

"What do you think?"

"It suits you," he said quietly.

He led her out through the revolving doors where a sleek Rolls Royce Phantom waited, doors open like a velvet invitation.

Gliding through New York's nocturnal streets, the city lights sparkled around them. Rochelle's mind raced: interview, job, vampire reveal. What else awaited her this night?

"I'm sure you're wondering what to ask me," Damien said, as if reading her thoughts.

"Are you clairvoyant?" she blurted.

He chuckled softly.

"You just have that look. But no, I'm not clairvoyant. You can relax."

"Okay... can you fly?"

A light laugh escaped him.

"Nothing funny. I expected that question. No, I can't fly, and I don't turn into a bat. That's just an old wives' tale: bats and vampires are both nocturnal, but unrelated."

"How strong are you?"

"Define 'strong'."

"Strong enough to lift a car?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"It's no big deal," he shrugged.

"Next question?"

"How many vampires are there in the world?"

"I don't have an exact number, but there are many, some hidden due to their locations."

"Do you know how many are in New York?"

"150."

"That's very specific."

"Yes. There are six councils in New York. Each council has 24 members and a leader."

"So Seraphine, Miles..."

"Yes."

"24 members plus one leader equals 25. Six councils make 150."

The car slowed to a stop.

Damien nudged the window. "We're here."

The valet opened the door for Rochelle. She stepped out, swallowed by the dazzling world of the Carlisle-glitz, glamour, and secrets.

Is this what my life will look like now? she wondered.

Damien stepped out beside her, looking impeccably polished as ever, though it was the same suit from earlier. Somehow, it felt different in this light; more dangerous, more refined.

A line snaked up to the entrance, guarded by a bouncer checking names.

Damien unclasped the red rope with ease and began to walk in, Rochelle following.

"There's a line, Damien," she whispered, nodding.

"You shouldn't worry. Just stay with me," he said, pulling her forward.

The bouncer's southern drawl greeted Damien, "Good evening, Mr. Tolland. Ms. von Frietag's been expecting you."

Damien nodded. "Thank you, Jeremy."

Rochelle froze, struck by the man's friendly tone.

"I'm with Damien," she stammered.

The bouncer's gaze sharpened. "And you are?"

"His assistant."

Jeremy eyed her long and hard. "Mr. Tolland, you know how much Celeste hates business in her space."

"It's fine as long as you don't tell her. And I wouldn't tell her you put her on a first-name basis tonight," Damien quipped.

"Shit!" Jeremy muttered, then stepped aside, letting Rochelle pass.

As they entered, Rochelle whispered, "Whoever Celeste is, she sounds powerful."

Damien's tone dropped. "She's one of the oldest vampires in the city, with a powerful voice on the council. She leads the New York Coven."

Inside, the bar and lounge radiated wealth and power. Models posing with exotic cars looked like magazine stars.

Rochelle spotted one and whispered excitedly, "I follow her on Instagram!"

"Oh, are there vampires out here tonight?" she wondered aloud.

"Not many here, not out here, at least," Damien answered.

They approached the bar. Damien said, "I have to meet Celeste, but I'd like you to come if that's okay."

He hesitated, then added, "There will be many vampires there. I understand if you don't want to."

Rochelle smiled "I'd rather human company for now", and flagged the bartender. "Gin and tonic, please."

As the bartender began mixing, Rochelle took a sip-and suddenly the room tilted.

She gripped her head, closing her eyes to steady herself. When she opened them, a torn piece of a painting hovered before her.

As she reached for it, the world blurred-and she was transported back to a time before her birth, long before cell phones or modern life.

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The cabin was dank, the air thick with blood and sweat.

A man lay on a thin mattress, his shirt torn and soaked in blood, groaning softly.

It was Damien... or someone who looked like him.

"Unnnh! Where am I?"

As he sat up, clutching his abdomen, the dark silhouette of Damien emerged from the shadows, eyes glowing faintly.

"Stay still," Damien commanded, voice low and urgent.

Rochelle's heart pounded as the scene faded, the past colliding with the present.

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