Maya Hart perched on the edge of her shitty hotel bed, the springs creaking under her weight like they were mocking her. Her phone trembled in her hands, the screen glowing with photos of that fucking sigil—the same twisted, jagged mark she'd seen carved into the mutilated corpse in the alley, the same one that'd been sliced into Emily's cold, dead chest. She swiped through the images, her gut twisting with every flick of her thumb. It wasn't a coincidence. Couldn't be. The answers were out there, lurking in this gothic hellhole called Ebon City, and she'd tear the place apart to find them. Her only lead? The Crimson Veil.
But going there—that was madness. She'd overheard the name in hushed, terrified whispers at a diner earlier, a place where vampires didn't just sip blood but fucked and fought and reveled in shit that'd make a saint puke. It was a meat market for the undead, a playground for predators and their screaming, moaning prey. Dangerous didn't even begin to cover it, and Maya's hands shook as she thought about stepping into that den. She wasn't a fighter, wasn't trained for this—she was a journalist, for Christ's sake, used to chasing leads in city halls, not vampire clubs. But Emily's ghost was clawing at her skull, demanding she move, and Maya couldn't ignore it. "I'll do it," she whispered to the empty room, her voice cracking. "For you, Em."
She stood, legs shaky as hell, and dug through her suitcase. Jeans wouldn't cut it tonight—she needed to look the part, like some slutty lamb ready for the slaughter. Her fingers snagged on a black dress, tight as sin and cut so low it'd barely cover her tits. She hesitated, holding it up, the fabric cool against her skin. This wasn't her. This wasn't the Maya who'd written exposés on corrupt councilmen or interviewed grieving families. This was someone else—someone who'd walk into a vampire den and maybe even enjoy the ride. Her stomach churned, bile rising, but she yanked it out. Fuck it. If she was diving into the deep end, she'd do it looking like she belonged.
As she dressed, memories flooded back—Emily, laughing on their porch, sunlight catching her hair, saying, "Live a little, Maya." That was before, when life was safe, when Maya could pretend the world made sense. Now, here she was, slipping into this dress, feeling like a traitor to everything she'd been. "This isn't living," she muttered, zipping it up, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. "This is survival." But a small voice in her head wondered if that was the only reason she was going back to Lucian's world—if part of her wanted to feel that dark thrill again, the way his touch had burned through her fear. She shoved it down, focusing on Emily's face, her lifeless eyes in those photos. "Focus," she hissed, smearing dark lipstick on in the cracked bathroom mirror. The woman staring back wasn't Maya Hart, small-town journalist with a dead sister and a chip on her shoulder. This chick was someone else—someone who'd sell her soul for answers, and maybe already had.
The fog was thicker tonight, a choking shroud that swallowed the streets whole. Maya's heels stabbed the pavement, the clack-clack echoing like gunshots in the eerie quiet. Shadows slithered at the edges of her vision—junkies, maybe, or worse—but she kept her eyes locked ahead. Ebon City was a living nightmare, its rot seeping into her pores, and every step felt like a betrayal of herself. She remembered the corpse from last night, its guts spilled like confetti, and her stomach lurched. Could she really do this? Walk into that club, surrounded by monsters, and not lose herself? Her breath hitched, fog curling around her like claws, but she pressed on, drawn like a moth to the pulsing beat of The Crimson Veil.
The club loomed ahead, a squat brick beast leaking bass that thumped in her chest. A line of pale, glassy-eyed weirdos snaked out the door, practically drooling to get in. The bouncer was a mountain of muscle with fangs jutting over his lips, eyeing her like she was dinner. "Password," he growled, voice like gravel.
Her mind blanked for a split second, then she remembered the tip she'd scrounged up online earlier—a forum post from "ShadowWalker," warning of the club's dangers but mentioning "Eternal night" as the key. "Eternal night," she whispered, barely loud enough to hear over the music.
He grunted and stepped aside. She was in.
The Crimson Veil hit her like a fucking sledgehammer. Strobe lights slashed through the dark, spotlighting a writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor—vampires and humans tangled in a sweaty, bloody orgy. The air reeked of copper and cum, thick enough to gag on. Over by the wall, a vampire had a guy pinned, fangs deep in his throat while he jerked him off, the dude's moans turning to gurgles as blood sprayed across the floor. Nearby, a chick was bent over a table, skirt hiked up, getting pounded by two vamps at once—one in her cunt, the other in her ass—her screams bouncing off the walls. It was hell with a beat, and Maya's knees nearly buckled. She wanted to run, to flee back to the safety of her hotel room, but Emily's face flashed in her mind—pale, broken—and she forced herself to stay. "You can do this," she whispered, voice trembling. But could she? The violence was too much, too raw, and she felt like she was drowning in it.
She scanned the room, trying to focus, when a hand clamped her arm and yanked her back. Lucian Blackwood towered over her, those icy blue eyes burning holes through her soul. "You're a long way from your hotel, Maya," he growled, his voice a mix of menace and something else—something almost like concern, but twisted.
For a heartbeat, he paused, his gaze softening. His eyes darkened as he looked at her, something shifting in his sight. For a moment, the predator was gone, replaced by something almost human—regret, perhaps, or longing. But it was fleeting, and he masked it quickly, his grip tightening. "You're mine now," he snarled, but there was a note of possessiveness that went beyond mere lust.
She jerked against his grip, but it was like fighting a steel trap. "Get off me, you bastard," she spat, heart pounding.
His grin was a slash of pure malice. "Not a chance, sweetheart." He hauled her through the crowd, past a vamp fucking a girl against the wall, her legs wrapped around him as he tore into her shoulder with his teeth, blood streaming down her tits. Maya averted her eyes, bile rising, but Lucian shoved her into a shadowed corner, velvet couches stained with God-knows-what sprawled around them. He flung her down, pinning her with his weight, his hands already ripping at her dress.
"You're gonna regret stepping into my world," he snarled, tearing the fabric clean off her. Her tits spilled out, nipples hardening in the cold air, and she scrambled to cover herself. He laughed, grabbing her wrists and slamming them above her head. "Oh, no you don't."
"Lucian, stop—" Her voice cracked, fear and fury tangling in her chest. This wasn't strategy anymore; this was violation, and she hated herself for even considering using him. But part of her—the part that had felt that dark thrill last night—wanted to lean into it, and that scared her more than anything. "Stop," she gasped again, but his free hand shoved between her thighs, fingers jamming inside her without warning, rough and relentless.
She gasped, hips bucking despite herself, a sick jolt of heat sparking through her core. His fangs grazed her neck, sharp enough to prick the skin, and she shivered, hating how her body responded. "Stop? You don't mean that," he purred, voice dripping with venom. "I can smell how wet you are."
"No," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "This isn't me. Emily—" Her sister's face flashed again, laughing under sunlight, and Maya's chest tightened. How could she do this? How could she let this monster touch her when Emily's blood was on his kind? But his fingers moved deeper, and she moaned despite herself, hating every second of it.
He didn't stop. He unzipped his pants and rammed into her, his cock splitting her open with one brutal thrust. As Lucian took her, Maya's mind raced. She needed him for answers, needed to get closer to his world, but this… this was wrong. Her body betrayed her again, hips rocking up to meet him, chasing that edge she couldn't escape. "Fuck you," she hissed through gritted teeth, but he just laughed, pounding deeper.
His hand slid to her throat, squeezing until black spots danced in her vision, and she clawed at his chest, nails raking through his shirt, drawing thick, black blood that dripped onto her skin. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his thrusts turning sloppy. She came hard, screaming into his shoulder to muffle it, her cunt pulsing around him as waves of sick, twisted bliss tore her apart. She hated herself for it—for enjoying this violation—but it was too late to stop now.
Lucian growled, unloading inside her, his cum hot and thick, spilling out as he kept pumping. For a second, they were locked there, panting, his weight crushing her into the couch.
Then all hell broke loose.
A snarl ripped through the air, and suddenly vampires were at each other's throats—literally. A guy got his head smashed into the bar, skull caving in with a wet crunch, brains splattering like jelly. Another vamp ripped a chick's arm off, blood gushing like a fountain as she shrieked. Fangs flashed, spines snapped, and guts hit the floor in sloppy, steaming piles. The place turned into a slaughterhouse, bodies flying, glass shattering, the air thick with the stench of shit and death.
Maya's mind reeled. She couldn't breathe—this wasn't just danger; this was chaos beyond anything she'd imagined. She kicked Lucian square in the chest, sending him sprawling, and bolted upright, clutching her shredded dress. She ran, bare feet slipping on blood and entrails, dodging a vamp who got his throat torn out mid-lunge, his head flopping back like a broken toy. A bottle smashed beside her, spraying glass across her legs, but she kept going, lungs burning, until she crashed through the exit into the night.
She stumbled against the wall outside, gasping for air, her body a mess of aches and bruises. Lucian's cum dripped down her thighs, sticky and warm, and her neck throbbed where he'd bitten her. She felt violated—filthy—but fuck, that thrill still buzzed under her skin, and it made her want to puke. "What am I becoming?" she whispered to the fog, tears mixing with blood on her cheeks.
Pulling her torn dress tight, she started the long walk back to her hotel. Every step felt heavier now—she'd survived tonight but at what cost? She'd seen the vamp with the sigil tattoo earlier; whoever she was knew something about Emily's murder—Maya could feel it in her bones. But this city was changing her faster than she could handle. She vowed to be back at The Crimson Veil—no question—but next time, she'd come ready—ready to fight, ready to bleed, ready to rip the truth out of this city's rotten heart. She had to.
But as she walked through the fog-shrouded streets of Ebon City once more—its shadows whispering promises of more violence—she wondered if she'd already lost too much of herself to ever go back.