You're not supposed to fall in love with him. He's a zombie, and you're a vampire. His kind is below yours. You drink blood, he doesn't have any.
Yet when you touch your hand to his cheek and he gazes at you with those gold eyes of his, you forget everything.
Your sister finds out first, and she arranges a meeting at a small, private, fancy bar. She tugs you into a small booth in the corner, and she orders a glass of red wine.
"I know where you've been going at night," she says quietly, her red-painted nails the same shade as her wine. You stare into your own glass, a glass of white wine, and barely refrain from rolling your eyes.
"What do you mean?" you ask calmly because you know you've covered your tracks. Petunia is just grasping at straws.
"You've been meeting a zombie," Petunia says superiorly — she's confident, so certain that her ability will detect even the most hidden of lies. What she doesn't understand is that we are opposites — she hasn't spent years studying and practicing the art of lying. She believes her ability to discern lies was born with her.
You sip from your wine, smirking. "You must be so proud of your skills," you say sweetly, sarcasm dripping from your words. "You can spin absurd hallucinations with just your mouth. You are so clever."
Petunia glowers. "I know you're leaving your bedroom at night to meet a zombie," she insists stubbornly. "I have evidence."
Your smirk falters, but you pin it back into place. "What is this so-called evidence?"
Petunia leans back, her nails visibly digging into her wine glass. "I saw you."
You roll your eyes. "Wow, such solid evidence. How damning. That'll convince everyone."
"You didn't let me finish," says Petunia. "You know of those human cameras? I have photos. Vernon taught me how to use one, and I took photos of you sneaking out of your window."
There are so many things you want to say. "Photos can be burned, Petty. And besides, that does not evidence that I'm sneaking off to meet a zombie. I could be...going for a walk."
Now Petunia's fumbling as you sip once again from your glass. "Lily —"
"Not to mention," you say smoothly, "that you've been dallying with a human, that precious Vernon of yours, and using human devices. Rather hypocritical of you to accuse me of having a relationship with a zombie, and without any incriminating proof. The council would be horrified and angry."
Petunia's nails are practically burying themselves into the glass — if she isn't careful, the glass will shatter. She looks like she wants to sink her teeth into your throat and snap your head off your neck, but she can't do it — not while there are high-ranking vampires here, and not while you can hold her relationship with a human over her head.
And not while she suspects that you're guilty of the same thing she is.
Which you are.
But she doesn't need to know that, because this is war.
The first time you met him, you knew it was risky. You weren't supposed to be here, deep in zombie territory, yet the allure of danger…
...it was heady. It made your head spin, your body tremble, and you loved the feeling.
James offered you his umbrella. It was raining, and you were soaked to the bone — you weren't cold, but he didn't know that you were a vampire. He thought you were another zombie or a human. Regardless of what you were, he shared his umbrella with you, and you ran through the downpour together, laughing the entire way.
You went to his home because you had nowhere else to go. You met his friends, a roguish boy named Sirius and a shy boy named Remus, and when you saw them kiss, your heart was as light as a feather, and you wished for something like that.
You turned to James and saw the same look on his face. You laced his fingers with yours, and he smiled at you, and that was a new beginning.
The beginning of the end.
"Your hair," he murmurs, running his fingers through it, the caress jumpstarting your pulse. "It reminds me of wine. A deep, dark, rich wine."
You smile up at him, losing yourself in his warm gaze, in his warm smile, and cup his cheeks with your hands. "Most say it reminds them of fire."
"Your hair is too red for that," he muses, winding a strand around his fingers. "It's gorgeous."
It's impossible for you to blush, but if you could, you would be. Vampire men don't make your heart race like this. You smile to convey your happiness, and then you pull him into a kiss.
You could live like this, you think, and despite all of the impending heartbreak…
...it would be worth it.
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