The night air of Aldoria, thick with the damp scent of concrete and the faint, metallic tang of blood, was Elara's hunting ground. Not as a predator, but as a scavenger. Her boots were silent on the fire escape's rusted rungs, a skill honed over a decade of avoiding the nightly patrols.
She hugged the shadows of the alley, her gaze fixed on the back door of The Velvet Cage, a notorious establishment where the newly Turned and the desperate Half-Bloods came to feed and sometimes, to buy blood from illicit human vendors. Tonight, she wasn't here for goods. She was here for information.
Her fingers tightened around the worn handle of the small knife strapped to her forearm. It was useless against any true Vampire, but it made her feel marginally less powerless. In Aldoria, humans were a commodity. We were the silent majority, the ones who kept the lights on, only to have the true darkness above our heads drain the life out of us.
A sleek, black vehicle, the kind driven only by Pure-Blooded or Blue-Blooded guards, glided past the mouth of the alley. Elara froze, flattening herself against the cold brick. The windows were tinted, but she knew the eyes inside eyes of deep, burning red—could see straight through the weak human barriers. It was a patrol, higher-level than usual. Something was wrong.
She risked a glance at her makeshift timepiece she was late. She was supposed to meet Finn, a young Turned who owed her a favor, but the increasing vampire activity made the rendezvous too dangerous.
Thud.
A body hit the ground in the adjacent alley, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Elara's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She didn't move. Survival taught you to ignore sounds that weren't your own business.
Then, she heard the whisper of a voice she knew: low, rough, and laced with panic. "I didn't take anything! I swear...."
It was a young human vendor named Mara.
Against every instinct, Elara slipped out of the shadow of the fire escape, moving swiftly and low. She reached the corner just in time to see Mara slammed against a dumpster by a figure in a black leather trench coat. He was a Half-Blood, judging by the lighter, flickering red in his eyes, but he moved with cruel efficiency.
"You stole from a Pure-Blood's delivery, little rat," the Half-Blood hissed, his fangs barely visible. "That's a death sentence."
"No, please!" Mara whimpered.
Elara's mind raced. If she intervened, she'd be dead. If she didn't, Mara would be a statistic. The calculation was simple, yet the choice felt impossible.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and picked up a loose brick. With a grunt, she hurled it. It was a terrible shot, striking the dumpster with a loud, metallic CLANG.
The Half-Blood snapped his head up, his attention instantly diverted from Mara.
"Another human pest," he snarled, dropping Mara with an annoyed flick of his wrist.
Elara didn't wait for him to come for her. She ran, sprinting back towards the fire escape, knowing she'd just bought Mara perhaps thirty seconds to escape.
She reached the stairs, two rungs at a time, climbing frantically. Behind her, the air changed a whoosh of impossible speed. He was gaining.
He's faster than a Half-Blood should be, a cold voice whispered in her mind. Trap.
A hand, impossibly strong and cold as grave marble, clamped around her ankle just as she reached the second level. She cried out, a sound quickly stifled, and tumbled backward, hitting the ground hard. The knife flew from her hand and skittered across the wet pavement.
Elara scrambled back, looking up not at the Half-Blood, but at the shadow now looming over him.
The new arrival was tall, built like a hunter, and clad in tailored black that somehow seemed to absorb the little light available. He didn't wear a uniform, but the raw, focused power he radiated was more intimidating than any armor. His skin was pale, flawless, a stark contrast to the deep, predatory red of his eyes.
Not a Half-Blood. Not a Turned.
A Pure-Blooded Vampire.
The Half-Blood immediately dropped to a knee, bowing his head. "Lord Kaelen. I apologize. I was dealing with these insects."
Kaelen. The name, whispered with awe and fear in the human quarters, belonged to the favored younger brother of the Heir. A name synonymous with lethal efficiency and absolute authority.
Kaelen ignored the kneeling vampire, his terrifying gaze fixed solely on Elara. His eyes were the shade of fresh, cooling wine—a deep, luxurious red that promised a swift, beautiful death.
Elara, pinned under his scrutiny, found she couldn't breathe. She was a single, insignificant human, and he was the definition of power.
"You are disrupting the truce line," Kaelen's voice was low, silken, and carried the effortless authority of someone who had never been denied. "And assaulting a member of my court."
Elara spat the words out, a last, defiant burst of courage. "He was feeding on a vendor. That violates the treaty terms."
A faint, amused smile touched Kaelen's lips, a chilling expression that did nothing to soften the lethal intent in his eyes. He slowly crouched down, bringing his face dangerously close.
"And you, little human," he murmured, the sound making the hairs on her neck stand up. He reached out, and one long, pale finger traced the line of her jaw. His touch felt like ice and fire all at once. "You are an unexpected complication. Tell me, what color is the fear in your heart?"
He gripped her chin, forcing her to look into the depths of his pure red eyes. Elara did not flinch. She hated him too much to fear him.
"It's the color of your blood," she whispered, her voice shaking only slightly. "Deep and sickening."
Kaelen froze. The lazy amusement vanished, replaced by something dark, interested, and utterly possessive. He laughed, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the alley.
"Such audacity," he said, rising and hauling her to her feet with impossible ease. He looked down at the Half-Blood. "Clean up your mess. This one comes with me."
And just like that, Elara's world ended. She was dragged, not by a mere predator, but by the highest form of the beast, deep into the heart of the forbidden territory.