Fine Blood

With every tiny step I took backward, his eyebrow quirked higher, that lazy smirk tugging at his lips like he already knew the punchline to my funeral.

I made up my mind to run—no plan, just sheer panic. But before I could pivot, ice-cold fingers clamped around my neck like a steel vice. One moment, I was turning to flee. The next, I was dangling mid-air, throat crushed in a grip that felt like death incarnate.

Fuck vampire speed.

I'd always hated that cheat-code ability, but now wasn't exactly the time to file complaints—what with my airway being blocked and my vision tunneling into blackness.

"Isn't it too late to run?" he drawled, voice dripping menace. "Tell me, little witch, why I shouldn't snap your neck right now?"

Why indeed. I couldn't answer. I couldn't breathe. My feet kicked uselessly beneath me, lips parting in a futile attempt to gulp air into burning lungs. My head felt like it might pop. My face had to be purple by now. And still—no fucking Salem in sight. Useless, fur-coated bastard.

Somehow, through sheer refusal to die just yet, I managed to choke out something—a strangled sound that might've been "I saved you," but came out more like a cat hacking up a bone. No, literally. I'd heard Salem do it once. Not cute.

"Say that again," he hissed, and dropped me like a discarded rag doll.

I collapsed in a coughing fit, wheezing like a fish tossed onto dry land, tears leaking from my burning eyes as I clawed at the oxygen I was finally allowed.

"Okay! I know what I did wasn't exactly... moral," I croaked between gulps of air. "But I was the one who dug you up, remember? Without me, you'd still be rotting in some cursed grave!"

He stared. Unimpressed.

"Try again."

Shit. So much for playing the reluctant savior card.

"I—I fed you! And clothed you!" I blurted, scrambling for anything to slow his descent into homicidal territory.

He snorted. "You fed me to drain me. Like fattening a turkey for slaughter."

That was fair. But still—ouch.

His patience was wearing thin. I could feel it in the shift of his posture, the cold calculation in his stare.

"What the fuck do you want my blood for?" he demanded. "What voodoo shit are you planning, little witch?"

Like hell I'd tell him. If he knew, he might decide his precious vampire blood was worth more than my entire existence. Or worse, he'd use it against me. Sell me out to the magical authorities. Then it'd be goodbye Eve Nightshade, hello execution pyre and a slow-roast ending.

Witches like me didn't get second chances—we got labeled, hunted, and turned into potion ingredients.

"You won't talk?" he said softly. "Then I think... I'm a little thirsty."

Shit.

I didn't even see him move.

One blink and he was behind me, gripping the back of my neck, angling it just wrong enough to paralyze me in place. He was strong. Unfairly, terrifyingly strong.

And then—hot, electric pain. His fangs sank in like molten needles, piercing my skin, digging into the pulse that was thundering beneath it. I screamed, but it died in my throat. Couldn't even move. Couldn't breathe.

My life was pouring out of me, warm and fast, into his cursed mouth. My knees buckled. The room swayed. Black dots exploded behind my eyes like fireworks from hell.

So this was how I died. Not in glory. Not with revenge served. Just a dumb little witch, stupid enough to awaken the devil and get sucked dry for it.

He pulled away at last, fangs glistening red.

"You have fine blood, little witch," he whispered into my ear, his breath cold and sticky. "Eat up. I'll be back for more."

And then—nothing.

Darkness danced around my vision.

I didn't black out completely.

I wish I had.

Instead, I hovered in that horrifying in-between—where your body's limp, your soul's halfway out the door, and all you can do is listen. I heard him walk away, feet clicking against the basement floor like a ticking countdown to my doom. Heard the creak of the door. And then—silence. Just the dripping of blood, probably mine, echoing off the stone walls like some sick soundtrack.

My fingers twitched.

Victory.

I was still alive.

Barely.

Every bone in my body throbbed like it had been stomped on by a troll wearing steel boots. I managed to lift my head an inch—big mistake. The dizziness smacked me like a train and my stomach flipped. I think I vomited a little. Classy.

I touched my neck. Blood. Lots of it. I was painted in it, baptized in my own stupidity.

"Salem," I croaked out, hoping the traitorous bastard had the decency to show up now.

Nothing.

Figures.

Maybe he was out giving a TED Talk on why his litter box deserves more attention than my life.

I tried to sit up. Bad idea. The entire room spun like a cursed carousel. I collapsed again, mouth tasting like pennies and regret.

He said he'd come back.

Lucius.

The vampire with the ancient eyes and smooth death threats.

He didn't just take my blood. He marked me. I felt it deep, something in the magic threads around me snapping loose, like I'd been claimed. Branded. No spell in the world could scrub that off now.

I dragged myself across the floor. One elbow at a time, pathetic and bleeding like a wounded rat. My fingertips hit something soft—my necklace. The charm. Still faintly warm from where it had failed me.

Too little. Too late.

I put it back on anyway. Like putting a broken condom back in the wrapper.

I was so weak.

I could feel the blood still dripping somewhere—maybe from my neck, maybe just from inside me, leaking out like sand through broken glass.

Tried to keep my eyes open.

Failed.

Tried again.

No use. They fluttered, burned, then rolled back on their own like they didn't belong to me anymore.

Everything was muffled. My thoughts, my heartbeat, the sound of his feet as he walked away like I was nothing more than a feeding bag that had outlived its usefulness.

I think I mumbled something. Maybe it was "Salem," maybe it was "fuck you." Maybe I just imagined I said anything at all. Hard to tell.

Then—darkness.

Not the peaceful kind.

No. This darkness had claws. Teeth. It dragged me under with a hiss and a sneer, as if even the void thought I was pathetic.

And maybe I was.

Because I—Eve Nightshade—had broken every damn rule I ever made.

I'd spoken when I should have stayed silent.

I'd trusted my own shaky plan instead of waiting for Salem.

I'd looked into his eyes.

And now?

Now I was on the cold, dirty floor of a cursed basement, bleeding out, charmed necklace lost, body used, and soul unraveling at the edges.

No magic. No allies. No backup.

Just regret, and a vampire who said he'd be back for seconds.