REBORN AS A NECROMANCER : BUILDING THE ULTIMATE UNDEAD ARMY

Kaine adjusted the cuff of his coat for the third time in as many minutes, leaning against a lamp post outside his apartment building. The evening had some kind of Parisian chill—crisp, quiet, biting just enough to remind you summer was done pretending. The wind carried the faint scent of gasoline and old bread, punctuated by the occasional blur of perfume from passersby.

He glanced at his watch. Rebecca was only four minutes late. Not enough for irritation. But Kaine didn't like standing still. Never had.

His coat was long, matte black, unzipped just enough to reveal the tactical undershirt beneath—a compromise between dinner-date and walking arsenal.

Then he caught the scent.

Not blood. Not death. Something floral.

"You're early," came a voice.

He turned, and there she was.

Rebecca had never been the type to try. She just existed. And somehow, that did all the work. Her dress was the same shade as midnight—tight in the places that tempted, loose in the ways that teased. Hair pulled back, soft tendrils licking at her neck. Her heels clicked with certainty.

Kaine exhaled. "You're late."

She looked at her watch. "Three minutes. That's just fashionable."

"In my line of work, three minutes is time to kill or die."

She stepped closer, close enough he could smell the warmth of her skin under the perfume. "You're not working tonight."

He didn't answer. Just opened the cab door for her. She slid in without hesitation.

The cab's interior was stuffy, heavy with that synthetic pine scent trying to mask twenty years of stories in vinyl and cigarette smoke. The driver was old, distracted, mumbling at the radio in Arabic. Kaine didn't mind. It meant they were left alone.

Rebecca crossed her legs slowly, tugging her dress a little higher, and caught him looking. She smiled like she'd won something.

"You're staring."

"I'm evaluating."

"Oh? And?"

"That's a dangerous dress."

"You've got a dangerous face. We make a good pair."

Kaine let the smallest of smiles break through. "I thought you were going to wear that maroon thing."

"I was. Then I realized I wanted to see what this one would do to you."

The car turned left, away from the main strip, pulling them deeper into the city. The kind of places where no tourists walked and locals paid to forget.

The drive only lasted thirty minutes. And then they were there.

The restaurant wasn't extravagant, but it had the weight of old money and bad secrets. Carved wood doors. Too many candles. One of those places where they overcharged you for the ambiance and the silence was curated.

The host barely looked up. Just saw Kaine, nodded, and led them to a corner booth.

The tablecloths were deep red. The glasses were real crystal. The lighting was low enough to soften Rebecca's smirk as she took her seat.

Kaine scanned the room like instinct. Exit routes. Corners. Faces.

"Still doing that?" Rebecca asked, reaching for her menu.

"Always."

"You know, some people find it charming when their date pretends not to be on alert for assassination."

"Some people die in candlelit restaurants."

"Some people also get laid."

He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a threat."

"Or a promise."

Their waiter approached. Mid-thirties. French accent not too thick. Tall. Lean. Polished demeanor that reeked of training but not experience.

He gave Rebecca a little too much eye contact. Just a little too long with the smile.

Kaine looked up.

They made eye contact.

Two seconds.

Three.

The waiter blinked first. His smile stayed in place. "Would monsieur and mademoiselle like to start with wine, or perhaps cocktails?"

Kaine didn't answer immediately. The waiter turned slightly toward Rebecca, as if waiting.

She nodded, oblivious to the shift. "Red for me. Dry."

"Of course."

The man disappeared with a bow.

Kaine watched his retreat for one heartbeat longer than necessary.

"What was that?" Rebecca asked.

"What?"

"That little Western standoff between you and the waiter."

"I'm just not used to someone smiling that hard without a weapon behind their back."

She snorted. "Paranoid."

"Alive."

Rebecca leaned in. "Relax. Just for tonight. Promise me?"

He hesitated. Then nodded. "One night."

"Good." She reached for the candle and tilted it slightly. The glow lit up her eyes. "Now, let's order something expensive so I can make fun of your cheap taste in meat."

"I'm allergic to pretense."

"You're allergic to joy."

The waiter returned with their drinks and took their food order with too many glances at Rebecca's collarbone. Kaine didn't react, but his fingers tapped the side of his wine glass like he was counting something. Rebecca leaned back as the waiter walked off.

"If looks could kill," she said.

"He'd be ash."

"You know you're allowed to enjoy yourself, right?"

"Am I not?"

"You're acting like you've got a sniper trained on him from the roof."

Kaine lifted his glass. "Not from the roof."

She laughed.

Their food arrived. Rebecca's eyes lit up at the presentation, cutting into her steak with a hunger that surprised him. She moaned after the first bite.

"Okay, I admit it. This place might be worth the nonsense."

Kaine tasted his own dish—something glazed and dark that reminded him of campfire nights and bloodied knives. It was good. He didn't say it aloud.

"So," Rebecca said between bites, "do all your jobs involve stabbing things, or do you occasionally deal with haunted appliances and cursed love spells?"

"No love spells. Never touch domestic hauntings."

"Why not?"

"Too many tears. And people never clean up after their ghosts."

She laughed again. Genuine. Open. She took a sip of her wine, leaned closer across the table.

"Thanks for this. I know you don't do... normal."

Kaine held her gaze. "You're not normal."

"Flatterer." She said.

"You're a high-functioning anomaly who might get me killed."

"Only if you're lucky." She responded with a smile.

Their eyes lingered. She didn't blink. Neither did he.

The sound of a glass shattering behind the bar broke the tension. Kaine's attention flicked sideways for a split second.

The waiter.

Mopping up something. Watching them as he did. This is part of a series from My Virtual Library Empire (M|V|L1EMPYR).

He said nothing.

Neither did Kaine.

But he filed the man's face away in his head. Carefully. Quietly.

Dinner continued, and for once, Kaine let himself enjoy the warmth under the table. The candlelight. The way her foot brushed his ankle and didn't pull away.

There was a storm coming. He could feel it.

But tonight, he chose not to say it.

An hour or so later, Kaine had lost track of time. But they were done. They'd discussed every thing they missed in his apartment or hers.

They'd made fun of other couples and bonded on a base friendship level.

They stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night. The streetlamps hummed overhead, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. A light breeze caught Rebecca's hair, sending a few loose strands into her face. She didn't bother tucking them back.

"I can't tell if that wine was really good or if I'm just buzzed on you," she said.

Kaine raised an eyebrow. "Maybe both."

She bumped his arm with her shoulder. "That's the closest thing to a compliment I've ever heard you give."

"I'm evolving."

They walked in silence for a block before hailing a cab. Kaine opened the door for her. She slid in, crossing her legs deliberately slow. When he joined her, she leaned in, brushing his arm with hers like it was casual. It wasn't.

"Tell me you're not thinking about work right now."

He didn't answer immediately.

"I'm thinking about how fast you're going to drag me through your front door," he said.

She laughed, head thrown back slightly. "So you can flirt. I was beginning to think that brooding was a full-time job."

He turned his head toward her. "You're lucky I like you."

"Please. You're obsessed."

Kaine smirked, but said nothing.

He looked out the window. The buildings blurred by. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Sirens howled faintly in the background—normal sounds for a city built on things better left unseen.

The cab turned a sharp corner. Streetlights flickered through the windows, each strobe catching on her skin, her dress, the curve of her thigh. He tried not to look. Failed. She knew.

"I'd invite you in," she said softly, "but you already planned to come."

"No planning. Just instinct."

"Good. I like you when you stop thinking."

She leaned in closer. "When we get to my door, I'm going to kiss you. Then I'm going to drag you inside and make your world go dark. Just nod if you're on board."

He didn't nod.

He didn't need to

The cab pulled to a stop.

They climbed out and took the walk to her door through the stairs.

Rebecca fumbled with her keys at the door, pretending to have trouble. Her eyes flicked up to meet his.

It was finally unlocked. She entered and dragged him in with her so smoothly Kaine suspected she stole kids into vans for a living.

The second the door clicked shut behind them, she was on him.

Mouth to mouth. Teeth. Tongue. She pushed him hard against the wood, the thud echoing in the small foyer. Her hands were in his coat, under his shirt, nails scraping. His own hands were under her dress before he could blink—palming her ass, lifting her. She jumped into his arms like they'd rehearsed it.

His back hit the wall opposite the door as she rocked against him, grinding through the thin barrier of her panties and his pants. Her lips found his neck, biting and kissing in equal measure.

"You always this quiet when you're desperate?" she breathed.

He responded by pulling her panties aside and thrusting into her without warning.

She gasped—head falling back with a sound that was half moan, half growl. Her heels dug into his thighs, arms locking around his shoulders. The dress hiked up around her waist. Her head banged softly against the wall with every thrust.

"Oh—fuck—right there—don't stop—"

She clenched around him like a vice, each cry sharper than the last. He held her by the hips, drove into her harder, faster. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed embarrassingly loud in the narrow hall.

A creak on the floorboards above.

Then—

"Is everything okay down there?" Mrs. Kowalski called, her oice muffled. Concerned. Sixty-something and nosy as hell.

Rebecca slapped a hand over her own mouth, biting her knuckle to stop the noise escaping.

Kaine stopped. Mid-thrust. Motionless.

"I—I dropped something!" Rebecca called out, voice strangled with suppressed laughter.

There was a pause. Then the creak of retreating feet.

Rebecca's body trembled with silent laughter.

"You're evil," Kaine muttered.

"Shut up and fuck me before she comes back with cookies."

He obeyed.

They finished against the door. She came first—full body spasm, eyes wide, hands gripping his face like she was trying to memorize it. Kaine followed, jaw tight, the kind of orgasm that left nothing behind.

They stayed pressed together like that. Breathing hard. Sweaty. Shaking. Slowly sliding down to sit tangled on the floor.

She laughed breathlessly. "She's going to bake us that weird licorice pie she gave me when my moved in now."

"She knows."

"She absolutely knows." Rebecca agreed.

Kaine rested his forehead against hers. Their hearts thudded in sync.

Rebecca exhaled. "You staying the night?"

He pulled back. His face shifted just a bit—quiet steel.

"I've got work."

She didn't fight it. Just nodded and leaned in to kiss him one more time—slow, gentle, and tasting like goodbye.

He stood. Pulled his clothes back into place. She didn't move from the floor, still glowing, still bare-legged, like a sin half-committed.

"I'll see you before sunrise?" she asked.

"I'll try."

She nodded. "Be careful."

"Always."

He opened the door. Paused. Turned back.

"I'm glad you wore that dress."

She smiled, wicked and soft. "I knew it'd destroy you."

He left.

Quietly. Like a thief with something worth stealing.