She made her way through the ballroom, bathed in the silver rays of the moon streaming through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
They all danced with masks on their faces. Except her, she was human.
She shouldn't be here.
What if they smelled her?
That's why she covered herself in vinegar and spice. The stench was atrocious, revolting to the creatures of the night.
Rich laughter filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of violins. Teeth sank passionately into the flesh of partners, crimson staining the delicate lace and silk of their gowns.
She had to get out of here.
A year ago, she'd fallen into this world, a world of nightmares come alive. She had avoided these creatures, survived near-death experiences, and learned to blend among their kind to the point where they barely noticed her.
But she still couldn't find her way home.
Desperation had driven her to the Wicked Witch of the North, bartering her fate for the chance to go back to her realm. She hadn't expected to learn that her way home lay in the very heart of the creatures' den: the Castle of the Dead.
That's why she was here, dressed in red, her skin painted ghostly white, and her lips stained crimson to blend in with them.
Sipping wine so her lips constantly appeared bloodied, she made her way up the grand staircase, the murmur of the ball fading behind her. Her wrist burned faintly, the red string gifted by the witch pulling her forward like an unyielding guide.
It tugged her through dark hallways, past gory sculptures and grotesque guards.
She had scammed the witch, of course. Sell her fate? She scoffed. She didn't even belong in this world; she'd fallen into it by mistake.
Before her stood a door of iron and silver. She paused, hearing whispers from beyond.
The string slithered through the keyhole, and she leaned down to peer through it.
Her breath caught.
Inside the room sat five imposing men and four women, their attire steeped in sophistication and decadence. They sipped blood from ornate teacups, their chairs perched upon human bodies used as mats.
Her gaze traveled to a fountain by the window, and her heart nearly stopped.
A figure hung in chains above the water, his form riddled with thorns from which roses grew. Swords pierced his flawless skin at every angle, blood trailing down his cheeks from beneath a crown of nails. His blood filled the fountain below in a steady, agonizing drip.
"He's the true son of the First Blood," one of the women said, her nails absurdly long as she caressed a black jaguar at her side.
"Meaning he's destined to rule us all?" a man's voice sneered.
"This weakling?" another scoffed. He wore royal blue velvet, a vulture perched on his shoulder as he gripped its neck with a gloved hand. "Destined to rule us all?"
A glass shattered. Her eyes darted to the source of the noise.
"That's utter nonsense," another snarled. "Why would the Fates bless him with so much power? We must claim it for ourselves first."
The vulture-owner spoke again, his voice like gravel. "Yes, but the identity of the True Blood is hidden. Only the one destined can find it."
Booted footsteps approached the chained figure. A silver sword gleamed in the moonlight as the man thrust it into the prisoner's side.
A scream of agony ripped through the room.
"You're telling me this nobody is destined to hold power over the entire vampire race?" the man spat.
The creature hung limply, drowning in his own blood.
A tug on her wrist made her glance down. The red string, visible only to her, slithered forward and wrapped around the chained man's leg.
She swallowed hard. "Oh no."
A blinding light filled the room, disorienting everyone, including her.
The doors flew open, and something slammed into her with such force that it knocked the air from her lungs.
The world spun, and everything went black.
---
She woke with a start, pinned beneath a heavy weight.
The moon shone above them, bathing an open field in its ethereal glow.
She tried to move, but her arms were weak.
"E-excuse m-me," she stuttered, her voice trembling.
The weight shifted slightly. His breath was warm against her neck, and her skin tingled where it touched.
"W-what a-are y-you doing?" she stammered, struggling to push him off.
He didn't answer. Instead, he buried his face in her shoulder, his arms tightening around her as if he feared she might vanish.
"You smell divine," he rasped, his voice a rich, velvet darkness that sent shivers down her spine.
His tongue flicked against her collarbone.
Her breath hitched. "What are you doing? Wait... don't do that..."
"I've lost so much blood," he whispered, his lips brushing against her skin. "I just need a little taste."
Panic rose in her chest as he kissed just above her breast, her back arching involuntarily.
"No, please... I'm scared," she whimpered.
"Don't worry," he murmured darkly. "I'll be gentle."
His teeth sank into her flesh.
A sharp pain tore through her, followed by a wave of exquisite pleasure that made her moan softly.
"Oh my word," he groaned, shuddering. "You taste... amazing."
Her head swam as he drank deeply, her vision blurring.
"I need more," he rasped, his hunger insatiable.
Her pulse slowed, her breaths shallow, as a strange warmth bloomed in her core.
She whimpered, her nails digging into his back as her body betrayed her, trembling in his arms.
Stars shimmered above them, a million points of light spinning as she slipped closer to the edge of oblivion.
Her heart faltered, her body limp. She took a final, shallow breath...
---
Betty slammed the book shut.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR FOR BOOK TWO?!" she yelled, her frustration echoing in the room.