CH1

Arvin pov

The stench of blood is unbearable. Thick and metallic, it sticks to my skin, coats my tongue, burns my lungs.

It’s not just the blood of the others, it’s mine too, seeping from wounds I can’t afford to acknowledge. The air is thick with screams, but they’re muffled, drowned beneath the deafening pound of my own heartbeat. Chains bite into my sweat-slicked skin, my wrists are raw, my ankles are swollen from struggle.

The altar in front of me looks far too clean and luxurious for the blood bath it represents. The moon illuminates the altar, making the symbol of death look like an almost Godly construction.

More screams fill the air, the stench of blood only intensifies, making me sick to my stomach. I look to my right and try to hide the disgust - the vampires are waiting, more bloodsuckers gather around the altar.

Draped in black, their faces are concealed by those damned, grinning masks. The festival is in full swing, bodies are dragged forward, some sobbing, others too broken to resist. Some, already nothing more than headless bodies.

I hold my breath and watch. No, I force myself to watch. If I look away, I am already dead. I refuse to be one of them.

Another body is lifted onto the altar. The executioner, a creature too elegant, too refined for the horrors he inflicts, raises his hand. There’s no ceremony, no mercy, no hint of humanity all of them once had.

The ceremony hall falls silent, even the grinning vampires stop laughing as they turn their attention to the altar, watching the massacre happen. The executioner’s long nails tear through skin, crack ribs apart with ease and his fingers wrap around the still beating heart.

A raw and wet scream leaves the victim before we hear him choke on his own blood and watch in real time how life fades from his eyes. The heart, dripping blood, is tossed at the hungry vampires who fight over the organ like rabid animals.

“Next!” The low command snaps through the air, and the next moment, a hand clamps down on my shoulder, yanking me forward. It’s my turn.

“Move, worm!” The vampire snarls, digging his nails into my skin..

I let him drag me, let him think I am broken, that I am afraid, even whimper like a wounded animal for the show. But, the moment he loosens his grip to shove me onto the altar, I move.

Years of survival have taught me how to make my body a weapon. I twist, shift my weight and drive my foot into the closest one’s knee. A sharp, wet crunch, a howl of pain and he collapses. I don’t wait to see him hit the ground. I run.

“Catch him!” Someone screams.

Chaos erupts behind me, but I don’t look back. The square is a maze of nearly lifeless bodies, of the people I once called my friends, of desperate, dying souls.

I have no plan, no real idea how to escape the ceremony, but deep down, I always knew there was never going to be a real escape plan. What I have is desperation to survive and the clear understanding that if I stop running, I’ll end up like everyone before me did - dead.

Shadows move around me, they’re too fast, just a blur of motion nearby, a crowd of vampires that reach me before I can reach the edge of the square.

Their hands grasp at me, their claws tear the thin fabric of my shirt just as easily as they tear my skin. I fight like an animal, because that is what I have become. Fists, nails, teeth - I use them all.

The only thought on my mind is to survive, the only instinct that remains is to fight for my life. I keep struggling as blood splatters my face and my hands - theirs and mine, I don’t know what is what anymore and I don’t care either.

Then, claws ranke down my shoulder, splitting my flesh open easily. A heavy boot slams into my ribs, sending me sprawling.

As I collapse, dirt fills my mouth, my body aches and screams in protest. “No,” I whisper. Not like this, I can’t die like this. Not by their greedy hands.

I feel someone’s sharp nails dig into the flesh of my back but nothing happens. The whole place freezes as a presence appears out of nowhere.

The air around us immediately shifts into something thick and suffocating, so sickening, I can’t suck in a breath. It’s heavy with something I can’t name, something I know should send me fleeing, running for my life again, but the same as the vampires, I can’t move.

And then, as heavy footsteps echo around us, the vampire pulls his claw out of my flesh and all of them scatter like tiny insects.

Using my chance to escape, the window in time I know won’t last, I push myself onto my elbows despite the pain, breath tagged, eyes wild with desperation.

But before I can notice a way out, I see him.

Moonlight illuminates his frame like in a perfect movie. He’s tall, perfectly sculpted, too perfect to be real. His hair is long and dark, framing his face like a priceless painting. His eyes are the color of fresh-spilled blood; the deep red orbs lock onto mine.

My breath catches in my throat. That man, he is something equally as terrible as he is divine. And he is watching me. Not the vampires, not the blood, not the festival ceremony I’ve disrupted with my attempt to flee.. Just me.

As he steps closer, my blood runs cold. I recognize him. The man, eyeing me like his next prey is a legend. Lester, the vampiric prince - a god and a monster in one undead person.

His name is something humans don’t dare to speak aloud, like me, fearing that uttering it will curse us all with his presence.

I’m frozen on the ground, looking up at him, completely horrified as he steps towards me and stops a few steps away. The corner of his mouth twitches before his lips part. “Mine.” The word is loud, carrying over everyone present with a power I didn’t know a voice can possess.

My skin burns, I feel sick to my stomach as he reaches for me. I can’t move, but I manage to choke out a weak, “no,” and attempt to swing at him as his hand reaches closer.

He catches my wrist effortlessly. The pressure of his hold is a warning, just enough force to remind me that he could snap my bones with the slightest effort.

“Fight all you want, little human,” he murmurs. “It only makes the hunt sweeter.”

I struggle against him, but he is immovable. He watches me with amusement and something far worse flashing in those red eyes.

“Let me go!” I snarl, my nails raking across his forearm in desperation.

Lester chuckles. “Oh, but I just found you,” he whispers, “why would I ever let you go?”