1. Silas - His Haunting Dreams
I woke up with a start. Sweating and restless.
The same dream of the beautiful dark eyes and that sweet smell of Mogra—Arabian Jasmine—blended with the earthy pull of Mitti Attar, petrichor trapped in a bottle, a scent no dream should be able to conjure. And yet it has been haunting me for almost twenty-one years now.
The eyes first appeared in my dreams on 1st October 1990. Back then, they were unmistakably the eyes of a newborn—wide, unguarded, pools of pure innocence staring at a world she had not yet learned to fear. But with time, the dreams changed and so did the girl.
The innocence stayed, but now there was curiosity—quiet at first, then bold enough to reach me across the years. Then came nights when those eyes held fear so sharp it cut through me like silver. Nights filled with tears, nights her pain made my chest burn with an anger I could not explain. It made me want to tear the world apart to find her.
And then… Around 1998, everything shifted.
Her eyes began to smile. A spark returned—light, mischievous, alive. It infuriated me how relieved I felt. How jealous. Someone else was making her happy. Someone else was close enough to deserve that laughter reflected in her gaze.
I didn’t know her name. I had never seen her face.
But I knew—down to my immortal bones—that she was real. That the universe was drawing me toward her like a thread woven before my birth and hers.
“I just hope someday I can—”
A voice cut into my thoughts before I could finish, smooth as old wine and twice as irritating.
“Let me guess,” Andreas said, leaning against the stone pillar near my bed with the most unnecessary smug expression a five-hundred-year-old vampire could wear. “The eyes again?”
I rubbed my face, still trying to steady my breathing.
“Don’t start.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He pushed off the pillar, arms crossed. “Except I absolutely will. Because every time you wake up drenched like you’ve run a marathon—mind you, vampires don’t sweat—you look exactly like a teenager with his first crush.”
I glared at him.
He grinned wider.
Centuries of friendship had made him far too fearless.
“It’s been twenty one years, Silas. Twenty One,” he continued. “Most people would call that obsession.”
“Most people haven’t smelled Mogra through a dream.”
“Yes, yes. The mysterious jasmine girl with the petrichor perfume.” Andreas pressed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Your destiny. Your doom. Your—what was it last week?—‘ethereal torment’?”
“I will throw you out of this castle.”
“Please do. I could use the fresh air.”
Despite myself, a laugh escaped—short and unwilling.
Andreas caught it like a prize.
“There it is,” he said. “Proof that the Vampire King still has emotions hiding under that dramatic cloak of his.”
I sighed, staring out the window where night was just giving way to the faintest shade of blue.
“She’s real, Andreas.”
This time, he didn’t tease. His voice softened just enough.
“I know, Silas. I believe you. And when she finally walks into your life?”
He smirked again. “I’ll be right here to remind you that I told you to stop sweating over her.”
I shook my head, but the knot in my chest loosened a little.
Because despite all the centuries, all the wars, all the nights filled with blood and silence…
That dream—those eyes—felt like the one thing leading me toward something more than a throne, more than duty. Something like fate, something like Destiny Blood Bond - an ancient supernatural phenomenon lost long before the Accord. A connection formed before birth, between souls tied by cosmic design. Only a handful of kings in all history had ever felt it.
A bond that allowed dreams, scents, emotions—and sometimes pain—to pass between two souls.
If it was real, if she was real… she wasn’t just a stranger.
She was mine.
And I was hers.
Long before either of us understood it.
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Andreas, dragged a chair beside my bed and dropped into it, rubbing a hand through his hair.
“Alright, your Majesty of Melodrama,” he said, tone lighter now that I had stopped glaring at him. “Dream girl aside, we have another problem. Seattle.”
I exhaled sharply. “Another report?”
He nodded and tossed a folder onto my lap. The papers smelled like pine forests soaked in rain—classic Washington State.
“Three more incidents,” he said. “Unregulated feedings. Scaring humans. Breaking the ‘no-kill’ rule. And someone turned a human without consent.”
Unlike cartoons and myths, feeding was not barbaric. It was intimate. Powerful. Mutually beneficial. Willing humans—pets—lived longer, enjoyed heightened senses, healed faster, and were compensated more generously than CEOs. Many considered it a luxury lifestyle.
We had rules:
No killing.
No turning without permission.
No feeding on unwilling humans.
Vegas, my home, worked because we kept it clean.
My jaw tightened. “Rogues?”
“Either rogues or someone real stupid.”
His tone dropped. “Either way, it looks bad. Humans are noticing. And we cannot afford attention—not after everything the Accord screwed us with.”
I hated when he was right.
The Accord had made vampires the most restricted species. The weakest, politically. The most watched. If humans discovered rogue vampires feeding recklessly? We’d lose even more.
“So what’s the plan?” Andreas asked.
I stood, shrugging on my black shirt and fastening the cuffs.
“I’m flying to Seattle.”
He blinked. “Today?”
“Red-eye flight. I want to see this myself.”
Andreas snorted. “Of course you do. Because why let anyone else handle a dangerous situation when the Vampire King can leap dramatically into it?”
I grabbed the folder. “You’re coming with me.”
He grinned like a wolf. “Obviously. Someone has to save your royal ass.”
I didn’t answer because something else tugged at my senses—so faint I wasn’t sure if I imagined it. Mogra. And that unmistakable scent of wet earth after rain.
My heartbeat stuttered. Not from the dream. From the waking world.
She was close, I can feel it. Closer than she had ever been.
Maybe Seattle wasn’t just about rogue vampires. Maybe fate was pulling me there for something far more dangerous. And far more inevitable.
