May 26th, 2025. Canterbury, United Kingdom.

That night, the underground auction house reeked of wealth and secrecy.

Hidden beneath a five-star hotel in Canterbury, the auction house was securely camouflaged. The entrance was guarded by men in tailored suits, their hands resting lightly on concealed weapons.

Alex walked past them with an easy stride, flashing an invitation he had stolen a few minutes ago from an unsuspecting billionaire. He saved it back into the inside pocket of his tailored suit. No one paid attention to his dark red sunglasses.

As he walked down the stairs, the air grew thick with cigar smoke and the scent of aged whiskey, mingling with something richer and older—greed.

He narrowed his eyes. He hated such an atmosphere. If they weren't human, he'd snap their fragile little necks.

He crossed a huge threshold. A long hall with black and white marble tiles appeared before him. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over rows of red velvet chairs arranged before a sleek, elevated stage. The clientele was an eclectic mix of old money collectors, black-market dealers, and self-proclaimed mystics who thought owning a piece of history would grant them special powers.

Fools, all of them. I just need to ignore these sinners and focus on what's important tonight: getting the Scroll of the Firstborn.

Alex drew back his broad shoulders. He made his way among that crowd of disgusting greed lovers. They drank champagne and laughed at each other's trivial comments.

Many attendees were already seated, eager to start bidding. As he sat on an empty chair by the centre aisle, the auctioneer, a gaunt man with slicked-back silver hair, adjusted his tie as he climbed up the stage. Many took their seats. The auctioneer cleared his throat while a pair of assistants wheeled in the first item.

A sturdy-looking crystal cube appeared as they took off the red velvet sheet over it. An ancient scroll was safely deposited on a red velvet cushion inside the crystal cube. The parchment had yellowed with age, the edges curling.

To humans, it was nothing more than a historical oddity. But that wasn't an ordinary scroll.

It's supposed to hold the secrets of the origins of vampirism, a potential clue to defeat Masters and even, with some luck, a way to find a cure to my condition. It won't escape from my grasp—not after my disappointment with R'Hulag. I thought all hope was lost. But then I read about this scroll in an online magazine for collectors of rare objects.

"This is the Scroll of the Firstborn," the auctioneer announced, "and it is an extraordinary relic from a medieval sect from Eastern Europe. A mystical text containing ancient secrets about the supernatural. Behold the supple vellum, crafted from the finest calfskin, its surface smoothed to perfection.

"Observe the gleaming gold leaf embellishing its borders, each intricate flourish applied with masterful precision. The illuminated script—inked in iron gall and rich lapis lazuli—shimmers with an ethereal glow. The letters, flowing in exquisite calligraphy, are lined with the faintest touches of vermilion and crushed malachite, pigments once worth more than their weight in gold. Shall we start the bidding at twenty thousand dollars?"

Alex lifted a hand lazily. "Twenty."

"Twenty-five," came a seductive female voice from the row ahead of him.

He tilted his head, intrigued.

The young woman bidding against him sat with perfect posture right in front of him, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder.

Alex leaned his head to one side to get a sight of her. She was quite a beauty. She wore an elegant black dress, simple yet commanding. Designer jewellery in gold adorned her delicate neck and ears. A hint of irritation flickered across her sharp features as she glanced back at him with her bewitching sky-blue eyes, as if she despised him for existing, as a spoiled brat would do.

Interesting. A snot-nosed Barbie. No man near her, so not an escort.

The auctioneer stared at him.

"Thirty," he countered smoothly.

The Paris Hilton impersonator raised a hand. "Forty."

A slow smirk stretched across his lips. "Fifty."

Her fingers curled against her armrest. The auctioneer waited for her reply, if any. She exhaled through her nose, her jaw tightening.

Alex chuckled. She isn't used to losing. That makes two of us.

"Seventy-five," she snapped.

You won't beat me, trust-fund princess.

Murmurs rippled through the audience. She didn't look at him this time, instead fixing her gaze straight ahead, tense all over.

Now, this is gonna be fun.

"One hundred," he said, his voice calm, measured. Money isn't an issue for me. Let's see how far you can push this, baby.

The young woman whipped her head toward him then, her lovely blue eyes locking onto his.

Pure fire. That's what he saw in them. Not the usual spoiled defiance of the wealthy, but something deeper, dangerous and genuinely powerful.

This is weird coming from a Daddy's little heiress. She looks like she really wants the scroll, God knows why. Maybe I was too rash in judging her.

She hesitated for a moment, narrowing her eyes. She faced the auctioneer again.

He leaned forward, just enough to make sure she heard him over the enthusiastic whispers in the room. "Your move."

The baby hair on her nape stood up then. He heard an almost inaudible moan coming from her.

He might've struck a nerve, but she overpowered his mind with her alluring, sweet scent—a careful blend of a delicate, famous brand and her own unique human smell. He was proud of the way he mastered his impulses, but she hit his self-control hard then. Thank God he was good at keeping his bloodlust in check.

As he clenched his fists and jaw to prevent his fangs from coming out, he saw a sudden flash of movement on the stage—too quick for the human eye to notice.

In literally the blink of an eye, the scroll was gone. A fleeting blueish shadow was all his inhuman eyes could see.

Alex's instincts took over before any of the members of the audience had time to gasp. With a light frown, he stood up noiselessly and hurried his way to the right of the auction room, where he saw the blue shadow disappear.

I know someone who can pull such a stunt. Saranok. That old bastard. The thief—a trickster demon who left a fleeting blue misty shadow behind him on account of his ash-like blue hair and extremely dry, blue skin—darted away with the stolen item like a true shadow, unheard and with delicacy.

As Alex crossed the threshold of the nearest door, a flabbergasted round of gasps and cries echoed behind him when the rest of the audience noticed the disappearance of the scroll. Humans are so slow, aren't they?

But before he had time to chuckle, he caught the demon's scent—an ashen smell. He wasn't far. Alex smirked.

He reached a hallway leading to the staff corridors. Their harsh fluorescent lights cast an almost sterile glow on the pale walls. The faint scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats drifted through the air, mixing with the sharp, clean smell of industrial cleaning supplies.

Using his vampire speed and acute sense of smell, in no time he found his way between laundry bags piled high on metal carts and storage rooms, where cleaning supplies and spare linens were kept. Then, he saw the thief sprinting up in the nearest flight of stairs, leading to the fanciest rooms of the hotel.

He would soon be his—the scroll, too. I'm gonna twist his little neck for trying to ruin my chance at finding a cure to vampirism.

As Alex hurried up the stairs, he had time to think of that queen dressed in black cashmere. A pity. I already miss her. Our fight was brief but amusing.

With a chuckle, he caught that thought before it ebbed and flowed into sentimentality. I can't allow any woman to cloud my mind. Focus.

As he reached the last floor, the fortieth, the demon's scent was intense. Alex found big bits of blue dandruff on the white marble floor, meaning that the demon was close—and that he was getting clumsy in his escape.

He heard the bastard panting, probably nervous that Alex was chasing him, since the vampire had made no effort to avoid being heard. He sprinted to a narrower space between two large plants on either side of the emergency exit door, feeling the surge of victory like a giant wave inside him.

A wave that unexpectedly crashed against a hard, rocky cliff.

Alex, an experienced vampire with the reflexes of a professional athlete, collided against a wall in the shape of a... young woman.

With long, dark brown hair and mesmerising sky-blue eyes.

And wearing a black cashmere dress.

The fiery, privileged Barbie girl?!

Bumping into her was jarring, like being slammed onto the ground by a bolt of lightning. How is that possible? Only experienced vampires and demons can hit me that hard.

Something inside him burned—and it wasn't just his hurt pride. His skin seared where she'd brushed up against him, like his very essence was being scorched.

His chest heaved, feeling like he had run miles in a single breath. He frowned at her as she stood up with a groan, just like him. Who is she? Or better said—what is she? She has been bidding on the same scroll as me. She has a hard-rock body like me. Could she also not be a human being, like me?

Her lovely scent filled the surrounding space with something painfully clean and pure—like the brisk humidity after a storm, something that made the world feel alive in a way that he had not felt ever since he was human last, two hundred years ago.

He could feel her stare even before he turned his head. When he did, it was like facing a sun that threatened to blind him, but he couldn't look away. Her sky-blue eyes were murdering every single rational in him, making him forget about the scroll.

Her beautiful eyes pierced his dark red sunglasses and burned through him with a combination of disdain and something else.

"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted, fury written in those flawlessly groomed eyebrows.

The air between them felt thick. Her body was lean but strong and commanding. Everything about her screamed immaculate and indomitable, as though she were untouched and could not be defeated by anything but God.

He hated that absolute perfection and purity about her from the bottom of his egocentric, jealous heart, but he couldn't deny how it made his pulse spike.

I had once been a true Christian, and I would've admired her had I not partially forsaken my beliefs when I was forced to turn into a vampire. What god would punish me like this, after being a devout follower of Christ all my human life?

I guess I still have a lot to work on in spiritual terms.

"Watch where you're going, doll," he replied as he dusted off his thighs and arms.

He ignored her and moved towards the emergency exit. But she moved at the same time he did—and with the brute force, they collided again.

"Hey!" she complained.

She took a step back. So did he, barely registering that he was in motion. Her skin was warm, unlike his. She isn't a vampire.

He wasn't imagining things. She was genuinely strong and not human, but not a vampire.

Alex clenched his fists. "Why the hell are you here?" he asked, his voice rougher than he'd intended, his breath still uneven.

Her eyes narrowed. "Same reason you are." The cool edge of her voice made his insides tighten. "To catch that thief."

At the sound of her melodious yet aggressive voice, he felt a sickening yet sweet pull. Every inch of her tugged at him like some impossible gravitational force, dragging him closer despite every rational instinct telling him to stay away.

He loved the way her lips parted slightly as she regarded him with the same suspicion and irritation that he felt for her—he loved it and hated it at the same time.

Her scent still lingered on him. God, I am starting to feel like I am suffocating.

He wanted to look away, wanted to push it down, but the sensation in his chest made his heart beat faster, harder. There was something about her presence that made it impossible to think clearly. It was as if everything that was wrong with him, every twisted, dark part of him, was reacting to her light. And it wasn't just anger—it was lust.

I fucking hate this. His fists clenched so hard that his nails bit into his skin. The thief has probably escaped with that priceless scroll!

His teeth ground together as he fought to regain control of his anger.

"The thief got away—thanks to you, missy," he said, venom lacing his voice.

Her mouth twisted in a sneer as she took a step forward, her sharp gaze scanning him before she turned and yanked open the emergency exit door. Stepping onto the rooftop, she took a good look outside.

"Damn," she whispered.

He followed her out, standing near her under the pale moonlight.

The thief had indeed got away, the damn blue demon no longer in sight, his scent already fading. Alex cursed mentally.

He wanted to yell at her for making him lose what was probably his last chance to find a cure, but he refused to make his circumstances known. Instead, he turned away.

Then, a gust of wind rushed behind him. He spun back—but she was gone. Her scent dissolved into the night breeze quicker than he expected, leaving him thunderstruck.

We are at the top of the fortieth floor of a five-star hotel. Where has she gone?

His eyes scanned the vastness of the rooftop, but he was alone.

Yet the feeling of her lingered, wrapping around him like some unseen chain. The image of her—the curve of her jaw, her delicate waist, the soft glow of her tanned skin under the moonlight—had wormed its way into his mind like an insidious poison.

One last nauseating thought plagued him. Could she be the one in R'Hulag's vision? The woman I would have passionate sex with?

A strange knot formed in his stomach. Desire pulled at him again. He couldn't fight it and it was nauseating him.

He had never faced a creature like her before.

But what is she exactly?

Hello, my sugar cubes!

Alex is appalled but smitten, isn't he? Quite a combination. Will he be able to handle it?

Stay tuned to know more!

XOXO

Mar