Tasia’s voice acted not as a sound, but as a weapon. It sliced through the quiet, intimate bubble that had formed around Frankie and Damon, shattering it into a thousand glittering, dangerous pieces. The sharp, venomous sound jolted Frankie from a trance so deep she hadn't even realized she had fallen into it.

  One moment, the world had narrowed to the intoxicating scent of Damon’s skin and the rhythmic, life-giving pulse in his throat. The next, a brutal, grinding pain shot through her gums as her fangs forcibly retracted, a violation against her own flesh. The ghost of their sharpness, the phantom ache of what she almost did, lingered. Horror, cold and sharp, pierced the haze of her hunger. She had almost bitten him. Not a kiss. A bite. She had leaned toward his neck, a predator moving on instinct, and he had closed his eyes in sweet, ignorant surrender.

  The memory sent a tremor through her. She glanced at Damon, who flinched back from Tasia’s arrival, his eyes blinking with a dazed confusion, as if waking from a dream. He looked at Frankie, then at the approaching Tasia, a fog of disorientation still clinging to him. He didn’t seem to understand how the moment had shifted, or what he had been about to do.

  He was hypnotized.

  The thought struck Frankie with the force of a physical blow. The way his eyes had gone glassy, the way he had leaned in without reservation, his defenses completely gone. It wasn't just a romantic spark. It had been something else. Some power she possessed, ancient and terrifying, had reached out and lulled him into a helpless state. Relief warred with a new, more profound fear. Relief that Tasia, in her furious charge, had only seen two teenagers about to kiss, not a monster about to feed. She hadn't seen the dark trance in Damon’s eyes or the unnatural length of Frankie's teeth.

  But the fear remained, coiling in her stomach. What she had almost done terrified her, yet the memory of his hand on her cheek, the warmth of his skin, still burned with a heat she craved. She liked him. And because she liked him, she had to be more careful. He was a danger to her control, and she was a mortal danger to him.

  “There you are!” Tasia’s voice dripped with accusation. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  She marched toward them across the dark sand, a furious, elegant silhouette against the distant bonfire. Rage stiffened every line of her body. Tight fists formed at her sides. Her dark eyes, usually just possessive and knowing, blazed with a new, sharper light. Pure venom.

  Damon instinctively took a half-step, a subtle shift that placed him partially in front of Frankie. The small, protective gesture poured gasoline on the fire of Tasia’s fury.

  “Hey, Tas,” he said, his voice calm but tight. “We were just getting some air.”

  “‘We’?” Tasia repeated, her voice mocking. She stopped a few feet away, but her toxic energy rolled off her in waves, crashing into Frankie. She completely ignored Damon, her burning gaze fixed solely on Frankie. “I’m sure you were. Getting some ‘air.’ Is that what you call it when you’re trying to steal someone else’s boyfriend?”

  Frankie flinched. The quiet conversation had soothed the monster inside her, but Tasia’s aggression goaded it, and it stirred with a low, dangerous growl. The sensory chaos of the party, which had receded to a dull roar, came crashing back in. The noise, the lights, the smells—all of it attacked her again with renewed force.

  “That’s not what was happening,” Damon said, his voice firm now, losing its dazed quality and hardening with annoyance. “We were just talking. Calm down.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Oh, I’m perfectly calm,” Tasia snarled, though her rigid posture and heaving chest suggested anything but. She took another aggressive step, invading their space, forcing Frankie to step back. “I’ve watched you all day, Rivera. All day. I saw your little ‘performance’ out there on the water.”

  She made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, her mouth twisting into an ugly sneer.

  “I don’t know what you’re on,” Tasia said, her voice rising in volume, deliberately loud enough to attract the attention of a few nearby partygoers who had strayed from the main fire. “But I know it’s not skill. You showed sloppiness today. Recklessness. That near-collision? You could have killed that girl. That wasn’t surfing; that was a freakshow.”

  A small crowd formed a loose, curious circle around them. People turned from the fire, their faces lit by the flickering orange light, drawn by the magnetic pull of public drama. A dozen pairs of eyes settled on Frankie, their stares a physical pressure. Trapped. A bug under a magnifying glass.

  “So what is it?” Tasia demanded, her voice ringing out across the beach, a pronouncement for all to hear. “Steroids? HGH? What kind of performance-enhancing drugs do you used to cheat your way to a win?”

  The loud, public, and ugly accusation hung in the night air.

  Cheat. Drugs. Fraud.

  Frankie's world tilted. An icy dread seeped through her. She could not defend herself. She could not explain the truth. Oh, that wasn’t steroids, that was just my ancient vampire curse flaring up. Every denial would only cement her guilt in their eyes. Tasia had built a trap of lies, and its jaws snapped shut around her.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Tasia,” Damon cut in, his voice low and angry. He grabbed her arm. “Stop it. You’re making a scene.”

  Tasia ripped her arm from his grasp. “I’m making a scene? She’s the fraud! And you’re defending her!” Her eyes darted between Damon and Frankie, her expression curdling with a jealous fury that eclipsed everything else. “Oh, I get it. This has been going on for a while, hasn't it? Her little act. Your little secret meetings.”

  The crowd murmured, their whispers a chorus of confirmation. They ate it up. This spectacle provided far more entertainment than the bonfire.

  Frankie stood paralyzed, a deer caught in the headlights of Tasia’s rage. The faces in the small crowd blurred into a single mask of judgment and morbid curiosity. Her control, already frayed, slipped. The urge to lash out, to silence the whispers and the accusations with overwhelming force, rose as a hot, surging tide in her veins. The ache returned to her gums, a sharp, piercing promise of what she could do. Her vision narrowed, the jeering faces of the crowd blurring as her focus locked onto the pulse beating frantically in Tasia's throat.

  Don’t, she screamed at herself, a silent, desperate mantra. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

  Tasia, sensing victory in Frankie’s stunned silence, moved in for the last kill. She leaned in close, so close Frankie could smell the wine on her breath, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper meant only for her.

  “I don’t know what your game is,” she hissed, her breath hot and sour against Frankie’s cheek. “But I’m going to find out. And when I do…” The threat hung in the air, her eyes promising a world of pain. “…you’re finished.”

  With a final, triumphant glare that swept over Frankie and lingered on Damon, Tasia spun on her heel and stormed off, melting back into the party crowd and leaving a trail of scorched earth behind her.

  The small crowd, their entertainment over, dispersed, casting curious, pitying glances that felt worse than the outright accusation.

  The moment shattered. The fragile connection with Damon, poisoned. She stood on the beach, humiliated, exposed, and more alone than ever before.

  “Frankie…” Damon started, his voice soft, reaching for her.

  She could not look at him. She could not accept his comfort. A chasm of truth separated them, a truth he could never know. He was defending her from Tasia, but the monster he was really defending her from was real. It was inside her. And as she had almost proven moments ago, it was a danger to him, too.

  With that chilling certainty solidifying in her heart, she turned and walked away from him, into the darkness, leaving him alone in the night's wreckage.