Chapter 1 The Blood That Woke the Dead

The rain fell like silver needles, pricking my skin as I hurried down the cobblestone street. My umbrella had surrendered to the wind ten minutes ago, leaving me at the mercy of the storm. I pulled my jacket tighter around my body, cursing myself for staying so late at the university library.

That's when I heard it—a groan coming from the alleyway to my right. I hesitated, common sense warring with concern. Another pained sound made the decision for me.

"Hello?" I called out, stepping into the shadows. "Are you hurt?"

Lightning flashed, illuminating a figure slumped against the wall. A man, maybe in his thirties, blood seeping from a wound on his head.

"Oh my god," I gasped, rushing to his side and dropping my bag. "Sir, can you hear me?"

His eyelids fluttered. "Help..."

I fumbled for my phone, but found only a black screen. Dead battery—perfect timing. The man's breathing was becoming more labored.

"I need to get help," I told him, squeezing his hand. "Just hold on."

Looking around frantically, I spotted a structure looming behind us—an old stone building with a partially collapsed roof. Maybe there was a working phone inside, or at least shelter where I could tend to his wounds.

"I'll be right back," I promised, then sprinted toward the building.

As I approached, I realized it was an abandoned cathedral. The massive wooden doors were worn by time, but one hung ajar. I slipped inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Hello?" My voice echoed through the empty space. Moonlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting eerie blue and red patterns across the floor.

The interior was a maze of fallen beams and crumbling pillars. As I ventured deeper, I noticed strange markings on the floor—intricate patterns carved into the stone, forming a perfect circle. I stepped closer, fascinated despite myself. The symbols looked ancient, unlike anything I'd seen in my art history classes.

A sharp pain shot through my palm. I'd cut myself on something—a piece of broken glass or metal. Blood welled up, and before I could stop it, a drop fell onto the carved circle.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the markings began to glow, a deep crimson light pulsing from within the stone. I stumbled backward, but it was too late.

The light intensified, shooting upward in a column that reached the cathedral ceiling. The air grew heavy, charged with something ancient and powerful. The ground beneath me trembled.

From the center of the circle, a form began to materialize—first just a shadow, then solidifying into the shape of a man. He rose slowly, as if pulled from the depths of the earth itself.

When the light finally faded, he stood before me in all his terrifying glory. Tall and imposing, with hair like spun gold that fell past his shoulders. His clothes were archaic—black leather and dark fabrics that seemed to absorb the moonlight. But it was his eyes that held me frozen in place—blood-red irises that glowed with an inner fire.

He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers as if testing their reality. Then his gaze snapped to me, those crimson eyes narrowing with such intense hatred that I felt it like a physical blow.

"Is this truly the mortal world again?" he spoke, his voice like velvet over steel, accent unfamiliar yet his English perfect. "How long has it been?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't move. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be real.

He took a step toward me, and I managed to find my voice. "Who—what are you?"

His lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. "I am Darian, last prince of the Nightblood line, rightful heir to the Throne of Thorns." His gaze dropped to my bleeding palm, then to the glowing circle at his feet. Understanding dawned in those terrible eyes, followed by fury so profound it made the air around us crackle.

"You," he snarled, moving closer. "It was your blood that awakened me."

I backed away, heart hammering in my chest. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"

He was suddenly before me, moving faster than humanly possible. His hand closed around my throat, not squeezing but holding me in place. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Who dares to awaken me from my rest?"

"Elira," I choked out. "My name is Elira Hamilton."

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition? Confusion? But before I could decipher it, the markings on the floor flared again, brighter this time. Red tendrils of light shot upward, wrapping around both of us.

Darian released me, staggering backward. "No," he breathed. "Not again. Not after all this time."

The light coalesced, sinking into my skin. I watched in horror as intricate red patterns etched themselves onto my arms, climbing up to my neck, burning like fire. Darian was on his knees now, his face contorted in rage and pain.

"The contract," he spat. "The binding. After a thousand years, I am chained once more."

Through the haze of pain and confusion, I remembered the injured man in the alley. "Wait—there's someone hurt outside. I need to—"

"There is no one," Darian cut me off, his voice like ice. "It was a lure. A part of the awakening ritual."

As the markings faded from angry red to a delicate tracery on my skin, I stared at him in disbelief. "What is happening to me? What are you?"

He rose to his feet with fluid grace, his expression a mask of cold contempt. But I could see something else there too—resignation, perhaps. A terrible knowledge of what was to come.

"I am what your kind would call a vampire, though that word is a pale shadow of the truth." His eyes traveled over the markings on my skin. "And you, Elira Hamilton, have just become my master. The contract has been sealed."

"Contract? Master? I don't understand—"

"No, you don't," he agreed, his voice softening slightly. "But you will. The blood that woke the dead has bound us both in ways you cannot yet comprehend."

Outside, the storm had passed, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. In the distance, a bell tolled midnight. The beginning of a new day—and for me, the beginning of something I could never have imagined.

Darian extended his hand, his expression unreadable. "Come. Dawn approaches, and there is much you need to learn about the world you've just entered."

I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me to run. But the markings on my skin pulsed in response to his presence, and I knew with terrible certainty that running was no longer an option.

I took his hand.