KISS OF THE NIGHT

The dream came again. A velvet sky, painted with stars that bled crimson, and a blood moon looming over a forgotten castle of shadows. The air was cold, thick with the scent of night-blooming roses and something coppery—something like blood. Seraphina Vale stood barefoot in the garden, her white nightgown clinging to her trembling frame. The roses around her writhed like living things, thorns reaching out as if to hold her in place. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. And then he appeared. From the mist, he stepped—tall, dark, and unholy. His skin was pale as marble, flawless and cold. His eyes, two burning rubies, locked onto hers with a hunger that wasn’t just thirst—it was obsession. Desire. Despair. “Who are you?” she whispered, though her voice didn’t echo in this dreamworld. He didn’t answer. He never did. Instead, he reached for her, fingers brushing her collarbone. The touch was ice and fire. Her heart pounded, and her breath hitched. When he leaned in, she didn’t resist. She never did. The sharp pain came next—two pinpricks on her neck, so slight it almost didn’t hurt. But her body arched, blood rushed, and the world tilted. He drank, and the roses bloomed black. Then she woke up—screaming. --- Seraphina sat upright in bed, gasping for air, sweat glistening on her brow. Her fingers trembled as they reached for her throat. The marks were still there. Two tiny, perfect punctures on her neck. It wasn’t just a dream. She shoved off the covers and scrambled toward the bathroom mirror. Flicking on the light, she leaned in. The marks were faint—barely noticeable—but they hadn’t faded. This was the third time in a week. She pressed a trembling hand to the glass. “What’s happening to me?” Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Mom: We're moving tomorrow. Don’t stay up late. New start = new you 💕 Right. The move. Her mother had accepted a new teaching position in a small town called Black Hollow, population: creepy. It was a place that didn’t exist on most maps and had more legends than Starbucks. Seraphina had begged to stay in the city, but her pleas were useless. Maybe a fresh start wouldn’t be so bad... if she could survive the night. --- Black Hollow looked exactly like its name: gloomy, misty, and old. The trees lining the road seemed too tall, like skeletal arms reaching toward the gray sky. The town center was charming in a haunted-Victorian way, and the locals all had that we know you’re not from here stare. Their new house was an ancient manor on the edge of the forest—too big, too quiet, and far too cold. Seraphina’s room faced the woods, and as she stood at the window that night, she swore she saw a shadow moving between the trees. A tall one. --- The next morning, school was just as strange. Everyone stared. Not the usual new girl stares. No whispers, no giggles—just dead silence and wide eyes, like they knew something about her she didn’t. And then he walked in. Lucien D’Aragon. Even his name sounded like a secret. Tall, broad-shouldered, with hair as black as raven feathers and skin like moonlight. He wore black from head to toe, and his eyes... gods, his eyes were crimson. Not brown, not hazel—red. Seraphina’s heart skipped. It was him. The man from her dreams. Lucien paused when he saw her. For a moment, the world went still. His gaze swept over her with confusion... and something else. Recognition. Hunger. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Then he turned and walked away. --- She tried to convince herself it was coincidence. A trick of the mind. But when the bell rang and she stepped into the hallway, he was there again—leaning against her locker like he’d been waiting. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly, voice like velvet and thunder. Seraphina froze. “Excuse me?” “You don’t belong in this town.” Her lips parted. “And who are you to decide that?” His jaw clenched. “Someone who’s trying to keep you alive.” And then he was gone. --- That night, the dream returned—but it was different. She wasn’t in the garden. She was in a dark ballroom lit by candlelight. Music played from nowhere. Shadows danced. And Lucien was there, in a black suit with silver embroidery, extending a hand. “Dance with me, Seraphina.” She wanted to say no. She wanted to run. But her hand moved of its own accord, and their fingers touched. The music swelled. Their bodies moved like they’d done this a thousand times before. He spun her, dipped her—and when she looked up into his crimson eyes, they were filled with sorrow. “You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered. She opened her mouth to speak, but his lips were on hers before she could say a word. The kiss was deep, cold, and painfully beautiful. And ju st when she felt herself melt into it— She felt the bite. --- She woke screaming again. The morning after the blood-soaked dream, Seraphina felt like a ghost walking among the living. She didn’t mention the blood on her pillow to her mother. What would she even say? Hey, Mom, the vampire from my dreams might be real, and I think he’s been biting me in my sleep. Yeah. No. But something had changed. Her body felt… different. Every sound was sharper, every color more vivid. She could hear the rustle of leaves outside her classroom window and the distant ticking of a wall clock like they were right beside her. Her heart pounded not just in her chest—but everywhere. And Lucien was watching her. Again. He sat three rows behind her in History class, staring like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He never spoke. Never took notes. But when she dared a glance his way, his crimson eyes met hers with a cold intensity that stole her breath. At lunch, he disappeared. Seraphina sat alone at the far end of the cafeteria, picking at a sandwich she had no appetite for. A girl named Mila with lavender-streaked hair approached, sliding into the seat beside her with a forced smile. “You’re brave,” Mila said, stabbing her salad with a plastic fork. “Excuse me?” “To sit here. To talk to him.” Seraphina blinked. “Lucien?” Mila nodded. “You should stay away from him. He’s not… like us.” Seraphina scoffed. “You mean he’s weird?” “I mean he’s dangerous.” Mila leaned in closer. “They say he’s cursed. That he’s not even human.” Seraphina rolled her eyes, but goosebumps still rose on her skin. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you?” Mila’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The cold. The dreams. The pull.” Seraphina stared at her. “You have the mark,” Mila added, glancing subtly at Seraphina’s neck. Seraphina’s hand flew to her throat. “What do you know about it?” But Mila stood abruptly. “Just… be careful. Not all monsters hide their fangs.” --- After school, Seraphina walked home alone through the forest path behind the campus—a shortcut the locals warned against. The woods were silent, almost unnaturally so. No birdsong. No wind. Just shadows. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned. Nothing. She walked faster. Branches snapped to her left. A rustle to her right. Her breath quickened. “Who's there?” she called out. No answer. Then a whisper: Seraphina… She broke into a run. But something fast—inhumanly fast—cut her off. Lucien. He stood in her path, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “I told you not to walk alone.” “Were you following me?” she demanded. “Protecting you.” “From what?” “From myself,” he murmured. Before she could respond, he was gone again—just like that. No sound. No trace. Nothing but a sudden gust of wind that made the leaves dance. --- That night, she did not sleep. She sat in her room, windows shut, curtains drawn. The forest outside seemed alive with whispers, as if the trees had mouths and secrets. And then, as midnight approached, she heard it. A knock. Not at the door. At the window. She froze. Slowly, she turned. Lucien stood outside her window, his black coat billowing slightly though the air was still. His crimson eyes locked on hers. She should have screamed. Should have run. Instead, she opened the window. “What do you want?” she whispered. “You deserve the truth.” He stepped inside. His presence consumed the room. Cold followed him like a loyal pet. He looked around briefly before turning his gaze to her again. “I am not what you think I am.” Seraphina swallowed. “Then what are you?” He hesitated, as if the word itself pained him. “A vampire.” Silence fell between them like a thick curtain. “You’re insane,” she said finally. But part of her knew. The dreams. The bite. The blood. “Three nights ago,” he continued, “I lost control. I came to your dreamscape to warn you… but something happened. I touched your mind—and I tasted you.” Her breath hitched. “You drank my blood?” “Not by choice,” he said tightly. “Your blood… it’s unlike any I’ve known. It calls to me.” She took a step back. “Get out.” “I’m trying to protect you, Seraphina. Others will come once they sense you. They’ll tear this town apart.” “I didn’t ask for your protection!” He moved faster than lightning, suddenly inches from her face. “But you need it.” She gasped. His hand reached up—not to harm, but to brush her hair back. His fingers hovered near her neck, over the puncture wounds. “You bear the mark of the Blood Bond,” he said softly. “It links us now. What I feel, you’ll feel. What hurts you, wounds me.” Seraphina’s voice was a shaky whisper. “Why me?” Lucien's jaw tightened. “Because fate has a cruel sense of humor. And your blood... could break my curse.” --- He stepped back, forcing control over himself. “I’m sorry for the dreams. The pain. I never meant for you to be drawn into this.” Seraphina stared at him, searching for lies in his eyes. But all she saw was agony… and longing. “Why can’t you break the curse yourself?” she asked. Lucien looked away. “Because to break it… the girl must offer her blood willingly. And her heart.” Silence again. Then Seraphina whispered, “And if she doesn’t?” He met her gaze. “Then I’ll fade into madness—and the others will come to take you. One drop of your blood could start a war.” Outside, thunder cracked. Inside, the truth settled like a storm. And this time, blood stained her pillow.