Rylan Carmine POV
I was twenty the first time I saw rain on sunny day.
It should have been ordinary, a bright, sun-warmed morning, but the sky surprised me with a delicate, persistent drizzle. A rainbow arched over the village like an impossible promise, its colors washing the thatch roofs and wet stones with something tender and new. I had never seen such a beautiful day in my life.
And yet that same day folded me into ruin.
He made me like himself. He gave me immortality and then died before I could force him to answer for it. I still want to tear him apart with my bare hands. I still see him the way I saw him the first time, laughing in the rain, warm and human like, and then, the wound, the bite, the world splitting open.
I had saved her before I understood what he was. I tell myself sometimes that if I'd looked away as he fell, pretended not to hear the last rasp of his breath, then none of this would exist. My saving snatched everything from me, my dreams, my sleep, my future. My life, in whatever shape it is now, was stolen the moment I reached down to pull him back from the edge.
But I cannot regret saving him.
I cannot hate him properly, though he is the reason I wear this cold body. He is the reason I have endured centuries of hunger and exile. He is the reason for the Red Thirst that sits behind my ribs like a coiled animal, always a hair's breadth from snapping free. I try to hate him for that, for every empty grave and every name I've watched fade, but hatred is a blunt instrument against the knot of what he was to me, savior, monster, betrayer, lover.... he was all of those at once.
Five hundred years have passed since he died, and I have lived my twenties five hundred times over. Time has changed what it can, a hundred fashions, a thousand languages, fewer places that still hold the smell of woodsmoke and bread. Humans have risen to dominion, they colonize, compute, conquer. Vampires like me have been reduced to myth, to bedtime stories told to frighten children. There was an era when humanity trembled at our name, now they ignore us, or worse, hunt us with gleeful confidence.
We cannot reveal ourselves unless we want to be hunted. The law of my kind is simple and terrible, if a vampire attempts to end their life, the Red Thirst detonates. It is not a sorrow, it is an inferno. It would burn through cities. The thirst will not be sated until we abandon the thought of death. That is the cruelest mercy immortality has given us, an unending life tethered to a hunger that will consume the world before it will let us go.
I still hear his voice sometimes, a memory sharpened by grief.
"Trust me," he had said once, in a night before blood and bone, "the Red Thirst is not something you can control. No one in this world can control it."
If only I had trusted those words sooner.
________________________
The body lay like a discarded doll at the edge of the lane, skin bleached to ash, limbs splayed in a final, graceless pose. Not a drop of blood remained. A neat crescent of tooth marks marred the left side of the neck , a small, clinical detail that refused the chaos of the scene and made everything colder.
Camera shutters clicked with a mechanical, almost indifferent rhythm. A few muffled screams rose from the ring of family members, small and raw as if sound itself were trying to stitch back what had been torn away. Rain had stopped leaving the wet falling made every surface slick and reflective, it turned the corpse into an image and the image into an accusation.
"Serial killer…" a policewoman muttered, eyes narrowed as she crouched to examine the wounds. Her voice carried the practiced flatness of someone who had seen too many ends.
Ezra Volkov frowned, the line between his brows deepening. He was younger, keener, and less willing to let tidy explanations stand when the evidence whispered another truth. "No. Not human," he said. His tone was low, edged with a certainty that unsettled his partner.
Si-Young paused, giving him a look that mixed amusement with old patience. "Ezra, you're my junior, yes, but I've handled enough cases to know when someone is lying and when something else is at play," she said. She didn't sound unconvinced so much as indulgent. "Serial killers don't drain a body dry the way this was drained."
Ezra's mouth thinned. He opened it as if to push his point further --" va---"only to close it, lean in, and murmur near her ear, as if the words themselves might be a contagion.
"It's a vampire."
Si-Young's disbelief rippled across her face for a heartbeat before a new sound pulled both of them away from the corpse, the stumbling plea of a boy. Ezra followed her gaze to the edge of the cordon where a slight, fragile figure was struggling against two officers' hands.
"Not again…" Ezra muttered under his breath. He could see the pattern now, the same boy at every scene, the same hollow fear and hope in his eyes. "…he won't stop."
The officers were trying to be gentle. One had his hand at the boy's elbow, the other at his shoulder, their voices soft and practiced. "Sir, please step back. This is a crime scene."
Felix, exhausted, unsteady, fought to break free. His clothes clung to him as if the day's tears had soaked through. His face was a map of grief, eyes rimmed red, hair falling into his face, lips trembling with the effort of holding in the chaos. He kept asking the same question, the question that had driven him here over and over during the last two years.
"I-- It's not my brother, r-right?" he gasped, each breath a painful punctuation.
Si-Young stepped forward with a hand raised like a promise. "No, Felix. It's not." Her tone was soft but firm, she wanted to shelter him without lying. "You don't have to come to every single crime scene. If I find anything that points to your brother, I'll call you."
Felix sagged as if those words were a rope he could lean on. He tried to smile, but the gesture was fragile, more of a reflex than comfort. His pupils were dark and wide, darting as though scanning for some impossible clue. He whispered through clenched teeth, mostly to himself, the kind of vow only the bereaved can make.
"It's fine. He's fine… I can wait. I'll wait as long as there's--" He choked on the rest. The officers released him almost reluctantly, because they could not take away the only thing keeping him moving: hope.
Ezra watched him, something like pity and irritation warring in his expression. He shared a look with Si-Young, one that needed no words.
"Leave him," Ezra said finally. "We're here, Felix. You don't need to--"
Felix flinched, as if Ezra's use of his name should have been a shield. He steadied himself against the car as he turned away, fingers fumbling along the metal. The sight of him, so small, so stubborn, pierced the assembled officers. Si-Young's mouth softened. Ezra felt the ache too, the city had no mercy for ghosts, but human hearts still did.
"Take him home," Si-Young said, voice brisk as she returned to duty. "Make sure he gets there safe."
Ezra protested half-heartedly. "Me? I've got--"
"Busy dreaming about old legends?" Si-Young jabbed him with a look that brooked no argument. "Go. I won't repeat myself."
He sighed, but he moved. The rain had begun to fall in earnest again, a steady curtain that erased footprints and made all the world less sharp. As Ezra guided Felix away from the scene, the corpse under the tarpaulin seemed smaller, reduced not only by the theft of blood but by being passed, again, from living hands to cold evidence. Somewhere in the hush between the rain and the shutter-clicks, the city carried on , indifferent, enormous, and impossible to hold.
_________
"Be positive? Again?"
Rylan's voice dripped with disbelief as he stared at the phone in his hand. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence of his vast, dimly lit villa. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if the irritation were a tangible ache.
He had been drinking the same blood type for four months, B Positive, synthetic but purified from human donors. It tasted sterile now.
On the other end of the call, Edane tone was calm but resigned. "We only have that type in large quantities. The others are too rare. Unless you want us to start hunting again, you'll have to deal with it."
Rylan let out a long sigh, eyes tracing the rain running down the windowpane. "It's not about dealing with it. It's just…"
He hesitated. Even his own thoughts felt dangerous. Finally, he murmured, "What if I tried to consume---"
"YAH!" Edane's voice cracked through the speaker, sharp as a whip. "Don't even think about it! Do you want to die? Do you want to feel the Red Thirst again?"
Rylan winced. There was a long, heavy pause before Edane's voice returned, quieter, tight with frustration. "I don't even want to say it. Don't think about it, Rylan."
The call ended abruptly. The villa fell back into silence.
Rylan exhaled, sinking into the couch, staring at the phone as if it had just insulted him. He didn't need to be reminded of the danger, he knew it all too well.
Centuries ago, a vampire had tried to survive on animal blood. He'd barely swallowed a mouthful before the Red Thirst consumed him, the uncontrollable hunger that ripped through mind and body alike. In hours, he had slaughtered a village. It took ten vampires to restrain him and end his torment.
Animal blood was poison to them, a rejection, a revolt of the body itself. It didn't nourish. It burned. It triggered the monster within to retaliate, convinced it was being starved to death.
And yet… something inside Rylan whispered that maybe, just maybe, it could work this time.
He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded, the faintest smirk curving his lips. "It's not like I'm afraid of hurting humans," he murmured. "If it doesn't work, I'll just endure the thirst for a few minutes and…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"…then hunt humans secretly."
That thought, reckless, electric, ignited something inside him. He stood, the movement smooth and predatory. The rain outside caught his reflection in the window, splitting his face between shadow and light.
Moments later, the villa door creaked open, and Rylan vanished into the storm.
The night air hit him like ice. He slid into his car, the engine purring to life beneath his touch. The headlights carved through the mist as he sped toward the forest , a blur of speed and silent determination.
For the first time in decades, his heart felt alive with intent. Dangerous intent. The urge to do something forbidden thrummed through every nerve, louder than reason.
When he reached the dense forest, the world was quiet, only the whisper of leaves and the damp scent of earth. He moved soundlessly, almost part of the darkness itself, his senses sharp and awake.
A flicker of movement caught his attention. A fox, small, sleek, and oblivious. Its amber eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight.
Rylan climbed a nearby tree, every motion deliberate, his muscles fluid and patient. He fixed his gaze on the creature, summoning it without words, that subtle, magnetic pull only ancient vampires possessed. The fox paused mid-step, then, as if entranced, padded closer.
A faint smile ghosted across Rylan's lips. He dropped soundlessly from the tree, landing before the animal. His hand shot out, faster than thought, gripping the fox by the neck.
Its pulse fluttered beneath his fingers, quick, terrified, alive.
"This won't take long," he whispered.
He leaned closer, inhaling the scent of wild fur and earth. But then, something sharp, alien, acrid, hit his senses. His vision blurred. The world tilted.
The forest spun, and before he could understand why, the scent, the air, the whisper, darkness swallowed him whole.
Rylan Carmine collapsed into the leaves, motionless.
___________
"You can just drop me here. I'll go the rest of the way myself."
The soft voice pulled Ezra Volkov from his thoughts. The navigation app chimed faintly in the background as Felix spoke, his tone polite but distant, the kind of tone people use when they want to end a conversation without saying it outright.
Ezra slowed the car to a stop. The headlights cut through the mist, revealing a narrow road that disappeared into dense forest. He glanced around, unease coiling in his gut. The trees pressed close on both sides, and beyond them, nothing. No lights. No houses. No sound of life.
He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. Even the air here felt heavier. The forest seemed to listen.
"Felix," he said carefully, scanning the shadows, "why do you live out here? It's completely isolated. It's not safe for you to be alone in a place like this."
He hesitated, his tone softening. "I have a friend looking for a tenant, nice neighborhood, close to the city. If you want, I can talk to him. He'd give you a fair price."
Felix smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on the dark road ahead. "I don't feel safe around people," he said quietly. "I feel safe alone. It's quiet here. Peaceful. I like it."
Then, after a brief pause, he added, his voice almost trembling, "I don't want to leave. What if my brother comes back and I'm not here?" He shook his head quickly. "Anyway… thanks for the ride, Officer Volkov."
Ezra's expression softened. "Do you want me to help you inside?" he asked gently, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
Felix turned toward him with a small, rueful smile. "No, it's fine. I know I'm… disabled. But I'm used to it now."
Before Ezra could respond, Felix was already outside. The car door shut softly behind him, the sound swallowed by the forest. Ezra watched as the young man unlocked his door and slipped into the small, shadowed house , his figure vanishing behind the thin veil of rain beginning to fall.
Inside, Felix leaned against the door for a long moment, listening to the quiet. No wind. No footsteps. Just the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall. He locked the door, double-checked it, then finally let out a slow breath of relief.
The house was small and bare , a couch, a table, stacks of papers and missing-person flyers that never left his sight. He slumped down on the couch, hands covering his face.
"How do I find you?" he murmured into the silence. "Where did you go?"
Everyone had told him the same thing, Your brother left on his own. They said Jude had gotten tired of taking care of him, that he wanted freedom. But Felix didn't believe it. Jude wasn't that kind of person. Jude loved him, fiercely, protectively, almost to a fault.
Something was wrong. He could feel it.
"Where are you, Jude?" Felix whispered, his voice trembling. "Why did you leave me?"
The room didn't answer. Only the clock ticked on.
Then , ring, ring.
The sound sliced through the silence, sharp and sudden. Felix jolted upright, his heart hammering. He reached for his old keypad phone, scratched, stubborn, a relic from the past, and pressed the green button.
"Hello?"
A low sigh came from the other end. "Your very… very old friend."
Felix frowned. The voice was unfamiliar, yet there was something unsettlingly calm about it. "Who is this?" he asked, gripping the phone tighter.
"You're looking for your brother," the voice said smoothly. "I can help you. I know where he is."
Felix's breath caught. His pulse spiked so fast it hurt. "What? Who are you?! How do you know my brother?! Where is he?!"
"Calm down, sweetheart." The voice almost purred the words, amusement threading through every syllable. "You'll know everything soon. I promise, you'll see him again. But you need to come to me, now. Climb the mountain and meet me in the middle of the forest. I'm not good at waiting."
The line went dead.
To be continued