A century. A mere blink in my existence, yet it feels like an eternity when spent with him. He. He, the chaos incarnate, the walking, talking embodiment of every headache I've ever endured. Achilles. Even now, a hundred years on, he manages to fill the mansion with his incessant chatter, his ridiculous schemes, his… his presence. Tonight, I seek a reprieve. A hunt.The moon hangs heavy, a silver coin in the velvet sky. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a familiar aroma that usually soothes me. Tonight, it merely serves as a backdrop to my frustration. I stalk through the shadows of the old cemetery, my senses heightened, searching for the telltale signs of wild vampires. They’re a nuisance, these feral creatures, a stain on our kind.Then, I smell it. Something sweet. Caramel, with a delicate hint of lavender. A human scent, but unlike any I've encountered before. It draws me in, a strange, compelling pull.I move silently, a shadow among shado
The clock on the wall reads 3:07 AM when the door creaks open.I stir, blinking against the dim glow of the fireplace as heavy boots echo across the marble floors.Then I see him.And my drowsiness vanishes.Valentine strides in like something out of a gothic fever dream, long coat dusted with grime, moonlight trailing him through the open doorway. But it’s not his dramatic entrance that has me bolting upright.It’s the girl in his arms.I stare.Her body is limp, her head resting against his chest. Her ridiculously long black hair spills past his knees, trailing like a shadow. Her lips are slightly parted, her skin almost translucent beneath the chandelier’s glow.Oh, this is rich.I exhale sharply, pressing a hand over my heart in mock horror.“Val,” I gasp. “Have you resorted to kidnapping?”His glare is immediate.I continue anyway.“Is this where we are now? You get a little lonely, and instead of asking me to take you out, you—what? Pluck the prettiest girl off the streets an
“Do the dead speak?”The question cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and deliberate. I freeze mid-sentence, my fingers clutching the grass beneath me as I look up.And there he is.Perched atop my mother’s gravestone, cross-legged in that yoga pose like he owns the place, with a smirk curling his perfect lips. His blonde hair gleams in the moonlight, strands catching the silvery glow like some divine spotlight has chosen him. But it’s his eyes that root me in place...golden, luminous, and otherworldly. They’re not just reflecting the moonlight; they’re glowing, as if lit by something deep and eternal.My throat tightens.A thousand and one things pass through my head. I could run...I could scream at the top of my lungs so the graveyard keeper would hear me... but no.A strangled noise escapes me instead, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the nocturnal whispers of the cemetery.“Well?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, the sm
The morning sunlight creeps through the cracks in the blinds, dragging me reluctantly out of sleep. I groan and bury my face deeper into my pillow, but it’s no use. There’s a loud knock on my door, followed by my roommate’s voice cutting through the silence.“North! Get up! You’re gonna be late, and I’m not covering for you again!”I groan louder, hoping she’ll take pity and leave me alone.Instead, Ellie bursts into my room, a whirlwind of energy in her pajama shorts and oversized band tee. She’s holding a steaming mug of coffee, which she promptly sets on my nightstand.“Good morning, sunshine,” she says cheerfully. “Or should I say, good almost-afternoon?”I peel an eye open to glare at her. “You’re way too chipper for this early.”“It’s literally 9 a.m.,” she counters, yanking the covers off me. “What’s your excuse this time? Up late reading smutty romance novels again?”“No,” I mumble, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. The events of last night flash through my mind—the graveyard,
The streets are quiet as I speed walk home, but the silence doesn’t comfort me. It presses against me, thick and suffocating, amplifying the echo of my thoughts.What is Valentine? My mind plays through the possibilities, none of them comforting. A ghost? A trick of my imagination? Or worse… something real, something I can’t even comprehend.The feel of his cold hands on my neck...he must definitely be a ghost. And he said he's a dead man. I saw the gravestone...that sums up.But then again, ghosts aren't real. I guess he's proof?My breath comes quicker as I approach the apartment. Every shadow feels alive, every sound louder, but yet, dull. When I finally reach the door, my hands are shaking so badly I fumble with the keys twice before I manage to unlock it.The moment I step inside, Ellie’s voice cuts through the air, almost giving me a fright. “You’re late. Where the hell have you been?”She’s sitting casually on the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips beside her. Her hair is up in
I feel my body slam against the ground, cold and unyielding, but the pain feels distant, like I’m trapped in a fog. I can’t move, but I’m still here, barely. The world around me is dark, and the only sound is the faint rustle of the wind and a distant growl.Then I hear it.“Snowflake… You have to wake up.”The voice is familiar, achingly so. My mother.“Mom?” I croak, though I don’t know if I’m speaking or just thinking it.“You have to wake up, snowflake. Now!” Her voice is urgent, tugging at me like invisible hands trying to pull me back from wherever I am.But something else pulls me deeper. A sharp, piercing pain at my neck again—teeth sinking into me. It’s different this time, harsher, as if draining what little life I have left.I’m slipping further into the abyss when something cold and thick touches my lips. A drop at first, then more.Instinct takes over. I grab what feels like a wrist, and the moment my fingers wrap around it, I press it closer. The liquid is… electric, i
Footsteps.At first, they’re faint, but as my senses sharpen, I realize they’re coming from above me. A slow, steady rhythm, like someone pacing back and forth. My eyes remain closed, but I focus on the sound, honing in on every detail—the weight of the steps, the soft patter on marble ground.Then I notice something else. My throat. It’s unbearably dry, like I’ve swallowed sandpaper. My fingers twitch, and I feel softness beneath me. A bed. It’s too soft to be mine.A groan escapes my lips, and I hear a sudden movement. Someone shifts, the scrape of a chair against the floor. My eyes flutter open, and I’m staring at a ceiling that seems impossibly high.This isn’t my room.The air smells of cinnamon, warm and sweet. My room smells like lavender, a comforting scent I’d picked out myself.I sit up. Or rather, my body moves faster than my brain can process, the motion a blur. One second I’m lying down, the next I’m upright. The disorientation makes me freeze.“What the hell?” I mutte
"No, no, no, no!" The man is terrified and something in me begs to stop, but there's a burn in my throat that needs to be sated.His hands drop from the mower and he makes to run, but I'm behind him in a flash and I grab him by the shoulder.“Please!” he yells, his voice cracking. “Help! Someone, please help!”Saliva drops from my mouth on to his neck, and I can see his veins pulsating.Just a sip, I tell myself. Just a little sip.The other staff nearby drop their tools. They freeze, staring, but none of them step forward. They're scared, I realise. I should be too, but I'm too far gone to even think.My grip tightens, and the burn in my chest intensifies. I can’t focus on anything else. I open my mouth, ready to sink my teeth into his neck—A hand clamps down on my shoulder, hard, and I’m yanked backward with so much force that I slam into the ground. The gardener stumbles away, running like his life depends on it. It probably does.I blink, dazed, expecting Valentine’s cold stare
The clock on the wall reads 3:07 AM when the door creaks open.I stir, blinking against the dim glow of the fireplace as heavy boots echo across the marble floors.Then I see him.And my drowsiness vanishes.Valentine strides in like something out of a gothic fever dream, long coat dusted with grime, moonlight trailing him through the open doorway. But it’s not his dramatic entrance that has me bolting upright.It’s the girl in his arms.I stare.Her body is limp, her head resting against his chest. Her ridiculously long black hair spills past his knees, trailing like a shadow. Her lips are slightly parted, her skin almost translucent beneath the chandelier’s glow.Oh, this is rich.I exhale sharply, pressing a hand over my heart in mock horror.“Val,” I gasp. “Have you resorted to kidnapping?”His glare is immediate.I continue anyway.“Is this where we are now? You get a little lonely, and instead of asking me to take you out, you—what? Pluck the prettiest girl off the streets an
A century. A mere blink in my existence, yet it feels like an eternity when spent with him. He. He, the chaos incarnate, the walking, talking embodiment of every headache I've ever endured. Achilles. Even now, a hundred years on, he manages to fill the mansion with his incessant chatter, his ridiculous schemes, his… his presence. Tonight, I seek a reprieve. A hunt.The moon hangs heavy, a silver coin in the velvet sky. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a familiar aroma that usually soothes me. Tonight, it merely serves as a backdrop to my frustration. I stalk through the shadows of the old cemetery, my senses heightened, searching for the telltale signs of wild vampires. They’re a nuisance, these feral creatures, a stain on our kind.Then, I smell it. Something sweet. Caramel, with a delicate hint of lavender. A human scent, but unlike any I've encountered before. It draws me in, a strange, compelling pull.I move silently, a shadow among shado
If I had a coin for every time someone looked at me like I was an inconvenience, I’d probably own a nice pair of boots by now.Valentine’s mother, however, doesn’t just look at me like I’m an inconvenience—she looks at me like I’m a cockroach she’s too disgusted to crush.And I have to say, that’s not new.She says nothing when we run into each other in the halls, just gives me a long, cold stare before turning the other way and ignoring my existence entirely. But I can feel her disapproval dripping off her in waves. The king is no different—silent, unreadable, always watching me with mild curiosity, like I’m some street cat Valentine dragged in from the gutter.(Which, to be fair, is accurate. But still.)I keep my mouth shut, keep my hands to myself, but the longer I sit there in that stifling palace, the more I realize I hate it. I hate the way their presence makes Valentine tense, hate the way his mother’s sharp words cut him down without effort.So when he grabs my wrist later
Achilles is a menace.A charming, loud, dramatic menace.And somehow, against all logic and reason, I am enjoying myself.I’ve spent nearly three centuries in this world, drifting through time with the same predictable routine. Nothing ever surprises me. But Achilles—Achilles is unpredictable. A whirlwind of sarcasm and chaos wrapped in a too-thin frame, wearing my clothes as if he owns them.And now, I am taking him into the city.Paris at night is a sight to behold—cobblestone streets glistening under the glow of gas lamps, the murmur of voices spilling from cafés and carriages rolling down the avenues. The scent of warm bread lingers in the air, mixing with the ever-present perfume of the Seine.Achilles stretches his arms above his head as we step onto the street. “Ah, freedom! I can already smell the possibilities.”I give him a dry look. “That would be fresh bread, not possibilities.”He waves a hand. “Same thing.”We walk, side by side, and I notice he’s still too thin. The
I should’ve seen it coming.The ridiculous wealth. The manor that looks like something out of an ancient royal painting. The way people around here bow slightly when they see him, as if he’s made of something more than the rest of us.Of course, Valentine isn’t just an important vampire. He’s a prince.The prince of all vampires.I pause mid-step in the corridor, my brain struggling to process this absurd fact. I mean, I knew he was high up the vampire ladder—no one lives in a place this extravagant without some serious power backing them—but the son of the king and queen? This is their manor?I’m staying under the same roof as the vampire king and queen?I run a hand down my face. Holy shit.And yet, despite all this, my senses don’t go haywire. I always assumed that if I ever stood in the presence of powerful supernaturals, my body would react—some primal, deep-rooted fear kicking in. But right now, all I feel is…Well. Mild panic. But that’s normal.I shake off the thoughts and
The moment we step into the manor, I hear Achilles’ heart pick up its pace.He’s overwhelmed.It’s evident in the way his wide, dark eyes dart around, struggling to take everything in—the marble floors polished to a mirror shine, the chandeliers dripping with golden light, the tapestries lining the hallways like relics of another time.He hasn’t lived like this before. That much is clear.I don’t acknowledge his awe. Instead, I lead him down the grand hall, past the looming portraits of my ancestors who watch us with unblinking eyes. The silence between us stretches, but I don’t break it. Not yet.We arrive at the dining hall. A long, gleaming mahogany table stretches nearly the entire length of the room, fit for a feast that no one ever has.Achilles lingers at the doorway.“Sit,” I tell him.He hesitates before obeying, perching stiffly on one of the velvet chairs like he’s ready to flee at any second.I turn to one of the maids, who bows instantly. “Something hefty,” I instruct, g
Pain blossoms across my ribs as another kick lands. The crowd jeers, their shouts merging into an incomprehensible storm of voices. Blood trickles down the side of my face, the warm sting mixing with the bitter cold of the Parisian night.I try to move, but a boot presses against my shoulder, pinning me down."Filthy thief," someone spits.I close my eyes. This is it. This is how it ends. Torn apart in the streets like a rat. I don't even have the strength to shift to save my own life.The hunters—standing just beyond the mob—watch with unnerving patience, hands resting on their weapons. They’re waiting for the right moment. The moment I’m too weak to fight back.Then, a voice. Smooth, deep, unhurried.“Enough.”The weight lifts off my shoulder. The kicks stop. The crowd shifts uneasily, murmurs rising like rustling leaves.I open my eyes.A man stands there, tall and composed, golden-blond hair neatly arranged, his fine black coat barely disturbed by the night breeze. There’s some
The gas lamps outside the cabaret flicker weakly, their orange glow barely cutting through the thick fog that clings to the streets of Paris.Inside, the air is heavy with the scent of cheap perfume, spilled wine, and the faint, metallic tang of blood.The orchestra plays a frenzied waltz, the violins screeching like banshees, while couples spin across the floor in a chaotic blur of silk and sweat.I sit in a shadowed corner, a glass of absinthe in my hand, the green liquid swirling like liquid poison.Across from me, a young woman—Marie, she said her name was—chatters incessantly.Her voice is high-pitched, grating, and she’s been going on about her village, her family, her dreams of becoming a singer.I smile, though my patience wears thin.“Do you come here often, monsieur?” she asks, leaning forward, her décolletage on full display.Her French is tinged with a provincial accent, marking her as new to the city.I tilt my head, letting my lips curl into a dangerous smile. “Only when
I stand frozen, the heat of the flames licking at my skin even from this distance. The crackling of the fire is deafening, but it’s the silence in my chest that terrifies me. My mother’s voice echoes in my head, sharp and desperate: “Run, Achilles! Run and don’t look back!”I can still smell the acrid smoke, the burning wood, the charred remains of my childhood. Half of it is gone now, reduced to ash and embers. The other half stands like a hollow shell, a monument to everything I’ve lost.My legs move before I can think, carrying me away from the only home I’ve ever known. Greece. My mother’s coven. The demon. They’re all chasing me now, and I don’t know where to go. All I know is that I can’t stay here. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stumble through the dark streets. I don’t even know where I’m going. Just away. Away from the flames. Away from the coven. Away from the demon that haunts my nightmares.Away...that leads me to Paris.The stree