LUKE CASTELLAN

The full moon hangs high above Camp Half-Blood, silver light spilling across the pine trees and the sloping green hills like quiet watchfulness.

At this hour the camp should be settling into its usual nighttime rhythm.

Campers finishing late conversations.

The last lanterns being dimmed.

The soft murmur of voices drifting from the cabins before curfew finally forces everyone to sleep.

Instead, the Hermes Cabin has a problem.

You.

Specifically, you locking yourself inside the communal bathroom for over an hour.

The showers have long since gone cold. Water drips slowly from the metal taps, echoing through the tiled room with hollow, rhythmic sounds. The air smells faintly of soap and damp wood.

And beneath that—

Blood.

You press both hands against the sink, knuckles whitening as you stare down at your reflection in the mirror.

You barely recognize the person staring back.

Your skin is pale. Not just pale from poor sleep or exhaustion, but unnaturally drained of warmth. Your eyes look darker somehow, shadowed by something deeper than simple fatigue.

Your lips part slowly.

Your teeth catch the moonlight from the small frosted window above the showers.

The fangs are subtle.

But they are there.

Sharp.

Unmistakable.

You close your mouth again immediately.

Your reflection doesn’t change.

The same stranger stares back.

Being a neophyte vampire had not been part of your foreseeable future.

And yet somehow, impossibly, here you are.

It had happened on the quest.

The disastrous one.

The quest you had barely survived.

You remember fragments of it vividly—the smell of monster venom, the burning pain in your neck, the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears as the world tilted sideways.

One of Echidna’s monsters.

That was all it took.

A bite.

A curse.

You returned to camp alive.

Technically.

No one questioned it.

Not really.

You were injured. Weak. Exhausted. Chiron had been relieved simply to see you breathing.

No one noticed the change at first.

Except you.

You had noticed immediately.

The hunger.

At first you thought it was normal. Your body recovering from a brutal quest.

But the hunger never faded.

Food tasted like dust.

Bread.

Fruit.

Roasted meat from the pavilion.

None of it satisfied the hollow ache gnawing inside your chest.

Then came the sleepless nights.

At first you tried to sleep like normal.

But eventually you realized something strange.

You didn’t need to.

Your body simply… didn’t tire anymore.

And the nights grew longer.

Harder.

Because the scent of blood filled the Hermes Cabin every night.

Dozens of demigods packed together in a space far too small for them.

Breathing.

Sleeping.

Their heartbeats slow and steady in the dark.

And right beside you—

Luke.

Your bunkmate.

Your best friend.

Your partner.

The scent of his blood is unbearable.

You grip the sink tighter.

It’s everywhere.

Sharp.

Metallic.

Sweet in a way that makes your stomach twist painfully.

You tried everything.

Animal blood.

Monster blood.

Anything you could think of to silence the hunger.

Nothing worked.

Because the curse had made its preference painfully clear.

Demigod blood.

Your chest rises slowly with a breath that doesn’t help.

Your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the sink.

You can hear footsteps outside the bathroom.

They pause.

Then a familiar voice speaks.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Luke.

Of course it’s Luke.

You close your eyes.

His voice comes from the other side of the door, concern bleeding through the words even though irritation lingers underneath it. His hand rattles the doorknob once, testing it.

Locked.

The son of Hermes exhales slowly.

You can practically see him leaning against the doorframe, running a hand through his hair.

Outside, the moonlight spills across the camp grounds.

Curfew is approaching fast.

You’ve been in here far too long.

Long enough that most campers have simply given up and walked all the way to the Big House to use the bathroom instead.

To them, it probably just looks like you’re having some dramatic breakdown.

No one really cares.

Except Luke.

Of course he cares.

He always does.

The scent of his blood slips faintly beneath the wooden door.

Your entire body freezes.

It’s stronger now that he’s closer.

So much stronger.

Your throat tightens painfully.

You press a hand over your mouth.

Outside the door, Luke knocks again.

“Seriously,” he says, voice lower now. “You’ve been in there forever.”

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

Because if you speak right now, you’re not sure what will come out.

Luke sighs.

You hear the soft thud of his shoulder leaning against the door.

For weeks now he’s been watching you carefully.

Worried.

Your pale skin.

Your refusal to eat.

The way you drift away from conversations at the pavilion.

He thinks you’re sick.

Anemic, maybe.

Or worse—

He thinks you’re depressed because the quest went so badly.

Unfortunately for both of you, that’s not the problem.

“Please open the door,” Luke says again, softer this time.

Then after a pause—

“My love.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You hear him knock again, a little more insistently now.

Still you say nothing.

Because the scent of his blood is everywhere.

Seeping through the cracks of the wooden door.

Invading your senses.

Your stomach twists violently.

The hunger roars inside you like something alive.

Your fingers dig into the sink.

Don’t open the door.

Don’t open the door.

Outside, Luke shifts again.

Concern creeps deeper into his voice.

“Are you vomiting again?”

Your breath catches.

That’s what he thinks.

That you’ve been hiding in here because you’re sick.

You swallow hard.

The motion makes your throat ache.

Luke sighs again, quieter now.

“You’ve barely eaten in weeks,” he continues. “You look like a ghost.”

Your reflection in the mirror stares back at you.

He’s not wrong.

“I know the quest messed you up,” Luke says gently. “But locking yourself in a bathroom for an hour isn’t helping.”

Your hands tremble slightly.

You want to answer.

You want to tell him the truth.

But the scent of his blood pulses through the door like a heartbeat.

Your fangs press painfully against your lips.

You take a slow step backward from the sink.

Then another.

Distance.

You need distance.

Outside the door, Luke knocks once more.

Softer now.

“Please open the door,” he says again.

A long silence stretches between you.

The hunger twists violently in your chest.

You press your back against the cold tile wall and slide slowly down until you’re sitting on the floor.

Your hands cover your mouth tightly.

Because the truth is terrifyingly simple.

If you open that door—

If Luke steps inside—

If you get even a little closer to the scent of his blood—

You’re not sure you’ll be strong enough to stop yourself.

And that is the one thing you refuse to risk.

Even if it means staying locked inside this bathroom all night.