The city was restless tonight, its streets thrumming with an energy Arthur felt deep in his bones. He moved through the maze of alleyways like a shadow, his boots silent against the damp pavement. The crisp night air clung to him, a sharp, biting reminder of how far removed he was from the warmth of the sun. Arthur didn’t know if it was a part of his existence he would ever get used to.

The punishment had been cruel and deliberate. Every part of it—the hunger, the isolation from the light— all of it had been carefully wrought by his Father’s hand. Arthur knew that. He had known it from the moment the curse took hold, stripping him of his wings and casting him into the shadows.

And yet, he couldn’t stop the yearning. He couldn’t stop himself from longing for his Father’s forgiveness, for the warmth of that golden light that had once wrapped around him like a loving embrace. Memories of his wings—strong, radiant, and whole—haunted him like ghosts, a constant reminder of all he had lost.

Now, with the artifact so near, that yearning burned brighter, sharper, a wound that refused to heal. It was dangerous, this hope it stirred in him, reckless even. But hope was a stubborn thing, and Arthur couldn’t extinguish it no matter how hard he tried.

He sighed, his breath curling into the cold air like a whispered prayer, though he knew his Father was not listening.

As he turned down an alley, muffled cries reached his ears, sharp and desperate against the stillness of the night. Arthur’s body tensed instinctively, the predator within him sharpening, ready. His gaze locked on the scene ahead: a large, broad-shouldered man pressed a woman against the wall, his unkempt hair casting shadows over his face as he clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. His other hand tugged roughly at the strap of her bag, yanking it with clumsy frustration.

The woman struggled fiercely despite her small frame, her wide, terrified eyes darting frantically in search of escape. Her muffled cries came in quick bursts, a desperate plea swallowed by the night. Her trembling hands clung to her bag as if it were a lifeline, her fear radiating in the cold, damp air.

A surge of anger welled in Arthur’s chest, hot and immediate, even as a flicker of relief tempered it. He both hated and appreciated moments like these. The hunger that clawed at him demanded to be sated, indifferent to whose blood it took. Yet situations like this offered a grim solace—a way to feed without preying on the innocent.

Arthur moved silently, his steps deliberate, each one drawing him closer to the man who remained oblivious to his approach. When he was directly behind him, he stopped, letting the weight of his presence settle in the air like a storm about to break. “I’d let her go,” Arthur said, his voice low and cold, every syllable laced with quiet menace.

The man froze at the sound, his body stiffening as though an icy wind had swept through the alley. Slowly, his head whipped around, his wild, bloodshot eyes meeting Arthur’s calm but predatory gaze. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice loud.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting faintly in the dim light of the alley. He didn’t answer, letting silence and the weight of his unflinching stare do the work. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. The subtle shift of his shoulders, the deliberate slowness of his approach, exuded a calm, predatory confidence that made the man instinctively retreat.

Arthur’s gaze flickered to the woman. “Go,” he said simply, his tone softening for an instant, though his eyes never left the man.

The woman hesitated for only a heartbeat before wrenching free from the man’s loosened grip and darting down the alley, her footsteps echoing in the night. She didn’t look back, her fear propelling her into the safety of the distant streetlights.

Arthur’s attention shifted back to the man, who was now frozen against the wall, his bravado disintegrating under Arthur’s steady, predatory gaze. The corner of Arthur’s lips tugged upward, just enough to reveal a glint of sharp, elongated fangs.

The man’s eyes widened, his face blanching as a strangled noise escaped his throat. “W-what the hell are you?” he stammered, his voice shaking.

Arthur took a slow step closer, his towering frame eclipsing what little light reached the alley. “ To you? A nightmare,” he replied, his voice calm, almost casual, but underpinned with a lethal undertone that made the man’s knees buckle.

Arthur leaned forward slightly, his fangs catching the dim light as he spoke, his tone as cold and sharp as a blade. “ I didn’t like what I just saw. ”

The man’s trembling hands shot up in a gesture of surrender, his breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps. “Look, I—I didn’t mean nothin’. I wasn’t gonna hurt her! I swear!” His voice wavered, desperation rising with every word.

Arthur didn’t speak. He only stepped closer, letting the weight of the silence press down on the man like a judgment.

The man’s face went pale and slick with sweat. “I’ll never do it again! I promise!”

“Good. Be sure that you don’t or the next reminder I give you will be your last.”

The man’s eyes widened with terror and shock as Arthur grabbed him and then sunk his fangs into his neck. The sharp rush of blood hit Arthur’s senses, warm and intoxicating. Relief coursed through him as the hunger, ever clawing at the edges of his restraint, began to subside. He drank deeply but with control, stopping just as the man’s body went limp in his grasp. Arthur withdrew, his fangs retracting as he pulled back.

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He held him upright, his grip firm, as he fixed the man with a cold, unwavering gaze. “Do not forget what you promised me tonight,” Arthur said, his tone carrying the unmistakable weight of compulsion. “If you do, I will find you again—and next time, I won’t leave you breathing.”

The man’s eyelids fluttered, his body slack as Arthur lowered him carefully to the ground. Moments later, he slumped against the wall, unconscious, his head lolling to the side.

It had taken Arthur centuries to master this restraint, to learn how to take what he needed without succumbing to the endless hunger that had claimed so many of his kind. The first years of the curse had been dark—darker than he liked to remember. He and his siblings had gone from beings who knew nothing but light and warmth to creatures that could only live in shadow. From beings that needed for nothing to these hollow shells driven only by hunger and pain. Many of his brothers and sisters who had been cursed with him, had been driven mad by their new reality. Some had taken their own lives to escape their shared nightmare while others…well, those had been dark days indeed.

Arthur’s jaw tightened as his footsteps echoed in the alley. It was in the bleakness that followed their early years, in the suffocating absence of hope, that he’d first met Theo.

He hadn’t planned to save him. That night, some three hundred years ago, Arthur had been lost in his own darkness. The centuries of blood, regret, and futility had stripped him of everything but duty. He had become a shadow of the radiant being he had once been, reduced to a creature whose existence felt more like penance than purpose. Wandering the fog-shrouded streets of London under the guise of a scholar, Arthur had spent his days serving on the vampire council, working tirelessly with what remained of his brothers and sisters to manage the growing vampire population. It was a cruel irony—attempting to preserve order in a world that felt increasingly fractured while quietly plotting his own end.

That had been his existence. A balancing act between a sense of obligation to the cursed and the relentless pull of despair. And then, on a night like so many others, he had come across Theo and everything had changed.

The young vampire had prowled the streets with a lack of discretion that bordered on suicidal. Arthur had pegged him almost immediately as a newly turned fledgling, barely able to contain his power or hunger. There had been a rawness to his movements, a lack of control that made him both dangerous and pitiable. His fine clothing, though stained and torn, suggested he had once belonged to nobility or at least a family of considerable wealth. Yet the state of his attire—and the haunted look in his eyes—had told Arthur that this man no longer took part in society. He was adrift, like so many others who had been turned and left to fend for themselves.

Theo had moved with a recklessness that spoke of someone who had abandoned all pretense of humanity. It was the kind of abandon that usually ended in a trail of bodies or a swift execution at the hands of someone like Arthur.

Arthur had shadowed him that night, keeping to the edges of the fog-drenched streets. His original intention had been to observe and assess—see if the fledgling had a master or if he was one of the countless strays who wandered the world aimlessly, bringing chaos wherever they went. As a council member, Arthur had been bound by law to avoid interfering with fledglings under the control of their sire. But strays were a different matter. Strays had been fair game, often more dangerous to vampire society than they were worth.

Arthur had watched as Theo found and stalked his prey. He watched as the fledgling cornered a human female in a darkened alley and prepared himself for the brutal scene he knew would follow but then Theo had done something that Arthur hadn’t expected.

The moment her blood had hit his tongue, the struggle had begun. Arthur had seen it in the way Theo’s body had stiffened, the tremor in his hands as he had fought to pull back. He had managed to, briefly, stumbling a step away, his breathing ragged, his eyes wide with panic and horror. The woman had swayed, barely conscious, her life hanging by a thread.

“Come on,” Arthur had murmured to himself, his fists clenched. “You can stop.”

But Theo hadn’t been able to. The hunger had been too strong. He had surged forward again, biting deeper, his hands gripping the woman’s shoulders as her heartbeat had slowed. Arthur’s instincts had screamed at him to intervene, and he had started forward, his blade drawn. But then Theo had stopped—violently.

The fledgling had wrenched himself away with a strangled cry, his fangs stained red. The woman had slumped to the ground, unconscious, her pulse faint. Theo had stared at her, his chest heaving, his hands trembling as if they no longer obeyed him. He had fallen to his knees beside her, his face a mask of anguish.

“No,” Theo had whispered, his voice raw. “No, no, no.”

Arthur had frozen.

“I’m sorry,” Theo had choked out, his hands hovering over the woman as if to fix the irreversible. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur had watched Theo’s quiet sobs fill the alley before sheathing his blade and stepping closer. The fledgling hadn’t flinched or snarled in defense when he had registered Arthur’s presence. He had only looked up, tears streaking his face, his expression hollow.

“If you’re here to kill me…” Theo’s voice had cracked, barely audible. “Thank you.”

“You’re not ready to die,” Arthur had said, his voice steady and kind.

Theo had let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “What else is there for someone like me?”

Arthur had crouched beside him, meeting his gaze. “Something better. But only if you’re willing to fight for it.”

Theo had scoffed, his expression skeptical. “And what would you know about it?”

Arthur had smiled faintly, the weight of his own past heavy in his chest. “More than you can imagine.”

Arthur’s footsteps slowed as he emerged from the alley, his mind still tangled in the memory. He had seen so much of himself in Theo that night—the hopelessness, the self-loathing, the aching desire for absolution. Saving Theo had been an act of redemption for both of them, a way to claw back a sliver of the light they had both lost.

Theo had been resistant at first, bitter and untrusting. But over time, Arthur had shown him another way. He had taught Theo how to control the hunger, how to channel the darkness within him instead of letting it consume him. And in return, Theo had given him something he hadn’t realized he needed: hope.

It was because of Theo that Arthur had begun his search for the artifact. He had seen what the curse had done to his brothers and sisters, what it had almost done to Theo, and he had vowed to find a way to undo it. Even if it took the rest of his unnatural life, he would bring an end to their suffering.

Arthur exhaled deeply. The weight of his past pressed heavily on his shoulders, but it was a weight he bore willingly. Theo had been his salvation as much as he had been Theo’s, and he would never forget that.

Straightening his coat, Arthur turned his steps toward Darius’s residence.