The black sedan cut through the quiet city like a blade through silk, its engine a low hum in the sleeping world. Inside, the silence was a heavy, breathing weight . The driver, a gaunt vampire from the Stewart clan, sat stiffly, his eyes fixed on the empty road. In the back, Yvonne stared out the window, watching the human world pass by with detached contempt.
Beside her, Matt Garrett sat coiled like a spring. His fingers on one hand tapped a silent rhythm on his knee, the faint scritch-scritch of his nails against the fabric the only rebellion against the suffocating stillness, the other tapped away at his phone. His mail was just the distraction he needed. He was a man in a world of monsters, hired by monsters to protect the monsters from what exactly, he hadn't figured that out yet but every sense in him screamed at him to be ready.
"The Aethelred Club, Madame," the driver announced, his voice, though dry as old bones, was like salvation to both back passengers. The weight of the eerie silence was more than a burden.
The words hung in the air. Yvonne and Matt's eyes met briefly—her glacial blue against his watchful brown—and an unspoken agreement passed between them. No conversation was needed until they were inside. They both sat, eyes transfixed on the night's eerie glow.
When the car stopped before an unmarked brick building, Matt was out first. He circled the vehicle to Yvvone's side of the car, opened the door with practiced efficiency, and fell into step precisely one pace behind her as she swept toward the entrance without a backward glance, not even an acknowledgement to the guard at the entrance.
Matt walked into the building half expecting a ballroom. But they didn't just walk into a ballroom, it was like a cave of shadows, not like anything Matt had ever imagined
The Aethelred was legendary among their kind—a place where the oldest and most powerful vampires gathered. The room was vast and dark, the only light coming from a single, massive chandelier dripping with crystal and lit by flickering candlelight that threw monstrous, dancing shadows on the walls. The air was cold and smelled of expensive perfume, old wine, and the unmistakable, coppery scent of blood.
Matt felt dozens of eyes settle on him all at once. He was like a flame in a room full of moths— warm, living, and utterly out of place. But thanks to his father's scent-masking balm, he was a ghost to their senses. They could see him, but to their preternatural smell, he was nothing. A blank space. It unnerved them, and he could feel their curiosity like static on his skin.
Yvonne made straight for the bar, a long slab of dark wood polished to a mirror shine. Matt followed, his own eyes scanning the entire room, counting exits, noting faces.
"Yvonne! Darling!"
The voice was a high, silvery chime. Sara, Yvonne's closest friend and the vampire princess of the CoLunar clan, walked toward them with regal unsteadiness. She was dressed in an emerald silk gown reaching just beneath her thighs, her round face flushed with vitality from a recent feeding. Her eyes, dark and shining, locked onto Matt with open curiosity.
"Who is this?" she trilled, looping her arm through Yvonne's. "And where is Arnold?... You know He'd be furious!"
Arnold? She hadn't heard from him since the last full moon. Was he the reason why her father made her come to this party. If she was going to see him today, then her would be significantly better.
"He's nobody," Yvonne said flatly, not looking at Matt. And trying to drink in the idea that she'd see Arnold today "My father's new pet. A bodyguard." She added.
Sara's smile widened. She drifted closer to Matt, who stood like a statue. "He doesn't look like nobody," she murmured. "He looks like a man who knows how to handle himself." She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "What's your poison, handsome? We have a '98 Pinot Noir that's to die for. Literally."
Matt could have answered ,but Yvonne cut in just before he could , her voice sharp. "He doesn't drink. Blood."
The words were like a deliberate barb, meant to humiliate. Matt's expression didn't change, but a muscle in his jaw tightened. He knew she wanted him dead but he didn't think she would stoop so low as to try to instigate a mob of vampires against him.
"He's working," Yvonne added, her tone leaving no room for argument. It was a redemption for Matt, the muscle in his jaw softened.
"Working," Sara pouted, but her eyes were calculating. "How dreary."
"I'm fine," Matt said, his voice low and steady. "I don't drink."
There he was, with elegance second only to the Ventrue's. He descended just in the spot where Yvonne stood, all eyes on him, he took her hands.
Matt almost stiffens as he pulled her up. All of the balm in the world could not hide the stiffness, and especially not from Arnold.
"What is this... Who are you" His dark voice directed at Matt.
"Well, he's no one, just my bodyguard, something my father forced on me".
His smile not wavering
"Well mister... I'd take it from here"
Matt let her out of his sight, but not his senses.
The party swirled around them—a decadent, dangerous spectacle. Matt watched as ancient vampires played games of chance with antique coins and whispered deals that would shape human politics for decades. The laughter was too sharp, the smiles too full of teeth. It was a world of predatory grace, and it irked his stomach.
As the first hint of grey light began to touch the high windows, Matt leaned toward Yvonne, after a short search and whispered in her ear
"Madame. It's time to go."
To his surprise, she didn't argue. She simply gathered her wrap—a spill of black velvet—and turned toward the door.
"You'll sit in front," she commanded as the car pulled up, her voice cold. "I want quiet."
"I'll sit where I need to sit to protect you," Matt replied, his tone leaving no room for debate.
She stared at him for a long moment, then slid into the back seat without another word.
The drive back was tense and silent just as the first . Matt's senses, already heightened, felt stretched thin. The lingering scent of blood and perfume from the club was fading, replaced by the clean, cold night air. He watched the dark streets, every shadow a potential threat.
Then the car jolted, with brutal force.
It wasn't a pothole or a bump. The impact came from underneath, a violent, upward slam that rattled the entire frame.
Matt's head snapped up. "What was that?"
In the rearview mirror, the driver's eyes met his. They were calm and proud . A bit too proud "Nothing, sir. A bad stretch of road."
Yvonne let out a derisive sigh. "Nervous, bodyguard?"
Matt ignored her, his gaze fixed on the driver. "Stop the car. Now."
"I don't think that'd be necessary—"
The driver's sentence was cut off by two deafening BOOMS.
The rear tires didn't just blow—they exploded. The car was launched into a violent, forward spinning roll. Glass shattered. Metal screaming . The world became a blur of noise and motion.
Matt's body reacted before his mind could, bracing, covering, calculating angles of impact as the sedan tumbled end over end with brutal force.
Then, with a final, crushing groan of metal, everything stopped.
The silence was absolute and ringing.
The car rested upside down in a ditch, steam rising from its ruined engine. The front end, where the driver had been sitting, was crushed into a unrecognizable mass of twisted steel.
Matt, hanging upside down by his seatbelt, took a ragged breath. He unclipped himself, dropped to what was now the ceiling, and turned.
"Yvonne."
She was suspended beside him, her eyes wide in the darkness. A thin trickle of dark blood—black in the dim light—ran from her temple. She was alive. Furious, but alive.
"Get me out of this coffin," she hissed.
Matt didn't reply. He kicked out the shattered window and crawled into the cold night air, then reached back in to pull her free. As he did, his eyes swept over the wreckage of the front seat.
There was no driver. No body. Just a crushed space, and on the twisted steering column, a single, perfect symbol carved into the leather—a crescent moon cradling a single drop of blood.
The message was clear. This hadn't been an accident.
And it hadn't been meant for Yvonne.