The fields were quiet that evening, the sky painted with streaks of fading gold. Lukas had just returned from the bakery, his hands still smelling faintly of flour, while Étienne sat in the living room with a medical journal open across his lap. Adrian was upstairs, scribbling notes in his journal, his face pale but composed.
The knock at the door startled them. It was firm, official, the kind of knock that carried authority.
Étienne rose gracefully, setting aside his book, and opened the door. Standing there was a young man in uniform — neat, pressed, his cap tucked under his arm. His hair was dark, his jawline sharp, his eyes bright with curiosity.
"Callum Fraser," he introduced himself, his voice steady but warm. "I've just been stationed in Edinburgh. They told me this house had room for rent."
Étienne's smile was immediate, elegant. "Indeed it does. Please, come in."
Callum stepped inside, his gaze sweeping across the room. He noticed the fireplace, the shelves of books, the faint scent of bread lingering in the air. His eyes lingered on Lukas, who gave a nod of greeting, and then on Adrian, who had descended the stairs with his usual diplomat's composure.
The atmosphere was welcoming, but something about it felt… unusual.
That evening, they shared dinner together. Lukas served bread and stew, Étienne poured wine, Adrian sat quietly with his notebook nearby. Callum ate heartily, laughing at Lukas's dry humor, listening politely to Étienne's subtle wit.
Yet beneath the warmth, he sensed something strange. Étienne's skin was too pale, his smile too sharp. Lukas's calmness seemed almost unnatural, his movements too controlled. Adrian's face, though handsome, carried a stillness that unsettled him.
Callum brushed it off at first. New housemates, new quirks. But as the night wore on, unease grew.
Later, when the others had gone to their rooms, Callum lingered in the living room. He stared at the fire, his thoughts restless. He was a policeman now, trained to notice details, to trust instinct. And his instinct told him something was wrong.
He thought of Étienne's eyes, gleaming faintly in the firelight. He thought of Lukas's strength, the way his hands gripped the bread knife with ease. He thought of Adrian's pallor, his quiet observation.
Fear stirred. Not the fear of crime or danger, but the primal fear of being prey.
The next morning, Callum joined Lukas at the bakery. Customers greeted Lukas warmly, praising his bread, laughing at his calm jokes. Callum watched, impressed by the man's ease among humans. Yet he noticed the way Lukas avoided silver utensils, the way his eyes flicked toward the moon calendar pinned on the wall.
"Strange," Callum muttered to himself.
When he returned to the house, he found Étienne in the study, humming softly as he read. The vampire looked up, his smile cheerful but faintly unsettling.
"You are observant," Étienne said, echoing the words he had once spoken to Adrian. "Too observant, perhaps."
Callum forced a laugh, but unease gnawed at him.
By the end of the week, suspicion had taken root. Callum lay awake at night, listening to the creaks of the house, the faint sounds of movement. He imagined fangs in the dark, claws scratching at the door, hunger lurking behind polite smiles.
He was not ready to confront them yet. But the fear was growing, louder than reason, sharper than curiosity.
And soon, his confrontation would come — louder, more fearful than Adrian's quiet diplomacy.
For now, though, the house in the fields had gained its fourth resident. A young policeman, attractive, earnest, and unaware of the truth that surrounded him.