Chapter 4
The banquet hall hushed the moment they entered.
Velvet-lined walls, gold filigree chandeliers, and the heady scent of rosewood and bloodwine set the tone. Conversation dulled to a hum, then a silence so thick it bordered on reverent. All eyes turned—curious, calculating, hungry.
There, in the arched threshold beneath a spill of candlelight, stood Nikolai.
The son of High Lord Vercyn, known for cruelty behind closed doors and elegance in the open, rarely made appearances, and never with company. Yet here he was, an enigma in obsidian and silver, with a mortal man at his side.
Not just any man.
Darian stood tall in the formal coat Nikolai had chosen for him—dark as ink, cut to his shape like a second skin. His build, strong and grounded, made him look carved from bronze rather than flesh. And from beneath his mask, his eyes glowed. Warm. Brown. Human. A heartbeat in a room full of things that had forgotten theirs.
The vampires were ravenous in their curiosity.
Whispers fluttered like wings.
"Who is he?"
"Not a servant—look at him."
"A lover? A gift? Gods, look at that mouth—"
"He brought a mortal here? Nikolai? That one?"
"I heard Nikolai drained his last consort over dessert."
Some stared openly, unmoved by etiquette. Bold, ancient things in gilded masks with red eyes and perfumed breath. One man tilted his head, gaze raking over Darian like a blade. Another licked his lower lip as if tasting the air.
Nikolai caught their eyes.
He didn't look away.
No anger. No smile. Just that unblinking, serpentine stare. Calm and endless and utterly damning. One by one, the bold dropped their gazes—some in shame, others in amusement.
One did not challenge the High Lord's son, not even in glances.
Still, they whispered.
"Look how he walks beside him—like an equal."
"He must be special."
"Or stupid."
"Or both."
Darian kept his chin lifted, though he could feel it..hunger,lust.Not just lust—not here. This was possessive. The kind of attention that left bite marks beneath silk and bruises that never healed.
But he remembered Nikolai's words.
He saw it now. Not just interest—resentment. Envy. Disgust. Fascination. Like he was a mirror they hadn't meant to look into.
They approached the table at the center of the room, long and glittering with crystal, where blood shimmered in goblets and raw meat steamed gently on silver platters.
Darian reached for a chair, but Nikolai stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"No," Nikolai said softly, so only he could hear. "That one."
He guided Darian to the seat at his right—his side. Reserved for family. Lovers. Heirs.
Gasps were swallowed in lace gloves.
Nikolai sat, crossing one leg over the other, and gestured languidly for the servants to begin.
Darian could feel eyes still on him. Still devouring. But none dared to speak.
And when Nikolai poured him a goblet of dark red wine and set it before him with his own hand, something shifted in the room.
Respect?
No.
Fear.
And that, Darian realized, might be more valuable.
Nikolai leaned in close, voice low and dry with amusement. "Now that we've made our entrance and offended every elder in the room with your... stunning face, allow me to introduce the monsters."
Darian arched an eyebrow, lips twitching.
Nikolai's eyes flicked to the left. "Tall one with the bird skull mask? That's Countess Almyra. One of the old ones. She drinks her fledglings like wine and has a passion for organ music and dissecting horses."
Darian followed his gaze, then grimaced. "Horses?"
"She thinks they're elegant. And fragile. Like men." Nikolai sipped from his glass, unfazed. "Now—see that man near the window? Perfectly still, looks like a painting that hasn't learned to blink?"
Darian nodded.
"Baron Echols. Minister of Trade in the southern court. Big fan of pretending to be human. Owns a meat-packing empire. Makes a fortune supplying 'clean' cattle to hospitals. The irony isn't lost on him."
Darian frowned. "Do they know?"
Nikolai shrugged. "Only the dead ones. He's very tidy."
He nodded to a woman in a crimson dress at the far end of the hall, a gold veil dripping down her face like molten sunlight. "That's Madame Sova. Once pretended to be a famous opera singer for thirty years. Faked her own death twice. I think she's on her third identity now—currently 'retired' and managing a luxury cruise line. All-inclusive. Drinks flow at night, and no one ever docks in the morning."
Darian's eyes widened slightly. "That's... honestly impressive."
"She's a legend. And a menace. Don't let her offer you anything in a glass that glows."
A subtle smirk curved Darian's lips, but he caught himself and forced a neutral expression.
Nikolai glanced at him sideways, mischievous. "Oh. And the one by the column over there? Dull green coat, face like a dried apricot?"
"I see him."
"Sir Wendell Falt. Ancient. Smells like mothballs and colonial guilt. Believes 'modern vampires' are ruining the mystique. Wrote an essay on it. Published it under a human pen name."
Darian finally laughed—quick and unguarded, more a huff than a chuckle, but real.
And then, just as quickly, he composed himself again, shoulders stiffening, gaze returning to his untouched wine. But his ears flushed red.
Nikolai leaned back in his seat, clearly pleased. "Oh no," he said softly, grinning. "You laughed."
"I didn't."
"You did. And in front of lords. They'll take it personally."
"I didn't mean to," Darian muttered, eyes flicking toward the table.
"But you did." Nikolai took a slow sip of wine, savoring the moment. "Don't worry. I think it's charming. Especially the part where you panic and try to be serious again. Very noble. Very… mortal."
Darian gave him a sidelong glare, but there was no bite to it.
And across the room, the vampires watched still. Watched Nikolai's easy posture, and the mortal who sat beside him like he belonged.
They were waiting for the moment it cracked—for the illusion to shatter.
"Sorry. I'm not…great at these things." He offered Darian a nervous smile, cheeks just a little pink.
Darian smirked. "You seem to know everyone."
"I grew up around this madness," Nikolai murmured, then added with a self-deprecating shrug, "Doesn't mean I'm comfortable in it."
Nikolai's father, Lord Vercyn, was the real reason this hall glittered with wealth and power. Even the most reclusive elders showed up when he summoned them. His influence extended far beyond bloodlines—he brokered power. Secrets. Safety.
"Why do they all come?" Darian asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the soft music and murmurs.
"They owe him," Nikolai replied simply. "Or they want something. My father trades in things even older than blood."
"And humans don't know about all this?"
Nikolai gave a small, crooked grin. "Mind control," he said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Humans are... susceptible. Most vampires can do it to some degree, but the older we are, the stronger it gets. My father could convince a city to forget it ever existed."
Darian blinked. "That's terrifying."
Nikolai chuckled and leaned in a bit closer. "It's terrifying and convenient."
The music swelled, strings and low drums curling together like silk and smoke, and as if on cue, the vampires began to drift toward the center of the room. Movements graceful, almost unnatural. Partners glided with sharp eyes and sharper smiles, the floor beneath them catching the glitter of chandeliers above.
Nikolai turned to Darian, a shy but earnest expression blooming across his face. He held out his hand, not quite steady, the gesture formal but endearingly awkward. "Would you… like to dance?" he asked, voice quiet but hopeful.
Darian's first instinct was a flat, unimpressed no. His lips even began to shape it. But then his eyes flicked down—resting for a moment on the pendant around Nikolai's neck..when did he put that on? That strange little thing that pulsed cold like a heartbeat, reminding him that this night, like everything about Nikolai, wasn't normal. Wasn't safe.
He sighed. "Fine," he muttered, placing his hand in Nikolai's. "But only because saying no seems like a terrible idea."
A flush of color crept into Nikolai's pale cheeks, and he smiled—wobbly and crooked, like he didn't know how to aim it properly. But it was sincere, and Darian—despite himself—felt something flicker in his chest.
"You're really weird," Darian said under his breath as they stepped onto the dance floor. "If you weren't a fang, you might actually have been an alright dude."
Nikolai chuckled softly, his eyes not leaving Darian's. "Mm. But you like me because I'm a fang."
Before Darian could respond, Nikolai leaned in, his breath brushing Darian's ear as he whispered something sweetly, darkly:
"If you died right here on the floor, I'd keep your body warm long enough to dance with it once more."
Darian blinked. "What the fuck—"
But Nikolai only tilted his head, smiling like he'd just recited a love poem. His fingers gently adjusted the collar of Darian's jacket, as if he hadn't just said something deeply psychotic.
"I'm kidding," he added—too quickly, too clumsily. "Unless that made you like me more."
It didn't. But gods, it also kind of did.
They began to move, and while Nikolai wasn't the best dancer—his steps sometimes stuttered or nearly missed the rhythm—he kept holding on, eyes always on Darian's face.
Nikolai's grip around Darian tightened subtly as the waltz slowed, the music turning more languid, more seductive. Without warning, he lowered his head, burying it into the crook of Darian's neck. His breath dragged in deep, like a starving thing inhaling the scent of salvation. Darian tensed, unsure of the sudden intimacy—but unable to pull away.
He couldn't see Nikolai's face.
Couldn't see the way his eyelids fluttered closed.
Couldn't see how his lips parted ever so slightly, or how a soft, almost broken exhale escaped him like a prayer.
And he couldn't see how Nikolai's face flushed darkly, his jaw tightening as something darker stirred inside him.
Arousal laced with hunger.
Nikolai's beautiful green eyes rolled back briefly, the pleasure too sudden, too sharp—and when they returned, they were no longer green. Crimson swallowed the irises, burning like coals beneath fine lashes. For a heartbeat, he looked inhuman. Feral. A predator at the edge of restraint.
He pressed the bridge of his nose against Darian's skin, breathing him in again—deeper this time, eyes fluttering as if drunk on scent alone. His hand at Darian's back tightened with restrained force. He wanted. Gods, he needed.
But then—
The music stopped.
A chilling hush swept through the grand hall.
Nikolai stiffened, jaw locking. The scent of Darian was replaced by the cold stench of command. Heads turned. The great arched doors at the end of the ballroom creaked open, their old hinges groaning under the weight.
High Lord Vercyn had arrived.
The man entered like a shadow given shape—tall, composed, the embodiment of noble dread. The golden crest of his house shimmered against a black velvet cloak, his expression unreadable, carved from stone and centuries. The ballroom seemed to hold its breath.
Nikolai pulled away slowly, reluctantly, the red in his eyes flickering, retreating into green like fire retreating behind glass. His hand dropped from Darian's waist with a lingering brush of his fingers, a final stolen touch. He didn't look at him. Instead, he turned toward the High Lord like everyone else—head lowered slightly, lips tight, but his eyes burned at the floor.
He was sulking.
He wanted more time. More of that scent. More of that feeling.
He deserved it. And now it was gone.
Darian stood still, dazed, heart thudding too loudly in his chest. He watched the High Lord make his way through the crowd with a kind of glacial grace—slow, measured, a man used to silences swallowing his steps. The way the room bowed to him, the way the air seemed to warp around him—Darian could feel the weight of centuries pressing in.
Then Vercyn's eyes found him.
And held.
A stillness passed through Darian's spine. It wasn't just the weight of royalty. It was… personal. Intrigued. Appraising. As if he were being measured for something far more important than his suit. As if his very soul had been placed on a scale.
Darian didn't look away.
And somewhere to his right, Nikolai's jaw tightened—eyes flickering, watching, watching, watching.
High Lord Vercyn came to a deliberate stop in the center of the grand ballroom. The murmurs faded instantly; all eyes, shimmering with anticipation and fear alike, fixed on him. His gaze swept over the assembled vampires like a blade, sharp and cold.
"My lords, ladies," he began, his voice low but carrying through the hall with effortless authority, "we gather tonight not merely to revel, but to remember who we are—and who our enemies have been for over a millennium."
The crowd shifted. Whispers fell silent.
His eyes flicked deliberately toward Darian. A subtle tightening of Darian's jaw, a small step back beneath the calm mask he wore. The name left Vercyn's lips like a curse.
"Wolves."
Darian's breath caught. But before fear could betray him, a strong hand slid around his waist—Nikolai, steady and commanding, his breath ghosting against Darian's ear.
"Do not show them," Nikolai whispered, voice smooth but ironclad.
Darian's heart hammered, but he nodded slightly, pressing himself into Nikolai's side.
Vercyn continued, his voice unwavering. "Humans have hunted us with a desperate fury, blood spilling across centuries. Yet we have made an uneasy pact—an agreement to coexist, to keep peace, for now."
A tense silence.
"Tonight," Vercyn declared, lifting a hand to quiet the hall, "is a night of celebration. A night to give back to those who have suffered beneath our shadow."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd—curious, hopeful.
"But," his voice darkened, "a vampire's celebration is never simple. The humans must pay tribute. They are the currency of our survival."
Darian blinked, confusion tightening his brow.
The great doors at the far end of the hall swung open.
A procession began.
Rows upon rows of naked humans shuffled in, their heads bowed low, eyes hollow and resigned. The sound of bare feet on the polished floor echoed like a death march.
Vercyn's gaze swept the room once more. "They have volunteered. Their lives—devoid of hope, stripped of meaning—are offered willingly. Their families will be compensated , honored for this sacrifice."
The vampires' reactions rippled across the ballroom like a storm.
Some licked their lips eagerly, eyes glittering with hunger.
Others whispered among themselves, unease threading their words.
A few masked their fake disgust with polite nods, faces schooled into the calm of tradition.
Vercyn's voice dropped to a velvety command. "Tonight, indulge your wildest desires. Feast without shame. But remember—this is not mere gluttony. It is survival. And power."
Nikolai's eyes flickered to Darian, a dark spark igniting in the depths of his gaze.
The feast erupted into chaos.
Vampires shed their refined masks as primal hunger took hold. Some tore into the humans with feral abandon—claws raking flesh, fangs sinking deep. Blood splattered across polished floors and silk gowns alike. The air was thick with the copper scent of fresh kills, mingling with the musky heat of bodies pressed too close.
Others paused—caught between instinct and control—but even they indulged, slipping into reckless abandon. Around Darian, the air pulsed with tangled limbs and whispered moans—women entwined with women, cocks pounding relentlessly in shadowed corners, mouths sucking and biting with fevered desperation. The line between pleasure and violence blurred as vampires drank deeply—not just blood, but lust, power, and sin.
Vercyn, towering and imperious, turned his back on the madness and strode out of the room, his cloak billowing behind him like a storm cloud.
Nikolai dropped to one knee beside Darian, steady and composed amid the frenzy.
"This," he murmured, voice low and raw, "is what happens every year. The night we stop pretending. The one night where vampires become the monsters we truly are. No masks. No chains. No mercy."
Darian swallowed, eyes wide and heart pounding. "It's… disgusting," he said, voice trembling. "I want to leave."
But beneath the shame, a hot flicker ignited—that sent a thrill coursing through his veins.
Nikolai's gaze swept the room, cold and calculating. Then, slowly, he turned back to Darian. His eyes—once emerald green—now clouded with something unreadable.
Darian's voice cut through the chaos, desperate: "Nikolai."
But the name barely reached him. Nikolai's lips parted, his voice a haunted whisper.
"I thought you were beautiful," he said, "the first day I saw you. More beautiful than any mortal or monster. Even now."
A chill ran down Darian's spine.
Fear tangled with confusion. He took a step back, eyes searching Nikolai's face—looking for some clue, some hint of what this meant.
But Nikolai only stared, his expression unreadable, as if caught between something fierce and something fragile.
Nikolai rose slowly, eyes locked on Darian's like a predator closing in on its prey. Every step was deliberate, measured, and heavy with intent. The chaotic feast faded into a distant hum around them as Nikolai's presence swallowed the space.
Before Darian could react, Nikolai's body pressed against his, pinning him against the cold stone wall. The heat from Nikolai's breath washed over Darian's face, and his heart hammered in shock .
From beneath his shirt, Nikolai produced the serpent pendant, the silver snake coiling and glinting in the flickering candlelight. He held it up between them, the cold metal catching Darian's wide eyes.
"Is this what you truly desire?" Nikolai's voice was low, almost a growl, lips curling into a smile that showed too many sharp teeth, wild and feral.
Darian swallowed hard, breath hitching, "Yes…" The word escaped him before he could stop it—breathless, shaky, desperate.
In an instant, Nikolai yanked the pendant back, his smile deepening into something feral, terrifyingly beautiful.
"You want me to fuck you, don't you?" His voice was a dark whisper soaked in madness, the words crude and raw but laced with an intoxicating promise. "To tear you apart and put you back together—only worse. To make you beg for it, scream for it, lose every shred of your pathetic control."
He leaned in, teeth grazing Darian's jaw in a twisted caress. "I'm going to take you to my room. You won't know where your body ends and mine begins. You'll hate me for it… but you'll love it too."
Darian's breath hitched again, confusion and craving spiraling inside him. His mind screamed no, but every nerve in his body screamed yes.
Nikolai's grip tightened on Darian's wrist, dragging him away from the wall as his smile grew wider—madness flickering behind his eyes like a storm about to break.
They slipped through the dark corridors, the world outside the feast fading until only the two of them remained.
Inside Nikolai's room, the door slammed shut behind them like a verdict.
"Say my name," Nikolai demanded, voice ragged and fierce. "Beg me."