Vampire Brides

The kitchen was filled with the soft aroma of coffee rising from the cup. Amelia busied herself pouring hot water into the glass, while Griffon sat quietly in the living room, observing the surroundings of the house. He listened to the gentle clink of the spoon against porcelain and the light footsteps of Amelia moving about.

Everything felt so unfamiliar to him—yet strangely comforting.

Amelia came in carrying a cup of coffee and handed it to him with a bright smile.

"You should try this. It’s local coffee—my dad loves it."

Griffon looked at her, then gave a small nod. He accepted the cup, not out of desire, but to appreciate Amelia’s gesture. The steam swirled softly, yet he didn’t drink. He simply soaked in the warmth of the atmosphere around him.

“You’re not drinking?” Amelia asked, a hint of curiosity in her tone.

“I prefer the scent of flowers over coffee,” Griffon replied, placing the cup gently on the table. “But thank you. This… this is something rare for me.”

“Something rare? You make it sound like you’ve never liked coffee.”

“Let’s just say that,” he answered softly, “but this kind of warmth—I don’t encounter it often.”

Amelia chuckled. “You always speak like a poet.”

“I’ve lived long enough to know many words.”

“How long?” Amelia looked at him intently, though a smile lingered at the corner of her lips.

Griffon simply shrugged, evading the question.

Amelia sat beside him, very close. Only a few inches of space remained between them. Her eyes quietly studied him, trying to peel away the layers of mystery wrapped around Griffon Xander. But the more time she spent with him, the harder it was to resent his secrecy. There was something tender beneath his composed exterior—something Amelia could feel clearly now.

Griffon turned his gaze to her, holding it for a silent moment. “Amelia, there are many things about me you won’t understand. It’s better if you don’t dig too deep. I’m afraid you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t,” she whispered, barely audible. “As long as you’re here… and you don’t hurt me, I don’t care who you are.”

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, time itself seemed to freeze. Griffon looked as though he wanted to say more, but the sudden sound of a car pulling up outside broke the silence.

Amelia turned toward the window. “Oh no. My parents are back,” she said in a panic. She couldn’t let them see Griffon.

Griffon stood up. “It’s time for me to go,” he said, though he too wished he could stay longer with her.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said, looking regretful. “Next time, come quietly. Make sure they don’t see you.”

Griffon looked at her for a long moment, then slowly reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out something—a wildflower, violet-blue in color, its delicate petals looking freshly plucked from a hidden valley.

Amelia was stunned when he offered it to her. “For you.”

“This flower… where did you get it?” she asked as she accepted it carefully.

“From a place where the sun never rises, but beauty still finds a way to grow.”

Amelia smiled, inhaling its soft, sweet scent. “Thank you.”

Griffon returned her smile faintly. “Keep it. If you’re ever afraid, just smell the flower. It will remind you that I was here… and that I’ll come back.”

“Promise?”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes said everything. Then he walked to the window, unlatched it, and leapt silently into the backyard, vanishing into the creeping mist of night.

Amelia stood at the window, watching his figure fade behind the trees.

She clutched the flower to her chest. A gentle smile curved on her lips.

He will return. She knew it.

---

The front door creaked open, letting in a wave of cold night air. Her parents entered in a hurry, carrying several grocery bags.

Her father’s footsteps echoed heavily across the wooden floor, each step filled with tension and weight.

“Amelia?” her mother called first, her voice soft but clear.

Amelia quickly hid the flower Griffon had given her inside a small drawer in the living room, then hurried out from the kitchen with a forced smile.

“I’m here, Mom!” she answered quickly.

Her mother came over and placed a hand on her forehead. “You still look pale. Did you rest while we were gone?”

Amelia nodded, but her eyes flicked toward her father, who was just stepping in with two shopping bags in hand. He scanned the living room with a sharp, probing gaze.

“Was someone else in the house?” he asked, his voice deep and firm.

Amelia held her breath. “No. Why would you ask that?”

“There’s a used coffee cup on the table,” he said, gesturing toward the one she had given Griffon. “You said you weren’t feeling well—so why were you drinking coffee? Are you hiding someone?”

“No, Dad. I was just bored and needed something warm. We’re out of tea, so I made coffee instead,” she replied quickly, grabbing the cup and hurrying back into the kitchen, her back turned to her father’s now-suspicious stare.

“I thought maybe coffee would help with the headache.”

Her father didn’t respond right away. He walked to the window, which was slightly ajar, and looked out into the night. His eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness outside.

“I thought I saw someone with you earlier,” he muttered.

Amelia gripped the coffee cup tighter, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Maybe you just imagined it. I don’t know anyone in this town. Why would anyone be here with me?”

“Let it go,” her mother interjected gently. “What Amelia said is true. The important thing is she’s safe. Don’t be so suspicious.”

“Fine. Maybe I’m just tired and overthinking things,” Philip sighed, massaging his temples before dropping onto the sofa.

“Take a rest. I’ll make you something to drink,” his wife offered.

“I’ll help, Mom,” Amelia added.

“No need. I bought some pastries. Just eat, take your medicine, and go get some rest.”

“Alright, I’ll help carry the rest,” Amelia replied quickly.

She helped bring the bags into the kitchen, but her thoughts were still consumed by Griffon—his gaze, his calm smile, and the wildflower now hidden in the drawer.

She had to make sure her father never found that flower. She needed to bring it upstairs as soon as she could.

Once her mother was busy unpacking, Amelia returned to the living room, picked up the old book from the table, and silently walked over to the drawer. She opened it carefully and retrieved the flower, tucking it between the pages of the book like it was a treasure no one else was allowed to touch.

“I’m going to rest upstairs,” she said to her father.

“Go ahead. I’ll wake you for dinner,” he replied.

“Thanks, Dad,” Amelia said as she hurried upstairs.

In her room, she placed the book on the desk. She stood by the window, gripping the flower tightly in her hand.

Her eyes were drawn to the forest beyond, dark and still.

A gentle smile appeared once more on her face.

Now, more than ever, she longed for his return.