the first glimpse
The alley reeked of blood.
Lucien Duskbane stood in the shadows, his lips painted crimson, fangs sinking into the throat of a man who no longer screamed. When the body fell limp, Lucien let it collapse onto the cobblestones without a second glance. His eyes burned red with hunger, glowing faintly against the darkness.
That was when he heard it—footsteps.
Slow, hesitant, trembling.
He turned his head sharply, and his gaze fell upon a girl at the corner of the street.
She was young, impossibly so, with pale white skin that gleamed like porcelain under the moonlight. Her delicate frame looked no older than ten, yet her beauty was haunting—natural red lips, marble-like violet eyes threaded with tiny sparks, and long strands of hair glowing faintly lavender in the shadows. Fragile. Untouchable. A porcelain doll in a world of monsters.
Her expression, however, was not ethereal—it was terrified.
Lucien smirked, his deep voice rolling through the dark like distant thunder.
“You shouldn’t be here, little lady.”
The girl gasped and ran.
Lucien didn’t chase—not at first. He tilted his head, watching her fragile figure dart down the street, her tiny legs moving with desperate speed. She looked too delicate for this world. A mouse trying to outrun a predator.
Only when her heartbeat echoed through the night did Lucien step forward.
“Run all you want, little one,” he murmured, his voice carrying easily through the dark. “You’ll never get away.”
His steps were unhurried, yet he closed the distance between them effortlessly. He could smell her fear, sharp and sweet, almost intoxicating. He could hear the strain in her breathing as she grew weaker, slower.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable.”
The girl stumbled. Her small frame crashed to the ground, trembling as she tried to push herself back up. Lucien crouched low, his shadow falling over her. His smirk widened as his crimson eyes gleamed.
“Looks like the little mouse finally got caught.”
Then he saw them—her eyes.
Purple marble with sparks of silver. His own breath stilled. It had been centuries since he’d seen eyes like that. Half-vampire eyes.
His hand reached out, tilting her chin upward with surprising gentleness. Her skin was soft, too warm, too fragile.
“What’s your name, little one?”
“...Night,” she whispered, almost breathless.
Lucien’s lips curved faintly as he repeated it. “Night. What a pretty name.” His gaze lingered on her trembling figure, on the innocence her body betrayed. “You’re a half vampire, aren’t you?”
Her wide-eyed confusion almost made him laugh. She looked so clueless—perhaps even unaware of what she truly was.
He chuckled, the sound low and cruel. “Don’t play stupid with me. I can sense it. Those eyes don’t lie.” His thumb brushed her cheek, soft as a whisper. “Just admit it, darling. You’re a half vampire.”
But then Night’s gaze shifted. Her violet eyes widened at the sight of blood staining his hand. And before he could say another word—she fainted.
Her fragile body went limp in his arms. Lucien caught her easily, holding her against his chest. He stared down at her small form, frowning. “Such a delicate little thing… fainting at the sight of blood.”
As he brushed her hair aside, his eyes narrowed. There, on her hand, was a mark. A sigil he recognized instantly.
The royal crest.
Lucien’s expression darkened. “No…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Impossible.”
But the mark did not lie.
This fragile, trembling girl was not just a half vampire—she was of the king’s bloodline.
Lucien tightened his hold on her and rose, carrying her light frame through the night. For the first time in centuries, his thoughts were unsettled.
By the time he reached the looming gates of her castle, her mother was already opening the door, eyes widening as she saw her unconscious daughter cradled in the arms of a stranger.
Lucien’s crimson eyes burned in the shadows.
“Your daughter,” he said simply, his voice like stone.
And then, for the first time, he realized—he couldn’t walk away.
