The forest had always been alive with sound. Owls sang to the night, wolves prowled through the undergrowth, and the wind carried the ancient hymns of the trees. But on this night, silence smothered the world like a heavy veil.
Every leaf seemed frozen. Every creature cowered in burrows and dens. Even the river, usually loud in its endless rush, moved as if afraid to speak. The only thing that stirred was the crimson glow of the moon, swelling in the sky like a wound torn open across the heavens.
Serenya Vaelith adjusted the string of her silver bow and kept walking. Her boots made no sound against the moss-covered earth. Her people had been born from moonlight, blessed with grace that made them seem like ghosts in the dark. She should have turned back hours ago. The elders had warned her countless times—no elf crossed the Night Realm boundary.
The vampires ruled there. The cursed. The fallen. Monsters who fed on life itself.
And yet, some force had pulled her here. For nights she had woken in a sweat, her dreams burning with the vision of glowing gold eyes staring through shadows. At first, she thought it a trick of her mind. But the call grew stronger with each passing moon, until she could no longer deny it.
She had to see what awaited her.
The trees parted into a clearing, and she stopped. Her breath hitched. The blood moon cast everything in shades of red and black, painting the grass like it had been soaked in fresh blood. Her skin prickled with unease, and yet her veins thrummed as though alive with fire.
She was not alone.
He stood on the far side of the clearing, as though the night itself had shaped a figure to taunt her. Tall. Still. Cloaked in black that seemed spun from smoke. His hair was dark as midnight, his face sharp, cruel, and devastatingly beautiful. But it was his eyes that held her frozen.
Gold. Burning. Predatory. They gleamed like a beast's, yet behind them swirled something she could not name—loneliness, hunger, eternity.
"An elf." His voice was deep, velvet-soft, carrying across the distance between them. "Do you not fear death, little moon-born?"
Serenya's heart leapt against her ribs. She lifted her bow in a single swift movement, silver light sparking along the arrow. Her people's weapons had been forged to pierce the hearts of his kind. If he attacked, she would not hesitate.
"I fear nothing that bleeds," she said, though her voice was steadier than her pulse.
The stranger chuckled, and the sound was rich, dark, and dangerous. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. With each stride, the shadows seemed to bend toward him, obeying some unspoken command.
"You speak boldly," he said. "But your hands tremble."
Serenya forced her grip tighter. "One step closer and you will learn whether elves truly tremble when facing death."
He stopped only a few paces away, the crimson moonlight outlining his frame. His cloak shifted as if stirred by an unseen wind. Then, with unhurried grace, he lowered the hood.
Serenya's breath caught.
He was exquisite in a way that defied reason—every line of his face carved with perfection that seemed too precise for mortals. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, lips that curved in a faint smile as though mocking her resolve. And there, glinting faintly as he spoke, were the fangs.
"Names carry weight," he murmured. "You should know the one who will decide whether you live or die tonight."
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he bowed his head ever so slightly.
"Auren Veylor."
The name seared itself into her mind like fire against flesh. She knew it, though she had never heard it spoken aloud. Every elven song warned of him—the vampire lord who had outlived kings, who ruled the Night Realm with blood and shadow. He was said to be cursed beyond salvation. A predator who hunted the foolish, a nightmare whispered to elven children.
Yet standing here, Serenya felt none of the horror she should. Instead, her pulse raced with something far more dangerous.
"You should run," he said softly, as though offering mercy. "Before the hunger decides for me."
Her arrow never wavered, though her breath quickened. "If you hunger, then test your curse against me. You'll find I'm no prey."
For the first time, his smile faltered. Gold eyes narrowed, curiosity glinting within. He circled her, never breaking their gaze, a predator studying prey that dared bare its fangs.
"Strange," Auren murmured. "You do not smell of fear. Every elf who has crossed into my realm trembled before me. You…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "…you are different."
Serenya swallowed hard, refusing to let her guard slip. "Different, perhaps. But I bleed the same as any elf. And if you try to taste it, you'll choke on silver."
The tension snapped tight between them. The bowstring strained under her fingers. His fangs caught the moonlight. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to nothing but them, predator and prey, neither moving, both waiting for the other to strike.
Then, somewhere in the distance, a howl split the night. The sound shattered the spell, and the forest seemed to breathe again.
Auren tilted his head, listening. His smile returned, but it was sharper now, touched with something unreadable.
"The moon chose well," he said. "Our paths were meant to cross."
Before she could speak, the shadows at his feet rippled and swallowed him whole. One moment he stood before her, the next he was gone, leaving nothing but silence and the echo of his words burning in her ears.
Serenya lowered her bow, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The clearing was empty, yet she felt him everywhere—like his presence clung to the air, to her skin, to the pulse in her veins.
Auren Veylor. The vampire lord.
The cursed one.
And though every instinct screamed to flee, a terrible truth rooted her in place.
She did not fear him.
She wanted to see him again.