About

In a world where ancient vampire clans rule the shadows of modern society, Arielle Vale, a seemingly ordinary woman with a mysterious past, is thrust into a web of power, bloodlust, and forbidden desire. When she crosses paths with Lucien Draven, the lethal and alluring leader of the most feared vampire syndicate, her life spirals into a dangerous game of dominance and destiny. But Arielle isn't as powerless as she thinks. And Lucien, despite his ruthless grip on power, finds himself tormented by an obsession he can't control. As secrets unravel and ancient prophecies awaken, their fates intertwine in a love that could either destroy the world-or remake it.

Chapter 1 Prologue: The Taste of Fate

Prologue: The Taste of Fate

The rain fell like whispers-soft, persistent, and almost sentient-tapping secrets against the windows of the black cathedral that rose like a skeleton of the past at the edge of the city. Within its decaying sanctuary, cloaked in shadows and time, the air pulsed with something unnatural. Ancient. Hungry.

And he stood at the center of it all.

Lucien Draven.

Leaning against the altar as though mocking God Himself, he swirled the dark liquid in the crystal glass with a casual grace that belied the violence behind his eyes. Not wine. Never wine. Blood. Rich, aged, still warm. The kind that came from traitors, still clinging to regret.

He brought the glass to his lips. A slow sip. A sigh of satisfaction.

"Still think I'm the villain?" he murmured to no one.

A figure stirred at the far end of the nave, chained and shaking, the scent of fear thick around them. Lucien didn't bother to look. He had already forgotten their name. Their betrayal, however-unforgivable. He set the glass down on the altar and approached, boots echoing through the silence like war drums.

"You had a choice," he said, crouching before them. "And you chose poorly."

With a flick of his wrist, the chains slithered loose, not to free-but to remind. Freedom was an illusion. Especially for those who thought they could outwit the king of monsters.

"I don't kill for sport," Lucien whispered into the figure's ear. "I kill for balance."

Fangs sank into flesh, and the scream that followed echoed through every stone, a violent prayer to a god that had long stopped listening.

When he stood again, crimson stained his jaw like war paint. His eyes glowed-an unholy gold, bright with victory and something darker. Hunger? No. Expectation.

"She's close," he said aloud, to the shadows that slithered at the edges of the cathedral.

Arielle Vale.

She didn't know it yet, but her blood was calling.

****

Miles away, across the city, Arielle awoke in her tiny apartment with her heart slamming against her ribs like a caged animal. Her skin was slick with sweat. Her mouth dry. She could still feel the heat of his breath, though she'd never met him. Could still hear the echo of the scream, though no sound had crossed her ears.

A dream. It had to be.

She pushed herself out of bed, brushing tangled curls from her face, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The digital clock blinked 3:00 AM in accusing red. She poured a glass of water, sipped it slowly, and stared out the window at the blinking city lights.

"Get a grip, Ari," she muttered.

But the feeling wouldn't go away-that something had shifted in the world, as if a door had opened somewhere, silently, just for her.

And far beneath the city, Lucien stood at a window carved from black stone, watching the skyline with eyes that pierced more than distance.

"She's awake," he whispered, and smiled.

The game had begun.