You wake to the hush of velvet curtains stirring in a phantom draft, and the thick, metallic taste of blood pooling beneath your tongue.

The world slams into focus, sharp enough to bleed. Every whisper of sound scrapes raw against your senses: the low crackle of a distant fire, the soft clink of crystal against silver. Each breath draws in a flood of scent too rich to bear — polished wood, cold stone, the ghost of crushed violets, and iron threading through the air.

Above you, the ceiling arches high, frescoes twisting in the trembling candlelight. Heavy drapes shroud tall windows, muting the snowfall beyond. The mansion feels untouched by time — a jewel entombed in the Russian wilderness, a place meant to be forgotten. A place where you could disappear and never be mourned.

Chains shift when you move, silver cuffs slicing into your wrists with cruel precision.

A whimper threatens to betray you. You crush it back, though pain coils hot and relentless through your gums, through your veins. Hunger gnaws at you — feral, starving, furious. The world flickers at the edges of your vision, too bright, too loud, too alive.

Once, you were a hunter. Now, you are prey—abandoned to the same darkness you once vowed to destroy.

"You wake at last," a low and dangerous voice croons."I was getting bored."

You lift your head. A figure leans lazily against a marble column, a glass of deep crimson turning slow circles in her hand.

Ava.

Her blood red curls spill wild and radiant around her, a living flame against black velvet. Gold gleams at her throat, at her wrists — a queen crowned in blood and ruin. At her hip, the dagger you once trusted now hangs like a lover's betrayal.

Another shadow peels free from the gloom — colder, quieter.

Xera.

She glides across the polished floors, her ink-black hair falling in sleek sheets over silver-threaded robes. Her gaze cuts clean through you, ancient and merciless.

"You came to break us," Xera murmurs, voice soft as snowfall, "and now..."

"You will kneel among the ashes of everything you loved," Ava finishes, her fangs catching the candlelight like a promise.

The hunger inside you tightens violently. You flinch, instinctively straining against the chains — only for the silver to burn deep, sending agony through every nerve. A broken, helpless sound slips from your lips.

Ava's laughter curls around you, wicked and sweet. She steps closer, and her heat hits you like a blow — overwhelming, unbearable, achingly welcome.

"You fought with such beautiful desperation," she says, her gloved fingers tracing the line of your jaw with unbearable gentleness.

"But desperation fades," Xera breathes, stepping in behind you. "And eternity... devours."

Her hand settles at your shoulder — cold, deliberate, claiming. The chill sinks into your bones, pinning you to the moment. You can feel it now — the thrum of blood, the shiver of life — and your own body answering it without mercy.

"You were chosen," Ava whispers in your ear, her breath a featherlight brush against sensitive skin.

"Chosen by blood," Xera says, her voice that is both beautiful and dangerous, "and by us."

The ancient power hums through the stone beneath you, pulses through the very chains that bind you. It cradles you. Encloses you. Owns you.

"You are ours," Ava breathes, the words a kiss you will never escape.

"Forever," Xera murmurs, threading the word into your bones like a spell.

And outside these walls, the world you once fought to protect will turn on you. Those you called friends will smell the change on your skin, and they will hunt you as you once hunted monsters.

Outside, snow buries the world in silence. Inside, the candle flames gutter and stretch, casting shadows that reach for you like lovers’ hands.

You had come to destroy monsters.

Instead, you had been claimed by the queens who ruled them.

And they had turned you into the very thing you hate.

A Vampire