Chapter 1 - The night I was chosen

🌑 CHAPTER ONE

The Night I Was Chosen

The night I was chosen, the moon bled red.

The elders claimed it was an omen—death or destiny. They never bothered to say which came first.

I stood barefoot on the frozen marble floor of the Crimson Hall, my toes numb, my pulse frantic. Candles ringed the chamber, their flames black as spilled ink, casting twisted shadows across the vaulted ceiling. I could feel every vampire's gaze on my skin—hungry, curious, patient.

"Raise your head," an elder commanded.

My body obeyed before my courage could fail.

That was when I saw him.

Lucien Noctyre sat upon the obsidian throne like a carved god—still, elegant, merciless. Silver eyes pierced the hall and found mine instantly, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment. He did not smile. He did not sneer.

He simply watched.

"As tribute," the elder announced, voice echoing, "we present the human girl—Elara Vale."

Whispers slithered through the court.

Lucien rose.

The change was immediate. The air thickened, pressing against my lungs, stealing my breath. He descended the steps with measured grace, each movement deliberate, predatory. When he stopped before me, I understood what true fear was.

He was impossibly pale. Impossibly beautiful. And undeniably lethal.

"You're trembling," he said softly.

"I'm not," I lied.

One corner of his mouth curved faintly. "You will be."

His fingers brushed my wrist.

Agony tore through my veins—sharp, blinding—then something else followed. Something ancient. Dark. Awake.

Lucien went rigid.

His hand tightened around mine.

"…Impossible," he breathed.

The candles erupted, black flames roaring high.

He stared at me as if I were a miracle—or a curse.

"You are not a tribute," he said, his voice low with disbelief.

"You are bound to me."

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🌑 CHAPTER TWO

The Crimson Oath

I learned the truth wrapped in silk sheets and shadow.

The chamber was vast and dim, lit only by moonlight spilling through towering windows. I was not restrained by chains, yet I knew I could not leave. Power hummed in the air—his power.

"You carry ancient blood," Lucien said, standing several paces away. "Blood older than our war. Older than our laws."

I shook my head, panic rising. "I'm human."

"You were," he corrected calmly.

He approached slowly, as though I might shatter if he moved too quickly. For a fleeting second, something unreadable softened his expression—regret, perhaps—before it vanished.

"The Crimson Oath binds us now," he continued. "Your life. Your death. Your heart."

Cold fear coiled in my chest. "So… I belong to you?"

His jaw clenched. "No."

He dropped to one knee before me, silver eyes blazing with fury—at himself, at fate, at the world.

"You are not my possession," he said.

"You are my weakness."

The words struck deeper than any threat.

When he fed from me that night, it was nothing like the stories whispered in terror. There was no pain. Only heat—an overwhelming pull that blurred the edges of my thoughts. I felt his restraint, his internal war, the way he tore himself away before taking too much.

He turned his face aside, breath uneven.

"I could kill you," I whispered.

Lucien met my gaze, something dark and devoted burning in his eyes.

"And that," he said quietly, "is why I never will."