Chapter Text
By the time the moon hit high, the warmth between your legs shifted from warning to full-blown situation. You felt it before you saw it—hot, thick, sliding down the inside of your thigh like molasses down a tin plate. Your whole body seized up. You knew it was coming, but Lord, not now. Not with him sitting two feet away, lookin’ at you like you were a peach cobbler straight out the oven.
You crossed your legs tight, casually—well, tried to—trying to act like nothing happened. Remmick’s eyes shifted, nostrils flaring just a hair. His pupils sharpened. His smile faded, not gone, but bent. He leaned forward, elbows to knees.
And then… his eyes turned red.
Not some cute wine-red, either. Full-on, heart-of-a-furnace, back-of-the-devil’s-throat red. His canines lengthened, slow and slick behind his lips like he was savoring the change.
You shot up before your brain could catch up with your legs. “Nope.”
Remmick stood too, but didn’t lunge. Not yet. Just watched. Almost amused. “Oh, now you gone run?” he drawled, head cocked like a damn hunting dog.
“I—I gotta go inside,” you said, voice higher than you meant it to be.
“Mmhmm,” he said, taking a lazy step forward, boots thudding soft on your porch wood. “I’mma let you do this, ‘cause I got time. Guess I better get used to you bein’ dramatic since we gonna be together for a looooooooong time.”
You didn’t wait to hear the end of that. You bolted—skirt lifted high, dignity be damned—and made it through the doorway just in time. His hand grazed your back like a spark and then—
Nothing.
You turned, panting. Remmick stood just at the threshold, grinning like sin in suspenders. “Aw, sugar. Don’t be like that.” He leaned one hand against the doorframe. “Promise I won’t harm ya. Just a taste.”
His voice dipped, syrup-slick and slow. “Just a lil sip, sweetheart. Like Friday night, remember?”
You clutched your chest like it might shield your soul. “You—you can’t come in…”
He winked. “Nah, darlin’. I can’t. Not unless you invite me.”
You felt sick. Embarrassed. Bleeding. Confused. And his voice kept coming like warm whiskey poured over something sharp.
“C’mon. I miss you already. Let me sit a spell.” He glanced toward your couch. “Ain’t fair you get to sit all cozy in there, and I’m out here lookin’ like a sad dog left on the porch.”
You blinked at him, body still frozen, head spinning. “What… what are you?”
He smiled like the question pleased him. “Been called many things. In Ireland, they had names—dearg-due, abhartach, olc... but nowadays? Folks just say ‘vampire.’ Simpler that way.”
Your mouth went dry.
Well I'll be damned. Annie’s crazy ass was right this whole time. Of course she was right!! Annie, with her jars of river mud, rabbit bones, and “don’t cut your nails after sundown” rules. You’d rolled your eyes at half of it. Figured most of her talk was just backwoods drama passed down like cornbread recipes.
But now here you were, bleeding through your drawers, facing a white man with glowing red eyes talkin’ ‘bout Irish folklore like it was a family tree.
I'm really gone have to apologize next time she start lighting candles and blessing shit.
His grin widened. “ Mmm. Annie's a clever girl, you know. That pouch she gave you? The one you stopped wearin’? Little knot of red string, ashes, and hawthorn? Work of art, that was. Burned like holy water when I brushed near you. Wouldn’t’ve kept me out, not fully—but it would’ve stung to touch you. Like grabbin’ a skillet off the fire with your bare hands. Smart girl, that Annie.”
You didn’t answer. Just stared.
He sighed. “People these days don’t want to believe in the old ways. Makes it easier to hunt, honestly. Nobody listenin’ to the wise women no more.”
You swallowed hard. “I’m not inviting you in.”
Remmick didn’t budge. If anything, he looked amused, like this was some game you were both playing and you just hadn’t caught up to the rules yet.
That lazy grin crawling back onto his face. “You know… you could let me in,” he said, voice low and teasing. “We could have ourselves a little fun. Again.”
You narrowed your eyes, but he went right on.
“Don’t see the point in pretendin’, sugar. We’re gonna be livin’ together soon anyway. That little house I bought?” He tilted his head. “It’s just waitin’ on you. I figured you’d liven it up nice—curtains, plants, books stacked in every corner. Maybe some lemon balm hangin’ from the windows. Whatever your heart wants.”
He gave a soft chuckle, shrugging one shoulder. “Not sure why you’re fightin’ it. So I’m a vampire—big deal. Doesn’t change what happened between us. Doesn’t change how I feel.”
You stared at him, jaw tight, pulse hammering. “And what makes you think I’d ever want you around again? Or agree to be with you?”
Remmick's smile curved, sharp and knowing. “Aww, sugar. After I had you seein’ heaven the other night, you still gonna be mean?”
You flushed despite yourself, every nerve in your body remembering exactly what heaven had felt like.
He reached into his pocket slow, like he was pulling out treasure—and when his hand came back, he was holding your handkerchief. The one from Friday night. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in deep, eyes half-lidded.
“Still got your sweet scent too,” he murmured.
Your mouth fell open.
Remmick’s grin stretched wider, all teeth and trouble, clearly enjoying your mix of shock and indignation. “Now, don’t go spookin’ yourself,” he said, voice dipping into something softer—almost sincere. “I told you before, didn’t I? No one touches you without your say-so. Not ever again. That includes me.”
Then, with a wink that made your stomach flip, he added, “Besides, wouldn’t make for a very good honeymoon if I went ‘round disrespectin’ my bride. Consent, sugar—that’s the real romance.”
You choked, caught between outrage and… something else entirely. “Remmick—how long have you been like this? Is that why I’ve been dreamin’ about you every damn night? Are you… are you messin’ with my mind?”
He tilted his head, looking almost proud. “Now, honey, what did I just say about consent?! I’m in your dreams ‘cause you want me there. Same rules apply—I need an invite to get in, even up there.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “Don’t go blamin’ me for your midnight cravings, sweetheart.”
You stared at him, pulse thudding like a warning bell. Because if he wasn’t slipping into your head, then that meant all the yearning—all of it—was yours.
A cold weight settled in your chest.
Your voice dropped low, tightening like a noose. “So what then? All this charm, all this sweet-talkin’—was it just the setup?” Your gaze locked with his. “Was your plan to kill us all? 'Cause you figured no one’d notice if a few Black folks up and vanished? That we wouldn’t matter?”