“Why is there no blood in this house?!”

Kael's voice, low and guttural,Glass shattered somewhere behind him. A servant screamed. Another dropped to their knees, trembling, pressing their forehead to the floor.

Kael didn’t care.

His fingers clawed into the wall, splitting stone as easily as soft clay. His eyes—black, not red—were darker than the abyss, gleaming with a hunger that couldn’t be reasoned with. His breath hitched, ragged and venomous. A slick sheen of sweat showed on his skin, pale as snow and laced with veins pulsing a sickly violet vein all over his body.

He was starving.

And when Kael was starving, people died.

He staggered into the moonlight spilling through the arched doorway, his bare feet echoing across the cold marble. He tore his cloak from his shoulders, leaving it behind like a second skin, revealing a body carved in shadows—broad, tall, lean muscle wrapped in terrifying grace. He moved like smoke. A whisper. A predator.

And he needed blood.

Now.

And of course, he drank to his fill, because people died.

It was a cold,chilly night,Rory tightened the thin jacket over her shoulders, tucking her books into her side like they could shield her. The wind bit at her bare skin, very strange and sharp.

Her phone was dead.

Of course.

She felt sad and uneasy. She’d stayed late in the library again, anything to avoid going home to that man. Her father. If she could even call him that. The last time she’d walked through the door after sunset, he’d thrown a bottle across the room and told her she should’ve died with her mother.

She hated the memory.

It was better to walk. Better to take the long road, even on a night like this. The moon was full and eerily bright, casting lights on the roads that is perfect for sidewalk. The passerbys Shadows moved along the treeline. The forest beside the road was thick and old—people said it was haunted, cursed.

Rory didn’t care.

She’d take ghosts over her father any night.

She didn’t hear him at first.

But then... a sound.

Low. Inhuman. A rasping growl, like something wounded and wild.

Rory stopped. Her heart stuttered. Her eyes scanned the trees.

And then he emerged.

Not from the trees—but from the darkness itself.

He was tall—impossibly so—with black hair falling in loose, damp strands across a face sculpted like some cruel god. Beautiful didn’t even begin to describe him. He was arresting. Terrifying. Eyes like midnight storm clouds. Lips red—not with lipstick, but something far more terrible.

Blood.

He staggered into the clearing like a beast freshly loosed from its chains, breathing hard, nostrils flaring.

Their eyes locked.

And in that moment, Rory knew—something inside her would never be the same.

Kael stared at her.

His lips curled. Not with lust. Not with interest. But pure, unfiltered disgust.

“You reek of fear,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp as a dagger. “It makes me sick.”

Rory didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

“Leave,” he growled.

But her legs refused. She stared back at him, too stunned, too trapped in the gravity of him.

Kael’s jaw clenched. His fangs—long, silver-white—slid down slowly from his upper jaw. He didn’t hide them. He wanted her to see.

A warning.

A promise.

He wanted to bite her,but the scent that came from her blood was strange,He looked confused and disgusted,he made a second attempt but could not just sink his fang into her skin.

“You disgust me,” he hissed.

Rory couldn’t breathe.

Fear struck her too hard that she forgot to breathe.

The man in front of her wasn’t human. She could feel it. His presence was heavy—like a storm pressing down on her chest. Her fingers gripped her bag tightly, knuckles white.

He hadn’t moved.

But his eyes watched her like a lion watches prey. Cold,Sharp, without blinking.

Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it. Or worse—smell it.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, voice quiet but full of hate. “I told you to leave.”

Rory blinked. Her throat was dry. She wanted to run, but her legs felt like stone. He was so... strange. So unreal.

He looked like he belonged on a painting in a castle—not in the woods near her dirty apartment. His skin was smooth and pale, almost glowing in the moonlight. His hair was messy, wet like he’d been in a storm. And his eyes... they weren’t just dark—they were empty. Like something had been taken from inside him long ago and never returned.

But there was blood on his mouth.

That snapped her out of it.

She stepped back.

“I—I didn’t mean to bother you,” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. “Then go.”

She turned to walk, slowly at first, careful not to run. She didn’t want to look like prey.

But behind her, she heard something.

A growl.

Low. Animal-like. And then—he was gone.

Rory spun around.

Nothing.

Empty road. Empty trees.

He had disappeared.

Her breath caught. She looked everywhere—behind trees, into shadows. Nothing.

She took a deep breath. Maybe he was never real. Maybe she imagined it. The stress, her awful home, the long night—it was all too much.

But then—she felt it.

Cold breath on the back of her neck.

She froze.

“I can still hear your heart,” he whispered, behind her now. “Loud. Weak.”

She turned slowly.

He was right there. Inches from her. His face close. His mouth stained red. And his eyes—

His eyes weren’t just angry anymore.

They were hungry.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t killed her yet.

She was nothing special. Just a human girl. Not even beautiful in the way other women were. But something about her made his hunger worse.

She smelled like pain. Like sadness. Like something destroyed.

He hated it.

He hated her.

His hand moved to her throat, fast, like lightning. Her breath hitched as his fingers touched her skin—so soft. So warm. His thumb pressed gently over her pulse.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Her heart was trying to escape.

He could take her life now. Snap her neck. Or bite. Drain her. Feel the warmth flood his mouth and silence the ache inside him.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

But Because he couldn't.

“What are you?” he asked softly.

She stared at him, shaking. “I’m just... a girl.”

He tilted his head. “No. You’re something else. I don’t like it.”

His grip tightened for a second—but then he let go and stepped back.

She coughed, grabbing her throat.

“I should’ve killed you,” he muttered. “Next time, don’t get in my way.”

He vanished again—like smoke swallowed by the trees.

Later That Night

Rory stood in front of her house.

The light above the door was broken. The porch was cracked. Inside, she could hear shouting. Her father was drunk again.

She looked behind her—into the dark woods where she’d just come from.

Nothing followed.

But something had changed.

She could still feel his hand on her skin.

In the trees, high in the shadows, Kael watched her enter the house.

His lips curled in disgust.

“She reeks of fear,” he whispered to himself. “But there’s something... wrong with her blood.”

His eyes flickered with confusion for a brief second.

Then he was gone again.