100 Yellow Doors

2:33 p.m.

He was cursed.

When Julien arrived at his townhouse to find the welcome mat slightly askew and his senses buzzing with the constant message of danger, danger, danger, that seemed the only logical conclusion. Either he or the house was cursed. How else would it get broken into twice in the same week?

Julien abandoned his caution. He was not in the mood for caution. He was in the mood for carelessness, which was a perilous thing, and only became more so when he stepped into his living room to find Seraphine Kozlov there.

She was lounging on his couch, leaned languorously over its arm, her feet drawn up underneath her. She was beautiful as ever, her eyes shimmery even in the shadows, her lips pressed together in a quiet, natural pout. She knew he was there; Julien knew it. Yet she said nothing, only sat stroking Ringo with her red manicured nails.

Ringo mewled softly and nuzzled his head against Sera's knee. She chuckled, raking a side of her Hollywood-curled hair behind her ear. "You kept the cat."

Julien rested a hand against his kitchen island, suddenly wishing for Fritz. When he'd shown up, all Julien had wanted was for him to disappear again. Now that he was back in Baltimore and Sera was here, however, he would do anything to summon Fritz back, his loyal buffer.

There was no resisting Sera, after all. There never was.

"Yes, I kept the cat."

Sera looked up at him with a smirk. The expression shot a dart through Julien's begrudging heart. "I was almost positive you'd devour it, too."

Julien's gaze skirted away from hers, fixing on a grease stain on the oven instead. "I have—control."

Silence.

Julien looked up. The couch was empty save for Ringo.

He barely had time to whirl before Sera was upon him, framing his face with her hands, scrutinizing his eyes as if she were medically assessing them. "You fed," she gasped, her mouth turning up into a brilliant, half-dimpled smile. Another dart, sharp and painful, to remind him he could still feel. "Not on—you didn't. A human? But what happened, Juju? You said you couldn't, but you did. What happened?"

Julien slapped her hands away, staggering away from her. He expected hurt on her face, but found only pride. "I—"

"Did you get desperate?"

Yes. Terribly. "No," Julien said.

Sera's eyes shot heavenwards, as if only something divine could give her the strength to deal with him. "I know you, Juju—"

"You don't. Stop calling me that."

Sera rolled her eyes again. "Fine, Julien. I know you. I know when you're lying. It's okay that you were desperate. We both knew that's what was going to happen. Fritz knew that's what was going to happen. What else is a hungry vampire supposed to do but feed?"

Julien sank down onto the nearest barstool, hanging his head. It didn't matter. It didn't matter what Sera or Iman or anyone else said about what happened last night, because it was not ever going to happen again. He had seen himself at his most helpless, at his most starved, and he was not going back. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

"You liked it," said Sera, her voice suddenly low, sultry. "Didn't you, Julien?"

Julien studied the granite beneath him with a new intensity. He remembered the moment his fangs had pierced Beck's skin, how the flesh had felt as it broke beneath his teeth, the relief that had flooded him as the blood flooded his mouth. He had not stormed out of that bathroom because he was angry at Beck or Iman. He had stormed out because he was angry at himself.