The farmhouse was quiet, wrapped in the hush of midnight. Outside, the moon hung low and full, casting a pale glow over the fields like a watchful eye. I sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at the half-melted candles on my birthday cake.
Eighteen.
It was supposed to mean something—freedom, adulthood, answers. But all I felt was the same gnawing emptiness I'd carried for years. My grandparents had gone to bed hours ago, leaving me with a few quiet gifts and a warm hug. They were kind, always had been. But they carried a sadness in their eyes that never quite faded. A sadness that had everything to do with the parents I barely remembered.
I traced my finger along the edge of the cake, then picked up my phone. A message blinked on the screen.
Abi: Happy birthday, Vee! You're officially legal and still weird. I love you. Call me if you get bored or start spiraling. I know how you get.
I smiled faintly. Abi had been my best friend since we were ten—loud, loyal, and always ready to fight anyone who looked at me the wrong way. She was the only person I trusted with the truth: the nightmares, the strange dreams, the feeling that something inside me was... waiting.
I typed back: Thanks. I'm okay. Just tired. Moon's weird tonight.
She replied instantly: Weird how? Like horror-movie weird or romantic-weird?
I hesitated. Horror. Definitely horror.
I put the phone down and wandered upstairs. My room was small, tucked beneath the slanted roof, filled with books, sketches, and the quiet hum of my thoughts. I didn't know why I felt so restless tonight. My skin tingled. My heart beat faster than usual. And the moonlight spilling through my window felt... different.
I pulled off my sweater, ready to collapse into bed, when something caught my eye.
A mark.
On my left forearm, just below the elbow. Faint at first, like a smudge of ash. But as I leaned closer, the shape sharpened: a crescent wrapped in thorns, glowing softly with a silver-blue light.
My breath hitched.
I had never seen it before. Not in childhood photos. Not in the mirror. Not ever.
It looked like a birthmark—but it felt like something else. Something ancient. Something alive.
I touched it. It pulsed.
Suddenly, my vision blurred. My knees buckled. The room spun.
And then I was dreaming.
I stood in a field of black roses, the sky above me swirling with stars that blinked like eyes. A man stood at the edge of the field, watching me. Tall. Still. Cloaked in shadows. His lashes shimmered blue, impossibly vivid against the pale of his skin. His eyes—icy and endless—locked onto mine.
"Vee," he whispered, though his lips never moved. "You are mine."
I didn't know why, but I felt the urge to run. It felt like dangers were lurking around me, pressing in from every direction.
I turned to flee, but the roses wrapped around my ankles, holding me in place. The wind howled. The stars dimmed. And the man stepped closer, his presence pressing against my chest like gravity.
"You were born for me," he said. "And they died trying to stop it."
I gasped, waking with a cry.
My sheets were damp with sweat. My heart thundered in my chest. I sat up, clutching my arm, the dream still clinging to me like fog. His words echoed in my ears—low, possessive, final.
They died trying to stop it.
Who died?
I blinked, trying to steady my breath. My parents? Was he talking about them?
The mark on my arm glowed brighter than before.
I stumbled to the window and looked out. The moon was still there, impossibly bright. The wind rustled the trees. And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
I shivered.
Downstairs, the old grandfather clock struck midnight.
And far beneath the earth, in a tomb sealed by blood and silence, the Vampire Prince opened his eyes.
The seal was broken.
I was awakened.
And the world would never be the same.