Chapter 1 — Prologue

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*Kael*

The beat of the music reverberates through me, a relentless bassline that might mimic a heartbeat—if mine still existed. The club pulses with heat and clamor, a haze of sweat, cheap perfume, and desperation clinging to the air. Beyond the velvet curtain of our VIP alcove, the dancefloor writhes with bodies, their energy a stark contrast to the cold leather beneath my fingers and the emptiness gnawing at my core.

“You know that won’t sate you,” Theron remarks, his dark eyes flicking from me to the crowd, always hunting. A faint edge of concern underlies his casual tone, though he masks it with a smirk.

I trace the rim of my glass, the cool crystal a fleeting comfort against my skin. “It’s not about thirst. It’s about remembering.” My voice is low, almost lost in the thrum of the club.

“Remembering?” Theron scoffs, leaning back against the booth, his muscled arms splayed along the backrest. “Since when are you the nostalgic type?”

I swirl the crimson liquid in my glass—Château Lafite Rothschild 1869. Its scent wafts up, heavy with berries and cedar, like the forest where I made my first kill under a blood-red moon, a time when every hunt was a triumph. A flicker of longing stirs, sharp and unwelcome, for an era when I still felt alive. I shove it down. “You don’t need nostalgia to value what’s lost,” I say, my tone clipped as I inhale the aroma again, letting it pull me back.

“Spare me the poetry, Kael. You’re moping.” Theron’s grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he studies me. “At least pretend to drink it, or the humans will start whispering.”

“Let them whisper. Fear is their purpose.” I cast a glance beyond the alcove, where the club hums with life—a pulse that once would have ignited my predatory drive. Now, it’s merely noise, a dull backdrop to the endless drag of eternity. My gaze catches on a human staring too long, their eagerness tinged with dread, and a spark of irritation flares. I’m no spectacle for their amusement.

“Speaking of thirst,” Theron cuts in, nodding toward a woman approaching our alcove. Her alabaster skin glows under the strobe lights, raven hair cascading down her back, blue eyes alight with a mix of fear and thrill. She clutches a small pendant at her throat, a nervous tic that betrays her boldness. “Plenty of willing offerings tonight.”

“There always are.” My voice is flat as I meet her gaze, noting the familiar hunger in her stare. “Have at it, Theron. I’m done with fleeting distractions.”

“Fleeting distractions?” Theron chuckles, but there’s a weight to his scrutiny now. “What’s eating at you, old friend? You’ve barely fed in weeks. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

I shift, my jaw tightening. “I don’t need to. You know I can go months without.” The lie tastes bitter. Truth is, the thought of blood has turned my stomach lately, a unease I can’t name, tied to a memory of a hunt gone wrong centuries ago—tainted prey, a searing warning I’ve buried deep. I push the glass an inch away, an unconscious gesture.

Theron’s brow furrows, but before he can press, the woman reaches us. “Hey…” Her voice is husky, hesitant, as she focuses on me. “I’ve been watching you. I thought… maybe you’re in need?” She glances at my untouched wine, confusion flickering in her eyes—vampires don’t drink wine, after all—and then back to me, her full lips parting slightly.

I lift the glass, inhaling the scent once more. Cedar and leather, a stolen horse beneath me, the wind of a forgotten night. The memory anchors me for a moment. “I’m fine,” I say, my tone colder than intended.

“Really?” Her voice wavers, but she straightens, pushing her chest out as if to reclaim control. “I’d be honored if you’d… drink from me. I’ve never…” She trails off, her fingers tightening on the pendant—a keepsake, perhaps, a token of courage.

Theron nudges me, his usual levity replaced by a quiet insistence. “Come now, Kael. Don’t be cruel. You look half-starved, and I’m not just jesting this time.”

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension knotting my neck. “Will it silence you?”

“I’m looking out for you,” he says, his tone unusually earnest, waving her closer.

She slides into the booth beside me, tilting her head to expose her throat. Her smile is laced with sin, but her hands tremble faintly. “You won’t mind if I… enjoy this, will you?” White teeth catch her bottom lip.

I suppress a grimace. This is why I prefer my blood drawn, sterile, removed from the messy thrill humans crave—a bite’s euphoric sting is a complication I’ve long despised. “Do as you please,” I mutter, leaning in. For a heartbeat, I hesitate, a flicker of unease stirring at the thought of feeding after so long. But Theron’s watching, and I can’t admit the doubt gnawing at me.

My fangs pierce her skin, the initial warmth of her blood flooding my tongue. Beneath the copper tang, there’s the cloying overlay of her lotion, but I focus past it. Then, abruptly, it shifts. A strange itch blooms at the back of my throat, subtle at first, then sharpening into something wrong. My muscles tense, a searing pain igniting in my chest and spreading like wildfire through my veins.

The woman gasps, a choked sound, as my nails—extended without thought—score red lines across her arm. My grip on her tightens involuntarily, spasms wracking my body. I force my fingers to uncurl, but the effort is excruciating. Pain claws through me, liquid fire scorching every nerve.

“Kael! What the hell?” Theron’s voice cuts through, distant against the roar in my ears.

I jerk back, fangs retracting as I shove her away—too hard. She tumbles from the booth, hitting the floor with a sharp cry. I barely register her fall or Theron’s sharp intake of breath. My hands claw at my throat, gasps turning to choking rasps as the agony intensifies, unlike anything I’ve endured in centuries.

“What… what’s happening?” Her voice pitches high with panic, but I can’t answer, doubled over, clutching my stomach, my vision fracturing into a dizzying swirl of club lights.

“Get out! Now!” Theron snaps at her, his tone brooking no argument. I don’t know if she obeys; the pain blinds me to everything but its grip.

Theron’s at my side in an instant, his humor vanished. He seizes my arm, steadying me as I stagger. “Kael, what is it? Talk to me.”

“The blood…” I rasp, each word a struggle through the burning. “It’s wrong. Tainted. I—” A strangled gasp cuts me off as my vision blurs further, the bassline pounding in my skull like a hammer.

He half-drags me from the booth, shielding me from curious stares as we push through the crowd. The club’s suffocating heat gives way to the sharp bite of night air as we stumble onto the sidewalk, the sudden silence after the noise a jarring relief. I slump against the rough brick wall, my hands trembling as I brace myself, the bitter aftertaste of her blood lingering on my tongue.

“Kael, what happened in there?” Theron’s voice is tight, his usual ease replaced by raw concern. “What’s going on?”

I force a breath, the pain finally ebbing to a dull ache. “It was… like poison,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “Her blood—it felt corrupted. Wrong.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression darkening into something unreadable. “Has this ever happened before?” he asks, measured.

“No,” I snap, irritation spiking through the lingering haze. “I’d remember being burned from the inside out, Theron.”

He raises his hands, placating. “Fine. But be honest with me—why haven’t you been feeding? And don’t feed me that nonsense about not needing to.”

I hesitate, the truth clawing its way up. “I… don’t know. It’s felt… off lately. Repulsive, even.” The admission hangs heavy, vulnerable in a way I despise. I lean my head back against the cool brick, a shiver of dread creeping in. A fragmented memory surfaces—a whispered tale of an affliction, rare and deadly, that turns a vampire’s sustenance to venom. I bury it, unwilling to entertain the thought.

Theron’s face hardens, his usual levity nowhere in sight. “Kael, I think this might be serious. More than just a bad feed.”

I scoff, though it lacks force. “Clearly. I’m not trusting your taste in donors again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He pauses, conflict flickering in his eyes. “I’ve heard whispers lately—others in our circles, strange reactions to blood, unexplained pain. I didn’t think much of it until now. But… I think this could be the Bloodbane.”

The word strikes like ice, freezing the air in my lungs. “No.” The denial is sharp, instinctive. “That’s impossible. It’s a myth, a cautionary tale. It has to be something else—drugs in her system, or—”

“Stop.” Theron’s voice cuts through, uncharacteristically stern. “You can’t ignore this. Bloodbane… you know the stories. Rare as it is, it’s real. A plague on our kind, turning blood to poison. If this is it, we’re in deep.”

Cold dread settles in my gut, heavier than the pain. I’ve heard the lore—centuries past, a handful of ancients felled by their own nature, a curse with no cure save one I can’t stomach to consider. “There has to be another answer,” I insist, but my voice wavers, betraying me.

Theron sighs, heavy and resigned. “There’s a way forward. You know what it is.”

Anger flares, hot and defiant. “No. I won’t accept that. There has to be something else—anything else.”

But even as the words leave me, I know he’s right. And I know there may be no other path.