Steven’s POV

  The tray felt heavier than it should have.

  Not because the drinks weighed a lot—just paper cups and plastic lids and warmth rising through cardboard sleeves—but because my hands didn’t feel like mine anymore.

  They felt… capable.

  Too steady.

  Too sure.

  Like whatever I’d done in that café hadn’t just been a moment.

  It had been a switch.

  I climbed the stairs with the cups balanced perfectly, heart beating too cleanly, lungs calm like they were proud of me for being efficient.

  And all the way up, the same thought kept circling my brain like it didn’t know where else to land.

  So this is what being a Salvatore is.

  I reached Aqua’s door and paused.

  Not because I was afraid she’d be mad.

  Because I was afraid she’d look at me and somehow know.

  That she’d see the afterglow in my eyes the way I could now see things in other people.

  I forced a breath in—normal. Human.

  Then I knocked and stepped inside.

  Warmth hit me immediately.

  Not just heat from the apartment, but that softer kind—voices, comfort, life happening even after everything.

  Aqua and Katie were at the kitchen table.

  Talking.

  Not tense-talking.

  Not the stiff, brittle kind where every sentence feels like it might crack.

  They were… chatting.

  Katie had one knee pulled up on the chair like she’d forgotten to sit like a “guest.” Aqua had a mug between her hands, shoulders relaxed.

  And when Katie said something, Aqua actually laughed.

  Quiet. Surprised. Real.

  It made my chest twist.

  Relief first—because Katie wasn’t alone in her head.

  Then guilt—because I had left.

  And then that stupid, sharp pinch that I hated myself for feeling at all—jealousy, though I knew I shouldn’t be.

  Because Aqua’s attention wasn’t on me for once.

  Because for the last day, she’d been orbiting my breakdown like it was her job.

  And here she was, giving Katie something too.

  Like she was capable of holding both of us.

  Like she was building a bridge between us while I was off somewhere… changing.

  Aqua looked up instantly when I walked in, eyes brightening.

  “You’re back,” she said softly.

  Katie turned too, and her mouth twitched like she was trying to look unimpressed.

  “Took you long enough,” she said.

  I lifted the tray a little like it was proof I’d done something useful.

  “Got drinks,” I said, forcing casual.

  Aqua stood and crossed the room to take them from me. Her fingers brushed mine for half a second, just contact, just normal.

  But my Beast Core—my Beast Core noticed.

  A low hum under my ribs. A quiet response like a creature lifting its head.

  And the worst part?

  I saw it.

  Not with my eyes.

  With something deeper.

  Aqua’s aura wasn’t loud like the couple’s had been. It wasn’t flaring bright pink.

  It was softer.

  Cleaner.

  Like ocean light caught in glass.

  And it was right there around her edges, faint but real.

  I swallowed hard and stared down at the cups like I could pretend I hadn’t seen anything.

  Katie leaned back in her chair and eyed the drinks.

  “One for me?” she asked, suspicious.

  My throat tightened.

  I’d only ordered to try to hide how long I was gone for.

  “Yeah,” I said quickly, sliding the cup toward her. “Figured you’d want something warm.”

  Katie’s expression flickered—surprise, then something softer that she tried to hide.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  Aqua set her own cup down and gave me a look I couldn’t quite read.

  Not accusing.

  Not confused.

  Just… attentive.

  Like she could feel something different in the room even if she couldn’t name it.

  I forced my shoulders to loosen.

  Then I did what I’d always done when my emotions started pressing too close to the surface.

  I got out of the way.

  I walked past the table and “plopped” onto the couch like I was exhausted, like I was normal, like I hadn’t just tasted something that made my blood feel electric.

  The cushion dipped under me.

  The room smelled like tea and toast and fruit.

  Like safety.

  I tried to breathe like a person who wasn’t terrified of himself.

  But my instincts kept tracking.

  Katie’s aura was muted—human, pale, quiet.

  Aqua’s was not.

  Aqua’s kept shimmering at the edges like it wanted me to notice it.

  Like it didn’t know it was dangerous.

  I stared at the ceiling and told myself to stop.

  Just stop.

  I’d already crossed one line today.

  I didn’t get to cross another.

  Something shifted beside my leg.

  I didn’t look at first—because I didn’t want to see him watching me again.

  Then I felt it.

  The subtle slide of scales against fabric.

  The gentle weight.

  Fang had moved closer on the couch, coiling up in the warm pocket beside my hip like he belonged there.

  Like he’d always belonged there.

  I swallowed hard.

  And then—

  A voice slipped into my head.

  Clear as a thought that wasn’t mine.

  You tasted.

  My whole body locked.

  My eyes snapped down.

  Fang’s head was lifted slightly, tongue flicking once, calm as ever.

  I didn’t speak out loud.

  I couldn’t.

  Katie was right there.

  Aqua was right there.

  So I just stared at him, pulse hammering, and thought back the only way I could.

  What are you talking about?

  Fang blinked slowly.

  Your core is louder.

  My throat went dry.

  I tried to act normal.

  I shifted on the couch like I was just adjusting, like I wasn’t having an entire conversation in my head.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I don’t know what you mean, I thought sharply.

  Fang’s gaze stayed on me like I was the one being dramatic.

  Then, as if he truly didn’t care whether I admitted it or not, he lowered his head and coiled tighter.

  Fine, his voice seemed to say without words. Deny it. Doesn’t change what you are.

  And then he did the most infuriating thing possible.

  He closed his eyes.

  Like he was going back to sleep.

  Like my world wasn’t cracking open.

  I sat there, frozen, trying not to let my face show anything.

  Trying not to look like someone who had just been called out by a snake.

  Katie’s voice pulled me back.

  “Aunt Claire texted again,” she announced, lifting her phone. “She already has a plan for my life.”

  Aqua’s brows lifted. “Already?”

  Katie made a face. “She’s booking flights, she’s picking up my old favorite snacks, she’s probably arranging a schedule so I don’t ‘waste time being sad.’”

  Katie sighed in exhaustion, “She hasn’t seen us since we were young kids, and she is acting like this.”

  Aqua’s expression softened. “That sounds like her way of caring.”

  “It is,” Katie muttered, then sighed like the fight was gone. “She wants me at the airport in two days.”

  Two days.

  The word hit like a weight.

  Because it meant this wasn’t theoretical anymore.

  It meant the goodbye was clocked and scheduled.

  Katie set her phone down and stared at her drink like she didn’t want to look at either of us.

  Aqua reached across the table and touched her wrist gently.

  “We’ll help make sure you have everything ready before you go,” Aqua said.

  Katie blinked at her, then nodded once. “Okay.”

  I watched them.

  Aqua’s hand on Katie’s wrist.

  Katie not flinching.

  Katie letting her.

  Gratitude swelled in my chest so sharply it almost hurt.

  Then emptiness followed right after.

  Because if Aqua could comfort Katie like that—

  What did that make me?

  Just the person who caused the pain?

  Just the reason Katie had to leave?

  My chest pulsed once, low and steady.

  That hum under my ribs returned.

  Not loud.

  Not urgent.

  Just present.

  Waiting.

  Katie pushed back her chair. “I’m gonna make a list of things we need to buy me for the trip.”

  “Okay,” I said sullenly.

  She stood, hesitated like she might say something softer, then didn’t.

  She disappeared down the hall.

  Aqua looked toward me on the couch.

  She didn’t come right away.

  She gave Katie space.

  Then she crossed the room quietly and sat beside me.

  Close enough that her arm brushed my sleeve.

  Not touching.

  Just close.

  “You did a good thing today,” she said softly.

  I swallowed.

  “I hate that it was the right thing,” I admitted.

  Aqua’s eyes held mine. “I know.”

  She reached out and placed her hand over mine—right where my hand rested on the couch cushion.

  Warm.

  Steady.

  Real.

  My Beast Core answered instantly.

  A hum.

  A pull.

  A faint tightening under my ribs like something in me recognized the feeling and leaned toward it.

  My mouth went dry.

  I stared at our hands.

  At her fingers over mine.

  At the faint, clean glow at the edges of her aura.

  And for a terrifying second, my body didn’t just want the touch.

  It wanted what the touch meant.

  I felt myself inhale—just a little too deep.

  Not like breathing air.

  Like breathing her.

  I jerked back so fast the couch creaked.

  Aqua blinked, startled.

  “Steven?” she said.

  I forced a laugh that sounded wrong. “Sorry—uh. I’m stiff. From running. I was just… stretching.”

  Aqua’s expression shifted.

  Confusion first.

  Then a flicker of hurt she tried to hide.

  Because my reaction didn’t match her kindness.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “Okay.”

  Guilt punched me straight in the chest.

  “No,” I blurted, too fast. “I didn’t mean—Aqua, I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s… it’s me. I’m just… off today.”

  Aqua watched me for a beat, then nodded slowly like she accepted the answer because she didn’t want to pressure me.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  But her eyes stayed thoughtful.

  Like she was filing the moment away.

  Like she was starting to notice patterns.

  Katie came back out a few minutes later and the room shifted again—normal voices, packing talk, little tasks to distract us from the fact that tomorrow existed.

  The day moved.

  Not gently.

  But it moved.

  ---

  Night came without permission.

  Katie went to bed early, claiming she needed sleep for the flight.

  I didn’t believe her.

  I thought she just didn’t want to sit in a living room full of feelings.

  Aqua washed dishes quietly, moving like the ritual mattered.

  I sat on the couch again, Fang coiled nearby, pretending to nap like he wasn’t the only one who knew what I’d done today.

  The afterglow from the café had faded a little, but the hunger hadn’t.

  If anything, it felt more aware now.

  Like it had learned what it wanted.

  Aqua came back to the couch with a blanket and draped it over the back like she was making a small peace offering.

  “Do you want to watch something?” she asked.

  I should’ve said no.

  I should’ve gone to bed.

  But the idea of lying awake alone with my thoughts felt like torture.

  So I nodded.

  Aqua picked something soft. Romantic. One of those movies where people loved each other openly, like love was easy and didn’t cost anyone anything.

  We sat side by side.

  Not touching at first.

  Just close.

  The characters on the screen laughed and leaned into each other like it was natural.

  Aqua smiled faintly at one scene.

  And the moment she did—

  her aura shifted.

  Not huge.

  Just… brighter.

  Like her emotions made the color at her edges deepen.

  My Beast Core hummed.

  My throat tightened.

  I tried to focus on the movie.

  Tried to ground myself in the sound of dialogue, the music, the predictable arc of love.

  But my body kept paying attention to something else.

  To Aqua’s warmth.

  To the way her shoulder brushed mine when she shifted.

  To the way her laugh vibrated through the couch cushion like a signal.

  Aqua’s hand drifted closer—slow, careful—until her fingers rested lightly against my wrist.

  A simple touch.

  Comfort.

  Support.

  And my core answered like it had been waiting all day.

  A pull surged up under my ribs—reflexive, greedy, automatic.

  I inhaled.

  The air between us tightened.

  Something soft and invisible streamed toward me like warmth being poured into my chest.

  And the rush hit instantly.

  Bliss—sharp and clean.

  The bliss didn’t just feel good.

  It felt right—like my body had been waiting for this my whole life.

  The movie kept playing—soft music, two people on screen promising forever like it was easy—but the sound started to blur at the edges, like my ears had decided it wasn’t important anymore.

  Because something else was.

  Her aura.

  It wasn’t loud. Not like the couple in the café had been.

  But it was closer.

  Warmer.

  And the closer she sat, the more it gathered around her like light pooling at the edge of a candle flame.

  My chest gave a slow, steady thump.

  Then another.

  And under it, my Beast Core answered—low and hungry—like it had recognized nourishment and didn’t care that my mind was screaming no.

  My breath changed without permission.

  A slow inhale that wasn’t about air.

  The room narrowed.

  Not in a dramatic way—just… quietly.

  Like everything that wasn’t Aqua got pushed to the edges of my awareness.

  Her hand.

  Her warmth.

  That soft glow around her skin.

  And the pull in my chest tightening like a thread being tugged.

  For a second, I tried to fight it.

  I dug my nails into my palm hard enough to sting.

  I forced my eyes to the TV.

  I forced a normal breath in and out.

  But Aqua shifted just slightly—her shoulder brushing mine—and that was enough.

  The pull surged.

  My core hummed.

  And then… it happened.

  Not like a decision.

  Like a reflex.

  Something soft and invisible streamed toward me—warmth slipping through the air like it already knew where it belonged.

  It hit my chest.

  And my whole body lit up.

  Bliss—clean and sharp—rushed through my veins like I’d been starving without realizing it.

  My senses sharpened.

  My mind cleared.

  My skin felt too awake.

  Too alive.

  I stared at Aqua without meaning to.

  I couldn’t stop.

  Because the more I took, the more right it felt—like my body had been built for this and I’d only just found the missing piece.

  Somewhere in the haze, I felt my eyes burn.

  Heat behind them.

  A pressure that wasn’t pain, but wasn’t normal either.

  Aqua’s breath softened beside me.

  Her hand stayed on my wrist, but her weight shifted—subtle, like her body had decided to rest without asking.

  Then her head tilted, and she let her temple sink against my shoulder.

  Just for a second.

  Like she was grounding herself.

  Like the warmth between us felt safe enough to lean into.

  The pull in my chest tightened.

  My core hummed.

  And I… let it.

  I knew I should stop.

  But my body didn’t care that I knew.

  The more I took, the more right it felt—like my body had been built for this and I’d only just found the missing piece.

  Aqua exhaled, slow.

  Not asleep—just… heavy.

  And then she shifted again, lifting her head like she’d realized something was off.

  She turned her face toward mine, eyes half-lidded from the sudden tiredness—

  and that was when she really looked at me.

  Her expression changed instantly.

  Her breath caught.

  She leaned back a little, fingers slipping off my hand.

  “Steven…” she whispered.

  I blinked.

  And the world snapped back into place.

  The movie sound rushed in again.

  The room widened.

  My heart slammed hard like it had been sprinting without my permission.

  Aqua’s eyes were wide—fixed on mine.

  I saw my reflection in them without needing a mirror.

  Red.

  My eyes were red.

  Not just tinted—glowing, hungry, wrong.

  Cold fear punched through the afterglow.

  I jerked back like I’d been burned.

  “Aqua—” My voice came out rough. “I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry.”

  Aqua held her breath like she didn’t know whether to move closer or run.

  “What… was that?” she asked quietly.

  My stomach turned.

  Shame rose like nausea.

  I looked down at my hands—normal hands—and felt sick that they could do something like that without leaving a mark.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said quickly. “I swear I didn’t. I just— I did something earlier today and I think it… woke something up.”

  Aqua swallowed. “Earlier?”

  I nodded, throat tight.

  “In the café,” I admitted. “When I went to get drinks… a couple walked in. They were in love. Like—obviously.” My voice cracked with disbelief at myself. “And I saw it, Aqua. I saw their aura.”

  Her brows knitted. “Their aura?”

  “Pink,” I whispered. “Warm. Bright. And my chest—my core—just… pulled.”

  Aqua’s fingers curled into the blanket in her lap.

  “I told myself I was just testing,” I said, voice low and ashamed. “I inhaled and it came into me and it felt—”

  I swallowed hard.

  “It felt good,” I forced out. “Too good.”

  Aqua’s gaze flicked back to my eyes like she was still trying to make sense of the red.

  “And just now,” I whispered, “I think I did it again… to you.”

  Aqua went very still.

  Not angry.

  Not disgusted.

  Just… shaken.

  Because now she had felt the edge of it.

  And because she’d seen what it looked like on my face when my instincts won.

  Aqua swallowed, one hand going to her chest again like she was checking for something she couldn’t name.

  “I felt it,” she admitted quietly. “Like… my body went heavy. Like I was getting tired too fast. Like something warm in me… slipped.”

  The guilt hit so hard my stomach turned.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said, voice rough. “I swear I didn’t. I—Aqua, I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t move closer yet. But she didn’t move farther either.

  She took one slow breath, steadying herself, eyes never leaving mine—like she was choosing understanding over fear.

  “Tell me,” she said softly. “From the beginning.”

  Then I forced myself to say it, even though shame burned my face hot.

  “In the café today,” I started, voice shaking slightly, “I… I saw something.”

  Aqua’s eyes stayed on me, steady.

  “A glow,” I admitted. “On a couple. Pink. Like… love. Like it had color.”

  Aqua’s brows knit.

  “And then…” I swallowed. “My chest—my core—whatever it is… it pulled. Like instinct.”

  Aqua’s breath hitched faintly.

  “I didn’t touch them,” I rushed. “They didn’t notice. But I—” My voice cracked. “I inhaled, and it came into me, and it felt—”

  My throat tightened.

  “It felt good,” I whispered, ashamed.

  Aqua didn’t flinch at the confession.

  She just listened like she was trying to understand without judging.

  “And just now,” I said, voice lower, “I think I did it again.”

  Aqua’s lips parted slightly.

  “With me?” she whispered.

  The shame in my chest turned heavy and sharp.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said quickly. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying. I just—your aura is… I can see it now. I can’t turn it off. And when you’re close… it’s like my body reacts before my brain can stop it.”

  Aqua stared at me for a long beat.

  Then she exhaled slowly.

  Not angry.

  Not disgusted.

  Just… thoughtful.

  “That’s why you pulled away earlier,” she murmured.

  I nodded, eyes burning.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whispered. “I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to take from you.”

  Aqua’s gaze softened.

  “But you felt stronger,” she said quietly. Not a question.

  I swallowed.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Fully energized. Like I could feel myself… powering up. Like something inside me grew.”

  Aqua’s eyes flicked down—like she was thinking about cultivation, about cores, about systems she knew and the one she didn’t.

  Then she looked back up at me.

  Her voice was gentle, but firm.

  “Steven,” she said softly, “if this is part of what you are… then you can’t pretend it isn’t.”

  My stomach twisted.

  “I know,” I whispered.

  Aqua’s hand moved slowly—carefully—until her fingers rested over mine again.

  This time she didn’t just comfort.

  She anchored.

  “If you have to learn,” she said, voice low, “I would rather you learn with me… than lose control with strangers.”

  My heart clenched.

  “Aqua—” I started, horrified.

  She lifted a finger slightly, stopping me.

  “But,” she added, eyes steady, “we do it carefully.”

  I stared at her, throat tight.

  “We make rules,” she continued. “Only with permission. Only small amounts. Only when I say it’s okay. And if I say stop… you stop.”

  “And if I start to feel heavy again,” she said quietly, “you stop. Even if you don’t want to. Even if you think you need more.”

  I nodded immediately. “Yes.”

  Aqua’s gaze sharpened slightly.

  “And we find safeguards,” she said. “Water nearby. Space. Grounding. You don’t do it when you’re panicking. You don’t do it when you’re angry.”

  My chest pulsed under my ribs like it disliked the limits.

  I hated that I noticed.

  I nodded anyway, harder. “Okay.”

  Aqua held my gaze.

  “You’re not evil,” she said quietly. “Instinct doesn’t make you evil. What you choose does.”

  My throat burned.

  “I don’t want to choose wrong,” I whispered.

  Aqua’s thumb brushed my knuckles once.

  “Then we practice,” she said. “Together. Slowly.”

  I swallowed, eyes stinging.

  I wanted to promise I’d never do it again.

  I wanted to swear I’d starve before I ever drained her.

  But when her hand stayed over mine, my Beast Core gave a low, satisfied pulse under my ribs—quiet and hungry—like it had already accepted the idea.

  Like it had already decided she was the safest source.

  The easiest.

  The one it would crave most.

  I stared at our hands, heart pounding.

  And the worst part was, I didn’t just feel shame.

  I felt a pull.

  A pull that didn’t care about my guilt.

  A pull that felt like it was learning her.

  I want to tell her I’d never do it again.

  But my core pulsed under my ribs like it was already learning her name.

  Next up is a double chapter weekend—because things are about to move fast.??

  Saturday: Time-Sensitive (Part 1)

  Sunday: The Appointment (Part 2)

  Next Chapter: Someone reaches out… and Steven realizes his mother prepared for this.