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Before Vivaxia’s Fall in the Strigoi Kingdom…

Sabre

A scream.

The delicious sound has me frozen, completely thrusting out any of the thoughts I’d just been having and replacing them with hunger .

The sound is faint, though, as if I might have imagined it. And when I peer beyond the veil that exists between this world and the world of dreams, I catch something that shouldn’t be there.

A shimmer swirls through the room, elusive, weak, but interesting. It travels through the objects surrounding me as if it can’t interact with them.

Red velvet furniture.

Gaudy diamond chandeliers.

A bar I probably utilize far too much—and is unfortunately stocked with booze instead of blood.

The air is heavy, and the colors are muted as I skillfully shift my perception and try to track the disturbance, a talent that’s more seamless for those in the royal line of Strigoi. I’m a dreamwalker, a vampire who feasts on dreams.

My medium? Blood. The elixir of life holds the code of a being’s past, present, and future, if one knows where to look.

And it seems that I’m the one dreaming now, because the enticing shimmer that’s vibrating through the air can’t be real.

I’m going mad.

Whenever I dreamwalk, my surroundings take on an otherworldly distortion.

The half-empty glass on the counter turns black, making the beverage look like shiny shards of coal.

Blood runs down the walls. Given I’m peering into the dream plane, that’s likely a reflection of my own debilitating hunger, as is the strange shimmer that’s taunting me.

My hunger has grown over the years, even before the famine started.

It’s entirely my family’s fault. My father can’t maintain the needs of our kingdom, so the drain has already fallen to me.

I have the burden of the throne with none of the perks.

It’s rumored that Morpheus, our God, gave us power over dreams, enabling us to better locate our prey.

It’s a gift we have abused, because whenever we find a human with a powerful dream, they become a sacrifice to the blood fields that rest just outside my window.

The fields that require magic to tend to, to keep the mind buried in the soil alive.

Magic that my father, as King, should provide. Instead, he has grown weak, and he has been drawing power from the closest in his family line to keep the blood fields from withering entirely.

Namely, me.

And it’s been going on for quite some time. My fangs are larger than any Strigoi’s, and no human seems to satisfy me. Hunger is my constant companion. I can always feel the subtle draw of the throne to feed the fields.

If I could just leave this Godsforsaken realm for twenty-four hours, I’d feel so much better.

Alas, I can’t leave. I’d just be tracked down and dragged back home. My blood is linked to this place. My scent is easily traceable. Unless I find an entirely different dimension where no one can follow me, I’ll never find the reprieve I desperately desire.

I’m grateful for Cage. I watch him as he stares out the window, his long blond hair in gentle waves around his shoulders. He’s not human, but his blood at least tastes good to me. Without him, I probably would have gone mad years ago.

But my hunger has ripened to new heights after hearing that sound. It came to me like a punch in the chest, making me weak for the satisfaction it promises.

The scream must have been my imagination, because there’s nothing out of sorts. My hunger has turned so ravenous that I’m now creating echoes in the dream plane.

The effect of my delusion is likely amplified since I’m in the Strigoi Palace, which resides in the Morpheus Kingdom, one of many kingdoms in the Hell Fae Realm, and ours is a place where dreamwalking requires the least amount of energy.

The veil is thin here. That’s why the Strigoi made it our home. But sometimes it backfires when I desire something too strongly.

My room looks like it always does when I’m peering through the veil. The ridiculously expensive furniture crowds a bookshelf. I added it when I discovered Cage had an affinity for human fiction.

The books are glassy and cracked in the dream plane, but that is normal. Books are broken-off pieces of the souls, which sit outside a person’s body, a trait that’s visible in the Dream Realm.

Nothing is out of place.

No one is here.

My observation doesn’t explain why my body has reacted, though. Imagined or not, the sound of such a delicious meal has my fangs growing thick in my mouth and my cock swelling even though I just had sex.

“Did you hear that?” Cage asks from his favorite brooding window. His long fingers pause in buttoning his white silk shirt as he stares outside.

Except, he’s not gazing over the blood fields that are pitifully sparse for the season. The famine has been going on for far too long, placing a burden on my shoulders that I’d rather not deal with.

Even though I’m the Strigoi Prince, it’s a burden I must bear.

I’d much rather run away, forgetting my duties and the reason Cage and I can never publicly be together. I’m a Prince. He’s the son of a rival line, one that is on the verge of war with mine for the throne.

Ironically, because I haven’t found a mate.

Cage hasn’t, either. But his family seems to think that if he had the blessing of the Strigoi throne, then he would magically find a female and produce an heir—and magic—to keep up with the demands of our kingdom.

We’re a perfect match made in Hell.

Neither of us is in a hurry to find a mate. If we did, that would ensure we’d be trapped here forever. No more outings. No more liaisons when we can sneak away. We’d be locked down for good.

Cage helps me deal with my hunger, and I help him forget all the blood on his hands while we occasionally escape to the mortal realm for the rare escapade.

While there are human females in the palace, they’re untouched virgins my father hides away in an attempt to breed a new Queen.

It doesn’t work that way, but my father believes in old legends enough to try.

I haven’t even told Cage about them because I don’t need more reasons for him to judge me.

It’s a problem I’ll inherit when I’m King.

And when I’m King, I hope I can do something about that, and the many other flaws in this kingdom. I’m not hopeful, though. I have a feeling the throne will corrupt me.

I’m not as strong as Cage, even if I’d never admit that to him.

My future is a bleak nightmare waiting to consume me. Escaping it just for a little while is an indulgence I allow. One where I find a willing human female and then ask Cage to join us. We share her blood and her dreams, as well as her body. It’s enjoyable enough, at least for a few nights.

But when her dreams turn sour, we always have to return home. We give her our blood, wipe her mind clean, and send her on her way.

Last time, we were almost caught. Last time, we almost killed our toy.

I’m too hungry.

Cage is too frustrated.

We shouldn’t leave again.

But the famine has stretched on, and we have kept to our posts, leaving us both hungry for a proper meal.

Cage shouldn’t have even come tonight, but the kingdom is distracted, so he took the risk.

Because he’s just as hungry as I am.

Maybe that’s why we’re hearing things that don’t exist, like a soul calling us from the dream plane even though that shouldn’t be possible.

Souls don’t call us.

We call them .

But a soul that sounded that delicious would be wonderfully distracting. I find myself working my jaw as my fangs ache for a bite. I’ve never had a female’s blood that tasted right . There was always something wrong, like a sour note, or a strange aftertaste.

Because to a Strigoi, only a compatible mate’s blood is perfect. I’ve always imagined what she might taste like.

Sugary, sweet caramel?

Or maybe more reserved, like a fragrant tea.

Or peaches, my hunger supplies.

Cage tastes like dark chocolate steeped in whiskey, not peaches.

Overpowering, but intoxicating.

The closest I’ve ever come to truly enjoying my food is biting Cage—but he’s not human. He and I are both dreamwalkers who feed on blood laced with dreams, so exchanging our blood with each other leaves us hungry and dissatisfied.

I’m just starving for a proper meal. That’s all.

Yet, Cage is searching the horizon for the source of that sound—even though I know it can’t be real. He’s been perfectly still in a way only an assassin of the Van Drakken bloodline can be.

His eyes are bright red, reflecting so brightly in the window that I can’t deny we both heard the same thing. He’s peering into the dream plane, too, or else I’d be seeing his pretty blues reflecting back at me.

If that scream wasn’t real, then why did he hear the scream, too? Am I really so hungry that I manifested the sound?

That I manifested a mate ?

Because that scream hinted at a soul worth devouring. One I would thoroughly enjoy for eternity.

My stomach twists with renewed hunger, but I don’t want Cage to be slighted. We just had sex, and this is how I respond? Admitting I heard the scream would require telling him my theory.

I’m dreaming of a mate.

I need a mate.

Meaning he and I can never be together again once that happens. Not if I stay here. Our families would rather kill each other than unite.

We would have to run away, but there’s nowhere else for “abominations” like us to go. That’s why the Hell Fae Realm exists in the first place.

That’s why I should be grateful to Morpheus for his gifts, to Lucifer for this kingdom, but I feel sour toward them both.

Morpheus is my God.

Lucifer is my King. All the kingdoms report to him, including that of my father, King Nos—who Lucifer actually calls his lieutenant. It’s a reminder of our hierarchy.

Lucifer made his Hell Fae Bride Trials because he cares for his subjects. I should be happy with his efforts.

But none of his brides appeal to me.

And admitting that out loud would be both blasphemous and ungrateful.