Page 4

The pulse of Midnight Delight hums low, a languid rhythm that thrums like an ancient heartbeat. The club breathes life in its peculiar way, a sanctuary where shadow and sin entwine. Among these velvet-dark walls, the undead and the living intermingle in whispered revelries, their desires bleeding into one another. Silken drapes of plum and obsidian cascade down, catching the faint gleam of silver from chandeliers that hang like spectral sentinels above. The air is rich with the heady aroma of spiced wine and cloves, laced with the subtle, unmistakable tang of blood—an undercurrent that lingers like a ghostly caress.

All around, decadence reigns. Vampires and their mortal vessels recline at tables draped in velvet, their voices hushed, smoky with indulgence. A sultry jazz melody weaves through the air, its bassline a languorous echo of the world’s primal beat.

Sylvie stands beside me, an ember of reluctant light amidst this sea of shadows. Her unease betrays her newness to this realm, where the rules of humanity falter and the macabre becomes commonplace. Her wariness of my kind—a wariness she wears like armor—is only natural, though her curiosity gleams through the cracks.

Her gaze flits across the room, alighting on vampires and their human companions entwined in intimate rituals. One couple in a far corner commands her attention: a woman, bound and suspended, her body a willing altar to the vampiric hunger. Her partner drinks deeply as he moves within her, their union a symphony of ecstasy. The tableau is raw, electric—a vision designed to seduce even the most reticent.

“It’s not what I expected,” Sylvie murmurs at last, her voice tinged with wonder and trepidation.

I tilt my glass, the bourbon within catching the faint light as I swirl it. “And what, pray tell, did you expect, my love?”

Her lips press together as she considers, then she gestures vaguely toward the room. “Something... darker. This feels almost normal. Like some kind of gothic cocktail lounge.”

A smile, faint and sardonic, curls at the edges of my mouth. “Normality is but a thin veil, Sylvie. Tug at its edges, and the truth lies bare beneath it.”

Her eyes drift to a nearby booth where a vampire drinks deeply from a human’s wrist, their gazes locked in an unbroken communion. The human tilts their head back, a soundless gasp frozen on parted lips as bliss overtakes them. A faint tremor ripples through Sylvie, her breath quickening ever so slightly.

Before I can speak again, Dorian strides toward us, his expression carved from stone, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. One hand rests within his pocket, the other hanging loosely at his side—a posture deceptively casual, masking the gravity of his presence.

“Thanks for meeting me. We need to talk. Now,” he intones, his voice the low rumble of distant thunder.

He leads us beyond a pair of iron doors into a private lounge, its walls intimate and oppressive. Midnight-blue chairs encircle a solitary table, a decanter of crimson wine resting at its center like a sacrificial offering. Candlelight dances upon its surface, casting flickering shadows that writhe like restless spirits.

Dorian doesn’t wait for us to settle. “They’re gone,” he says, the words clipped, his tone taut with restrained fury.

Sylvie’s brow furrows. “What’s gone?”

“The blood reserves,” Dorian replies, and the weight of his revelation drops like an iron shroud.

The breath I take feels sharp, like a blade drawn across my ribs. Dorian continues, his usual composure fraying at the edges. “The packs we’ve relied upon to stave off chaos—they’ve been taken. All of them. Vanished.”

Sylvie’s confusion deepens. “The blood packs... they’re for vampires who don’t feed from humans, right?”

I nod, my gaze steady upon her. “They are a compromise. A lifeline. For those among us who choose restraint, they offer sustenance without sin. Some walk a path of balance—human veins for indulgence, packs for practicality. Others abstain entirely from feeding directly. But this theft...” My voice falters briefly, a storm of unease roiling within me. “It is no small matter. This could unmake all we have built.”

“Why not replenish the supply? Can’t the donors provide more?”

Dorian exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “The process is not so simple. Blood cannot be drawn without consequence. Humans must recover, their health safeguarded. To replace what was stolen will take weeks, if not longer. And in the meantime...”

His pacing quickens, each step heavy with foreboding. “Ravenous vampires make poor decisions. Without the packs, restraint crumbles. And with it, so does the fragile peace we cling to.”

I step forward, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “The city would quickly descend into madness,” I say quietly, the truth of it settling like ash.

Sylvie’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and incisive. “Who would do this? It isn’t like a theft would go unnoticed.”

Dorian’s gaze darkens. “It was no accident. Someone planned this. And I believe we both know who.”

“The Society,” I say, the name a bitter curse upon my tongue.

Dorian nods slowly, his jaw tightening. “Who else would gain from inciting chaos? Turning us into the monsters they fear. Unleashing the darkness we keep buried, barely contained. They couldn’t get Sylvie to take part in their ritual, so they are going to hit us where it hurts in the meantime. Can’t kill us? Why not make us our own downfall? It has Solstice written all over it.”

I glance at Sylvie. Her delicate fingers toy with the hem of her sleeve, a small, unconscious gesture of unease. Her lips are a pale line, pressed firm as her mind works to unravel what’s just been said.

“There’s more,” Dorian adds, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of his next words has stolen the air from his lungs. He drags a hand over his mouth, hesitating. “I’ve heard whispers of betrayal among our own. Staff meeting with outsiders. Accepting bribes.”

“From the Society?” My voice is measured, but there’s a razor edge to it, cutting through the room like a blade.

“Most likely.” Dorian exhales sharply. “If the Society’s pulling strings, it’s their poison seeping into everything. They starve us, pit us against one another, and call it justice. But we have to be certain. If they’re involved, we’ll find the evidence. No one else stands to gain from this… no one hates us more.”

Sylvie speaks then, her voice soft but steady. “Can you read their thoughts? Whoever’s hiding something?”

Her question sparks a sudden, visceral ache in me, a longing to silence her questions with a kiss, to press my lips against her unknowing, beautiful mouth. She doesn’t yet understand what she’s asking—what she’s asking of me.

“Our staff,” I say, my voice cool and distant, “are all vampires. If there’s one thing we excel at, it’s guarding our thoughts. Even from our own kind.”

And then, as if to challenge every certainty we’ve built, the air shifts. A crackling energy arcs through the room like lightning, sharp and sudden. Dorian and I turn to find its source: Sylvie.

She sits unnaturally still, her hands trembling as a faint shimmer surrounds her, an aura of power rippling outward in invisible waves.

“I can find out who it was,” she says tightly, her voice strained but resolute.

Dorian arches a skeptical brow. “How?”

Her gaze meets his, unflinching. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel it—the moment you mentioned betrayal, something surged inside me. Like I could… pull the truth out of the air.”

Before either of us can respond, she closes her eyes and effectively silences us. A breath shudders through her as the room begins to dim, the candlelight flickering weakly against the thickening shadows. She’s finding herself, I realize, her instincts guiding her where her mind cannot.

Her hands rise, and the air fills with the heady scent of jasmine and vanilla, a strange contrast to the growing darkness. Magic spills from her like threads of silver light, winding through the air in a hypnotic dance.

She whispers something, low and ancient—a language older than memory. The energy sharpens, condensing into shimmering tendrils that snake through the room like restless spirits before snapping back into her waiting hands.

Her eyes fly open, wild and wide, as if she’s just torn the truth from the fabric of the night itself. “We recently learned a spell in my Spellcraft Fundamentals class. I’m not perfect at it yet, and my professor said it takes a lot of honing, but it seems as if I have a little natural ability for it.”

It’s no surprise to me. Not at all. Sylvie is a force.

She closes her eyes one more time, nodding to herself. Then, a pained expression takes over her beautiful features.

“It’s Lara,” she says, her voice trembling. “And the Society. They’re behind this. They’re stealing the blood, forcing the vampires into desperation. And—” Her voice falters, and her gaze shifts to Dorian. “There are traitors among your staff. You’re right. They’re here. Now.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the air heavy with unspoken questions and a tension so sharp it threatens to break.

“Names, love,” I demand, my voice cutting through the stillness, every syllable carrying the weight of centuries.

Sylvie shakes her head, frustration darkening her expression. “I don’t know their names. But I feel them—their fear, their guilt. They’re here, tonight.”

Dorian curses under his breath, already moving toward the door to the main room. The fire in his eyes tells me he’s on the brink of losing control, and I follow close behind, sparing a glance at Sylvie.

“Come,” I tell her, my tone leaving no room for refusal.

She hesitates for only a moment, then nods, following us into the heart of what I’m certain will be a battle.

The club’s atmosphere has shifted, tilted slightly. There’s a crackling tension in the air, the kind that precedes a vicious storm. Conversations are hushed, nervous glances exchanged among the staff and patrons alike. Vampires move with predatory grace, their restraint teetering on a knife’s edge as the absence of their lifeline—our stolen blood—makes itself known.

“I understand your frustration,” she murmurs to me. “We need to act inconspicuous,” she adds, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the jazz ensemble. Her eyes scan the room, sharp and calculating. “If they suspect we’re onto them, they’ll bolt.”

“You already have a plan?” I ask, curious despite myself.

Her lips press into a thin line. “I think I can tap into their emotions, maybe even pull the truth out of them. I just need to get close enough.”

Dorian moves closer, arching a brow, but says nothing, his doubt clear. I offer her a faint nod and gesture her forward, giving her the space she needs to prove herself.

We split up, weaving through the room like shadows. I keep a measured distance, watching Sylvie as she moves from one group of staff to another. Her steps are tentative at first, but she gains confidence with each interaction, her power building like a quiet storm as she stalks the staff like they’re her prey.

She pauses near the bar, her fingers brushing the edge of the counter. The bartender, a young vampire filled with nervous energy from the day he started, avoids her gaze as he pours drinks. Sylvie tilts her head, her expression softening as she leans in.

I allow the sounds of the club to fade into the background and tap into her, into her words and her accusations. She’s all I hear, the rest of the club drowning to a low hum.

“You’re worried about something,” she says gently, her voice laced with a subtle compulsion. “It’s okay. You can tell me.” I cock my head to the side and stay rooted in place. There’s no way she could compel him. He’s a vampire who compels his own targets. But the way she’s looking at him tells a different story.

The bartender stiffens, his eyes flicking toward the shadowed corners of the room. “I... I don’t know what you mean,” he stammers, but his voice cracks under the weight of her gaze.

Sylvie closes her eyes briefly as I watch her side profile, her breathing steady. A faint shimmer of energy surrounds her, visible only to those attuned to the supernatural. When she opens her eyes again, they glint with an unnatural light.

“You’re scared,” she says, her tone more commanding now. “Someone’s threatened you. Tell me who.”

She may be truly compelling the vampire. I’ve never seen it before, and I can’t comprehend how, but his voice lowers to a whisper, trembling as if uttering the words would seal his fate. "They came last week...approached me before I came in…men in dark suits. Said they were with the Society." His eyes dart to the kitchen door again, then to me, lingering just long enough to betray his fear. "They gave us an ultimatum—help them, or they'd see to it we disappeared. Some of us resisted, but others..."

"Others what?" Sylvie presses, her voice laced with an edge of urgency that sharpens the moment.

"Folded." The bartender's hand tightens around the edge of the counter, his knuckles pale. "They took the packs as leverage, threatened to expose us to the authorities if we didn’t cooperate. It’s bigger than you think. They’re everywhere."

“Okay, Michael,” she says. That’s right. Michael. I forgot his name, but she knows it. It can only be a testament to her powers. “You’re doing good,” she says, giving him a soft smile and nod.

“Give me names,” Dorian says gruffly as we both swiftly cross the room in a split second and demand answers. The bartender flinches at our sudden appearance, but Sylvie places a comforting hand on his arm to steady him. I know she’s playing a part, but it tugs at something inside of me.

The bartender swallows hard. "I don’t know all of them. But Elijah—he’s one of ours—he’s been meeting with them. He’s in the back now with Cara, she’s been helping him. He’s the one who handed over the keys to the blood storage."

Dorian exhales sharply, his fists clenching at his sides. "Elijah." The name falls from his lips like a curse, weighted with betrayal.

I step forward, placing a hand on Dorian’s shoulder to steady him. "We need him alive, Dorian. If he knows the Society’s plans, he’s more valuable breathing than dead."

Dorian glares at me, his jaw tight, but he nods. "For now."

“Where are they now?”

“They’re in the back,” he admits, his voice trembling. “But please, I didn’t want to?—”

“Get back to work,” I growl. “And don’t speak of this to anyone.”

He nods frantically and does as told. Sylvie turns to me, her expression a mixture of determination and unease. “They’re scared, Lucian. Desperate. The Society isn’t just threatening them—they’re using them.”

“Then they’ve chosen poorly,” I say, my voice low and venomous. “Michael is lucky I’m feeling generous. But my generosity only carries so far, love.”

Sylvie glances between us, her brows furrowed. "What are you going to do?"

I turn to her, my expression softening despite the storm raging within me. "We’ll handle it. Stay here. You’ve done enough for tonight."

Her eyes narrow, defiance sparking in their depths. "I’m not staying behind while you confront him. I can help."

"You’ve already helped immeasurably," I say, my tone firm but not unkind. "And I need you to trust me. Elijah in particular won’t hold back if he feels cornered. This could get... messy."

She looks at me with an intent gaze, and knowing what that means, I begrudgingly gesture her forward, Dorian at my heels.

The kitchen is dimly lit, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint scent of decay. Elijah and Cara stand near a metal table, their backs to us, rifling through stacks of papers. They don’t hear us enter, but the moment Elijah senses our presence, he stiffens, his hand hovering near the knife at his hip.

"Hello," I say evenly, my voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "We need to talk."

They turn slowly in tandem, Elijah’s eyes narrowing as he takes in our stances. "Lucian. Dorian. I figured it wouldn’t take long for you to come knocking." His tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of unease in his expression.

"You’ve betrayed us," Dorian growls, taking a step forward. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Elijah smirks, though it’s brittle. "Spare me the lecture. You don’t know what it’s like, living under their thumb. They gave me no choice."

"There’s always a choice," I counter, my voice low but laced with steel. "You made yours. Now you’ll face the consequences."

Elijah shifts his stance, his hand inching closer to the knife. "I did what I had to do to survive. You’d have done the same in my position."

"No," I say, my eyes locking onto his. "I’d let them kill me before I betrayed my people."

Dorian moves like a shadow, his hand gripping Elijah’s wrist before he can draw the blade. The sound of bones snapping fills the air, followed by Elijah’s sharp cry of pain.

"Where are the packs, Elijah?" Dorian demands, his voice cold as I grab Cara and hold her steady before she tries to run. She squeals but makes no attempt to get out of my hold. Neither of them are a match for Dorian and me. They’re much younger and nowhere near as quick or powerful. Still, one can never be too careful.

"I don’t know!" Elijah snarls, struggling against Dorian’s hold. "Solstice took them. They didn’t tell me where."

"You’ll tell us everything you do know, Elijah. Who else is working with Solstice? What are they planning?"

Elijah’s defiance wavers, his eyes darting between us. "They... they’re planning something big. Something that’ll tear the city apart, according to them. But I don’t know the details. I swear."

Dorian leans in, his fangs glinting. "You’d better hope you’re telling the truth, Elijah. Because if you’re lying, the only way out is death."

The tension in the room crackles like a live wire, Elijah’s fear palpable as Dorian tightens his grip.

"Start talking," I say, my voice as cold and sharp as a winter’s night.

Cara knees me in the crotch and tries to bolt before I can fully right myself, but Sylvie is faster. She raises a hand, and the air around Cara shimmers, trapping her in place. “You’re not going anywhere,” Sylvie says, her voice steady despite the strain of holding the ward spell that she’s grown quite fond of.

I latch onto Cara once more and throw her to the ground, Sylvie’s spell dissolving as she realizes I have her under control again.

The two traitors exchange panicked glances, the realization of their doom sinking in. Under the weight of our combined fury, their resolve shatters, and the truth spills from their lips like blood from a wound.

“I didn’t have a choice!” he cries as Dorian pounds him against the wall. “They—They threatened me! Come on, please!”

What a stark change of demeanor.

“Do you think that excuses the two of you?” I snarl, my fangs bared as my spittle lands on Cara’s cheeks. “You betrayed your own kind.” I look between the two once-trusted staff members. “You endangered us all. Do you understand what will happen now? Now that your peers have no food?”

I take a deep breath, silently doing my best to compose myself.

“Get them out of my sight,” I growl, turning away. “Have the guards lock them in the underground chamber and we will see to it we start the process tomorrow.”

Sylvie watches me with wide eyes, a mix of shock and something else—something I can’t place. Dorian calls out to our guards in his mind, I’m able to hear it but I’m unsure if Sylvie can. Soon, two of them come and lead the traitors out of our sight. Their terrified, shrill screams pierce the air, and if they think they’re scared now, they better pray to whomever their God is that I die before I get my hands on them tomorrow.

“It’s safe to say you will continue staying with me,” I say as I turn to her, my voice softer but firm as my fangs retreat.

I cup her face, still trying to get my heart to slow down.

She hesitates, her lips parting in protest as her dark brown eyes peer into mine.

“It’s not safe for you elsewhere, especially now,” I add. “Solstice is on the move again. Lara is too dangerous, and you’re too important to me. Nothing will happen to you under my care, Sylvie.”

Her shoulders drop slightly, the fight leaving her. “Fine,” she says quietly, reluctantly, but at least she’s acquiesced. “I wanted to talk to you about future living arrangements anyway.” I give her a questioning look, but she shakes her head. “When we get home.”

Home.

I like the sound of that coming from her sweet lips.

I can’t help myself, despite the rage still boiling inside of me, I claim her mouth, my tongue slipping inside as I press my body to hers. She wraps her arms around me, and I hold her like my life depends on it—like hers does, too. I pick her up and she tangles her legs around me and kisses me back with such force it causes a chill to spread through my body.

And only then, does my heart return to its normal rhythm.