Chapter 1: The Crimson Mark

The air inside "The Velvet Abyss" was suffocating, more so than usual. The sweet, cloying scent of electronic vapes mingled with the aroma of expensive bourbon and something sharper—a metallic tang that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I shouldn’t have been here. As an ordinary woman celebrating a modest promotion at work, this VIP lounge on the edge of the city felt too opulent, too predatory. Yet, a strange curiosity had pulled me inside, into the dim, crimson-neon shadows of the bar.

​In the darkest corner of the room, he sat alone. He didn’t hold a glass, nor did he engage in conversation. He simply existed in silence, yet his presence dominated the entire space like a physical weight. His eyes weren't just black; they were hollow voids that seemed to swallow every stray flicker of light. I tried to look away, but every cell in my body screamed that I was being watched by an apex predator.

​"Excuse me," I whispered, my voice trembling as I tried to squeeze past the velvet sofa where he sat to find the exit. I felt lightheaded, perhaps from the single glass of wine I’d had, or perhaps because the atmospheric pressure seemed to thicken around him.

​In a blur—a speed far beyond what my human eyes could process—he was suddenly standing directly in front of me. His hand, cold as marble yet strong as tempered steel, gripped my waist possessively. I tried to scream, but the sound died in my throat as he tilted my head back with terrifying ease, exposing my fragile neck.

​"A thousand years," he murmured. His voice was a low, resonant vibration that traveled straight to my marrow, as if he were speaking an ancient tongue understood only by my primal instincts. "And finally, I find a vessel capable of welcoming my blood."

​Then, the pain arrived. Two razor-sharp fangs pierced the skin of my neck, right over the jugular vein. It wasn’t just a bite; it was a claim. I felt a hot, alien liquid being pumped into my veins—not just blood, but something that felt like molten fire. The intensity of it was so overwhelming that my vision began to fracture. The gold-leafed ceiling of the bar spun into a vortex of endless black and red.

​My consciousness began to slip. The last thing I remembered before total darkness swallowed me was the scent of him—a haunting mixture of a pine forest after rain and the elegant, cold aroma of death. He whispered something into my ear, a promise that sounded like a curse: "From this night forth, you no longer belong to this world. You are mine, the bearer of my legacy."

​When I woke up the next morning in my own apartment, the only proof of the nightmare was two small, fading puncture marks on my neck and a strange, pulsing warmth deep within my lower abdomen. I didn't know then that inside me, a miracle that was also a catastrophe had begun to breathe.

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