Lord Darius Knight

The echoing voice reverberated through the castle halls, demanding attention. It belonged to Darius Knight, a tall man with brown hair, pale skin, and piercing cold green eyes that carried an air of judgment. Known as Lord Knight to his servants and acquaintances, rumors swirled about his existence spanning a thousand years, though never substantiated.

Darius rarely ventured outside unless necessary, preferring to govern his empire from the confines of his castle. However, certain occasions called for his presence, such as his current trip to New York, where a gala awaited in his honor, hosted by Mayor Justin Aims.

“Lord Knight, your luggage is ready, and your car awaits outside,” announced Harold, the long-serving butler, holding out Darius’s coat.

“Thank you, Harold,” Darius replied, slipping his arm into the awaiting sleeve.

Having been in Darius’s service for a considerable time, Harold knew exactly what to say and what to leave unspoken.

“And, my Lord, a first-class ticket has been booked for you,” Harold added.

Darius emitted a brief grunt from the back of his throat, his sole response to the matter at hand. Taking his briefcase from Harold, he strode down the lengthy, silent hallway toward his awaiting car. The driver stood outside, holding the door open, ready to embark on the journey.

“My Lord,” the driver greeted with a slight bow of his head. However, Darius remained silent, simply sliding into the back seat, and pushing his sunglasses further up his nose. He settled himself in, maintaining an air of quietude. The driver closed the door and occupied the driver’s seat.

“You had better step on it this time, Bertrand,” Darius growled in his heavy British accent. The driver nodded in agreement, stealing a glance at his passenger, then peering out the window as they pulled away. Unexpectedly, the car came to a halt midway, causing Darius to lift his eyebrows slightly, peering over his sunglasses.

“Are we having problems, Bertrand?” he inquired, his gaze fixed on the driver through the rear-view mirror.

“Of course not, my Lord. It appears we’re stuck in a slight traffic jam. Nothing to worry about,” Bertrand immediately assured him. Darius rubbed his clean-shaven chin, his expression barely discernible.

“Hmm,” he murmured, casting another look out the window. Though seemingly anticipating a problem, he remained still, barely moving a muscle, as he stared at the rain-soaked road outside, occasionally glancing at his wristwatch.

Eventually, they arrived at the airport, and the driver stepped out to open the door for Darius. Exiting the vehicle, Darius was promptly met by a baggage handler eager to collect his luggage.

“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” the young boy greeted.

Darius, renowned for his architectural accomplishments and feared for his influence over many, was perpetually surrounded by rumors that only fueled his enigmatic reputation. Once seated and prepared for takeoff, a hostess approached, sporting a smile as she stood before him.

“Good morning, Mr. Knight. Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked, extending her hospitality.

“Just water,” Darius replied dryly, his gaze briefly flickering toward the pulsating beat in her neck.

“Of course, sir. Anything for you,” she responded, once again beaming with a wide smile.

Darius rolled his eyes, diverting his attention to the window as the plane ascended into the sky.

“And they call this first class,” he muttered to himself. If it were up to him, he would have taken a private plane. However, according to Harold, mingling with people during travels presented better opportunities to encounter new prey. The occasional fruitful catch justified diverting his attention to lesser priorities.

After seven hours of flying, they finally landed at the New York airport, the darkness of evening enveloping the surroundings. It was the perfect time to find sustenance and satiate his hunger. Darius had arranged for his car to be brought to the airport in advance, ensuring a swift journey to his residence.

Upon reaching his house, he sent the driver to retrieve a particular air hostess from her hotel. Before long, the woman arrived at his door, accompanied by the driver.

“Good evening,” Darius greeted in his cold-toned voice, motioning dismissively for the house staff to keep their distance. “Good evening, Mr. Knight. I’m truly honored to be in your lovely home,” she replied, removing her coat. “By the way, my name is Megan.”

Darius’s gaze lingered on her, his eyes scanning her figure, appreciating her long legs, slender waist, and blonde hair.

“Beautiful. And such a lovely name,” he commented, lifting his chin. “I wonder, does your taste match your beauty?” A sly grin played on his lips as he stepped closer, capturing her hand in his and pressing his lips against her wrist. His teeth grazed her skin ever so gently, and like so many before her, Megan was deceived by his appearance and blinded by his charm.

Megan closed her eyes, leaning into him, loosening her dress until it fell to the ground, leaving her vulnerable and exposed before the infamous Darius Knight. But all he saw was the pulsating rhythm of her neck, and all he heard was the rapid thumping of her heart pumping life-sustaining blood through her veins.

As Megan reached for his jacket, Darius caught her hand halfway. “Allow me,” he whispered, turning her around so her back pressed against his chest. With a delicate touch, he swept her hair away, baring the nape of her neck. Placing a kiss on her throbbing artery, Megan unknowingly leaned closer, unaware of what was to come.

Darius placed his hand on her chest, his soft kisses trailing up her neck. Lost in his embrace, she remained oblivious to the transformation that occurred within him. Red eyes glimmering like blood and sharp fangs protruding from his upper lip, Darius looked up over her shoulder. Before she could react, his hand covered her mouth, immobilizing her, and he sank his fangs deep into her vulnerable neck. Blood gushed from the puncture wounds as his firm grip prevented her from moving, while his hand kept her from screaming. The life drained from her as her blood cascaded down her neck, a victim of her fear and the unknown horror she now faced.