Chapter Text
Hi. My name is Sebastian Gray. You probably know me already—at least, you think you do. If you don’t… well, I have to wonder what brought you here, poking around in my thoughts. Either way, welcome to my weird little world.
Let’s get the basics out of the way: I’m 16 years old. Or, well… 14. Wait, 15? Ugh, numbers are weird now. Officially, on paper, I’m 15 years old. Physically? Definitely 14. Mentally? Somewhere closer to 16, maybe even older on bad days. Why? I could say it’s because I’m “mature for my age,” but that’d be a lie, and if you’ve made it this far, you deserve the truth.
I’m a vampire.
Yeah, I know. Not exactly the teenage confession you were expecting. You probably don’t believe me—and honestly, I wouldn’t blame you. If some kid told me he was undead, I’d roll my eyes too. So, no offense taken. In fact, healthy skepticism is a survival skill these days. Keep it sharp.
I’ve been like this for a year and ten months now. And yes, I’m counting. Don’t ask why—maybe it’s just a habit, or maybe it’s the only way I can keep track of time now that time feels… slippery. Days blur together. Nights last forever. Immortality sounds glamorous until you realize you’re stuck in the same body, the same awkward age, forever. Like hitting pause on puberty.
Is it depressing? Sometimes. But hey, that’s a problem for future Sebastian. Present Sebastian is just trying to get through high school without biting anyone or bursting into flames. You know, typical teen stuff. Well, as typical as a vampire’s life can be.
Honestly, not much has changed—aside from my wardrobe. These days, I’m never seen without my hood up and my trusty umbrella at my side, rain or shine. People ask why I started dressing like a goth ninja overnight. I just tell them I developed a rare form of skin cancer. Turns out, if you say “cancer,” people back off real quick. They don’t ask questions. They don’t want to get too close. (For the record, kids: skin cancer isn’t contagious. But hey, whatever keeps the questions to a minimum.)
The real reason? Sunlight is my mortal enemy now. Old me loved sunny days—backyard soccer, skateboarding with friends, soaking up warmth on the porch until my mom yelled at me to put on sunscreen. Now, even a few minutes in direct sunlight feels like someone’s holding a magnifying glass over my skin. My pain tolerance? Let’s just say it’s as low as my math grades. So I layer up: hoodies, jackets, long pants, turtlenecks—even in summer. I don’t take chances.
And then there’s my umbrella. Not just any umbrella, mind you. It’s windproof, sunproof, and, most importantly, vampire-proof. I never leave home without it. It’s basically my security blanket—call it emotional support, if you want.
But listen—being a vampire isn’t all doom and gloom. There are perks. I’m stronger than I ever was. My reflexes are off the charts. I don’t need to eat, sleep, or even use the bathroom anymore. My skin’s flawless (not that anyone can see it under all the layers). And best of all? I can pull all-nighters gaming without ever running out of energy. The only thing that can stop me is my mom’s “go to bed or I’m unplugging the Wi-Fi” threat. Some things never change.
Now, about the blood thing. Yes, vampires need blood. No, I don’t drink from people. I’m not a monster. When I was first turned, though, the hunger was… overwhelming. My senses sharpened—sight, smell, hearing—all dialed up to eleven. The craving for blood was constant, like a headache you can’t shake. I locked myself in my room, told my family I was sick, and stayed away from everyone. I didn’t trust myself.
Weirdly, I found that sleeping helped. Vampires don’t need sleep, but we can sleep. And every time I woke up, the hunger was less intense, like it had burned itself out for a little while. I have no idea why. There’s no manual for this, no “Vampire for Dummies” guide. I’ve never met another vampire, and Google is no help. (Trust me, I’ve checked.)
But that’s enough about the dark and broody stuff. Let’s talk about immortality for a second. Yes, I have a family—a dad who tells the world’s worst dad jokes, a mom who bakes when she’s stressed, and an older sister who’s in a band and is way cooler than me. I know I’ll outlive them all. That thought sits in the back of my mind, heavy and cold, but… I’ll deal with it when I have to. For now, I’m just trying to survive algebra, keep my secret, and maybe, just maybe, pass as a normal teenager.
Who says I can’t pretend to be human, anyway?
I perked up the instant I felt Kath slide into the seat beside me, a shit-eating grin plastered across her face. She practically vibrated with barely-contained excitement, and it was contagious—I could already feel my own anticipation rising. That look—that look—always meant one thing: gossip. The juiciest kind, the kind that made lunch breaks feel like tabloid exposés.
"What is it?" I demanded, leaning in, my fingers twitching on the edge of my desk. School gossip was my guilty pleasure. Whether it was two blonde girls screeching over a lacrosse player, or that one weird kid who got caught selling feet pics online—by his homeroom teacher, of all people—it always made my day. That last one was equal parts hilarious and appalling. Who buys feet pics from a guy with a mullet, anyway? Some people are just built different.
Kath leaned in, eyes shining with mischief, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I heard…" She let the sentence dangle, milking the suspense for all it was worth. I groaned, grabbing her wrist and giving it a melodramatic shake.
"Spill it, woman!" I whisper-shouted, a bit too loud—half the students in front of us whipped around to glare. I flashed them a sheepish grin, mouthing sorry, before turning back to Kath. She was loving every second.
"Okay, okay," she giggled, dabbing at her eyes like she’d just heard the world’s funniest joke. "So get this: there’s a new student. He’s from Scotland, and…" She leaned in even closer, breathless, her eyes wide. "He’s really handsome. Like, stupidly handsome."
I blinked. That was it? I slumped back in my seat, unimpressed, and shot her my best deadpan stare.
"A new student." I let the sarcasm drip from every syllable. "That’s your hot gossip? Some random guy with an accent and a passport? Wow, Katherine Cruz, you’ve truly reached new heights of investigative journalism." I folded my arms in mock disappointment.
Kath pouted, pinching my cheek with cold fingers. "Come on! You’re not even a little curious? He’s in our grade. Don’t you want to see what all the fuss is about?" She waggled her eyebrows at me, and I groaned, leaning further back until my chair creaked.
"Why would I care about some guy I don’t even know?" I grumbled, giving her my best unimpressed glare. She just grinned, undeterred, and shot me her classic puppy-dog eyes.
"We have to talk to him," she insisted, voice rising with excitement. "Ms. Herta’s going to bring him to first period and introduce him to everyone." There was something in her tone that made my suspicion radar ping.
I narrowed my eyes. "You’ve already seen him, haven’t you? Let me guess—you’ve got a crush already." I said it sing-song, and she gasped, clutching her chest in mock outrage. But the blush creeping up her cheeks gave her away. Classic Kath—her crushes cycled faster than the school Wi-Fi went out.
I opened my mouth, ready to tease her relentlessly, but the classroom door banged open, cutting me off. Ms. Herta swept in, heels clicking with authority, and behind her… someone new.
My words died in my throat.
He looked nothing like I expected. His hair was so blonde it was almost silver, catching the harsh fluorescent lights and shimmering like spun gold. It fell across his forehead in soft waves, just messy enough to look intentional. But it was his eyes that caught me—held me, really. They were yellow. Not hazel, not brown, not even amber, but a true, molten gold that seemed to glow from within. Like he’d swallowed a piece of the sun.
He smiled, and the whole room seemed to tilt a little. His uniform was crisp and slightly different from ours—a spring version with lighter fabric and gold trim, making him stand out even more. He looked like he belonged at some elite boarding school in a movie, not in our slightly dingy classroom with flickering lights and gum stuck under the desks.
"Class, we have a transfer student from Scotland," Ms. Herta announced, her usual stern tone softened by a rare smile. "His name is Silas Gael. Silas, would you like to introduce yourself?"
He stepped forward, hands out of his pockets, posture relaxed. "Good morning," he said, voice smooth, laced with a lilting Scottish accent that made the words roll off his tongue like music. "I’m Silas Gael. I just transferred here from Scotland, and I hope we’ll all get along." His smile was warm, almost dazzling, and the class collectively held its breath.
For a moment, I couldn’t look away. He was like a solar flare in human form—impossibly bright and impossible to ignore. I half-expected to burst into flames just from looking at him.
Kath elbowed me hard in the ribs, breaking the spell. "Told you," she whispered smugly.
I couldn’t argue with that. Not that I’d admit that to Kath of course.
Around me, I could hear the girls swooning—some audibly, with little gasps and giggles, others just sighing as if they’d forgotten to breathe. The boys, on the other hand, let out low, envious groans, their faces a mix of resentment and awe. I glanced at Kath beside me. Her hands were clasped together beneath her chin, fingers white-knuckled, as if she were praying for a miracle. She wore a faraway, dreamy expression, her lips curved in the faintest, most hopelessly smitten smile.
Great. She was already under his spell.
At least I wasn’t the only one who felt like the air had shifted, suddenly charged and heavy, almost electric with his presence.
But then, Silas said something that made the entire room freeze.
“I’m a High-Class Mage,” he announced, his voice smooth and easy, as if declaring such a thing on a Monday morning was perfectly ordinary. “And I’m here to find a pure-blooded vampire named Minerva Marlowe.”
The classroom fell into stunned silence. You could have heard a pin drop—or, in my case, a pencil. I felt my jaw slacken, but I couldn’t tell if it was shock or the sound of my pencil slipping from my nerveless fingers and clattering to the floor that made everyone’s heads whip in my direction.
Silas’s golden eyes flicked toward me, catching mine and holding them captive. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
I gulped, throat suddenly dry. “Uh…” was all I managed to squeak out.
He smiled—a closed-lipped, almost playful smile, his eyes crinkling shut for a moment as if we were sharing some private joke. But when he opened them again, his gaze was sharp, almost predatory. Like he saw straight through me.
Oh, crap. He knew.