“Be honest, Stephen… how do I look?”Sandra asked as she spun slowly in front of the mirror, her black dress flowing lightly around her.She turned to face me, waiting.I gave a small smile.“You look pretty.”She stopped.Then frowned.“Pretty?” she repeated. “That’s what you tell a cat.”She crossed her arms slightly, tilting her head at me.“You need to get creative, Stephen.”I let out a quiet groan, rubbing the back of my neck.“You look stunning, Sandra.”She held my gaze for a second longer…Then nodded in approval and walked over, sitting beside me on her bed.The room went quiet.She glanced at me.“What’s making you sad?”I didn’t answer immediately.I just stared ahead.Thinking.Then after a pause, I spoke.“If I was actually the Dhampir… the one that’s supposed to end all vampires…”My voice trailed slightly.“Would you all still accept me?”Sandra didn’t respond right away.Instead, she let herself fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.I followed, laying bes

The mansion loomed before us like a monument to forgotten sins, its stone façade swallowed in shadow. We stood at its threshold, the night air heavy with the scent of old rain and older secrets. I pressed the doorbell once. Silence answered. I pressed it again, longer this time. The same stillness—thick, suffocating.Adrien clicked his tongue, stepped forward, and hammered his fist against the door. The sound echoed like a gunshot across the estate.“Ouvrez la porte !” he barked, his voice cracking through the dark like a whip.At last, hinges creaked. The door edged open to reveal a young girl, her skin pale as candle wax. She regarded us with the emptiness of a half-formed thought, her eyes glassy and unmoving. When she inhaled, I caught it—the faint metallic trace curling beneath her breath. The scent of a newborn vampire. Cold. Sweet. Unmistakable.Adrien leaned close to me, lowering his voice. “This isn’t her… right?”“Of course not,” I murmured.“Who are you people?” the girl as

The convoy rumbled through the silent Paris night—four long, armored military trucks painted matte black, headlights slicing through the darkness like knives. I sat in the front passenger seat of the lead truck, Nicholas behind the wheel, his jaw locked tight with controlled fury. I glanced at him. “Where exactly are we headed?” He didn’t look at me. “To the ones who attacked my men. Enough is finally enough. Tonight… they die.” The conviction in his voice carried the cold certainty of a man who had already buried too many. “And who are these people?” I asked. His eyes flicked to mine. “La Nuit Éternelle.” I frowned. “La Nuit Éternelle… what kind of vampires are they?” “Lesser ones,” he replied. “Crude. Undisciplined. They should all be asleep by now. Makes the mission simple. After we infiltrate their nest, we head to Francis’s mansion next.” I felt my heartbeat spike. Nicholas continued. “I’ve heard he’s sheltering another group of vampires. Maybe even more of La Nuit É

I woke up screaming. My lungs burned, my chest heaved, and through the blur of panic, I felt it—the knife, still lodged deep in my chest. Instinctively, I grabbed it and yanked it free, tossing it across the wet grass. It landed with a dull thud, and for a second, I just stared at it, heart hammering like a war drum. Captain Jonas was still sprawled on the ground nearby, rain soaking his clothes. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed, lips moving silently—he was trapped in some nightmare. I decided not to wake him. Some battles were his to fight alone. I forced myself up, every muscle screaming in protest, and staggered toward the front yard. The scene that greeted me made my stomach twist. The carnage of the battle was evident: most of the hunters lay dead, bodies broken and lifeless in the rain. A handful had managed to escape, their trucks disappearing down the muddy lanes, headlights fading into the gray haze. I opened the front door, and pain shot through my chest. I clutche

Adrien walked beside me through the quiet Parisian streets, his steps unsure, his eyes flicking toward every passing shadow. The night wrapped around us like a cloak, cool and heavy, but to him it must have felt like fire—every sound, every scent, every heartbeat around us crashing into his senses all at once. “You’re different now,” I told him gently, keeping my voice steady, measured. “Not weaker. Not cursed. Just… changed. You’re stronger than any human walking this city. Faster. Sharper. Every sense you have is going to feel like it’s been turned all the way up.” Someone passed us—a woman in a long tan coat, head down, clutching her purse—and I saw Adrien’s body lean toward her instinctively, drawn by the sudden spike of her pulse, the warmth of her blood calling to him like a whisper only he could hear. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and tugged him back. “Easy,” I murmured. He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard, as if waking from a trance. “I—I didn’t mean to—” “I k