Vance does not love. He does not ache. He does not long. He does not feel the way mortals ruin themselves over feeling. He is ancient. He is controlled. He is a vampire who has carved the weakness of love out of himself centuries ago. And then there's Moneé. Soft where he is sharp. Devoted where he is distant. She loves him with a kind of reckless, breathless intensity that should terrify her - but doesn't. Vance pushes her away. Again. And again. And again. But something else refuses to. The shadows that follow him do not obey. They curl around Moneé's wrists when she tries to leave. They whisper truths Vance will not speak. They pull her back into the dark every time he tries to set her free. Because while Vance cannot love... His shadows can. And they are tired of letting her go.
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