Chapter 1 Date

Eleanor's POV:

I woke up excited, a rare feeling for me. Today, Aurora had a date with Maximilian, the boy she'd been crushing on for two years. I was going to help her get ready—a small joy in my otherwise joyless existence.

Max had planned the perfect first date: lunch, followed by the art museum and botanical gardens. I pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt before heading upstairs to prepare breakfast. Saturdays meant the family slept until 8:30, letting me sleep until 7—a luxury compared to my usual three or four hours on weekdays.

Saturdays also meant three full meals, water, and juice. A veritable feast compared to my normal starvation diet.

Aurora bounced into the kitchen as I finished setting the table, her face glowing with anticipation.

"Today's the day, Eleanor! I'm so excited!" she beamed, doing a little dance.

"I'm excited for you!" I managed to mirror her smile.

Olive walked in, draping his arms over Aurora's shoulders. At nearly six feet tall with wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a dimple in his left cheek, he towered over us both. Aurora shared his coloring but with striking green eyes, while my black hair and silver-gray eyes marked me as different. My unnaturally pale skin contrasted with their healthy glow—they were allowed outside, after all.

We were triplets. Aurora and Olive were fraternal twins born on October 30th, while I—Aurora's mirror twin—arrived three minutes later, technically on October 31st.

"Hey, little sisters," Olive grinned. "Ready for the big day?"

"Max is coming at eleven. Mom said Eleanor can help me get ready after her morning chores," Aurora explained.

"I did most of it last night. Your laundry's waiting on your bed after breakfast," I told Olive.

"You're the best! I wanted to wear my favorite shirt to the movie tonight," he winked. "Maybe Mom and Dad will let you come this time, Eleanor."

"Maybe," I replied, knowing it was impossible.

When my parents entered, I excused myself to clean their rooms and fold Olive's laundry. After finishing Aurora's room, I checked her dress for imperfections and arranged makeup and jewelry on her vanity. She came in for her towel, and I returned to the kitchen to clean and eat my rare breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs, milk, and an orange. I savored every bite, taking my iron-fortified multivitamin—essential for my half-vampire physiology.

Later, I helped Aurora with her dress zipper and styled her hair while reflecting on my own three-foot-long hair. When I asked for a haircut at ten, mother had shaved me bald—a harsh lesson never forgotten.

I applied her makeup with care: eyeliner, eyeshadow, and lip gloss that complemented her features perfectly.

"Amazing," she breathed, admiring my work. "You always make me look so pretty."

"You're already pretty," I replied softly. "I just polish you to shine as you're meant to."

"I love you, Eleanor," she whispered.

"I love you too, Aurora," I whispered back, mindful that our parents forbade such expressions.

At 10:30, I retreated to the basement—house rules required me hidden thirty minutes before visitors. I selected a royal blue wrap dress Aurora had given me for tonight's "client" and planned to braid my hair for easier neck access.

In quiet moments, my thoughts drifted to the future. With only months until our eighteenth birthdays and our siblings' departure for college, what would become of me? Despite being self-taught in history, mythology, and multiple languages, I had no formal education or freedom. Would I remain alone when my parents traveled after the others left? Perhaps I should run away—be "evil" somewhere else.

After Aurora departed for her date, I tended the herb garden where special plants for supernatural beings grew. Olive lounged nearby, chatting about school, basketball, a girl he liked, and his upcoming history exam.

At four, when Aurora texted she was heading home, I returned to the basement, having marinated the meat at two and completed my chores. I lay on my bed, anticipating tonight's rare treat of barbecue and pineapple upside-down cake.

During dinner at 6:30, I ate in the kitchen while observing Aurora. She hummed a cheerful tune between bites, occasionally smiling to herself. Judging by her radiant expression, her date with Maximilian must have been a success.

I would have loved to hear every detail, but the thought of my "client" arriving soon dampened my spirits.

I picked at my food silently, not asking the questions that normally would have tumbled from my lips. My parents and Olive chatted about something, but their words faded to background noise as dread settled heavier in my stomach with each passing minute.

After cleaning everything, I saw them off for their movie night. Aurora insisted I join them.

"No. Eleanor stays home," mother stated firmly. "Go on, you'll be late."

"If Eleanor's not going, I'm not going," Aurora crossed her arms.

My father's glance indicated I should intervene.

"You've been looking forward to this movie," I pleaded. "Please go enjoy yourselves. Mom and Dad have their movie night, and I want to read the book you gave me."

Aurora hesitated but eventually agreed to my suggestion that we go together next weekend.

As they left and twilight fell, mother warned, "Think of a way to get them out next weekend."

"I'll fake illness from Friday through Monday," I offered. "I'll make up the work."

"Good," she nodded. "Get ready. Your old client will be here tonight."

The moment Donovan Benedict stepped into our living room, my heart rate doubled. The way he moved, fluid and deliberate, sent a shiver down my spine. I knew what was coming.

"Where's my favorite girl?" His voice slid over me, smooth as velvet yet dripping with that sickly-sweet edge that made my skin crawl, a predator's charm barely masking the threat.

My mother pushed me forward, her hand firm on my back. "Ready and waiting for you, Mr. Benedict. The study or the den tonight?"

"The study." His nostrils flared as he inhaled, a faint smirk curling his lips. "I want privacy with this one."

In the study, the door clicked shut, and he peeled off his suit jacket, revealing broad shoulders beneath his crisp white shirt. His dark eyes fixed on me—starving, dangerous, yet impossibly captivating. He circled me, slow and predatory, his presence filling the room like a dark promise.

"Your fear smells delicious, Eleanor," he whispered, voice low and silken, brushing against my nerves like a caress. "It's a spice in your blood—makes the flavor bloom."

I stood rigid, clinging to the rules: don't run, don't argue, don't cry. Crying only fueled them. My breath hitched as he stepped closer, his cold finger trailing down my neck, lingering over my pulse.

"It's racing," he purred, tapping my carotid artery, his touch sparking a shiver I couldn't suppress. His fangs sank in, sharp and unsoftened, and I bit my lip hard, stifling a scream. The sting melted into that awful pull, his moan vibrating against my skin as he drank, one hand gripping my waist with bruising force.

"Exquisite," he murmured between gulps, lips brushing my neck, wet with my blood. "Nobody tastes like you." He pulled back, crimson dripping from his mouth, eyes glowing with sated hunger and something darker. "Two months ‘til you're eighteen," he said, his voice a sultry drawl as his hand slid down, fingers grazing my lower body, pressing against me with bold intent.