CHAPTER 5
BEHIND THE GLASS, Max lies strapped to a medical bed, his body occasionally spasming against the restraints.
Monitors display his vital signs—temperature sinking, heart rate erratic, blood pressure plummeting.
His skin has taken on an alabaster pallor, the veins beneath already starting to turn black.
“Seraph,” the general calls after me, his voice low. “Remember that the man you knew has died. What emerges isn’t the same person.”
I turn and meet his gaze steadily. “I know what transition means.”
Upon noticing me, a nurse approaches from inside the room, coming to the intercom beside the door. “How can I help you?” she asks, her voice tinny through the speaker.
“I’m his partner.”
There’s a hint of compassion in her eyes. “Maxim’s fighting hard. Most are delirious by now, but he keeps asking for you when he’s lucid.”
I smile. “Can I go in?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry. It’s against protocol during active transition. If a patient suddenly gains vampire strength—”
“I can handle it,” I insist, meeting her gaze. “Please.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice General Lee walking up to us, signaling something with his hand. The nurse nods, pressing a button to unlock the door. “Five minutes then.”
The room smells of sweat and medication, with an overpowering thread of vesia—musky and bitter, like damp soil after a drenching storm—working through human blood. I approach the bed slowly, my heart breaking at the sight of Max’s restraints.
His normally vibrant face is now ashen, dark veins branching like roots across his temples and cheeks. His eyes are closed, but I see the rapid movement beneath his eyelids.
“Max?” I whisper, reaching for his hand. It’s cool to the touch, his human warmth fading.
His eyes flutter open, brown irises now ringed with red, like blood seeping into water. They’re distended unnaturally and struggle to focus on me.
“Seraph?” His voice is a rasp, barely recognizable. “Vampire,” he whispers, the word dripping with horror.
A spasm rocks through him, his back arching off the bed as he cries out in pain. I hold his hand through it, wincing as his grip threatens to crush my fingers. When it passes, he looks at me with terrifying clarity. “I’m becoming a vampire.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“Why me?” he gasps, tears streaming down his temples into his hair.
Gently, I stroke his face.
The transition is never a walk in the park, but resistance and denial tend to make it harder than it needs to be. It’s much like a panic attack: the sooner you accept the fear for what it is rather than fighting it, the sooner it passes.
Easier said than done, though, especially when you’re someone like Max who has never known how to let go of control.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, squeezing his hand. “It’s my fault. You don’t deserve any of this.”
Another spasm seizes him, this one more violent than the last. The restraints creak ominously as his body convulses.
After it’s run its course, he’s panting, sweat beading on his forehead.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” The reality of the situation is hitting him. “To complete the transition, I’d need to consume my sire’s blood.” He gags on his last few words.
“About that,” I say quickly, before I can think better of it. “She has offered her blood.”
When it comes to wild vampires, Max is just as skeptical as I am. We have at least that in common.
“At what cost?”
I look away. “Me.”
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t trade yourself.”
“Max—”
“Promise me,” he insists, his voice stronger now, an inhuman edge creeping in. “It’s not worth it. I’d really rather die.”
I lean down, pecking him on his forehead. “I’m not going to let you. We have a plan.”
The nurse appears at my side. “Miss, we must bring this to a close.”
I nod, straightening.
“I’ll be back,” I tell Max, squeezing his hand one last time.
His eyes burn into mine, filled with a mixture of love and growing terror.
“Seraph,” he calls as I reach the door. “If I become something else… don’t let me hurt anyone.”
The unspoken request hangs between us. If he turns rampant, if he becomes a monster—kill him.
“I won’t,” I promise, the words thick in my throat.
General Lee is waiting for me in the hallway, his expression grave. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll keep you updated.”
I look back through the observation window at Max, the man I’ve built my life around, now slowly being destroyed from within. Then I glance down the corridor at the other rooms, all filled with innocent people suffering the same fate. Our plan better work.
I salute the general on my way out.
The streets of Penn City have transformed overnight.
Keepers patrol in pairs, their weapons visible rather than concealed. Humans hurry along with their heads down, donation bands gleaming under the streetlights. The usual bustle of nightlife has been replaced by a tense silence, broken only by the occasional wail of sirens in the distance.
I stick to the shadows, my boots silent on the pavement as I pass four separate checkpoint stations where citizens’ IDs are scanned with heightened scrutiny. My mind spins with contingencies, unwilling to rely on the authorities alone.
There’s information inside this city—about the female Whiteshade, about Revenant, about why they’re both so obsessed with me.
All I have to do is find the right place to look.
Viktor’s den lies beneath a butcher shop on the edge of the district, accessible only through a trapdoor hidden behind a freezer. Surrounding buildings crowd together like rotting teeth, garbage bags littering the cracks between them.
The shop is closed at this hour, but blood brokers never sleep.
I circle quietly around to the back alley, finding the service entrance unlocked as expected.
The miasma hits me first—raw meat, industrial chemicals, and the unmistakable tang of blood.
Pigeons scatter at the clang of a loose shutter, wings thrumming against the brick walls.
A small dome camera perches above, its lens glinting like an owl watching for prey from a mile away. I give it a small wave and a wink.
Inside, animal carcasses hang from hooks along the wall.
My boots squeak faintly on the cold tiled floor as I navigate past stacked crates of meat and barrels of preservatives.
In the far corner of the freezer, I find the hidden panel, its edges worn from repeated use.
With a soft shove, it slides away to reveal a steep staircase plunging into darkness.
Music thumps from below, a heavy bassline that vibrates through the concrete steps.
I descend slowly with my dagger in hand, senses alert for any surprises. At the bottom, a muscular man guards a reinforced door with crossed arms. “Closed,” he grunts when I step into the light, my reputation preceding me. “Viktor doesn’t want you here.”
“Too late. I already am.” I regrip my dagger to draw attention to it. “We can do this the easy or the hard way, but I’m getting in.”
The bouncer’s nostrils flare as he takes a menacing step forward.
His hand hovers near what I assume is a concealed weapon, assessing me and how far I might be willing to go.
I stand my ground, not flinching. Truth is, with everything that has already gone down tonight, causing a scene is the last thing they would want.
Finally, he steps aside, punching a code into the keypad beside the door. It swings open with a hydraulic shrill, revealing the den beyond. The underground space is larger than it appears from outside, with low ceilings and exposed pipes running along industrial walls.
The lighting is a deep vermillion, casting everything in a fiery hue that makes it difficult to distinguish vampire from human.
In the center, a circular bar serves drinks that I know contain more than just alcohol.
Around the edges of the room, secluded booths host private conversations and whispered transactions.
Viktor sits at the far end, behind a desk elevated on a platform that allows him to survey his domain.
He is a slender man with auburn hair and tiny moles on his face which resemble freckles from a distance.
His green eyes narrow when they land on me, the scar running from his temple to his jaw twitching as his face contorts into a scowl.
I cut across the room, shouldering past a pair of customers who hiss at my intrusion.
“If you’ve come to threaten my business again,” Viktor begins, his accent a telltale sign that he’s not originally from Aevrane.
Before he can finish, I state, “I’m a prime suspect in everything that went down tonight.”
It’s only half a lie.
Viktor’s eyes flick to the bouncer who seems to have followed me in, then back to me. “Not my problem.” His hands busily flip through a stack of vouchers as he resumes tallying the credits.
He waves me off in a way that tells me he has business to attend to and wishes to be undisturbed by my presence.
Not my problem.
“Allow me to clarify why it is.” One of my hands finds my waist, while the other slams the dagger into his desk. “I’m not going to take accountability for something I didn’t do. So, you’re going to give me a list of all illegal citizens you’ve helped smuggle in the past few months.”
Viktor’s expression darkens as he slowly rises from his chair, towering over me despite his slender frame. His fingers tap rhythmically against the wooden desk, deliberately avoiding the embedded dagger.
“You have some nerve coming in here, damaging my property, and making demands like that.” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “I’m not giving a rascal like you anything.”