THE SCENT OF STORMS

..."He was born with secrets in his veins. She was born to taste them"..

...

Rain painted the city silver that night.

It clung to the cobblestones like whispers of the dead, pooling in gutters and running down the sides of black-tinted glass towers. The world was hushed, still—but not silent. Something was moving beneath the surface. Something ancient.

Selene Virellé stood at the highest window of the Virellé estate—a sharp-edged palace carved into the edge of the city, where shadows dared not linger for long. Her silhouette was motionless, carved from marble and bloodlust. Crimson silk draped across her body like smoke, hair dark as spilled ink, eyes glowing faintly red in the reflection of the storm.

She was waiting.

Not for someone.

For something.

Her gaze dropped to the streets below. A figure darted under the awning of a bookstore. No umbrella. No coat. Just a pale boy in dark clothes, water dripping from his hair, clutching a single book like it was his only lifeline.

Her breath caught.

Kieran Vale.

She didn’t know his name yet. Not truly. But she’d seen him twice now.

Once, in a dream.

Once, in the flesh.

And both times, his blood had whispered to her like a lover.

Something was wrong with him. Something that made her hungry in ways she hadn’t felt in centuries. It wasn’t just hunger, though. It was… curiosity. Ache. Recognition.

She should have turned away.

But instead, she vanished from the window.

And the storm above the city cracked open like a scream.

The woman—no, the creature—standing before him radiated something unnatural. Not in the loud way monsters were described in stories. She didn’t hiss. She didn’t grow claws. She just... looked at him. Like he was something she already owned.

“You smell… strange,” she had said.

He managed a shaky laugh. “That’s one hell of a pickup line.”

Her lips curved. Not a smile. Something colder. Like amusement painted over hunger.

“Do you always make jokes when you’re uncomfortable?” she asked, stepping closer.

“Do you always invade quiet bookstores and sniff strangers?” he countered, backing into the bookcase behind him.

Selene’s eyes flicked over his face—sharp, calculating. Beautiful.

“I don’t do this often,” she said softly.

“Do what?” Kieran asked, pulse spiking.

She tilted her head. “Speak to humans.”

His breath caught.

Her words felt like a joke, but her tone wasn’t.

“…Right,” he muttered, looking away. “Well. I’m not really in the mood for cryptic today.”