Chapter 5 - Measured Steps
Jaquelyn
18:25 | Solarium Private Club – Front Entrance
The Solarium looked exactly like she remembered: expensive in a way that didn’t need to show off. No flashing neon. No brass plaque. Just a curved wall of smoky black glass, veined with metal that shimmered like frozen mercury. The kind of place that made you feel like a trespasser even when you had a reservation.
The doorman gave her a single nod— he didn’t ask for ID. This was not her first time here and she sincerely doubted it would be her last.
She stepped inside.
Cool air wrapped around her immediately, scented with something subtle— amberwood, maybe, or petrichor after a lightning strike. The lobby was hushed, lit by rings of soft recessed light in the ceiling. Every sound was absorbed by texture: thick rugs, velvet benches, stone floors polished to a river’s sheen. Vampires liked quiet.
Jaquelyn moved across the lobby without rushing. She could feel eyes on her— curious, some calculating— but no one approached. Her blouse fluttered slightly at the shoulders as she walked, soft cotton brushing against sun-warmed skin. The sandals made no sound at all.
The bar was in the east wing. Not far.
She passed a mirrored wall and gave herself one last glance.
Calm. Measured. Centered.
She didn’t need a pep talk. This was what she was built for.
The east bar was dim, designed to look like old-world elegance got a tech upgrade. Antique glass chandeliers, but no bulbs. Backlit panels shaped like stained glass, but no seams. A kind of curated decadence— designed to feel eternal.
She spotted him before he moved. Ezekial didn’t sit. He waited.
There was no mistaking him. Still as a mountain. Long coat draped across the back of the booth beside him. Hair pulled back, the sides of his head shaved clean like ritual. The tattoos down his throat shifted as he looked up— runic. Symbolic. Old.
He didn’t offer a smile. Didn’t gesture big. Just raised two fingers.
It was enough.
She walked over, keeping her posture loose and grounded. She could feel the heat in her spine now, the low thrum of energy that always came with first feeds. Not nerves. Readiness.
He didn’t rise, but his gaze tracked her the entire way.
She stopped beside the booth. “Mr. Duvarra?”
“Ms. Wells,” he replied, voice even, low.
“You’ll be going up shortly,” he continued. “He’s begun transition.”
She nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
Her voice caught his ear, the smooth way she said Yes, sir. He studied her a moment longer, eyes sharp but unreadable. Then he stood— slow, measured, like it meant something— and gestured toward the stairs.
She turned and led the way without another word, the long line of her skirt whispering over the floor as they moved.
Every step toward Suite 409 pulsed with purpose.
And behind her, she could feel him watching— not like a man watches a woman.
But like a creature watches the storm it knows is coming.
18:27 | Solarium Private Club – Main Stairwell
The stairs were old stone— real, not cast. Worn smooth in the center where countless feet had passed before hers. She ran her hand lightly along the rail, fingertips brushing cool iron as she ascended.
No one spoke.
He didn’t trail too close. Didn’t crowd. Just followed, a quiet presence behind her like a shadow that had chosen a shape. She could feel him, though. That thrum vampires carried— old power, deeply coiled. Ezekial wore it like a second skin.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. She was here for a purpose.
First feed.
The term sounded clinical. Like paperwork. Like it belonged on a clipboard in a brightly lit room with white tile floors and a drip station.
But it wasn’t. First feeds were always heavier than they looked on paper. More delicate. More dangerous. The line between ritual and ruin ran thin during a first bite. Even among professionals, not everyone could handle it. She could. She’d built a reputation on it.
Still… something about this one itched at the edges of her thoughts.
Not fear.
Something closer to gravity.
Ezekial hadn’t booked her specifically. Not really. But he could’ve had anyone. His reach extended far beyond standard agencies. And yet— fate chose her.
The girl with the braid and the bare shoulders.
Her tongue ran along the inside of her cheek. Calm. Focused. Whatever waited behind that door, she’d meet it on her terms.
He wasn’t the first ancient vampire childer she’d worked with. The oldest though.
18:29 | Solarium Private Club – Suite 409
She paused by the door, key fob in hand, she closed her eyes and pulled herself back to center. The key fob hummed as she tapped it to the panel. The door unlocked with a soft click, mechanical and final.
She didn’t open it right away.
Ezekial stood just behind her, still and silent, the presence of him curling like mist at her back.
“You’ve done this many times,” he said— not a question, just a quiet statement.
She nodded, eyes forward. “Enough to know every one’s different.”
He studied her, unreadable. “His name is Topher Vale. This is his first moment conscious since turning. He knows a blood doll was arranged.”
She glanced at him then— just briefly. “Understood.”
He extended his hand— not for a shake, but to take the key fob.
She placed it in his palm, fingers steady. Their skin brushed—just briefly.
Warm.
Cool.
Grounded meeting ancient.
It wasn’t a spark. Nothing so dramatic. More like the static pause before a storm rolls in— when the air changes pressure and your skin prickles for reasons it can’t name.
She looked up with warm brown eyes, just for a second. Not to invite. Not to challenge. Just to see. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t leer. Didn’t posture.
Interesting.
But she tucked the thought away with the same precision she used to fold linens. Neat. Clean. Unimportant. Whatever was being felt didn’t change what came next. And she had a job to do.
“Thank you,” she said.
Ezekial gave a slight nod, the barest incline of his head. “You may call me Ezekial, if it becomes relevant.”
She allowed herself the ghost of a smile. “Then you may call me Jaquelyn.”
She turned back to the door. “If it becomes relevant.” She tossed over her shoulder.