Chapter 1
The stage lights were a blinding sun, but for me, they were a welcome warmth. Not the kind that a human feels, but the kind that burns away the cold, gnawing emptiness inside. I adjusted the microphone, the leather of my jacket squeaking against my skin as the opening riff of “Crimson Tide” tore through the speakers. The crowd roared, a living, breathing creature of sound and sweat. I was their idol, their king, the charismatic frontman of the biggest rock band on the planet, “Blood of Eden.” They didn’t know I was also the monster in their nightmares. My name, the one on the posters and the one they screamed, was Valerius. My real name, the one I hadn’t spoken in centuries, was forgotten. To my bandmates—Jax, the explosive drummer, Leo, the brooding guitarist, and Finn, the steady bassist—I was just Val. A little strange, a little distant, but a part of their brotherhood. I never joined them for post-show drinks, citing a “strict vocal regimen.” I always wore sunglasses, even indoors, a quirk they chalked up to a rockstar persona. They didn’t question the fact that I never ate, or that my skin was as cold as marble even in the sweltering heat of the summer sun. They were too caught up in the music, in the fame, and in the legend we were building. The lie was a fragile thing, held together by years of careful planning and a deep, soul-crushing need to feel something akin to normal. The music was my anchor. It was the only thing that could silence the endless hunger, the whispers of the past, and the bitter loneliness of an eternal life. When I sang, I wasn’t a predator. I was a performer, a poet, a man for a few fleeting hours. The end of the show was a blur of flashing lights and adrenaline. As we packed up, a strange smell hit me—a scent I hadn’t encountered in months. A metallic, sweet aroma that sent a shiver of ancient hunger down my spine. I stiffened, my senses on high alert. “You okay, man?” Jax clapped me on the shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm. “You look a little green.” “Fine,” I grunted, my voice a little rougher than I intended. “Just tired.” The smell grew stronger. My eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses, darted around the cavernous backstage area. It was coming from Finn. He was wrapping up his bass, a small cut on his hand bleeding from a minor mishap. The drop of crimson on his thumb was a siren’s call. My throat tightened, and my fangs, a part of me I kept tightly reined in, ached to be free. I turned away, clenching my fists until my nails dug into my palms. The pain was a grounding force, a reminder of the human part of me I was fighting to keep. I had to get out, away from them, before the beast took over. “I’m heading back to the bus,” I said, my voice strained. “Catch you guys later.” I walked away, the scent of fresh blood a burning fire behind me, leaving the bandmates I had come to call my family completely in the dark, and entirely unaware of the true monster in their midst.
