Transformative Nights

Perceiving Jonathan

Turning to me, Rose’s smile carried that wry softness only she could manage, the kind that both soothed and mocked equally.

“I’ll be tutoring the girl personally,” she said, her hand resting lightly on the child’s shoulder. “But you should still feel free to call on me if you have need, Chai-Hao.”

There was weight in her words, permission, yes, but also a challenge. Rose never wasted her breath, and I heard the unspoken message clearly enough: You’ll need me again. You always do.

Before I could respond, her hand tightened, and in a shimmer of magic, they both dissolved into nothingness, as if the air itself had swallowed them whole. The cave stilled, leaving behind only a deafening silence.

I exhaled slowly, leaning back against the cold cave walls. Rose had always had a flair for dramatic exits. My eyes lingered on the empty space where she had stood, but my thoughts were elsewhere, on Jonathan.

Jonathan, with his defiance that masked fear, his sharp tongue that only half-concealed the tremor beneath. So fragile in appearance, yet… when my fangs pierced his skin, when I drank from him, there was something in him that resisted, that pushed back even as his body trembled with pleasure.

The memory of his taste hit me, rich, electric, threaded with something rare I could not yet name. Not just nourishment. Not just survival. He was different. Dangerous, perhaps, in a way he did not yet realize.

Rose must have seen it too. That was why she had spoken as she did, why she offered herself as my ally but reminded me not to grow complacent. She knew Jonathan was no ordinary man, no ordinary meal.

My fingers scraped against the cave walls, emitting a skin-crawling sound. He was still unbroken, still telling himself that he was resisting me. That he hated me. But his pulse betrayed him every time I touched him. His breath quickened when my lips grazed his skin. And though he loathed himself for it, I saw the flicker of confusion in his eye, the uncertainty that frightened him more than I ever could.

A slow smile curved my lips.

Let him struggle. Let him think he still has choices. In the end, his body would teach him the truth. He belonged to me, and sooner or later, his heart would catch up with what his blood already knew.

I finally exited the cave, the cool air brushing across my face. Rose’s absence left me with questions, but no doubt about it. I had what I wanted most, what I craved most, and I intended to savor every moment until Jonathan finally stopped fighting himself.

I tilted my head skyward, the horizon just beginning to pale. Dawn was creeping closer, slow but relentless, its promise of light stirring that familiar ache in my chest. I had a few hours at most, and the thought of the sun’s intrusion left me impatient. Still, there was no sense in rushing. Some truths needed to be savored. My gaze dropped to the objects in my hand. Smooth, unassuming yet pretty things at first glance, yet even I could feel the subtle thrum of power woven into them. The two… artifacts… erm stones… I guess, in my palm felt strangely light for their large size, the quiet energy that was vibrating up my arm. The girl’s piece had shielded her, defiantly, instinctively, like a loyal dog snapping at the jaws of a wolf. It was the only thing I'd ever seen stop a direct magical attack so completely. That was no common trinket. That kind of warding has to be old magic, older than most who wield it now. My mind raced with questions. Did these two stones have the same power? Was their purpose purely defensive, or was there something else they could do? A sense of potent curiosity was building in me, a desire to know everything about what I now held. Answers would come in time. For now, they needed to be hidden. Protected.

I bent low, fastening the drawstring of the small enchanted pouch bound around my ankle. A practical charm, old and well-worn, its enchantments swallowed the objects whole, concealing their essence from prying eyes. Better to let them sleep until I choose otherwise.

With the stones safely stored, a wave of weariness washed over me. I needed to get home and think. I let the shift take me. In an instant, I felt my flesh contract, my bones becoming light and hollow, my limbs transforming into wings covered in sleek feathers, black as the night I ruled. The familiar rush of wind against my new body was a welcome sensation. The air embraced me, cool and sharp, carrying me higher above the trees. I could feel the pulse of the forest below, hear the hush of small animals scurrying for shelter before dawn.

I watched as the stars began to fade, the dark blue of the night giving way to a soft, pre-dawn pink on the horizon. There was no need to rush, no need to race the light. I took my time, each beat of my wings deliberate, savoring the freedom of this form. From the sky, I could see the faint glow of Everwood’s distant lights, the faintest threads of smoke from chimneys, all the little pieces of humanity that thought themselves safe beneath the veil of morning. “How funny.” I thought to myself.

It wasn't until the first rays of sunlight hit the rooftops that I landed on my own balcony. I shifted back to my human form, the familiar ache of my joints a sharp contrast to the ease of flight. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the weight of the objects in the pouch on my ankle a constant reminder of the bizarre and powerful gifts I now possessed. My home felt the same, but I knew I was not. The world had just grown far more complicated, and I had no idea what to do next.

I set the large little artifacts in my desk drawer and watched them settle, the quiet in my office swallowing the faint hum that clung to them. They were deceptively plain, the sort of objects mortals would dismiss as pretty trinkets, but the way one had defended that woman had been anything but ordinary. Power wore many faces; this one had tasted like a closing of doors, like a little engine of protection that shouldn’t exist in so small a thing.

“Asa.” I didn’t bother with the formalities. The butler folded into the doorway as he always did, punctual and composed as the house itself. He inclined his head, awaiting instruction.

“How is Jonathan occupying his time?” I asked. My voice was even, curious rather than commanding. I wanted details: where he slept, the route he took, whether he’d actually left the estate or was circling like prey within reach.

Asa’s response was crisp and practical. “He left during the night not long after you, and returned to his apartment in the city, sir. He stayed there for the entire night, it seems.”

“Asa,” I said after a moment, “keep me informed. Discreetly.” He bowed and left, the sound of his footsteps folding back into the hush of the house.

I sat at my desk, the silence in the office feeling vast and heavy after Asa’s footsteps faded away. I let my fingers tap a rhythm on the polished wood of my desk. How long should I let Jonathan enjoy his freedom before I reel him back in? The last time we saw each other… that tantrum of mine was so far out of line. I’d given in to my baser instincts, the deep possessiveness that still shocked even me. The thought of it made me run a hand over my jaw, remembering how I had bitten into his inner thigh, a primal, unnecessary act that left me with a bitter taste of regret and shame. I really should give him some distance. A week felt right, a reasonable amount of time to let him breathe before I decided what to do next.

A week, I thought. The idea pleased me and annoyed me in equal measure. My temper had flared like a candle in a draft; I’d been petulant, possessive. Letting him walk away, even briefly, felt like a punishment I was giving myself. Or perhaps an experiment. How long before he tested the leash? How long before he missed it?

I could attend to the academy duties, a public face, the necessary performance when I was in town, and for a portion of the day, I likely should. But the question kept tugging at me: what was Jonathan like when the lights were off and the pretense gone? What did freedom look like on him? I wondered what his days consisted of, who he talked to, and what he did. Spying on him… I shook my head slowly, trying to convince myself it was wrong.

“Wrong,” I told my reflection in the window. Worse than kidnapping? Warm amusement curled under the reprimand. Of course, it wasn’t worse, or was it, in its way: voyeurism required patience, a slower, more intimate kind of appetite.

“It’s for a good cause.” I needed to understand him, to know what made him happy when I wasn’t around, so I could be better. My mind latched onto that flimsy bit of logic.

With that justification firmly in place, I stood up slowly from my chair. He would never even know I was there, and besides, I had others to run the school during my many and long absences. I finished that thought, and with a familiar, shifting sensation, I transformed into a crow. The open sky awaited.

A small, reliable tug of familiarity told me he was in the city and not wandering the nocturnal edges. Our forced bond, a line I crossed on our first night when I slipped my blood in his food. Enough to tell me he was safe and resting. That was all I needed, for now. That small tug would grow with our bond.

His building was modest, not flashy, an honest, single-level apartment suited to a man who valued function over display. I could have slipped in as a crow, but that would have made a racket, and subtlety was what I needed to reap my delicious rewards. Bone and feather narrowed to something tinier, more anonymous. I slipped through the cracked window, my fly form a tiny, insignificant blur. Jonathan’s apartment enveloped me in a scent that was uniquely his, a comforting, lived-in mixture of old books, a faint smell of coffee, and something else, something fundamentally his own that made the possessive part of me purr with contentment. The space was exactly as I had imagined; clothes were scattered haphazardly, a half-finished mug sat on the coffee table, but it was all still somehow cozy. This was him, unfiltered and unguarded, and I drank in every detail.