Maya Hart stood in the cramped hotel bathroom, steam swirling around her like a teasing whisper. The shower had been hot, scalding even, but it hadn't scrubbed away the night at The Crimson Veil. Lucian's hands—his fucking fangs—still lingered on her skin, an itch she couldn't scratch. She swiped a shaky hand across the fogged-up mirror, exposing her reflection: pale as death, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and that damn bite mark on her neck staring back like an accusation. It throbbed faintly, the punctures scabbing over way too fast. Vampire bullshit. She tightened the towel around her damp body and shuffled into the bedroom, the carpet crunching under her bare feet—probably years of spilled drinks and worse. Didn't matter. It was her hideout for now, her shitty little sanctuary.
She dropped onto the mattress, dragging her laptop closer. The screen blinked on, showing the grainy photos she'd snapped in that alley: a sigil, all sharp angles and cruel twists. Same mark she'd seen carved into Emily's chest. Same one inked on that vampire chick at the club. It was a clue, a lifeline, and she'd claw this city apart to figure it out. But every time she looked at it, her mind drifted to Lucian—his icy blue eyes, his grip like iron, the way he'd fucked her raw and left her trembling. She hated him. Hated how her body still buzzed with the memory, how her thighs ached where he'd bitten her. "Get it together," she muttered, slamming the laptop shut. "This isn't about him."
A faint click from the door stopped her cold. Her head snapped up—chain was still on, door shut tight. Then a voice slid through the room, smooth and lethal: "Hello, Maya."
Lucian Blackwood melted out of the shadows, like they'd spat him up just for her. Those icy blue eyes pinned her in place, and her heart kicked into overdrive. Predator. Prey. Fuck.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" she barked, jumping up, clutching the towel like it could shield her.
He smirked, fangs catching the faint light. "I have my ways. Locks are… suggestions to me."
"Get out." Her voice cracked—anger, fear, and something hotter twisting together.
He moved too fast to track, a blur of menace, and suddenly her wrists were trapped behind her back, his grip bruising. "Not a chance, sweetheart," he purred, his breath hot against her ear. "You're in my world now, and you don't get to call the shots."
She struggled, but it was useless—he was stone, unyielding. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded, voice trembling. "Why follow me? Why help me last night at the club, then pull this shit?"
His jaw clenched, eyes avoiding hers for a moment. "Because… because you remind me of someone I lost. Someone who didn't deserve to die." He looked at her then, his gaze piercing, raw. "I won't let it happen again."
She froze, the words sinking in. "Who? What are you talking about?"
He let go of her wrists, stepping back, and for a moment, he looked almost human—vulnerable, haunted. "Her name was Elise," he said, voice low, like it hurt to speak it. "She was… everything. My lover, my confidante, my light in a world gone dark. We were in Paris, 1789, during the Revolution—chaos in the streets, blood running like rivers. I thought I could protect her, but I was wrong." His eyes glazed over, lost in memory. "They came for us—one of Vladislav's clan, the ones with the sigil you're chasing. They turned me in a blood-soaked alley, screaming as my life drained away, my bones breaking as the hunger took over. Elise… they drained her dry while I watched, helpless, new fangs tearing into my own flesh as I tried to fight back."
Maya's breath caught, the image vivid—blood, screams, betrayal. "Why tell me this now?"
"Because you're walking the same path she did," he said, stepping closer, his voice hardening. "Chasing shadows, poking at monsters who'd gut you for sport. I see her in you—stubborn, reckless—and I can't watch another die like that."
She wanted to hate him, to push him away, but his words tugged at something deep. "So you're what? My guardian angel? A monster with a conscience?"
He laughed, bitter and sharp. "Monster, protector—I don't know anymore. After Elise, I tried to fight Vladislav's clan, but they're deep, Maya. They've got rituals, blood magic tied to that sigil you're obsessed with. I've been running from them for centuries, trying to atone for what I am." His hand reached out, tracing the bite mark on her neck, fingers cold and deliberate. "This? It's a warning. They'll come for you next if you don't stop."
She slapped his hand away, heart racing. "I can't stop. Emily's dead because of them, and I'll burn this city down to find who did it."
His eyes darkened, a predator's gleam returning. "Then you'll need me, whether you like it or not." Before she could argue, he moved again, pinning her to the wall, the towel slipping off, leaving her naked and exposed. "And I need you," he growled, voice thick with hunger. "Not just for your blood."
Cold metal bit into her skin—barbed wire, glinting wickedly as he pulled it from his pocket. He wound it tight around her wrists, the barbs sinking in, blood welling up in tiny red beads that trickled down her arms. She yelped, the sting sharp and real, but he didn't stop—tightening it until it chewed into her flesh, the pain weaving with something darker.
"Lucian, stop! What the hell are you doing?" she gasped, hating how small she sounded. Fear churned in her stomach, but there was something else too—something sick and eager she couldn't kill.
He yanked the wire tighter, locking it in place, then shoved her onto the bed. The mattress groaned under their weight, springs protesting as he pinned her down with one hand, his strength crushing. His other hand roamed down her body, rough, claiming, pausing between her thighs. His fingers brushed her, finding her wet already, and he laughed—a low, filthy sound that made her skin crawl and heat at once. "Your cunt's dripping for me, Maya," he purred, voice dripping with venom. "You can't lie to me."
She opened her mouth to argue, but then his fangs sank into her inner thigh. Pain exploded, bright and searing, blood gushing as he drank deep, lips smearing red. But as he sucked, it morphed—pleasure flooded her, drowning out the hurt. She moaned, helpless, as his fingers pushed inside her, matching the rhythm of his sucking. Her hips bucked into him, chasing the high she despised herself for wanting.
He pulled back, lips smeared with her blood, eyes blazing with hunger and something else—grief, maybe. "I remember that alley," he murmured, voice raw. "The cobblestones slick with my blood, Elise's screams echoing as they drained her. I tried to fight back, but my body was breaking—bones snapping as the hunger took over. Vladislav's clan laughed as they left me there, a newborn monster with no control." His hand moved faster inside her, fingers curling deep, and she gasped, arching into him despite herself. "I've killed hundreds since then—humans, vampires—trying to erase that night. But it's in me now, Maya. The monster doesn't sleep."
She wanted to scream at him to stop, to leave her alone, but his words pulled her in—his pain mirroring hers. "Why help me then?" she whispered, voice breaking.
"Because I see Elise in you," he said, thrusting his fingers harder, making her moan again. "And because maybe saving you will save what's left of me." In one swift move, he flipped her onto her back and settled between her legs. His cock pressed against her, hard and insistent, and with a single, brutal thrust, he filled her. She screamed—half pain, half ecstasy—as he stretched her, the edge of too much.
The barbed wire chewed into her wrists with every jolt, blood trickling down her arms, pooling on the sheets in dark red stains that smelled of iron and death. The pain wove into the pleasure coiling tight in her core—she hated him. Hated herself. But God, it was good—raw, wrong, and overwhelming. He fucked her like an animal—hard, fast, merciless—each thrust deeper, harder, splitting her apart like a tree in a lightning storm. His fangs grazed her neck again, tearing into the bite mark from last night, fresh blood spilling as he drank deep while pounding into her.
It was feral, unrestrained—the bed groaning under them, springs protesting every slam of his hips. Her moans broke into gasps as he bit harder, blood dripping down her chest to mingle with the sweat and cum already staining them both. The room filled with the scent of iron and sex, thick and heady, and she came hard—screaming into his shoulder to muffle it—her cunt pulsing around him as waves of sick, twisted bliss tore her apart.
He snarled, spilling inside her, hot and relentless, until they were both spent—collapsing onto the blood-soaked sheets in a mess of sweat and gore. For a heartbeat, they just lay there—heavy breathing filling the silence—his weight crushing her into the mattress.
After a moment, he pulled out slowly—his cum leaking out of her alongside streaks of blood—and stood up without a word. He vanished like smoke into the shadows he'd come from—leaving Maya with the sting of wire and the ache of him still inside her.
She fumbled free of the barbs with trembling hands—wincing as they tore her skin anew—blood dripping onto the floor in dark splatters that looked black in the dim light. She staggered to the bathroom on shaky legs—splashing cold water on her face—trying to rinse off the shame and thrill that clung to her like a second skin.
Something crinkled in her pocket—a folded scrap of paper she hadn't noticed before—and she pulled it out with shaking fingers. Her breath caught as she unfolded it: Emily's messy scrawl stared back at her—"If you're reading this, I'm probably dead. Beware the vampires of Ebon City. They killed me because I knew too much. The sigil is their mark. Find Lucian Blackwood—he can help you." There—at the bottom—a scribbled address: 13 Shadow Lane.
Maya's heart raced—this was it—a lead—to Eddie or another contact—she wasn't sure—but it tied to Lucian's revelation about Vladislav's clan and their rituals tied to the sigil. She tucked it away—determination burning in her chest—tomorrow—she'd follow it—but tonight—she needed rest—to process what he'd shared—what he'd done—to figure out if he was monster—or protector—or both.