CHAPTER SIX

The sky, unseen from within Crimson's depths, would soon bleed with the false dawn of sunrise. Even the most dedicated night owls required a break. This...this demanded a more refined approach.

I nudged my way back to Lucian, interrupting his charming banter. "It's getting late, Lucian. We should probably call it a night."

He gave me a knowing look, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He wasn't oblivious. He noticed the change in me, the barely contained energy thrumming beneath my surface. He just wouldn't comprehend the source of it. "Of course, Kaelen. As you wish." He dismissed his admirers with a practiced smile and a vague promise to meet again soon.

Together, Lucian and I headed towards the VIP section, bypassing the main crowd of departing patrons. The private elevator hummed to life at my touch, and we ascended in silence.

The door opened onto a short, exquisitely furnished hallway, reflecting our contrasting tastes. Lucian's apartment, mirroring mine on the opposite side, was all opulent fabrics and baroque flourishes. Mine was minimalist, clean lines and dark colors. It was a haven, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of Crimson.

"Until tonight then, Kaelen?" Lucian said, a hint of a question in his voice. He knew I'd be gone.

"Until tonight," I echoed, turning the key in my lock.

The studio apartment was vast, dominated by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, heavily tinted of course. I crossed the room, the familiar weight of the city pressing against the glass. I didn't need sleep, not in the human sense. I needed stillness, a moment to gather my thoughts, to plan.

The click of the lock echoed in the silent apartment, a small punctuation mark at the end of a long night. My pace quickened as I crossed the living area, drawn towards the bedroom.

It was a stark contrast to Crimson. No plush velvet, no flickering candlelight, no dizzying swirl of bodies. Only clean lines, cool grey walls, and the comforting weight of emptiness. The windows were all curtainless. The antithesis of my nightly existence. My sanctuary.

I walked through into the bedroom and sank into my bed. I watched as the sun started to creep over the horizon.

I didn't need sleep, not like humans did. My kind thrived on a different sort of sustenance. But the stillness, the quiet… it allowed the ancient currents within me to settle. Tonight... tonight was different. Tonight, anticipation thrummed just beneath the surface, a different hunger entirely.

My gaze drifted to the bedside table. A neatly folded piece of paper lay there, the address penned in elegant calligraphy: 14 Thompson Lane. Eleanor. My newest fascination.

I would sleep. When I woke, I would feed. Just enough to sharpen my senses, to heighten the thrill. Then, I would go to Thompson Lane. I wouldn't barge in. I wouldn't rush. This wasn't about brute force or primal thirst. This was about... control.

I had to know her. Eleanor. Her routines, her habits, her vulnerabilities. Every facet of her existence would become an open book to me. I would observe from the dark, I would learn, and then… then I would decide how to make her mine.

Across from my bed there were no curtains in my apartment. I liked to see what was going on. I appreciated the night.

Stripping off my jeans and the black tee that clung to my skin, I tossed them carelessly onto the floor. A brief moment of guilt pricked at me – Lucian would be horrified by the lack of order. But the thought was fleeting.

I sank into the cool, crisp sheets of my bed. The city hummed faintly beneath me, a distant whisper in the otherwise silent room. I closed my eyes, the weight of centuries settling upon me. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel it. The sun was creeping higher, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold.

The scent of sunshine, clean and irresistible, filled my senses. It was a scent usually confined to other people's lives, not mine. I breathed it in, letting it wash over me, banishing the shadows of Crimson, the memory of the hunt. For now, there was only stillness and the promise of the dawn.

And as the first rays of sunlight touched my face, I drifted into a waking dream, filled with thoughts of Thompson Lane, and Eleanor.

The sunset was a blaze of orange and violet when I finally stirred. It wasn't sleep, not really. More like a deep meditation, a necessary respite for the ancient machinery within. Eleanor. The objective for the night: observation.

The shower was cold, shocking my system awake. The water sluiced away the residual energy of the Crimson, the faint echo of the night's... activities. I needed to be sharp, clear-headed. No lingering traces of the hunt.

I threw on faded jeans, black boots, and a simple black tee. The uniform of anonymity. Practicality, not style, dictated my choices tonight. Tonight was about blending, about becoming a shadow.

The click of the apartment door echoed again as I stepped out into the shared hallway. Lucian, my... well, there wasn't a human word for what we were. Companion? Partner? He'd prefer 'associate.'

Whatever he was, he wouldn't approve of my current course. He valued restraint, subtlety. This... fascination... it bordered on obsession, and Lucian despised anything that threatened control.

The private elevator hummed to life, carrying me down, down, down, into the heart of Crimson. The bass throbbed even before the doors opened, a muffled heartbeat beneath the city. Dimitri and Seraphine were already there, their faces composed masks of efficiency as they oversaw the final preparations.

Dimitri, tall and imposing, barked orders at the staff. Seraphine, a whirlwind of graceful motion, adjusted lighting and ensured the liquor displays were impeccable. They barely acknowledged me as I passed through the VIP lounge. They knew better than to interrupt.

Crimson was a paradox: a temple of excess built on a foundation of secrets. Tonight, it was simply a feeding ground. I couldn't risk the primal urges clouding my judgment when I found Eleanor. Best to satiate the beast within beforehand.

The club was still relatively empty, a slow trickle of early arrivals. Perfect. I leaned against a polished mahogany bar, my senses heightened. I needed someone... ripe. Vulnerable. And devoid of any redeeming qualities. Someone whose absence wouldn't be mourned.

It didn't take long. A businessman, reeking of expensive cologne and cheap ambition, stumbled into the lounge, his eyes already glazed with intoxication. He was bragging loudly into his phone about a deal he'd just closed, a deal that undoubtedly involved trampling over someone else's dreams.

He was perfect.

I let him come closer, let him practically stumble into me. I feigned annoyance, a flicker of irritation in my eyes. He slurred an apology, his hand brushing mine. That was all it took.

The world sharpened. The noise of the club faded, replaced by the frantic drumbeat of his pulse in my ears. The scent of his blood, thick and heady, filled my nostrils. Control. I had to maintain control.

I led him to a secluded corner, my grip firm but gentle. He thought he was getting lucky. He was wrong. So very wrong. We were barely past the panel door when I attacked.

The feeding was swift, efficient. I took only what I needed, enough to quell the hunger, to sharpen my senses. I left him disoriented, confused, his memory clouded. He wouldn't remember me. He wouldn't remember much of anything.

Now, I was ready. The thrill of the hunt buzzed beneath my skin, but it was contained, channeled. Eleanor. 14 Thompson Lane.

Tonight, the game began.