Maverick let out a groan, his eyes cracking open as silk sheets slid against his skin. The room had a faint metallic smell, mixed with something like old wood. His head throbbed, and the last thing he remembered was… the crash.
But this wasn't a hospital room.
Maverick's mind raced as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. This isn't my apartment either, he thought, glancing around.
And there's no way I just walked away from that crash without some kind of injury. He frowned, trying to make sense of it. Where the hell did those people bring me?
Sitting up, Maverick scanned his surroundings. The room was unlike anything he'd ever seen—huge and creepily gothic. Giant red curtains hung over tall windows, glowing faintly under a fancy chandelier. The fire at the far end made the carved furniture look even more sinister.
"What the hell…" he muttered, rubbing his temples.
His fingers brushed against his jawline, sharper than he remembered. Frowning, he stumbled to the gilded mirror standing by the wardrobe. What stared back at him wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but it wasn't quite him, either.
He barely recognized himself—way thinner, with sharp cheekbones and pale, unhealthy-looking skin. The dark circles under his eyes gave him a haunted look, and there was a faint smudge of red at the corner of his lips.
"Is that…" He wiped at his mouth, his breath hitching when the taste hit him. Metallic. Bitter. Blood?
He felt sick to his stomach.
"Okay, think. Think, Maverick. What's going on? Dream? Coma?" His voice cracked as he paced the room, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.
His gaze landed on a small name tag lying atop the bedside table. Picking it up, he read the words etched in clean silver: Maverick Cain, Bartender.
"What kind of sick joke…" His eyes widened as memories flooded back.
The bus. The truck. The crash.
And then…
"Oh, no way. No freaking way." His mind raced as he pieced together the clues. The name, the gothic room, the faint scent of iron in the air—it all clicked. This was the setting of an online novel he'd skimmed a few months back, Bloodlines and Betrayal.
"But I didn't even finish it," he whispered, gripping the edge of the table.
The story had been a convoluted web of politics and power struggles, with vampires at the center of it all. And Maverick Cain? He vaguely remembered the name—a minor character mentioned in passing, a bartender who worked at a vampire club.
His heart sank. "I'm not even the main character?"
A soft ding broke the quiet, making Maverick spin around. A translucent blue screen popped up out of nowhere before him, glowing faintly.
SYSTEM INITIALIZING…
Welcome, Maverick Cain.
Current Status: Alive (barely).
Mission: Survive the night.
"Survive the night?" Maverick scoffed, waving his hand through the screen. It rippled but didn't disappear. "What kind of cheesy RPG nonsense is this?"
The screen remained stubbornly in place, lines of text scrolling up as if responding to his skepticism.
Tips for Survival:
Do not antagonize the vampires.
Blend in.
Complete assigned tasks to avoid suspicion.
"Oh, sure, blend in," he muttered. "Because that's easy when you're surrounded by bloodsuckers."
A loud knock at the door made him flinch. Before he could even say anything, it swung open to reveal a tall, skinny guy in a black suit, glaring at him like he was dirt.
"Cain," the man barked. "You're late. The VIPs are arriving, and we need all hands on deck."
"Uh, right. Of course." Maverick nodded, scrambling to slip on the black uniform folded neatly on a nearby chair. As he followed the man down a winding corridor, his pulse raced.
He stepped into a huge, fancy lounge, the kind that screamed expensive and creepy. Black crystal lights glimmered against crimson walls, and a glossy black bar stretched out on one side. Vampires clustered in groups, their low laughter sending chills down his spine.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, every part of him screaming to leave, but he knew he had to stay put.
The manager leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. "There's a VIP event tonight. You're serving drinks. Do your job, and don't draw attention to yourself."
"Got it," Maverick said, his throat dry.
He moved behind the bar, acting busy with the glasses while sneaking peeks at the vampires. The vampires looked fancy, like high-class guests, but their too-smooth moves and predatory smiles gave him chills.
And then, the room fell silent.
Maverick glanced up and saw a guy walk in. He was tall and intimidating, with slicked-back dark hair and glowing silver eyes. The room seemed to part for him like magic.
Maverick's stomach dropped. He recognized the man immediately.
Emory Black.
A rogue vampire leader known for his ruthlessness. In the novel, Emory was a wildcard, feared even by the vampire council.
Maverick kept his head down, hoping to avoid attention, but Emory was already headed his way.
The room got quiet as Emory sniffed the air, his face turning serious. "Something here smells… off."
Maverick froze.
Emory's silver eyes locked onto him, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
The system screen flickered back into view, its message glaring at him.
Mission Reminder: Survive the night.
Maverick swallowed hard as Emory stepped closer, his predatory gaze never leaving him.
"Let's see what you're hiding," Emory said, his voice dangerously soft.