Location: Avenue des Champs-Élysées
Timing: 8:44 in morning
Morning light spilled across Rue Saint-Honoré, gleaming on the shop windows like liquid gold. Paris was all charm and chatter—laughter, perfume, the rustle of bags and silk.
Amid it all, Aiyana Vale moved like a secret.
She wore a black trench coat over a scarlet dress that kissed her curves, heels clicking softly against the cobblestones. A pair of tinted glasses hid her eyes from the morning sun—not that it harmed her much anymore. Her transformation had made her tolerant of daylight, though she could still feel the faint sting of it on her skin, like heat over ice.
Despite her vampiric nature, Aiyana still adored the simple mortal pleasure of shopping.
She drifted from boutique to boutique, fingertips trailing over fabrics, eyes drinking in colors. There was something comforting about it—the illusion of normalcy.
Inside a small patisserie, she paused to buy a croissant and a café au lait. The smell of butter and coffee filled the air, and for a moment, she allowed herself to smile.
She took a bite. Warm, flaky, rich.
Human food no longer nourished her, but she could still taste—and that, to her, was enough.
She sat by the window, crossing her legs gracefully, sipping her coffee as if she were just another elegant Parisian woman. Her crimson lips left faint stains on the porcelain rim.
It felt almost human.
Until the whispers began again.
---
> Mon dieu, look at her.
Too young for that confidence. She must be a model—or worse.
If she smiled at me once, I'd make her my mistress.
Pretty little thing doesn't know her place.
The thoughts slithered into her mind like cigarette smoke—unwanted, invasive, impossible to ignore.
Aiyana's eyes flicked toward the source: a table of older men in suits, sitting near the window. Their laughter was loud, their smiles self-satisfied. Champagne glasses clinked as they stared at her with the arrogance of men who believed money excused everything.
She arched an eyebrow.
They didn't look away.
> That body… she could ruin a man.
Maybe she already does. Look at that face. Pure temptation.
What I wouldn't give to—
Aiyana's smirk cut through the air like glass.
She set down her cup and leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Careful, gentlemen," she murmured under her breath. "You're thinking too loudly."
Her voice dripped with amusement.
They, of course, didn't hear her words—only her thoughts brushing against theirs.
Aiyana reached out with her mind, like stretching a hand through smoke. She let her consciousness sweep over the table—tasting their arrogance, their greed, their boredom.
Then, she pushed.
Just a whisper.
Look away. You're unworthy.
One man blinked, startled, suddenly fumbling his glass. Another frowned, eyes darting nervously.
The third—the boldest—still met her gaze.
> She's not ordinary. There's something… dangerous.
Her smile sharpened. Good, she thought. At least one of you can smell the wolf behind the perfume.
She let her charm slip like silk from her shoulders, releasing the full gravity of her aura—the seductive, dangerous pull of her kind.
Their hearts raced. Their bodies tensed. She could feel their fear, their fascination, their unspoken shame.
When she finally stood, they couldn't move.
She walked past their table, her perfume—jasmine and blood—curling around them. Her fingers trailed lightly across the shoulder of the one who'd dared to keep staring.
His breath hitched. His thoughts flared bright.
> Don't look at her. Don't. Don't.
She bent close enough for only him to hear.
"Next time," she whispered, her voice velvet and ice, "try using your eyes for something other than hunger."
Then she smiled—a predator's smile—and was gone.
---
Outside, Aiyana slipped her sunglasses back on and exhaled softly. The wind played with her hair as she crossed the street, the heels of her boots clicking like a heartbeat.
The world around her pulsed with life, with thoughts, with desire. Her telepathy was stronger each day, her control more precise. She could tune out the noise if she wanted—or let it flood her veins when she was bored.
But sometimes… sometimes she liked the noise. It reminded her how small humanity really was.
She turned a corner and found herself in front of a boutique she hadn't noticed before.
The sign above the door read: Nocturne Atelier.
The display window shimmered with black gowns threaded with gold, the kind of couture made for queens.
Aiyana smiled faintly.
The shopkeeper, a woman with striking silver eyes, greeted her in accented English. "You have an interesting aura, mademoiselle. We don't get many customers before dusk."
"Then I suppose I'm early," Aiyana replied, stepping inside.
As she ran her fingers over the fabrics, her senses tingled. The air here was… different. Cooler. Older.
And beneath the hum of mortal thoughts, she felt something else—something that wasn't human.
Her smile lingered, though her eyes sharpened.
So Paris had its secrets after all.
---
Hours later, as dusk deepened and lights shimmered along the Seine, Aiyana returned to her penthouse with her purchases—silks, heels, a scent laced with night-blooming jasmine.
She hung the dresses, poured herself a glass of blood-wine, and watched the city ignite below her.
The world was a stage, and she its quiet queen.
Still, her mind returned to the boutique with the silver-eyed woman. There had been no mortal thoughts there. Only silence.
And silence, Aiyana knew, was never harmless.
She smiled to herself, eyes glowing faintly crimson.
"Let them watch," she murmured, raising her glass. "I don't bite—unless I'm invited."
Be careful in the company of monsters that you don't become one. 🖤
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End of Chapter 5