The ballroom was a living thing.
It breathed in the scent of expensive perfume and exhaled the metallic tang of blood. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto marble floors polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the gathered elite in grotesque parody. Waiters moved like ghosts through the crowd, their silver trays heavy with champagne flutes that caught the light like liquid gold and cocktails so dark they might have been poured from an open vein.
Jackie sat perched on the edge of her seat, her gown a masterpiece of deception—black as a moonless night at the bodice, fading to molten gold at the hem as though she were standing knee-deep in fire. The slit up her thigh revealed a dagger strapped to her leg, its hilt carved from a single piece of obsidian. A jagged tattoo climbed her collarbone, the ink blurred at the edges like a wound that refused to heal properly.
A server approached, his steps faltering when he caught sight of the mark. His fingers trembled against the tray.
"What's the matter, darling?" Her voice was a velvet-wrapped razor. "Never seen a hunter's brand before?"
The ice in her glass cracked as she took a sip, never breaking eye contact.
The server swallowed hard. "I—"
"Relax." She plucked a fresh drink from his tray without looking. "I'm here for someone else... not you." Her smile widened, revealing teeth that were just a little too sharp. "Not yet, at least."
He fled, nearly colliding with a passing noble.
Static screeched in her ear. "Was that necessary?" Alice's voice could have frozen lava.
Jackie admired her nails—filed to points and painted the color of dried blood. "Vamplings make such delightful noises when they panic. Like rabbits realizing the fox has been in the hutch all along."
"You're impossible."
"And you're jealous you can't see the way his Adam's apple jumped." She leaned back as a noblewoman passed, catching the vampire's lingering stare. "Though if you prefer the older models... I won't judge."
"Fucking twink lover."
"Don't shame me, girl kisser."
The banter died as the lights dimmed. A hush fell over the crowd as a figure emerged from the shadows—tall, impeccably dressed in a midnight tailcoat that seemed to drink the light around it. His face was half-hidden behind an obsidian mask, but his curled mustache twitched when he smiled, revealing a flash of fang.
"My esteemed guests," he purred, spreading his arms like a preacher welcoming sinners, "tonight, we celebrate rarity. The exquisite, the unrepeatable... the irreplaceable."
A velvet curtain rustled aside.
Children shuffled forward in ill-fitting formalwear, their collars weighted with numbered tags that gleamed under the lights. One girl, no older than twelve, had bitten her lip raw. A boy beside her trembled so violently his cuffs rattled against his thin wrists.
Jackie's glass frosted over in her grip.
"Bundle starting at one million gold!"
Hands rose like snakes uncoiling. Two million. Three. The auctioneer's mustache fluttered with each bid, his delight palpable as nobles licked their fangs and leaned forward in their seats.
"Sold to Countess Vanya!" He clapped as guards led the children away, their chains clinking like macabre wind chimes. "Now... for our pièce de résistance."
A hush. Then—
"The last living Belna."
The crowd erupted.
Chains rattled as guards wheeled him in—a boy with flame-red hair matted with blood, his skin mapped in bruises that told stories of their own. The blindfold couldn't hide the hollows of his cheeks, the way his ribs pressed against the thin fabric of his torn shirt like the bars of a cage.
"Raphael Belna." The auctioneer sighed like a lover. "Little brother to the Lightning Witch. Fifteen thousand gold to start."
"Fifteen?" Jackie's laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "That's cheaper than your coat."
"It's a provocation," Alice hissed. "They want the bids to climb on spite."
Numbers soared. Fifty thousand. A hundred.
Venom's voice cut through the comms—a blade of winter: "Abort. The variables have shifted."
Jackie raised her hand. "One million."
Silence.
The auctioneer's grin turned feral. "Do I hear 1.2?"
"Have you lost your mind?" Alice's shout made her earpiece whine.
"Two million."
The voice came from the back—a man in a black sweater and sweatpants, his long hair tied in a messy knot. He looked like he'd wandered in from a coffee shop, not a vampire gala. A steaming cup of what appeared to be herbal tea sat balanced on his knee.
"Quarter billion," he said, sipping calmly.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The auctioneer hesitated. "Sir Luther... you're certain?"
Luther's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Are you certain you want to question me?"
"SOLD!"
Jackie crushed her earpiece under her heel.
Three bribes, one blackmailed guard, and a well-placed knee to a nobleman's groin later, Jackie knelt before Raphael. His breath hitched when she touched his blindfold.
"Easy," she murmured, her fingers working at the locks on his cuffs. "I'm getting you out."
The chains fell with a sound like dying echoes.
A shadow loomed.
"Leaving so soon?" The vampire blocking the exit had shoulders like a cathedral arch. His leather armor creaked as he cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the quiet hall.
Jackie sighed. "Move."
"Or what, little hunter?" He grinned, fangs glinting in the low light. "You'll stab me with your hairpin?"
The blade hidden in her dress hem slid into her palm. "Something like that."
She moved.
A spin-low, steel flashing across his hamstring. As he bellowed, she drove the knife up under his ribs—once, twice. Blood sprayed as she opened his throat with a final slash, painting the walls in crimson.
"Dressmaker owes me a bonus," she muttered, shaking gore off her sleeve.
Raphael hadn't flinched.
---
The hilltop offered a perfect view of the burning venue. Jackie pressed binoculars into Raphael's hands. "Look."
Through the lenses:
Hunters moved like shadows given form. Vampires knelt in neat rows, their heads yanked back by the hair. Silver gleamed. Throats parted. Hammers fell, methodical as metronomes, reducing limbs to pulp.
One hunter paused before the auctioneer—now maskless, his mustache trembling.
"P-please—"
The stake went through his heart with a sound like splitting melons.
Jackie lit a cigarette, the flame trembling slightly in her grip. "Every one of them bought and sold people like livestock." She exhaled smoke, watching the firelight dance in Raphael's hollow eyes as he took in the carnage below.
For a long moment, there was only the crackle of flames and the distant screams. Then, ever so slightly, the tension in Raphael's shoulders eased—just enough to notice.
For the first time, Raphael exhaled. Not in fear.In peace.