Page 55 of BLOOD LUST | YANDERE VAMPIRES

with dress bags draped over their arms and sore feet tucked into sneakers that didn't match their elegant finds.

They were still giddy from the rush of it all—sneaking into the nearby town under the illusion of a group study trip, slipping into changing rooms like they belonged there, hearts pounding with every minute that ticked by unnoticed.

Aisha looked radiant in her chosen abaya-styled crimson gown that deepened against her warm skin, the smooth silk catching the light in a way that made her look like walking fire.

Julia had gone for something softer—a baby pink dress with delicate straps and a flowing skirt that made her look like she'd stepped out of a spring garden.

And then there was Y/N, quiet and more withdrawn than she usually was, clutching the midnight navy fabric of her gown in trembling fingers. It was strapless, form-fitting, and elegant.

It was her. Or at least, who she wanted to be for one night.

They returned to the dorm in a flurry of laughter and excitement, cheeks flushed from the cool air, arms full of beauty. But as Y/N stepped inside and let the door click softly shut behind her, something in her chest shifted.

The air changed. Her eyes fell on the folded slip of paper that had been pushed under the door while they were away, a delicate corner of it catching the light.

She bent to pick it up.

"It was a mistake, Y/N. Let's not see each other for a while. Sorry. —??"

She stared. The words blurred. The room tilted slightly beneath her feet, and for a second, the chatter behind her became distant.

Adrian?

Her breath left her in a single, cracking exhale. She folded the note back, her fingers trembling, and turned away from the other two girls just as tears filled her eyes.

"Y/N?" Aisha's voice came carefully, sensing the shift. "What's wrong? You okay?"

But she couldn't speak. Her throat was too tight, her chest burning. She shook her head, barely holding it together, and before they could take another step toward her, she bolted.

The hallway passed in a blur, her legs moved faster than her thoughts. She didn't care who saw her, didn't care if the makeup she'd so carefully applied earlier was now streaking down her cheeks.

All she could see was that note—those cowardly words. A mistake?

She reached their floor, her fist already swinging up to knock.

The door swung open faster than she expected, eyes revealing not brown, but blue. His brows lifted, caught off guard by her appearance. "Y/N?"

"Azul?" She didn't greet him. Didn't explain. The heat in her blood drowned out politeness.

She pushed past him before he could protest, her shoes thudding against the polished floor as she entered the suite.

And there he was.

Adrian stood in the open archway to the bathroom, a towel slung around his hips, droplets of water still rolling down his collarbones and disappearing into the ridges of his chest. His dark hair was damp, tousled from the towel or perhaps the shower.

He looked up, startled. And behind him, lounging in his bed—that bed—were Calixto and Silas, both watching the scene unfold with unreadable expressions.

She didn't stop.

Her hand flew before she could think—SLAP.

Her palm collided with the side of Adrian's face, his head snapping to the side. His eyes widened in disbelief. Silas made a low sound—a scoff, half shocked amusement, half something darker.

"You asshole," she spat, her voice trembling more than she wanted it to. "Was that all I was to you? Some little mistake you needed to erase with an apology on paper?"

Adrian didn't speak. His lips parted, his eyes flickering between guilt and confusion, but no words came.

"I trusted you," she hissed. "I let you in—I thought for one second that maybe—maybe that night meant something. That maybe you actually saw me."

He took a step toward her, slow, uncertain. "Y/N wait—"

She tried to hold his gaze, tried to maintain the fury in her stance, but her body betrayed her. Her breath caught. Her expression faltered.

The hurt bled through her anger, crumpling her from the inside out. "You... you made me feel like it wasn't wrong. And now you want to pretend it didn't happen?"

Her fingers uncurled.

The note dropped to the floor, fluttering like a wounded bird between them.

"I should've known better," she whispered, barely able to hold her voice together. "I should've known none of you would ever be capable of meaning what you say."

And with that, she turned. She didn't wait for a reply, didn't dare look back, because if she did, she was afraid she'd crumble.

The door slammed behind her.

? ★ ?

A heavy silence fell in the room, broken only by the distant sound of her retreating footsteps.

Until—

"You what?" Silas's voice cracked like a whip; his amused grin wiped off his pale face.

Adrian stood still, frozen, as if the impact of her slap had knocked something loose in his brain. His towel hung precariously around his hips, still damp, but no amount of water could cool the heat in his ears now.

"Did you fuck her?" Silas barked, stepping forward, incredulous and furious, his fists clenched. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Azul's eyes flicked between Adrian and the note on the floor, but he didn't move to pick it up. "That's why she barged in like that..? Was she even conscious when you got the urge?"

"I—she wanted it too." Adrian opened his mouth but no words came. His tongue felt thick, his throat dry. "It wasn't like that—"

"Oh, really? Were you thinking with your knot instead of your brain, is that it?" Silas spat, venom in his voice. "Did the dog finally lose control of his hormones?"

Calixto hadn't spoken yet.

He stood slightly apart, leaning against the windowsill, his arms crossed tight across his chest. His jaw was locked, his stare sharp and unreadable. But his silence was far louder than any scream.

"You're not even denying it," Azul muttered, raking a hand through his silver waves in disbelief. "You look guilty as fuck. Real subtle, mutt."

Adrian finally moved—just barely—his eyes darting to the note that still lay crumpled on the ground. He crouched to pick it up, the soft crackle of paper deafening in the stillness.

He opened it slowly. Read it once. Then again. His brows furrowed.

And then his head snapped up.

"What?" Azul breathed.

"What is it?" Calixto asked, finally speaking, voice low and cold.

Adrian's grip tightened around the note.

"I didn't write this," he said, voice dark and edged with something raw. "This isn't from me."

Azul took it from his hands, scanning the words. His lips parted. Silas leaned over his shoulder to read too, his anger momentarily paused.

"What the hell?" he muttered. "Well, it's signed A?"

"I didn't write this. You think I'd want to let go of her after... that?" Adrian repeated, more firmly now, the ice in his voice thawing into something else—fear. Realisation. "Who the fuck wrote this?"

The three of them turned to look at him, then at one another.

Because if it wasn't Adrian... then someone wanted her to think it was.