The cold didn’t just wake Sofia; it claimed her.
It seeped from a stone altar beneath her, bleeding through her clothes and settling deep into her marrow. When her eyes snapped open, she didn’t see light. She saw an oppressive, velvety blackness. The air tasted of ancient dust, copper, and damp earth.
She rolled onto her side, her skin scraping against the coarse stone, and gasped. The sound echoed hollowly, revealing the vastness of the subterranean crypt enclosing her. Shadows clung to the vaulted ceilings like cobwebs.
Then, the pain hit.
It wasn’t a dull ache; it was a violent, white-hot spike driven directly through her temples. Sofia clutched her head, a silent scream tearing from her throat. Her veins burned as if injected with liquid ice. What did they do to me? A vague memory of being kidnaped in her sleep, but apart from that, a vast emptiness in her brain.
As the agony in her skull subsided into a dull throb, a new sensation bloomed in her gut. A hollow, yawning vacuum. She was starving, but the thought of food made her stomach turn. Her throat was a desert, parched and desperate for something viscous, warm, and vital. A taste she couldn’t name, but one her body demanded with terrifying urgency.
Pushing herself off the altar, Sofia’s legs buckled. She caught herself against the damp stone wall, her breath coming in ragged, shallow wheezes. Her hands instinctively clamped over her abdomen as a violent convulsion ripped through her core. Her insides twisted like writhing snakes.
Get out. Just get out.
Dragging her feet, she stumbled through a crumbling archway into an adjoining chamber. The air here was thicker, tainted with the smell of sweat and fear. Sofia froze.
Chained to the moss-covered wall, suspended by her wrists, was a young blonde woman. Her clothes were shredded, her head lank, but the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest proved she was alive. Sofia’s eyes locked onto the pulse point in the girl’s neck.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Above the girl, smeared across the stones in dark, glistening strokes, were words written in blood:
WELCOME BACK MY QUEEN.
Another convulsion struck Sofia, dropping her instantly to her knees. The smell of the girl’s blood was a physical assault on her senses—magnificent, intoxicating, agonizing. The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave: She wanted to tear that throat open. She wanted to drink her life essence.
A wave of intense nausea overpowered the hunger. Sofia retched, violently vomiting a thick, tar-like black fluid onto the stone floor. She sobbed, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. As she did, her index finger brushed against her upper lip.
Something was wrong.
Slowly, she ran her tongue over her teeth. Her incisors were normal, but her canines… they had elongated. They were razor-sharp, slick, and protruding past her lip line, sharp enough to puncture flesh with the slightest pressure. A sob of pure horror escaped her. How did that happen?
But Sofia refused to succumb to the monster waking inside her. Looking at the unconscious girl, she gathered every ounce of her remaining humanity, turned her back on the sacrifice, and ran.
She burst through a rotting wooden door, collapsing into the saving grace of the night air. Rain lashed against her face, washing away the copper tang of the crypt. She was in an overgrown, abandoned garden. Dead rose bushes clawed at her clothing as she stumbled through the mud.
Through the torrential downpour, a monolithic silhouette loomed against the stormy sky: a massive, sprawling Gothic manor.
Its pointed arches and towering spires cut a menacing figure, but amidst the darkness, warm light flickered from the upper windows. Silhouettes—human shapes—passed gracefully behind the glass.
People.
Desperation overrode caution. She needed help. She needed a hospital, a priest, anyone. Sofia dragged herself up the grand stone steps to the massive, iron-studded oak door. Before her hand could even reach the brass knocker, the heavy door groaned, swinging inward on its own. It opened slowly, an invitation into the yawning black corridor beyond.
“Hello?” Sofia’s voice was a fragile whisper, swallowed by the cavernous entryway.
No one answered. The interior was choked with shadows, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning through the stained-glass windows. She stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her with an unsettling finality.
As she crept down the hallway, she passed a towering, ornate silver mirror. Sofia stopped, frowning. She turned to look at her reflection to see how monstrous she looked.
There was nothing.
The mirror reflected the peeling wallpaper of the opposite wall. It reflected the grand staircase. But where Sofia stood, there was only an empty void. A cold dread settled in her chest. The fairy tales were real, and she was living the nightmare.
Seeking warmth, she slipped into a lavishly decorated master bedroom. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows. Laying across the velvet duvet was a breathtaking, midnight-black gown. It was a masterpiece of Gothic design—corseted lace, heavy silk, and intricate silver embroidery.
Next to it lay a heavy parchment note. Sofia picked it up with trembling fingers.
Welcome back my queen, this is for you.
She was soaked to the bone, shivering, and terrified. Shucking off her soiled, wet clothes, she reached for the gown. The moment the silk touched her skin, a strange warmth bloomed through her. As she laced up the corset, she realized with a shudder that it fitted her flawlessly, molding to her body like a second skin.
Stepping back out into the corridor, something shifted within Sofia. The heavy, sweeping skirts of the gown rustled against the floor, and with each step, the frantic terror in her chest began to recede, replaced by a dark, intoxicating surge of confidence. She didn’t feel like a victim anymore. She felt… powerful. She felt like she belonged.
From the grand staircase, the faint sound of music drifted up. It wasn’t classical; it was a haunting, ethereal choir, chanting in a language that made her blood hum in harmony.
Guided by the melody, Sofia glided down the stairs and pushed open the double doors to the grand ballroom.
The music ceased instantly.
Dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto her. The room was filled with an aristocratic court of impossibly beautiful, elegantly dressed men and women. Their skin was pale as marble, their eyes burned with predatory intelligence.
Sofia froze, her newfound confidence instantly vanishing. Fear seized her throat. She was a lamb walking willingly into a den of wolves. They were going to tear her apart.
From the center of the crowd, an older man stepped forward. His presence was suffocatingly powerful, his silver hair contrasting with eyes as dark as obsidian. He approached her slowly, his gaze locked onto hers.
Sofia braced for the strike, closing her eyes.
Instead, the man sank gracefully to one knee at her feet. He bowed his head in absolute reverence.
Around the room, a synchronous rustle of fabric echoed as every single vampire in the court dropped to their knees, bowing before her.
The silver-haired man looked up, a soft, reverent smile touching his lips.
“I am Lord Cassian, Welcome back, my queen.” and behind him, she saw it. The crown. On a pedestal.