Elara's sneakers slapped against the wet asphalt, the rhythm a frantic drumbeat echoing down the dark, fog-laden alleyways of Verox City. Her breath came out in harsh puffs, visible in the chilly night air, a misty reminder of the pulse-pounding fear that chased her through the shadows.
"Why tonight?" she muttered under her breath, dodging a trash can with a grace she didn't feel. Just hours ago, she was another face in the crowd at The Abyss, Verox's hottest underground club, where the bass hit harder than your ex's betrayal and the drinks promised to make you forget yesterday.
The night had started like any cliché from a millennial's vampire blog—throbbing music, bodies grinding against each other, and that electrifying buzz in the air that screamed trouble. But Elara wasn't there to spill tea or snap pics. No, she was there to meet him—Xavier, the guy everyone online was thirsting after, but no one really knew.
When Xavier had slid into her DMs with an invite, it wasn't just her heart that fluttered—it was her entire damn existence. But as the night unfolded, so did the reality of her situation. Xavier wasn't just some influencer with a vampire fetish; he was the real deal, and he had plans for her that went beyond any filter or hashtag.
Now, she was running. Not just from Xavier, but from what he had shown her, what he had done to her in the shadowed corners of The Abyss. The bite marks on her neck burned as she remembered the sharp, exquisite pain, the overwhelming rush of sensations, and the eerie calm that followed.
As she skidded around a corner, her phone vibrated against her thigh. She yanked it out, the screen lighting up with a message from her bestie, Jax:
**Jax: Where u at? This party's dead w/o u. 😴**
Elara's fingers flew over the keyboard, the autocorrect barely keeping up with her panic.
**Elara: Can't. Big prob. Tell u later.**
Stuffing the phone back into her hoodie, she dared a glance over her shoulder. The mist swirled, and for a second, she saw a figure—a silhouette that haunted her newfound nightmares. Tall, dark, and terrifyingly familiar.
She faced forward, pumping her legs harder. The streets of Verox City were a labyrinth, a mix of old-world charm and modern neglect, with secrets tucked in every shadow. Elara knew these streets, had Instagrammed their moody aesthetics a hundred times. But tonight, they felt alien, hostile, as if they knew she no longer belonged.
Up ahead, a neon sign flickered erratically, the buzz almost as erratic as her heartbeat. **Grimm's Inn**, the sign proclaimed, a dive bar notorious for its rough crowd and rougher liquor. Desperation painted her decision as she darted toward it, pushing through the door into a haze of smoke and the smell of cheap beer.
The change from fear-chilled night to the stuffy warmth of the bar disoriented her, and for a moment, she stood there, dazed, scanning the room through the dim light. No one paid her any mind—just another night owl seeking refuge from the city's madness.
She made a beeline for the bar, elbowing through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances her disheveled appearance earned. The bartender, a burly man with tattoos crawling up his arms like ivy, raised an eyebrow as she approached.
"Hit me with your strongest," she gasped out, slamming a crumpled bill on the counter. "Make it quick."
The bartender's eyes flicked to the bill, then to her neck. His movements paused imperceptibly before he turned to grab a bottle labeled with something she couldn't pronounce. He poured a glass, slid it across to her, and leaned in, his voice low and surprisingly gentle.
"You running from something, or someone, girl?"
Elara grabbed the glass, the liquid fire beckoning. "Isn't everyone?"
She knocked back the drink, the burn of the alcohol a welcome pain compared to the cold, terrifying thrill of vampire fangs sinking into her skin. As the warmth spread through her body, steadying her shaking hands, she felt a presence behind her, the weight of a gaze she instinctively recognized.
Turning slowly, her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. It wasn't Xavier. Instead, Jonah stood there, his eyes intense, the corners of his lips twitched in a half-smirk, half-snarl.
"Running away from him won't save you," he said, his voice a blend of warning and challenge. "But maybe, just maybe, running with me will."