It's not that I didn't believe when I was told that summers in the Gold Coast were exceptionally hot and humid. Rather, I didn't mind it back then because of what I've heard about this city from the gossip; it seemed like the kind of place we've sought for several years—a liveable place for my unusual kind. But as I struggled to breathe the oppressively dense air, I couldn't help but feel sorry towards my brothers.
"Okay, maybe I would like to apologize for pushing through with this," I tugged at the collar of my shirt. Even in breathable linen, I was boiling. "And for not acknowledging your sentiments. I have to be honest—we've never lived anywhere tropical, so I couldn't think this far ahead."
"What do you mean you didn't think it through? You didn't think at all," Aspen hissed. "Australian summer can fucking burn a vampire even at night!" He was upset, but he wasn't wrong.
He was evidently upset about having to move here because his band back in New York had just finally put together its first album. But the weather was also undeniably hot; you could tell by his sweat-drenched vintage band tee. Of course he had all the right to complain about it.
"I think my eyeballs are sweating," muttered Dom, who had taken his eyeglasses off and was rubbing his temple with long, elegant fingers. Even now, he looked like a painting misplaced in a sauna, so honestly, I didn't think he had any right to complain.
"You don't even sweat," I said.
"Exactly," he replied, deadpan. "That's how hot it is, Toph."
Despite their complaints, I could tell they were adjusting the best way they could—albeit begrudgingly. But the fact remains that for us to survive, we can't be choosers. We had lived in enough cities to know better than to get attached to comfort. Or people. Or blood, especially, for that matter.
But tonight was hardly about survival for me. It was all about scouting.
The local nightlife scene had been highly recommended by our new school's most desperate gossip, and I figured blending in socially would be easier if we didn't start off with broody trench coats paired with our naturally pale skin, which no skincare routine could replicate, and the not only iridescent but also intense eyes. Funny enough, none of us were good at pretending not to be exactly what we are: starved, sleepless monsters with defined jawlines. You very rarely find anyone who matches our good bone structure, people would always say.
We ended up at a bar near the beach. It was one of those neon-lit venues that tried its best to look effortless—edgy signage, overpriced cocktails, a playlist stuck somewhere between TikTok thirst traps and soft-core techno.
"I can't tell if I'm inside a Spotify ad or my brain's wired, doom scrolling on TikTok," Dom muttered.
"Tell you what, though, I'd take either of those over a coffin," I said, scanning the crowd.
That's when I saw her.
She was standing near the bar with three other girls who looked like they had collectively maxed out their dads' or daddys' credit cards. I assumed she was their ringleader with the way she stood. She had the posture of someone who knew how to get what she wanted, and her aura seemed to influence the way her friends behaved as if she was their queen bee.
Her hair was loosely curled, makeup smudged at the corners like she'd been dancing, sweating or crying—or maybe both. Either way, she didn't look drunk. She looked observant. Perhaps wary? How many of these predatory men have tried to jump on her at the start of the night?
It shouldn't matter to me. But even from across the room, something about her pulled me in. Something more than her looks—though admittedly, she looked like the kind of girl boys got in trouble over. Like the kind who shows up late to a funeral in all white and somehow makes it seem appropriate.
"Toph," Aspen said tightly beside me, "you're staring holes through someone again."
"No, I'm not. You don't think you're imagining things?"
"You really are. You're doing that serial killer tilt again."
"I'm just having a look around. You know how essential it is to evaluate your surroundings. Otherwise, you risk being the huntee."
"You can deny it all you want, but your face just now looks like you're planning her funeral dress."
"Shut up."
I moved closer. Not because I meant to—but because something about her dragged me like gravity. Her energy was quiet but sharp, like a blade wrapped in satin. The moment I got within a few metres, I realised something was wrong.
It hit me like a slap.
That scent.
It wasn't perfume. It was… herby. Herby with a hint of rose water and something else I couldn't quite place—divine cordial? Angel sweat?
I stopped walking.
It wasn't just herb. I thought, for sure, I was highly mistaken when I wild-guessed it was the scent of purity mixed with something ancient. She can't possibly be pure. Whatever it was, though, it clawed at the inside of my skull and told me to run.
"Do you smell that?" I asked Dom.
"Smell what?"
"Some kind of herb."
Dom sniffed. "I thought that was the bar food."
"No," I said tightly. "It's her."
Dom blinked. "You mean Queen Bee over there?"
"Yeah."
"She reeks," Aspen added from behind us. "Like she's marinated in pasta sauce."
"No wonder Toph said he felt like Spaghetti Bolognese for dinner," Dom teased.
"Shut up," I said, though I couldn't help but agree. The closer I got, the more the scent intensified—rich, warm, wrong. Like a holy repellent that only worked on sinners.
"She's attending the uni. She's got the badge on her phone case." Dom noticed.
"I bet that smell is because she's slept with half the school," Aspen muttered. "That group she's with? Definitely fake friends, and maybe undead too? All style, no soul."
"Probably. But I'm not interested," I lied, and walked straight toward her.
I could feel the other girls staring as I approached. A couple of them giggled. One of them actually nudged Eleanor, which I assumed was her name because it was the only one that made sense in my head.
I stopped a foot away.
She looked up at me.
And the weirdest thing happened.
I forgot my line.
Normally I'd open with something charming. Something disarming but intriguing. Something like: "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven—or was it more of a controlled descent?" Jokes aside, I completely went blank. I just stood there, swallowing dry air and trying not to breathe through my nose.
"Can I help you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I don't know yet," I said, and regretted it instantly.
Nice. Very serial killer. Very normal guy in a bar.
"You've got something on your face," I added.
"Oh?" Her fingers went up to her cheek.
"Yeah. Radiance."
She gave me a flat look. "Did you read that off a drink coaster?"
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. I liked her already.
"Maybe. Or did you rather I read you a trivia from the beer cap instead?"
The girls around her burst into laughter, but Eleanor just stared at me. Not with interest or fear. It was just plain… curiosity. Like she was used to being approached and was wondering whether I was worth her time or another guy who watched too many vampire shows on Netflix, fully assuming my paleness was from cosmetics.
"I'm Toph," I said, trying to lean against the bar in a way that didn't make me look like my legs had just forgotten how to function.
"Eleanor," she replied slowly. "But you can call me Ellie. Or not. That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"On whether you're planning to flirt, bite, or ask for my star sign."
I smirked. She has no idea how close she is with two of those options.