“One ale,” Delilah demanded, sliding three silver coins across the counter.

The coins clinked across the counter, glinting faintly under the dim, flickering lantern light. The air reeked of stale ale and unwashed bodies, thick with murmured conversations and the occasional burst of drunken laughter.

The bartender, a freckled man with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a bit young to be ordering alcohol?”

Delilah’s emerald eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you a bit stupid to be asking questions?” She sighed and slid two more silver coins across the counter. “Do you want my money or not?”

The barkeep’s grin widened, exposing a glinting gold tooth as he pocketed the coins and slid her a tankard. Delilah took a long sip, grimacing at the watered-down flavour.

This kingdom was a joke. She hated the Albertine Kingdom, hated the drumming, pounding heartbeats of its people, which gave her a constant headache and stirred a hunger she suppressed with great difficulty. Her fangs ached with the effort as she sipped lazily, knowing it would take far more than this weak ale to get her drunk. Even among vampires, her tolerance was unparalleled.

“Hey, aren’t you a fine specimen?” A man’s meaty hand clamped around her waist, his fingers worming higher.

Before he could reach further, the scissors hidden in her cloak gleamed. Four fingers fell to the floor, cleanly severed. The man’s scream shattered the tavern’s chatter.

Delilah pocketed her blade and sighed, unimpressed. “Men like you never learn.”

The man lunged at her, fury in his bloodshot eyes, but she moved like lightning. Her kick sent him crashing into the wall. Daggers flew from her hands, pinning his tunic and trousers to the wood, leaving him immobilised like a grotesque portrait. The tavern fell into stunned silence.

Delilah drained the last of her ale, stood, and approached him. She crouched, picking up his severed fingers, her green eyes glowing in the candlelight. His curses turned to whimpers as she drew silver pins from her cloak, delicately impaling each stump. One by one, she reattached his fingers with surgical precision, ensuring he’d remember the encounter every time he used his hand.

The room held its breath as she retrieved her daggers, slipping them into her sheathes with practiced ease. Her final dagger’s hilt found the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. He crumpled to the floor, lifeless as a doll.

Delilah pulled back her hood, revealing pointed ears and a long pink braid that swayed as she turned. Gasps erupted.

“It’s her!” someone whispered.

“The assassin from Zilah!”

“Who?”

“Dagon, obviously! Who else?”

“They say if you stare at her beauty too long, you’ll die a painful death.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “Give me the strongest ale you have. None of that watered-down swill.”

The barkeep, pale and trembling, obeyed without a word. This time, the ale was worth drinking. She finished it in a single gulp, her fangs glinting as she slammed the tankard down. “Goodnight, all. Sleep well.”

She left the Tailgate Inn, the heavy door slamming shut behind her, its echo swallowed by the vast silence of the night. The stars blinked down at her, uncaring, as the distant hum of the capital’s chaos faded with every step into the mud-slicked paths of the countryside.

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The countryside stretched before her, the soft mud clinging to her boots with each step. Frustrated, Delilah collapsed the heel of her prosthetic and walked barefoot, the night breeze tugging at her cloak. The peace of starlit paths was a rare balm, but something felt off tonight. The prickle of unseen eyes followed her every move.

She paused on a ridge overlooking the farmland of Haniver. East of Ravenford, the capital’s imposing stone walls loomed in the distance, their lights like fireflies in the dark. Delilah scanned the horizon but found nothing amiss. Shaking off the unease, she continued, her journey a blur of fields fading behind her until she stood at Ravenford’s gates.

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The capital’s main street was alive with drunken revelry. Delilah slipped through the chaos, dodging ale spills and careless shoulders, her scowl deepening with every step. Finally, she reached a quieter quarter, her sharp ears catching whispers from the shadows.

“That one looks easy.” “Yeah, boss. Let’s get her.” “Follow my lead…”

Delilah smirked but feigned obliviousness. She played the part of a lost traveler, her pale hands gripping her cloak as four men surrounded her.

“Give us everything you’ve got!” the leader barked.

Delilah’s green eyes shimmered with amusement. “Oh no! Please don’t hurt me!” She covered her mouth, hiding a sharp grin.

Before she could strike, someone dropped from above, landing between her and the men. A hooded figure, taller than Delilah, brandished a gleaming silver sword.

“Leave her alone,” the stranger commanded their voice firm, their stance unyielding.

The men laughed. “Who the hell are you?”

“Your worst mistake.” The stranger lunged.

Delilah watched, stunned, as the figure dispatched the thugs with practised skill. The leader fell last, groaning in the gutter. Before Delilah could intervene, the stranger grabbed her hand, pulling her into a sprint through the winding alleys of Ravenford.

They came to a dead-end. Voices echoed behind them as the stranger heaved open a sewer grate.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Delilah muttered, but the stranger pushed her in. She tumbled down the pipe, landing ungracefully on the damp floor. The stranger followed, landing atop her.

“Get off me,” Delilah snapped, shoving the weight off her back with an irritated grunt.

“Sorry!” the person wheezed, scrambling upright. They extended a hand to help her up, but Delilah slapped it away, standing on her own.

“Follow me!” they said, not waiting for a response as they darted down the damp stone corridor.

Delilah hesitated, scowling at the retreating figure before muttering, “This better not be a waste of my time.” She followed reluctantly, her steps echoing against the walls.

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In a small, stone room lit only by moonlight streaming through a grate above, Delilah leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her sharp green eyes scanning her so-called savior with open suspicion. The person yanked back their hood, revealing short brown hair with a striking white streak at the front, tanned skin, and cloudy white eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.

“Right,” Delilah drawled, glancing around the bare, cramped room. “No furniture. No weapons. This your idea of a safe haven, street rat?”

The stranger ignored her jab, brushing dirt off their sleeves. Then they extended a hand, offering a disarming smile despite the tension between them.

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Delilah didn’t take it. Instead, her dagger was in her hand in an instant, the blade pressed to their throat. “Why did you save me?”

The stranger froze, their throat bobbing as the dagger’s edge grazed their skin. “You looked like you needed help.”

Delilah tilted her head, studying their face for cracks in their calm. “That’s it? You just threw yourself into danger for someone you don’t know?” Her tone was laced with incredulity and disdain. “Either you’re unbearably noble or hopelessly stupid.”

“Maybe both?” they offered with a nervous laugh.

Delilah sighed, rolling her eyes as she lowered the blade. “Idiot.”

To her surprise, they grinned wider, unshaken. “Well, I’m glad you’re not as bloodthirsty as people say.”

“Don’t test me,” Delilah growled, stepping back. But her sharp retort faltered when the stranger calmly rolled up their sleeve and extended their wrist toward her.

“Here,” they said plainly, their expression soft but determined.

Delilah blinked, caught off guard. “What are you doing?”

“Offering,” they replied. “You’re starving, aren’t you? Drink.”

“No, I’m not,” Delilah snapped, turning away with a dismissive shrug.

“You are,” they countered, their voice steady. “You’re sweating, your hair’s a mess, and your skin’s practically gray. Your fangs are so extended you’re starting to lisp, and don’t even try to deny how loud my heartbeat sounds to you. You’re starving, and I’m offering. I haven’t touched alcohol or anything weird, so my blood’s clean. Honestly, I bet it tastes amazing.”

“Stop talking,” Delilah demanded, her temper flaring. “First of all, why do you know so much? Doesn’t your head hurt from storing all this useless information? Second, I don’t care about ‘clean.’ And third…” She trailed off, lips parting as her gaze lingered on the outstretched wrist.

The silence between them stretched, the faint pulse of the stranger’s veins a maddening drumbeat in Delilah’s heightened senses.

“You really are stupid,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “I don’t need help from a mortal.”

They didn’t move, their hand steady. “You’re a vampire, right? And vampires need blood.”

“So?” Delilah snapped. “Doesn’t mean I need it from you.”

“Why not?” they pressed. “I’m offering. Free of charge.”

Delilah’s lip curled into a sneer. “You think this is a game? You don’t save a vampire. You stay out of their way.”

The stranger chuckled softly. “You talk like no one’s ever tried to help you before.”

Delilah flinched at the comment, her green eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said,” they replied with a shrug. “You’re not used to people caring. But here’s the thing—I do. So either drink, or we can stand here all night while you keep glaring at me.”

Delilah’s fangs pricked her lip, her hunger undeniable now. “You don’t know what you’re inviting, mortal. What if I can’t stop? What if I drain you dry?”

“I trust you,” they said simply.

Delilah barked a bitter laugh. “Trust me? You don’t even know me.”

“True,” they admitted, their glowing eyes steady. “But if you wanted to kill me, you already would’ve.”

The audacity of the statement left Delilah momentarily stunned. She exhaled slowly, stepping closer. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” they replied with a small smile. “But you’re starving. So go ahead.”

With a reluctant growl, Delilah seized their wrist, her grip firm but controlled. “If you regret this, it’s your own fault,” she hissed before sinking her fangs into their flesh.

Warm blood flowed over her tongue—and she froze. It didn’t just satisfy her hunger; it fizzed, bright and electric, sparking along her nerves like a live current. Her glowing green eyes snapped open as recognition flooded her. This taste—it wasn’t ordinary. It was rare, potent, and unmistakable. She’d encountered it only once before, long ago, in the veins of someone with extraordinary potential.

Her grip on the stranger’s wrist tightened involuntarily. “What did you say your name was?” she murmured, her voice sharp and low.

“I didn’t.”

“What is it?” Delilah pressed, retracting her fangs and licking the wound clean.

The stranger met her gaze, their knees wobbling but their defiance intact. “Lynn.”

Delilah’s mind raced, searching her memory for any past encounters. Nothing surfaced. But the truth was undeniable—Lynn’s blood was charged with a magic so rare it bordered on legend.

“Your blood—it’s special,” Delilah said, her voice tinged with suspicion. “Where did you come from? Who taught you magic?”

Lynn blinked, startled. “Magic? I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Delilah snapped. “Blood like yours doesn’t exist naturally. You’re either incredibly dangerous or incredibly clueless.”

Lynn swayed, their confusion evident. “I don’t know what you mean,” they said softly. “But if I’m dangerous, why didn’t you stop?”

Delilah hesitated, her expression hardening. “Because you taste like power. And power like yours doesn’t go unnoticed.”

Lynn swallowed. “So… what happens now?”

Delilah smirked, though unease flickered in her eyes. “Now? You figure out what you are before someone less patient finds you.”

“You’re not going to help me?”

Delilah chuckled darkly, undoing her braid to let pink waves fall over her shoulders. “Telling you was help enough. I don’t owe you anything, mortal.”

She turned away, arranging a makeshift bed on the cold stone floor. Without looking back, she muttered, “I’m staying here tonight. Gone by morning. Don’t try anything stupid.”

Her voice dropped, carrying a lethal edge. “Because if you do, I will kill you.”

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The room was suffocatingly quiet as Delilah leaned back against the cold stone wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her glowing green eyes remained fixed on Lynn as the mortal fussed over the fresh bite marks on her wrist. Despite the faint scent of blood lingering in the air, Delilah’s hunger had been sated—though the taste of Lynn’s blood still lingered on her tongue, an electric current she couldn’t ignore.

Lynn’s voice broke the silence. “Did you know someone like me before?”

Delilah stiffened but didn’t respond immediately. She turned her gaze away, feigning disinterest, but her jaw tightened. “Go to sleep, mortal. Your questions are pointless.”

Lynn didn’t back down. “No. You said my blood doesn’t exist naturally. That others would want it. That it’s dangerous. So why not tell me what I’m up against?”

A low growl escaped Delilah’s throat as she sat up sharply, her piercing eyes snapping to Lynn’s. “You really don’t know when to stop talking, do you?” she hissed, her fangs gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

Lynn flinched but stood her ground, her expression determined. “If I don’t know what’s out there, how am I supposed to survive?”

“You’re not,” Delilah shot back coldly, leaning forward. “Not without someone to protect you.”

“Then help me,” Lynn countered, her voice firm. “You’re the only one who’s noticed whatever this is. If someone’s going to hunt me, I’d rather have you around than someone worse.”

Delilah narrowed her eyes, studying the mortal with a mixture of irritation and grudging admiration. The audacity of this girl was maddening. Most humans would’ve begged for their lives by now or run screaming, but Lynn remained steady, staring at her with a calm resolve that bordered on reckless.

“You think I’m better than whatever’s out there?” Delilah asked, her tone sharp. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Maybe not,” Lynn admitted with a shrug. “But you didn’t kill me. You could have. That means something.”

Delilah leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. She hated how those words struck a chord deep within her, somewhere she thought she’d buried centuries ago. “It means I was feeling generous. Don’t mistake that for kindness.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Lynn said evenly, “but you didn’t walk away, either.”

Delilah laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked its usual venom. “You’re making a mistake,” she said after a pause. “Sticking with me won’t keep you safe. It’ll make things worse.”

“Maybe,” Lynn said, her gaze unwavering. “But at least I’ll know who to trust.”

Delilah stared at her, caught off guard by the simplicity of the statement. It wasn’t trust that kept mortals alive—it was fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of power, fear of predators like her. Trust was a luxury that always ended in ruin.

“You’re hopeless,” she muttered, standing abruptly. “Fine. Do what you want. But don’t expect me to hold your hand.”

“I won’t,” Lynn said softly, her lips curving into a faint, almost triumphant smile.

“Good.” Delilah turned her back on Lynn, settling into her makeshift bed in the corner. Her movements were precise and deliberate, but her thoughts were anything but. Lynn’s words clung to her mind like cobwebs, and no amount of disdain could shake them off.

For a while, silence reigned, broken only by the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the shadows. Delilah lay still, her pink hair spilling over the thin blanket she’d pulled around herself. Her glowing eyes remained open, fixed on the darkened ceiling as her thoughts raced.

Lynn’s blood. The spark of raw energy it had left on her tongue. The way it had burned through her like a flicker of forgotten sunlight. It wasn’t just rare—it was dangerous. Power like that didn’t appear without reason, and it certainly didn’t go unnoticed. She’d tasted something similar before, long ago, in someone who had tried—and failed—to harness it.

They hadn’t survived.

Delilah clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wasn’t a savior. She didn’t owe Lynn anything. The mortal’s fate wasn’t her problem.

And yet, when she closed her eyes, all she could see was Lynn standing there, unwavering, even when her life was at stake. That stubborn defiance. That foolish trust. It grated against every instinct Delilah had honed over centuries of survival.

She scoffed softly under her breath, shaking her head. “Fool,” she muttered, though whether the word was meant for Lynn—or herself—she couldn’t quite tell.

Across the room, Lynn sat with her back against the wall, her wrist still cradled close. Despite her exhaustion, her thoughts mirrored Delilah’s, racing with questions about what she might be—and why the vampire seemed just as uncertain as she was.

For now, the two of them shared the same unease, the same questions, and the same quiet, moonlit room. But Delilah knew one thing for certain.

By morning, everything would change.