Colson

Colson POV Silence. Which—if you know my family—is downright suspicious. Silence isn’t peace. Not here. Not with us. When you’re surrounded daily by furry, fire-breathing, horned, finned, winged, magically gifted beasts—and you have the distinct honor of being their great uncle, great-great uncle, and great-great-great uncle—silence doesn’t happen unless something has gone very wrong. I’ve earned the unofficial title of Lord Super-Powered Vampire the Great, and titles like that come with noise. Chaos. Growling. Roars shaking stone. The occasional scream of pleasure echoing down a hallway because the furry ones apparently believe privacy is a myth. Hell, even during peace, the wolves don’t have an off switch when it comes to their damn s*x drives. Trust me. I’ve tried suggesting one. It didn’t go over well. So yeah—silence? That’s a problem. I groaned theatrically as I pushed myself out of my chair, stretching until my joints popped loud enough to announce my displeasure to the universe. Ancient bones, immortal body, eternal attitude. If you’re going to live forever, you might as well commit to the performance. Something was wrong. I felt it the moment my feet hit the floor. I’d been relaxing—well, pretending to relax—in a massive f*****g palace staffed by enough servants to run a small kingdom. Two wolf kings lived here with their mate, a vampire-phoenix hybrid who could level armies before breakfast. My wife—Amaris, immortal witch, walking apocalypse, and current owner of my blackened soul—was also here. As far as I knew, no one was away on business. No missions. No wars. No emergencies. And yet… Nothing. Not a footstep. Not a breath. Not even the comforting background hum of magic vibrating through the walls. Not a single cursed moan echoing down the halls. Yeah. Nope. Don’t like that. I moved through the palace like a shadow, instinct taking over. Staying hidden has always been my specialty. You don’t survive centuries in politics, wars, and the darker corners of the supernatural world unless you master the art of being unseen. People don’t hire you unless you’re very good at not being noticed—and even better at knowing things you shouldn’t. I reached outward with my senses, pushing past stone and enchantments, slipping between wards like a blade between ribs. I searched for the source of the quiet, for the thing bold—or stupid—enough to smother an entire palace full of apex predators. Then I caught it. A scent. Faint. Lingering. Old. Wrong. It hit something buried deep inside me, something feral and furious, and my lip curled before I could stop it. A snarl tore from my chest—raw, violent, unfiltered. “Ezra.” The name tasted like rot and ash. A vicious laugh filled the palace, echoing unnaturally, crawling along the walls like something alive. The air thickened, pressure slamming into me from every direction—crushing, suffocating, dragging me backward— Colson… The voice was distant. Distorted. As if it were speaking through layers of earth and blood. Colson. Closer now. Louder. COLSON! My eyes snapped open. Fuck. I bolted upright, breath sharp, my phantom heart hammering like it remembered how to die. Sweat slicked my skin—another thing vampires aren’t supposed to do. Dreams. I don’t dream. Vampires don’t get nightmares—we are the nightmare. So what the hell was that? “Well hey there,” I said lightly, forcing a grin as I looked at Zane—Werewolf King, Dire Wolf, and original furball extraordinaire. “What’s shakin’, fuzzy?” Humor. Reflexive. Automatic. Easier than honesty. He didn’t laugh. That was problem number two. “You okay?” Zane asked, eyes sharp, posture tense, watching me like I might snap and start redecorating the room with blood. Was I? That was… complicated. My life hasn’t exactly been peaceful. And I don’t pretend I deserve peace—not after my past. I’ve worked for monsters that make demons look like amateurs. Vampire lords so cruel Hell itself would’ve filed a complaint. I know—I’ve crossed into the underworld more than once. Back then, I enjoyed it. Power. Fear. Control. Taking what I wanted and watching others break beneath me was a thrill—better than blood, better than s*x. It was intoxicating. Addictive. And I told myself it was fine, because vampires don’t have humanity. Or so I believed. The truth? That was bullshit. We have souls. Tainted ones, sure. Bloodlust stains them, blackens them slowly over time, but they don’t vanish. Even purebloods—especially purebloods—have souls. Most are simply born into lives that poison them from the start, raised to believe cruelty is destiny. Except for a rare few. And one of those few was a girl. Sage. A strange human girl whose scent never sat right with me—not fully human, not fully anything I recognized. I watched her struggle. Watched her be used. When it was discovered she was a vampire-phoenix hybrid with not one but two mates—a dire wolf and a werewolf king—she had every right to send me straight to Hell. Instead, she became my ally. Sage, Zane, and Alex were my second chance. One I didn’t deserve. Standing against the scum controlling the city cost me everything… and gave me everything. That was when I met Amaris—immortal witch, pain in my ass, love of my existence, and the woman who now holds what’s left of my soul in her hands. Since then, this old vampire has been a lot of places. The Undercity—Hell’s ugly little extension. The Unicorn Kingdom. The Fae Realm. Actual Hell. And now here. What used to be called the human realm—though at this point it’s more of a supernatural melting pot. Mutts. Hybrids. Tri-breeds. Creatures so mixed even I can’t tell what the hell they are anymore. And judging by that dream? Something from my past just found me. Someone who crawled his way out of Hell and learned how to stay invisible. Someone I’ve been hunting. Because Ezra isn’t just a monster. He’s a reminder. Of who I was. Of who I could still become if I let myself slip. “Earth to Colson,” Zane said, dragging me back to the present as he looked me over. “Ezra,” the name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. Zane’s growl was low. Dangerous. The kind that rattled bones and promised violence. “Calm down, furball,” I said lightly, even as my jaw clenched. “You’re going to scare the furniture.” “Explain,” he demanded. “Do a vampire a favor,” I said instead, needing a moment to steady the storm inside me, “and grab Amaris for me.” Zane studied me for a long moment. “Fine. But when I get back, you start talking.” “Yes, my furry king,” I said, bowing comically. He shook his head and left. Alone again, I whispered the name once more, hissing it like a curse. “Ezra.” My smile was slow. Sharp. Dangerous. “I’ll find you,” I murmured. “And when I do… I won’t just kill you.” My fangs ached. “I’ll make sure you never crawl out of Hell again.”