The Blood Thirsty ✨

Lina had always felt the shadows before she saw them. In the quiet hum of her apartment, with rain tapping lightly against the window, she sensed someone—or something—watching. She tried to tell herself it was just her imagination, the remnants of nightmares that never truly left her, but a chill ran down her spine that logic couldn’t erase. She lit the candle on her desk, the tiny flame trembling, reflecting in her dark eyes. It was the only comfort she allowed herself in this small, cluttered sanctuary of books and sketches. Her hands shook slightly—not from fear, not entirely—but from anticipation, as if the world outside her window held a secret meant just for her. Meanwhile, across the city, Nera moved with a predator’s grace through the streets. Her coat, black as midnight, clung to her lean frame as she skirted the neon-lit alleyways, keeping to shadows. She wasn’t running from anyone tonight; she was hunting. Not prey exactly—but answers. Strange whispers had found her too, dreams of a girl with eyes like hers, standing on the edge of something… ancient. Something powerful. Both girls had never met, yet in the depths of their subconscious, they had always known each other. In her dreams, Lina sometimes saw Nera’s eyes staring at her through a haze of mist, a silent plea she couldn’t yet decipher. Nera, too, had glimpsed Lina—soft features and a fire in her gaze that mirrored her own, as if two halves of the same soul wandered separate paths, waiting to collide. Back in Lina’s apartment, the candle flickered violently as if reacting to some unseen presence. She froze. The air was thick, heavy with a scent she couldn’t place—iron, earth, something old and alive. She turned slowly, and in the reflection of the window, she thought she saw a shadow move behind her. Her heart slammed against her ribs, wild and relentless. Lina wasn’t usually afraid. Not of the dark. Not of her memories. But tonight, fear crept in like a predator circling its prey. She gripped the edge of her desk, whispering a mantra she didn’t even remember learning: Stay calm. Stay in control. Across town, Nera paused atop the rooftop she had chosen as her perch. The city stretched below her, alive and oblivious to the currents pulling at her. She could feel it now, stronger than ever—the faint pull of something beyond the veil. It called to her, a resonance deep in her chest that made her pulse quicken. She knelt, pressing her palm to the stone beneath her, and let herself drift into that strange awareness. Somewhere, in a dark castle far from the city lights, Dante observed the world through eyes that had seen centuries pass. His hair, black as the void, fell in loose strands over his face as he studied the horizon. He felt it too—an echo of power, like a whisper threading through the winds. Something was awakening, something that would shift the balance he had fought to maintain. And then there was Jaxon. Less regal, less ancient, but equally dangerous in his own right. He walked through the crowded streets, unnoticed yet aware of everyone. His eyes, a piercing silver that seemed unnatural under the streetlights, had already caught glimpses of Lina in fleeting moments—on rainy days, at the edges of his awareness. There was something about her that pulled at him, something familiar yet impossible to place. For Lina, the night deepened. The shadows around her seemed to pulse with intent. Her phone buzzed on the desk—a text she didn’t recognize: They are coming. Her breath caught. The words were typed in a language she didn’t know but understood. Not consciously, but deep in her bones. The connection between her and Nera, though invisible, throbbed with life. A warning, or perhaps an invitation. Nera’s phone vibrated in her coat pocket. A message. Same words, same language. She frowned, scanning the empty street below. They are coming. The universe—or something far darker—was speaking to them both. And neither girl could ignore it. Meanwhile, in a chamber draped with crimson velvet and black stone, Zoraver Dracula, tall and impossibly imposing, smiled. The centuries had made him patient, meticulous. His fingers, long and pale, traced the edges of a map. Four names were circled in crimson ink: Lina, Nera, Jaxon, Dante. “Soon,” he murmured, voice like velvet over steel. “The soul quartet will awaken. And when they do… I will claim what is mine.” Lightning cracked outside, illuminating the high, arched windows of the castle. Somewhere between worlds, Lina shivered, Nera clenched her fists, and the faint threads of fate pulled tighter around the four of them. It was only the beginning.