Liam stumbled back two steps, feeling the crunch of shattered ceramic under his shoes. Fear flashed through him like lightning, snapping him out of disbelief and slamming him into the brutal present. Pain pulsed from the wound in his hand, but terror distorted time itself. He saw her—Anna Viktorie—rising faster than a blink, her pale hair whipping through the air as if caught in a storm of its own making.
The hiss that escaped her throat wasn't human. It was the lament of hunger older than empires. The sound drilled into his skull, shaking his vision until the world wavered. A wave of vertigo dragged him toward the floor; he clung to the wall, gasping, his body trembling on the edge of collapse.
Kyra emerged from the hallway, still straightening her wrinkled skirt, a half-smile lingering on her lips, eyes lazy with seduction. She expected dim lights and unfinished promises—what she found instead carved the air out of her lungs. Mason lay crumpled on the sofa, blood dripping from the cushions onto a bone-colored carpet. And there, only a meter away, Anna, dripping crimson, stared at Liam.
Kyra's scream tore through the room like glass.
Then came a dull, brutal thud.
Anna lunged. The growl that broke from her chest froze the air itself. Her hands locked around Kyra's throat with the precision of a trap, lifting her against the plaster wall. Kyra kicked, clawed, her heels scraping. Anna's eyes flickered—two black galaxies devouring light.
The fangs descended, gleaming white and merciless.
"No!" Liam shouted.
Anna turned her head slightly. Her profile was a sculpture of death in love with its own perfection. Kyra's body fell limp, a doll with strings cut, eyes open and soul emptied by horror.
For an instant, time held its breath. Anna inhaled again. The scent of Liam's blood called to her—richer, sweeter than Mason's spilled life. She could almost taste it on her tongue, the iron and warmth.
Liam's panic ignited. He bolted for the foyer, acting on pure instinct. His hand slammed random buttons on the elevator panel; the steel doors began to close. Through the narrowing slit, he saw her standing at the apartment's entrance, motionless. She didn't chase. She didn't scream. She only smiled—a sharp, curious smile, like someone reading the first line of a book written just for her.
And then he felt it.
A faint pulse in the air. A slow, warm dripping. Sweet. Persistent.
Anna tilted her head, still stained from the feast, eyes half-closed.
She could hear it.
The slow heartbeat of his blood, sliding from the wound in his palm.
He was descending… farther away… but his essence vibrated inside her like a taut string.
"Liam…" she whispered.
Her voice drifted to him like winter breath just before the elevator doors sealed shut.
Above, silence conquered the penthouse. Anna licked the corner of her lips, savoring the last trace of Mason. To her, blood was never just nourishment—it was art. It was music. It was the red symphony that centuries of silence had composed for her. The act itself pleased her more than its purpose; finding beauty in death was her private redemption.
With chilling calm, she picked up a kitchen knife, plunged it into Mason's torn neck, and placed it in Kyra's lifeless hand. She arranged the scene with the precision of a jealous playwright—an unconscious girl, a dead lover, an easy narrative for human guilt.
Satisfied, she drifted toward the hallway mirror.
Where her reflection should have been, there was only the bare wall.
Anna's lips curved in quiet amusement; vanity demanded the gesture even when the glass refused to see her.
She slipped on her coat, and her heels rang like funeral chimes as she descended the service stairs.
Outside, the drizzle dressed the neon lights in soft halos. Liam trembled behind the wheel of his sedan. His wounded hand, wrapped in napkins, shook uncontrollably—but it wasn't just fear that gripped him. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her eyes shifting, heard the whisper of his name from her bloodstained lips.
The engine roared to life. He merged into the deserted avenue, heart pounding, thoughts crashing like waves—Miranda, Mason, Kyra, the guard, the police…
His chest heaved, his throat knotted tight, sweat cold on his palms. Every memory stabbed him out of rhythm, and even the sound of the motor couldn't drown the trembling in his bones.
He was collapsing inside and out.
And beneath all that fear, something unspeakable stirred—
a yearning to understand what he had seen,
to know what kind of abyss had looked back at him.
On the rooftop of a nearby building, Anna Viktorie stood beneath the rain, her coat fluttering like an angel's tattered wings. She breathed in deeply; the metallic scent of night carried the promise of an exquisite hunt.
Liam.
His name tasted like wildfire and spring.
With a smile meant only for the darkness, she vanished into the shadowed stairwell.
The city slept, unaware that on this night, an invisible pact had been sealed—
a bond of blood, desire, and ruin.
Until the blood stops.