Page 11 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

The corridor beyond was quiet, lit by flickering sconces that lined the stone walls. My boots echoed as I walked, each step heavy with a weight I couldn’t quite name. When I got to the staircase that led to the upper levels, the sound of her voice was still in my ears.

I wasn’t angry, not really. Lilah was bold, charming, confident—all the things I’d once been accused of. What she’d said shouldn’t have bothered me. But the thought of her looking at him like that—seeing what I saw every time Con stood his ground, every time he moved with that effortless precision—sent something painful through my chest.

Jealousy.

The realization hit like a slap. I almost stopped walking.

It was so foreign, so absurd, that it took me a full minute to name it. I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t get jealous. I’d trained myself out of it centuries ago—cut that weakness out along with the rest of what made me human. But now, the word echoed in my mind, bitter and unfamiliar.

I reached my suite and shut the door behind me, leaning back against the heavy wood. The air in my quarters was still, scented with sandalwood and steel polish. My weapons gleamed on the wall, my coat hung where it always did, and yet everything felt off—too small, too quiet.

I crossed to the window, looking out over the courtyard where the snow had begun to fall again, the flakes glinting like fragments of silver under the night lamps. Somewhere below, I knew Con was still awake, probably reviewing drills or pushing himself harder just to quiet the noise in his head.

And Lilah… she’d be thinking about him, too.

I dragged a hand through my hair and laughed once under my breath, the sound low and humorless. “Get it together, Cass,” I muttered.

But the truth lingered, as intense as the cold glass under my fingers.

I could face warlocks, rogues, and death without blinking⁠—

yet one offhand comment from a woman I barely knew had managed to unravel me.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure which of us I wanted to fight more—her, or myself.

I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the reflection of moonlight through the tall, narrow window. The glass cast pale bars of silver across the floorboards, and the room felt smaller than it should have—like the walls had crept closer while I wasn’t looking.

Jealousy. The word kept circling in my head like an echo that refused to fade. It wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me. I’d felt anger, pride, even longing before—but not this. Never this strange, twisting ache that burned behind the ribs, turning thought into static.

I’d faced worse things than a little emotional turmoil, but the unease unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

A knock broke the silence.

“Cass?”

His voice was unmistakable—low, calm, carrying that quiet authority that could still unravel me faster than any battle.

“Come in,” I said, though the word felt rough.

The door opened, and Constantine stepped inside. He didn’t fill the room, exactly—he commanded it. Dressed in black, he looked as if the night itself had followed him in. The golden flicker in his eyes caught the lamplight as he shut the door behind him.

The moment his gaze found mine, his expression shifted—concern cutting through his usual mask of composure. “What’s wrong?”

I hesitated, glancing away. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”

“Because you look like you want to punch through that wall,” he said simply, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

I tried for a smile, but it didn’t hold. “It’s nothing important.”

He gave me that look—the one that stripped away every excuse I tried to hide behind. I sighed. “Fine. It’s about Lilah.”

Something flickered in his eyes—confusion first, then a tightening of his jaw. “What about her?”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “She cornered me after you left the training hall. Started asking questions about you—what you’re like, what kind of man you are. She… made it pretty clear she’s interested.”

His brow furrowed, but his voice stayed even. “And that bothered you?”

The quiet that followed was thick. I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t sure what the truth was supposed to sound like.