Chapter 1
Chapter One
Tennessee Present Day
Warrick
The heavy oak door of the clubhouse slams against the wall as a dark-haired woman bursts into the dimly lit room. I can hear her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. Her eyes dart around the clubhouse, taking in the space, and the men and women seated around it. She meets my gaze and storms toward me.
Something about her strikes me immediately. Not just the way her steps are too deliberate, as if each one is measured to hold back a deeper power, but the air around her itself feels charged. Supernatural, no doubt about it. Though what kind of supernatural remains unclear, and that alone has me intrigued.
When you’ve lived as long as I have, you develop a sense for these things. A twinge here, a shimmer there, a faint tickle of awareness at the base of the spine. She might not be obvious to the average mortal, but to me? She’s ringing alarm bells. Still, I can’t quite place her, and the mystery only sharpens my curiosity.
“Well, well,” I drawl, letting the corner of my mouth curve into a predatory smile. My voice is thick with dark amusement, my fangs gleaming as I lean forward. “What do we have here? A little lamb wandering into the lion’s den?”
Her eyes narrow, and I can see her chest rising and falling as she struggles to steady herself. “Are you the president of this... gang?” she demands, her tone clipped, a tremor beneath her words that she tries to mask with bravado.
A chuckle rumbles from my throat, low and dangerous. “It’s a club, my lady,” I correct her, savoring the way her jaw tightens at my words. “But yes, I am. Warrick Ravenwood. And who might you be to come barging in here with such... urgency? Aren’t you the least bit scared of what could happen to a tasty morsel like yourself?”
Her hands ball into fists at her sides, and she draws a shaky breath. “I need to speak to you,” she grits out, her voice filled with barely concealed desperation, ignoring my question.
I tilt my head, feigning confusion as I motion between us with a smirk. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Her eyes flash with frustration, her teeth clenched. “In private,” she insists, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with pleading.
Intrigued, I push myself up from the high-back chair, my gaze never leaving hers. “Well, then, by all means, my lady,” I murmur, gesturing for her to follow. “After you.”
I lead her to my office, the small space dim and thick with the scent of leather and old books. I close the door behind us, savoring the tension that fills the air. She hesitates, and for a brief second, I think she might bolt. But then, with a small, determined nod, she takes a seat opposite me.
My gaze sweeps over her, taking in her determined expression, the tension coiled in her shoulders. Objectively, she’s attractive—no, bangable , as some might crudely put it. But I’ve spent the last decade or so firmly in my ‘male era,’ and right now, she doesn’t exactly fit the bill.
It’s not that I’ve lost the capacity to appreciate beauty or desire. Far from it. But when you’ve lived as long as I have, sexuality becomes... fluid. Almost irrelevant . I enjoy who I enjoy, when I want, for as long as it suits me. No rules, no labels. Just indulgence. Lately, though? Men have been the indulgence of choice.
I settle behind my desk, steepling my fingers beneath my chin, watching her with calculated interest. “Now,” I say softly, “how may I assist you?”
She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to her hands as she fumbles to find the right words. “I... I need your help,” she finally whispers, her voice shaking. I raise an eyebrow, letting my silence urge her on.
My eyebrow arches, a hint of curiosity flickering. "Is that so?" I muse, my tone dripping with skepticism. "And what, pray tell, could possibly be so urgent that you'd risk barging in on the private quarters of the Crimson Brotherhood?"
"Please," she whispers, her voice trembling with desperation. "It's a matter of life and death."
A humorless chuckle escapes my lips, sending a visible chill through my guest. "My dear," I say, leaning forward slightly, "everything is a matter of life and death when you're dealing with vampires."
Her breath hitches, and I can see the resolve in her eyes as she forces herself to meet my gaze. “My name is Vienna and my brother, Varys… he’s missing,” she says, the words spilling out in a rush, as if she’s afraid that if she stops, she’ll lose her nerve. “I think he’s been taken, and I—I don’t know where else to turn. He’s all I have left. Please, I’ll do anything. I just need to find him.”
Slowly, I unclasp my hands, one finger tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the desk. "Missing, you say?" My voice is low. "How long?"
“Three days. He was supposed to meet me, but he never showed up. It’s not like him, he wouldn’t just?—”
I lift a hand, silencing her. “Enough.” My gaze sharpens, watching her flinch, and a spark of satisfaction ignites in my chest. “Where was he last seen? Who would want to take him?”
“He was... heading to the Whispering Woods,” she replies, her voice faltering. “As for who would want him... there’s only one I can think of. We keep to ourselves, but our kind… we’re not always safe.”
I lean forward, my eyes narrowing. “And what kind would that be, exactly?”
There’s something in the way she holds herself, something just beneath the surface that piques my interest. A scent, faint but unmistakable, lingers in the air—a mix of sharp citrus and something deeper, more unknown. We’ve kept the habit of breathing from our mortal lives—an unnecessary act, sure, but without it, there’s no sense of smell. And without that? You’re blind to half the world.
Her face pales, and she looks away, her lips pressed into a thin line. She hesitates, glancing back at me as if weighing the risks of revealing this truth. “We’re... different,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “Rare. Valuable to some.”
A smile curves my lips. "Valuable, you say? Now that is interesting."
“We’re unicorn shifters,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
My eyes widen fractionally, the only sign of my surprise. “The Obsidian Circle has been hunting our kind for centuries. They... use dark magic, blood rituals that…” She shudders, her eyes dark with memories she’d rather forget. “They drain us, harvesting our essence for their twisted spells. If they have Varys, every second counts.”
Her hands clench in her lap, and I can see the faint tremor in her fingers as she struggles to maintain her composure. “Our magic is pure, healing,” she continues, her voice barely more than a whisper. “In the wrong hands, it becomes a weapon of unimaginable power.”
I feel a dark thrill pulse through me, and I let my expression harden, my gaze boring into hers with an intensity that makes her squirm. “And you believe the Obsidian Circle has your brother?”
She nods, her chin trembling as a tear escapes and slips down her cheek. “It’s the only explanation. Please, we need your help. The Crimson Brotherhood is our only hope.”
I lean back, fingers steepled once again as I consider her words. The silence stretches between us, thick with tension. Finally, I speak, my voice cool and detached, the weight of each word sinking into her like stones. “The Brotherhood doesn’t involve itself in such matters lightly,” I inform her, watching her face as the reality of her predicament sets in. “Our assistance comes at a price. Are you prepared for that, little unicorn?”
Her face goes pale, but she nods, her voice trembling as she asks, “What kind of price?”
“Blood,” I say, letting the word hang ominously in the air. “Your blood, to be precise. Freely given, over an extended period. The magic in your veins would be... most useful to us.”
She blinks, horror dawning in her eyes. “How... how much?” she asks, barely able to form the words.
“Two pints every four weeks, for six months.”
Her mouth opens in shock, and I can see her mind racing, struggling to comprehend the cost. “That’s… that’s too much,” she stutters, shaking her head. “I won’t survive that. Please, there has to be another way.”
I chuckle, a dark, mocking sound that echoes in the small room. “You underestimate your own resilience, little unicorn. Your kind heals quickly, replenishes faster than humans. You’ll survive.”
She bites her lip, her gaze darting around as if searching for a way out. “What about… what about a year instead?” she pleads, desperation thick in her voice. “Double the time, half the quantity each session?”
A low, amused laugh escapes me, and I shake my head slowly. “You think you’re in the position to negotiate with me?” I taunt, a cruel smile twisting my lips. “How... quaint.”
“Please,” she whispers, her voice cracking, more tears threatening to spill. “My brother… he’s all I have left.”
For a brief moment, I soften, allowing a flicker of understanding to cross my gaze. But my tone remains unyielding, my voice a cold blade slicing through her last shred of hope. “Fine. But if we’re in a pinch, you come in to donate. That’s my final offer. Take it, or leave your brother to his fate.”
She stares at me, defeated, the weight of my words pressing down on her like a vise. Slowly, she nods, her voice barely a breath. “I… I accept.”
My lips curl into a slow smile as I watch the mortal before me, her eyes wide with apprehension. I savor the fear radiating from her—it’s almost as intoxicating as the blood that sustains me. With a flick of my wrist, I produce the roll of parchment, seemingly from thin air, and unfurl it on the table between us. Her breath catches, and I can see the moment realization dawns in her gaze. Good.
This contract is unlike anything she’s ever seen; that much is clear. The paper shimmers, as if touched by dark magic, and the intricate symbols along its edges pulse faintly, thrumming with an energy that would make any human’s skin crawl.
“Your blood oath,” I purr, sliding an ornate fountain pen across the table toward her. Its nib gleams sharply, reflecting the light like a fang poised to bite.
Her hand trembles as she reaches for it, fingers barely able to grip the pen’s weight. I almost laugh, but I hold back—no need to ruin the moment. The air grows thick with anticipation, tinged with the coppery scent of blood lingering in the room.
“Having second thoughts?” I ask, my voice smooth as silk, yet laced with the faintest edge of challenge. I can feel her resolve wavering, and I want her to falter, to hesitate. It’s always more satisfying that way.
She meets my gaze, a flicker of defiance surprising me. “No,” she says, her voice steadier than I expected. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save my brother.”
I watch as she lowers the pen to the parchment, a thrill surging through me as the nib touches the paper. A jolt of magic pulses through her, and I can feel the bond beginning to form, her essence pouring onto the page with each stroke of her signature. The ink isn’t black—it’s a deep, glistening crimson, the color of a fresh wound.
“It’s done,” she murmurs, a mixture of relief and dread evident in her voice.
“Indeed it is, little unicorn,” I say, satisfaction flooding through me. “Welcome to the Crimson Brotherhood.”
"Vaughn. Josephine," I call.
The door creaks open and two figures glide into the room, their villainous gaze a mirror of mine. Josephine’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s efficient, always so efficient. "Yes, President?" she asks, her tone dripping with readiness.
“Escort Miss Vienna to the donation room.” I nod to Josephine.
Without hesitation, Josephine steps forward, her grip firm and unyielding as she pulls Vienna to her feet. I don’t look back as I step toward the door, my actions final—dismissive.
Before I open it, something compels me to glance back, my eyes catching Vienna’s. Fear flickers across her face, a fleeting shadow before it’s quickly replaced by something colder, a defiant fire that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I know it’s a front, a simple formality she clings to, and I don’t bother to entertain it.
I open the door with a deliberate motion, waving them out. "Varys." Vienna’s voice rings out behind me. "I'm doing this for you, brother. Hold on, wherever you are." Her words hang in the air, fragile and desperate. I don’t respond, the weight of her plea lost on me.
Josephine and Vaughn lead her down the corridor, their steps echoing in the silence. I follow them, the metallic click of my boots a reminder of the inevitable.
Vienna’s voice cuts through the quiet, her words laced with suspicion. “What happens in the donation room?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart,” Josephine purrs.
We stop before the steel door, Vaughn punches in a code, and the door hisses open.
“After you,” Vaughn says, gesturing to me, and I can’t help but smile as I step through.
The donation room is bright—too bright. The fluorescent lights buzz above, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow across the white tiles and polished metal surfaces. The air smells sharp, antiseptic, the scent stinging my nostrils with each breath. It’s a stark contrast to the dimly lit hallways of the Crimson Brotherhood's clubhouse.
"Sit," Vaughn commands. I turn to see Genevieve in a white lab coat, gesturing to a reclining chair in the center of the room. The chair looks more like a dentist's nightmare than anything else, complete with restraints at the wrists and ankles. But not everyone comes to the donation room willingly.
“Is this really necessary?” Vienna asks, her voice strained, though there’s a steely edge to it that I can almost respect.
Genevieve leans in, her smile almost tender, though it holds no warmth. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. You’re here of your own free will. No restraints needed.”
Vienna lowers herself into the chair. I chuckle when she notices the faint, rust-colored stains on the armrests. Blood.
“How much are you taking?” Vienna asks, her voice small.
“Nothing more than you agreed to,” Genevieve replies, her voice laced with a knowing edge. She taps the needle against her gloved hand. “You unicorn shifters… such rare creatures. Your blood is potent.”
Vienna’s eyes narrow. “What do you use it for?”
Genevieve’s laugh is cold, an echo of something far darker. “Oh, darling. You don’t want to know.”
The needle pierces her vein and I can’t help but murmur under my breath, “Fascinating.” The vial begins to fill, the liquid within shimmering, opalescent, as it swirls. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
Vienna grits her teeth, and for the briefest of moments, I see the strength in her. She’s still defiant, even as she bites back a gasp of pain. “Just... just find my brother.”