Losing & Pulling

Nadja couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she became truly interested in The Guide—perhaps it happened slowly, creeping in like a shadow until it was too late to chase away. Or maybe it had been there from the very beginning, lurking beneath her amusement at The Guide’s odd little mannerisms, her painfully formal way of speaking, and the way she always seemed to hover just outside Nadja’s personal space, ever-dedicated and quietly watchful.

But if Nadja were to trace it back, it might have been that night at the nightclub, when they were preparing for the grand opening.

The wraiths had been testing her patience all evening, their incompetence a personal affront. Nadja had been yelling, gesturing wildly, her fury escalating with every useless response they gave.

Then The Guide had stepped in.

"Mistress Nadja," she said, her voice soft but firm, cutting through Nadja’s tirade like a whisper of mist. "Perhaps I can handle this for you. You have more important matters to attend to."

Nadja had been ready to snap at her, already forming a vicious retort about how everything was her business, but then The Guide had done something unexpected—she touched her arm. 

Lightly. 

Hesitantly.

It wasn’t the touch itself that struck Nadja, but the way The Guide had looked at her. A quiet devotion, an unwavering loyalty that made Nadja’s irritation falter for the briefest second.

"Fine, do it," she muttered, brushing The Guide off with a flick of her hand. But later that night, as she lounged in her chambers, blood wine in hand, she found herself thinking about it again. About that touch. That look.

And then there were the nights The Guide would ramble about vampire lore, eyes lighting up in a way Nadja had never seen before. She should have found it insufferable—should have shut her up and moved on to more important things—but instead, Nadja found herself watching. Listening. Feeling.

Then came the little things. The Guide bringing her favorite blood wine without being asked. The way she always lingered just long enough after an order was given, as if hoping Nadja might ask her to stay. How she always seemed so pleased when Nadja praised her, even in the smallest ways.

One night, Laszlo caught her watching The Guide with an expression that was—horrifyingly—soft.

"Careful, my love," he mused, swirling his drink. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were actually fond of that one."

Nadja scoffed, rolling her eyes, but something settled uncomfortably in her chest.

Fondness was a weak word for what it had become. The truth was, Nadja found herself craving The Guide’s presence. Her company. Her ridiculous little quirks. The way her tongue mindlessly poke out of her lips when she’s too focused. The way she tightens her gloves around her wrist. The way she never asked for anything but always gave.

And now, every touch, every glance, every fleeting moment felt like it was teetering on the edge of something Nadja wasn’t ready to name.

But she was Nadja of Antipaxos. And she would never admit it. Not yet. Not to Laszlo. And certainly not to The Guide.

_

It started with the little things.

The casual way Nadja would drape herself over The Guide’s chair, fingers lazily curling around the strands of her hair as she listened to some dull report about the nightclub’s finances. Or the way Nadja would brush off any vampire who so much as glanced at The Guide, declaring with a sharp smile, "No, no, no. She is far too busy tending to my every whim."

Of course, The Guide—sweet, dense, infuriatingly oblivious creature that she was—never seemed to notice. She would merely blink, nodding in that polite, deferential way of hers, and continue on, her tone as flat and professional as ever.

It drove Nadja insane.

If she were any other vampire, The Guide would have fallen to her knees in devotion ages ago. Nadja had flirted, teased, and even offered very suggestive hints about their supposed “workingrelationship,” yet The Guide treated it all as a formality, a master and servant dynamic with no room for anything more.

And the worst part?

Laszlo noticed.

He lounged in his usual spot at the club, sipping a glass of blood-infused whiskey, watching Nadja like she was the greatest comedy act of the century. "My darling, it's like watching a cat bat at a mouse that doesn’t even know it’s in the game," he mused, swirling his drink. "Have you considered being less obvious?"

Nadja, who had been staring daggers at a young vampire chatting too enthusiastically with The Guide, whipped her head around. "Obvious? OBVIOUS? I have been practically screaming my intentions, and yet that little idiot thinks I just enjoy... hovering!"

Laszlo smirked. "Well, you do have a tendency to hover. You're like a bat with an unhealthy attachment to a lamp post."

Nadja groaned, throwing herself onto the plush velvet couch beside him. "Why can she not just realize that I—" She cut herself off with a huff, eyes flickering back to The Guide, who was standing near the stage, politely listening to a visiting vampire drone on about ancient relics.

Laszlo raised an eyebrow. "That you what, my dear? Adore her? Long to ravish her? Own her body, heart, and soul in the way only a true vampire mistress can?"

Nadja threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "Shut your stupid mouth, Laszlo."

"Touchy," he hummed, grinning. "Why don’t you simply tell her? Use your words, my love, instead of all this... excessive territorial nonsense."

Nadja huffed, narrowing her eyes at The Guide again. "I do use words! Very pointed, flirtatious words!" She tapped her chin, remembering a recent interaction. "Just yesterday, I told her, ‘You must be tired, my darling Guide, from running through my undead mind all day.’ And do you know what she said?"

Laszlo grinned, already enjoying this far too much. "Let me guess... she suggested you get more rest?"

Nadja seethed. "YES! And then AND THEN she gave me a list of sleeping remedies!"

Laszlo howled with laughter, clutching his chest. "Oh, Nadja. I truly have never seen you so thwarted. It’s surprisingly amusing, really."

"I will rip your fanged head off," Nadja muttered, sinking further into the couch.

Behind them, unnoticed at first, The Guide stood frozen just outside the doorway.

She had come to fetch Nadja for an important matter, only to overhear the tail end of their conversation. The realization hit her like a stake to the chest.

Nadja... wanted her?

Had she truly been flirting all this time? All those teasing words, the lingering touches, the sharp possessiveness—had it actually meant something?

She felt unsteady, overwhelmed, the weight of it pressing down on her.

Her breathing hitched.

And then, to her horror, Nadja turned.

Their eyes met.

For the first time in over a century, The Guide felt truly, completely bare.

Nadja’s expression flickered, curious at first, then narrowing in realization. She tilted her head, eyes darkening with something unreadable.

"The Guide—"

But before she could finish, The Guide misted away.

Nadja shot up, moving to follow, but she was too late. The space where The Guide had stood was empty, nothing but a cold breeze left in her wake.

For a long moment, Nadja just stood there, lips parted, fingers curling into fists at her sides.

Then, slowly, she exhaled.

"Well," she murmured. "That is interesting."

Laszlo, sipping his drink, watched with mild amusement. "Oh dear. You’ve scared her off."

Nadja ignored him.

Her mind was already racing.

Because The Guide had run.

And Nadja was very good at chasing.

_

The Guide did not return to the nightclub that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

Nadja, who had never been one to wait patiently for anything, was rapidly losing what little patience she had left.

“She is avoiding me,” she groaned, pacing back and forth in her chambers, her cape billowing behind her. “Like a coward! Like a tiny, trembling little bat afraid of the big, scary night!”

Laszlo, reclining on a velvet chaise with a glass of blood-infused whiskey in hand, smirked. “You do tend to have that effect on people, my love.”

Nadja whirled to face him. “This is different. This is.. this is—” She waved her hands wildly. Ughh…

“Ah yes, because when a vampire suddenly disappears after overhearing their very attractive, very terrifying mistress discussing their, how shall I put it, insatiable desire, there is absolutely nothing to be suspicious about.”

Nadja narrowed her eyes. “If you are implying that she—” She paused, huffing. “I do not have an insatiable desire for her.”

Laszlo raised an eyebrow.

Nadja scowled.

“Fine! Perhaps a mild desire,” she muttered, flopping onto the chaise beside him. “But that does not explain why she is running from me.”

Laszlo studied her for a long moment, then took a slow sip of his drink. “Perhaps, my darling, she is not running from you but from herself.”

Nadja frowned. “What the hells does that mean?”

Laszlo smirked. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before Nadja could throw a pillow at him, the club doors creaked open below.

She shot upright, senses immediately on edge.

It was her.

The Guide had finally returned.

And she looked like she wished she hadn’t.

Nadja appeared on the main floor so quickly that The Guide barely had time to take a single step before Nadja appeared directly in front of her.

“Well, well, well,” Nadja purred, circling her like a predator. “Look who has finally decided to grace us with her presence. I was beginning to think you had been kidnapped.”

The Guide stiffened, her posture unusually rigid. “I—uh—I had urgent matters to attend to.”

“Urgent matters,” Nadja echoed, voice dripping with mockery. “More urgent than me?”

The Guide flinched. It was small, nearly imperceptible, but Nadja saw it.

She frowned, her teasing bravado faltering just slightly.

The Guide wasn’t just avoiding her—she was afraid.

Not in the usual way, like when Nadja threatened to rip someone’s head off for serving her lukewarm blood.

This was something else.

Something deeper.

Nadja’s eyes narrowed.

Before The Guide could escape, Nadja seized her wrist, holding her in place. “Enough of this nonsense. You will explain yourself.”

The Guide swallowed hard, still refusing to meet her gaze. “There is nothing to explain, Mistress Nadja.”

Nadja’s grip tightened. “Lies.”

The Guide shifted uncomfortably. “Please—I have work to do.”

“No,” Nadja snapped. “What you have is something to confess.”

The Guide’s throat bobbed.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, finally, The Guide exhaled shakily.

“It was a misunderstanding,” she whispered, her voice so soft that even Nadja had to strain to hear it.

Nadja tilted her head. “What was?”

The Guide hesitated fidgeting on her gloves, soothing herself. “What you said. The other night. About... about me.”

Something in her tone made Nadja pause.

There was something raw in it. Vulnerable.

The Guide was always so composed, so poised, so utterly dedicated to her duties that Nadja sometimes forgot she was capable of anything else.

But now?

Now she looked scared.

And Nadja did not like it.

She did not like it at all.

Slowly, she released The Guide’s wrist, her voice lowering just slightly. “And what exactly do you think you misunderstood?”

The Guide’s hands clenched at her sides.

She was trapped. She knew it.

Her only option now was to run—or to tell the truth.

And the truth...

The truth was terrifying.

Because if Nadja knew—if she truly knew—what The Guide felt, she would laugh.

She would mock her, tease her, twist her into some plaything for her amusement.

She would never truly want her.

Not in the way The Guide ached for her.

So she did what she always did.

She ran.

Not physically—not yet—but with words, with deflection, with careful, calculated distance.

“I..” The Guide cleared her throat. “I simply assumed you were... exaggerating. As you often do.”

Nadja scoffed. “Panagia mou, I do not  exaggerate.”

The Guide gave her a flat look.

“Fine,” Nadja admitted. “Sometimes. But not about this.”

The Guide swallowed. “Mistress Nadja…”

Nadja stepped closer. “Tell me the truth.”

The Guide’s lips parted.

And then

She misted away.

Again.

Nadja’s eyes widened.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

She misted after her, reappearing just outside the club.

The Guide was there, solid again, breathing heavily like she had just escaped a nightmare.

But Nadja wasn’t about to let her slip away a second time.

She stormed toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Enough of this running!”

The Guide stiffened. “I am not.”

“You are,” Nadja hissed. “And I want to know why.”

The Guide shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

The Guide’s jaw clenched.

For a long, agonizing moment, she said nothing.

Then, finally, she whispered, “Because I know what happens when you want something, Nadja.” She paused. “You play with it.”

Nadja’s breath caught.

The Guide’s voice wavered.

“AndI—I do not want to be played with.”

Nadja stared at her.

For once, she had no sharp remark, no clever retort.

Because the look in The Guide’s eyes wasn’t just fear—it was pain.

The kind that had been carried for centuries.

The kind Nadja recognized.

She softened. Just slightly.

“Listen to me,” she said, voice quieter now, steady but firm. “You are not a game to me.”

The Guide’s gaze flickered. “Then what am I?”

Nadja hesitated.

Then, slowly, she reached up, cupping The Guide’s face with both hands.

The Guide went completely still.

“You are...” Nadja exhaled. “You are mine.”

The Guide’s breath hitched.

And Nadja felt it.

The way The Guide leaned into her touch, just the faintest bit.

The way her fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.

The way her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t.

For a moment, it was silent.

Just the two of them.

Nadja could hear the distant sounds of the city, the occasional laughter from inside the club, but none of it mattered.

Because The Guide was looking at her now.

Really, really looking at her.

And Nadja knew.

She knew.

The Guide wanted her, too.

But she was afraid.

And Nadja would have to be the one to prove that there was nothing to fear.

She smiled, fingers curling gently against The Guide’s jaw. “We will talk about this later, my darling.”

The Guide blinked. “We will?”

“Oh, yes,” Nadja purred, pressing the faintest kiss to her cheek. “But for now, you will stay. No more running.”

The Guide hesitated.

Then, finally, slowly, she nodded.

And Nadja grinned.

_

The Guide had never been good at resisting Nadja.

She had spent years trying—keeping a careful distance, swallowing down the ache, convincing herself that the admiration, the loyalty, the longing she felt was nothing more than devotion.

But now, Nadja was looking at her differently.

Not just with amusement.

Not just with ownership.

With want.

And it was unraveling her.

She should have left. Should have run again, because staying was dangerous. Staying meant losing control. Staying meant falling.

But she had promised Nadja she wouldn’t run.

So now, she was trapped in this moment, in this feeling, and for the first time in her entire existence—an existence that she can only remember.

She didn’t want to escape.

Nadja, of course, was reveling in it.

The first night The Guide stayed, she barely spoke. Just stood at Nadja’s side, her usual silent, watchful self, pretending not to notice the way Nadja would glance at her with smug satisfaction.

The second night, Nadja pushed further—stepping into her space, finding excuses to touch her, testing just how far The Guide would let her go before she broke.

And now, on the third night, Nadja seemed determined to shatter her completely.

“You are distracted, darling,” Nadja purred, lounging in her private chamber while The Guide stood rigid by the doorway, doing everything in her power not to stare at the way Nadja’s gown clung to her figure.

“I am simply... keeping watch,” The Guide murmured.

Nadja’s lips curved. “Keeping watch for what, hm? Afraid someone might sneak in and steal me away?”

The Guide’s jaw clenched. “That is not what I meant.”

“No?” Nadja tilted her head, sliding off the chaise with a slow, deliberate grace. She closed the distance between them in an instant, standing far too close, her perfume filling the air, her lips just slightly parted as if she were considering something utterly sinful.

“Then tell me,” Nadja whispered. “What did you mean?”

The Guide swallowed hard.

She should step back.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she met Nadja’s gaze, held it, and murmured, “I meant that you are dangerous, Mistress Nadja.”

Nadja grinned. “Oh, I know.”

She pressed even closer, hands trailing up The Guide’s arms, voice dropping to something low and velvety. “But tell me, my darling... dangerous how?”

The Guide exhaled sharply, struggling to keep her composure.

Nadja’s hands were cold against her skin, but her presence—her attention—burned.

“You already know,” The Guide admitted, her voice nearly trembling.

Nadja hummed, fingers drifting higher, tracing the line of her jaw. “Do I?”

The Guide nodded once, stiffly. “Yes.”

There was a long pause.

Then, softly, Nadja said, “Say it anyway.”

The Guide shut her eyes.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because saying it meant acknowledging it.

Saying it meant giving in.

And if she gave in—

She would never recover.

But Nadja was patient.

She always had been.

And so she waited, her hands still gentle, her breath still warm against The Guide’s skin, until—

Finally—

The Guide broke.

“I want you.”

The words escaped before she could stop them, raw and vulnerable and entirely too much.

The moment they were spoken, she froze, instinct screaming at her to run, to hide, to take it back before Nadja could laugh, before she could turn it into some cruel, playful game—

But she didn’t.

She didn’t laugh.

Instead, she cupped The Guide’s face in both hands, forcing her to look at her, to see the way Nadja’s expression had softened into something almost reverent.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Nadja said, “Good.”

And then she kissed her.

The Guide broke apart. Whimpering into Nadja’s mouth.

The moment their lips met, every carefully built wall, every desperate restraint, every single ounce of control she had clung to for centuries shattered.

Nadja tasted like wine and something older, something intoxicating, something that burned through The Guide’s veins and left her utterly, hopelessly ruined.

She gasped against Nadja’s lips, gripping her waist, holding her fingers too tightly digging through her gloves, almost bruising Nadja's skin. She was afraid Nadja would disappear if she let go.

But Nadja didn’t disappear.

She pressed closer, sighing into The Guide’s mouth, teasing and devouring in equal measure, her fingers tangling into The Guide’s hair, her body molding against her as if they had always fit together perfectly.

It was dizzying.

It was dangerous.

And The Guide never wanted it to stop.

But eventually—reluctantly—Nadja pulled back, her lips too red, her dark lipstick smudged, her eyes dark with want.

“Well,” Nadja murmured, amusement laced with something softer, something fond. “That was certainly overdue.”

The Guide barely had the breath to respond. Almost gasping unnecessarily. 

Nadja chuckled, tracing her thumb across The Guide’s lower lip, looking at her lipstick stains and still utterly pleased with herself. “I do hope you are not planning to run away again, my darling.”

The Guide exhaled shakily, closing her eyes for a brief moment before shaking her head.

“No,” she murmured.

Nadja grinned. “Good.”

Then she leaned in again, brushing another featherlight kiss against The Guide’s lips, and whispered—

“You are mine now.”

The Guide shuddered.

She should have been terrified.

She should have resisted.

But instead—

She melted.

Because deep down, in the very core of her being—

She had always been Nadja’s.

She just hadn’t been brave enough to admit it.

Until now.

And she would never deny it again.