The Price of Blood

Victor stared at his reflection in the antique mirror, his image a stark contrast to the vibrant life swirling outside his apartment window. His skin, pale as moonlight, seemed to glow in the dimly lit room, his eyes, usually the color of a stormy sea, now held a darker, almost predatory gleam. He was a creature of the shadows, a predator by nature, yet his heart ached with a tenderness that felt both foreign and exhilarating.

The memory of Blair's laughter, her scent lingering in the air like a sweet, intoxicating perfume, sent a shiver down his spine. He craved her presence, her touch, the way her eyes sparkled when she challenged him, teased him, saw through his carefully constructed facade to the lonely soul beneath. But with each stolen glance, each whispered conversation, the fear that gnawed at his insides intensified.