Chapter 1 The so-called symbiosis between humans and vampires is a lie. A charade, thin as a cicada’s wing, stretched over the chasm between predator and prey. In the dynasty of the blood-clans, they call this charade a “delicate balance.” My job, as a Hunter of the Order, is to shatter it. My mission is here, in the deceptively serene city of Havencrest. My target: the House of Fairchild. Right now, I’m buried in a thicket of roses they call “The Blood Hells.” The name fits. The petals are a red so dense it bleeds to black at the edges, and when they’re in full bloom, the garden does look like a beautiful, terrible corner of hell. The cloying, sweet scent hangs in the air like old blood. Intel says the young master of the house, Emil Fairchild, is obsessed with them. A love for the color red. It’s about the only thing about him that fits the vampire archetype. Intel also says his name is Emil, and he’s a few years shy of his two-hundredth birthday—a teenager by their standards. Because of this, he doesn’t even have a formal blood servant. For me, that’s the perfect opening. I shift my weight, the cold, hard outline of the silver dagger tucked in my belt pressing against my palm. It keeps me sharp. The whisper of footsteps on the gravel path sends a jolt through me. I hold my breath, sinking deeper into the thorny embrace of the roses. A blond vampire appears at the end of the path. I narrow my eyes, studying my potential target. The Kindred are all blessed with an unnatural beauty, and he’s no exception. He’s tall and slender, his golden hair a stark contrast to the requisite vampiric pallor, giving his face a vitality that shouldn’t belong to his kind. He is, as the reports suggested, energetic—rumor has it even his tutor, a stern old creature named Silas, can barely keep track of him. He doesn’t seem to notice me. His gaze is lost in the sea of crimson blossoms. My briefing included a psychological profile: he despises the long, tedious lessons on Kindred history and etiquette, preferring the solitude of his garden. He claims that only here, surrounded by a red as fierce and hot as fire, can he feel truly “alive.” A creature that sustains itself on stolen life, seeking a sense of vitality from a plant. The irony is laughable. Just as I’m cataloging his weaknesses, his head snaps in my direction. I’m made. My stomach plummets. My right hand is already gripping the hilt of my dagger. But to my astonishment, his brilliant blue eyes hold no alarm, no hostility. Instead, something sparks within them, hot and fast like flint striking tinder. He freezes, as if enchanted, staring right at me. The entire world seems to fade into a gray wash around him, leaving only me, the intruder, in sharp focus. So much for stealth. I rise to my feet, making a show of calmly brushing crimson petal fragments from my clothes. I let my own eyes—red, a rare trait in humans and a mark of my lineage—fill with the practiced contempt and vigilance of a Hunter. He doesn't seem to see it. “I—I’m Emil. Emil Fairchild.” His voice is a slight stammer, his feet rooted to the spot. He looks like he wants to step closer but is terrified of scaring me away. What a naive little fool. “I know.” My voice is ice. I’m taller than him by a few inches, and I use the height to look down on him as I initiate my backup plan. “Emil Fairchild, in the name of the goddess Themis…” “My lord! It is time for your lesson!” A furious roar shatters the moment. A silver-haired, ancient-looking vampire—Silas, it must be—leans out of a high window before disappearing, clearly on his way down. My gaze sharpens on him. “My lord, who is this?” he demands as he storms into the garden, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the sword at his hip. This old one. He’s the real threat. Emil snaps out of his trance, his eyes, now filled with a desperate curiosity, turning back to me. He doesn’t even know my name. “Cole,” I say, my voice clipped. “Yes, yes! His name is Cole.” Emil rushes to repeat it, eager to dismiss the old man. “Cole is a… a new friend. He’s my friend.” “Cole?” Silas’s eyes are like razors, scraping over me. “I have never seen him on the grounds.” His nostrils flare. He can smell my humanity. I can almost hear his thoughts, the standard vampire litany: humans, those grasping, greedy creatures, nothing but filth and deceit beneath a thin skin. I see his hand tighten on his sword. Emil frantically steps between us. “But my lord, you don’t have any human friends,” Silas says, his tone a clear warning. Then, a new thought seems to occur to him. Perhaps he’s considering Emil’s impending coming-of-age ceremony, and the need for a human blood servant as a sort of… final project. He relaxes his grip. “The Kindred do not need to be friends with humans. I have taught you this, my lord,” Silas says, his gaze flicking from Emil to me. “But they can be kept.” He claps Emil on the shoulder. “The estate’s wards are strong. You needn’t worry about any dirty little hunters.” The first part was an instruction for Emil. The second was a warning for me. This old bastard is sharper than I thought. Once the meddling tutor is gone, Emil dares to drift closer. It’s only then I realize the golden-haired aristocrat is indeed a bit shorter than me. “Emil Fairchild. My name is—” “You already said that,” I cut in coolly, observing him. He is cautious to the point of seeming timid, a perfect match for the naive profile I was given. He seems to be wrestling with Silas’s words. I decide to force the issue. “Blood servant. What is that?” “No! That’s not—Cole isn’t my blood servant. You can do anything you want, just… as long as you’re willing to stay.” The words burst out of him, and he immediately flushes, embarrassed by his own forwardness. He’s like a child who wants to keep a bright, warm thing close to him, just like his garden of Blood Hells. And right now, I’m the bright, warm thing that has caught his eye. “In a vampire’s mansion, what else is there for a human to do?” I ask, tossing the cold, hard reality back at him. He thinks for a moment. The only job opening for a human in the entire estate is… “...A blood servant,” he whispers, his voice falling. “Will I die?” I lock my eyes on his, asking the critical question. “No! Never. I would never hurt you,” he promises, so quickly it’s as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish on the spot. “Then I’ll do that.” I accept, my voice flat. Staying is the first step of the mission. Becoming his blood servant is the perfect cover. He seems genuinely thrilled. As he leads me back toward the manor, he can’t help but return to the topic of his beloved roses. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” “What?” “The flowers.” He lights up whenever he speaks of the Blood Hells. “So beautiful. Like the purest blood, covering the whole garden until there’s nothing left but red… an ocean of red…” He must have sensed my silence, because he turns, his gaze meeting my thinly veiled disdain. “Sorry. Humans probably don’t like to hear about things like that,” he says, cutting himself off. He leads me to a room in one of the upper wings of the house. I had no idea what being a “blood servant” actually entailed. Since the day I arrived, the golden-haired aristocrat has done nothing but drag me around the estate, either listening to him talk endlessly about his horrifying roses, or convincing me to skip his lessons with Silas to go sit and stare blankly at the garden with him. But there’s something strange about him. He watches me with an unnerving, fiery intensity. At first, I tried to ignore it. But as the days stretched into weeks, his staring grew more brazen. He can watch me in silence for what feels like hours. Yet, every time I meet his gaze, he snatches his eyes away, pretending he was looking at something else entirely. The Kindred gave me a reason to be here: to be his blood servant. But that’s not my real purpose. My purpose is to assassinate the master of the House of Fairchild. As I’m lost in thought, a sharp rap comes at my door. It’s late. The only person who would visit at this hour is the blond vampire himself. Setting aside the fact that he’s a blood-sucking monster, Emil is… interesting. But that doesn’t matter. Human and Kindred. We are two poles of a magnet that can never align. I pull the door open and find, not Emil, but his tutor, Silas. “You—” The older, more refined vampire presses a finger to his lips, silencing me with a look of pure disdain. He hands me a heavy, leather-bound book, turns on his heel, and walks away without another word. Baffled, I close the door and carry the book to my desk. In the lamplight, I see it’s a history of the Kindred, detailing their origins… and the precise rituals for creating a blood servant. A chill runs down my spine. Even now, after all this time, I find it impossible to see Emil as a true vampire, a monster I am sworn to kill. I close the book. A small, unassuming note flutters out from between the pages. The ink is faded, but the message is perfectly clear. [Becoming his blood servant is the only way you stay, human.] The old bastard is forcing my hand. He’s worried that Emil spends all his time with a human and hasn’t taken a single bite, but he’s also worried I’m a threat. Only by becoming a blood servant—bound by a magical contract never to betray or harm him—will he truly trust me. But if that contract is forged, I can never harm any vampire. The mission will be a catastrophic failure. It’s an impossible choice. As I’m caught in the dilemma, another knock sounds at the door. I assume it’s Silas, returning for some reason. But when I open it, I see Emil. He looks like he just came from the bath, his skin still damp, his blond hair not fully dry. “Cole? Did you need something from me?” I swear, for a split second, I saw something pure and unfiltered in his eyes: joy. A knot tightens in my throat. I change my planned words. “Uh, yeah. Can I come in?” “Of course.” He steps aside, letting me into his bedroom before closing the door behind us. The clean, warm scent of him envelops me as I pass, and a strange unease settles in my stomach. It’s only when I glimpse the open collar of his silk pajamas, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his chest, that the unease sharpens into an unfamiliar thirst, hot and dry in the back of my throat. He steps closer, and I have to force myself to turn away, holding out the book. “Your tutor gave this to me.” Emil takes it, his cheeks flushing as he flips through the pages. “Silas, he didn’t mean anything by it… it’s just because…” Silas. So that’s the old man’s name. “You’ve never had a blood servant before, have you?” I state the fact plainly, cutting off his excuses. He looks at me and nods, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands. Seeing him like this, so innocent he’s almost clumsy, a thought flashes through my mind: maybe being bitten by him wouldn’t be so unbearable. Besides, it’s just a bite. Not the contract. A simple set of tooth marks would be enough to placate the suspicious old tutor, making the eventual assassination that much easier to carry out. With that thought, I stand up and walk to his bed, sitting on the edge of the lavish, ornate frame. Then, looking him straight in the eye, I pull open the collar of my shirt, exposing the strong, clean line of my neck. “Care to try?” “No, that’s not what I—” I cut him off, pressing him again, my voice a low murmur, like the serpent in the garden. “Do you want to bite me?”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394192", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel