Prologue

Darick

T he beat of the music pounds in a way that feels like it's humming through me, the steady bass thumping with a rhythm that might match my heartbeat – if I had one.

"You know that won't quench your thirst." Marcus flicks an amused look at me before turning dark eyes back to the dancefloor, scanning the writhing mass of bodies there.

I trace my finger around the rim of the glass, savoring the coolness against my skin. "It's not about thirst, Marcus. It's about the memories."

"Memories." Marcus gives a snort. "Since when did you get sentimental?"

I swirl the crimson liquid in my glass, its rich bouquet wafting up and bringing with it a flood of memories. The Chateau Lafite Rothschild 1869 – a vintage that takes me back to simpler days when the thrill of the hunt still quickened my pulse.

"You don't have to be sentimental to appreciate old times." I dip my head and inhale deeply. Berries, cedar, and a hint of worn leather…a rush of images plays through my mind.

"Cut the crap, Darick. You're getting soft in your old age." Marcus grins at me. I reward him with a level stare. "At least pretend to drink it, or you'll scare the humans."

"It's their job to be afraid." I run a look around the cavernous room beyond the curtained entrance of our VIP alcove. The club buzzes with life, a throb that would once have set my killer instincts aflame. Now, it's just background noise to the tedium of eternity.

"Speaking of thirst," Marcus redirects the topic, nodding toward a group of women eyeing us eagerly. "Plenty of willing donors tonight."

"There always are." I follow his gaze, noting the familiar blend of desire and fear in their eyes. "Help yourself," I say, my tone bored. "I've had my fill of such fleeting pleasures."

" Such fleeting pleasures? " Marcus chuckles. "You sound like a dusty old bastard, Darick. Where's that Viking spirit?"

"Buried beneath centuries of repetition," I reply, setting down the untouched wine. "Don't you ever tire of it all?"

Before he can answer, a statuesque blonde saunters over, her clinging black dress leaving little to the imagination. "I'm Candy," she purrs, tilting her head to expose her neck. "Care for a taste?"

I regard her with cool detachment while Marcus grins appreciatively. "Perhaps later, pretty," he tells her. My friend here needs some immoral support." He turns to me. "Unless you'd like something else in that glass? Perhaps a drop of…" he leans toward the woman and breathes in deeply, "A-positive?"

I scowl and give the girl a dismissive wave of my hand. Candy slinks away, disappointment evident in her posture; I can't help but sigh. "Remember when the chase meant something, Marcus? When we were gods among men, not celebrity attractions in a neon-lit zoo?"

"What's wrong with being an attraction?" My friend and advisor rests back against the soft leather of the booth seat, extending heavily muscled arms along the backrest on either side of him.

I glare at Marcus, my irritation rising. "What's the point of all this? We're relics in a world that's moved on."

Marcus shrugs, utterly unfazed by my mood. "You're just hangry, old friend."

"I'm what?" I snap, baffled by the term.

"Hangry. Hungry and angry. It's a human thing." He smirks. "When did you last feed?" He's scrutinizing me.

"That's irrelevant," I dismiss with a wave of my hand. "I've had little appetite lately, but it's not important. Vampires my age can go months without feeding."

"I think it's been too long," Marcus presses.

Before I can respond, yet another woman approaches our alcove. She's stunning – alabaster skin, raven hair cascading down her back, blue eyes that shine with fear and excitement. There was a time when she might have caught my interest. Now, she's just another face in the crowd.

"Hey…" Her voice is husky as she homes in on me. She licks full lips that match the crimson of her dress. "I've been…um…watching you all night."

Keeping my eyes on her, I reach for my glass and lift it to my lips, taking in a breath and letting the blend of aromas filter into my mouth. If I focus very carefully, I can just about taste it.

When I don't reply, she licks her lips again and pushes out her chest. I suspect she's unaccustomed to not getting attention. I suspect she doesn't like it.

"So, I was wondering if…maybe you're thirsty?" She looks at my glass and then into my eyes.

"I'm fine."

"Really?" She looks back at the glass. I know what she's thinking. Vampires don't drink wine. Why would I be holding the glass if I didn't want it filled with blood? But then again, she's missing the point. I inhale again.

Leather and cedar.

It makes me think of a night long ago when I rode through the woods on a stolen horse. Good times.

The woman is talking again. Dammit. "I'd be honored if you'd drink from me," she says, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands.

Marcus grins, nudging me. "Come on, man. Accept the offer. You're being a dick. You need an attitude adjustment."

I sigh, setting my glass down and rolling my shoulders. My neck is tight. "Will it get you off my back?"

"Hey, I'm doing this for you, friend." Marcus waves a hand magnanimously.

The woman winks at him, then slides into the booth beside me and tilts her head. Her smile is pure sin as she exposes her throat. "You won't mind if I get off on this?" Straight white teeth dent her full bottom lip.

I try not to heave an exasperated breath. This is precisely why I prefer my blood tapped for me. I know that it's convenient for our kind to have humans give themselves willingly, but I've never loved the fact that it's because a well-placed bite triggers most of their erogenous zones.

"Whatever," I mutter, then lean in, sinking my fangs into her soft skin. There's a moment where all I'm aware of is the cloying oil of her body lotion. And then it hits me. Blood. Warmth rushes over my tongue and into my mouth.

As the first drops hit my tongue, I wait for the familiar rush of energy to flood my body. But it doesn't come. Instead, a strange sensation begins to build. It's initially unpleasant, like a mild itch at the back of my throat. I frown.

What … ?

The sensation grows, morphing from discomfort into something far worse. The girl makes a small choking sound, and I realize that my nails have extended, raking red streaks over her pale flesh. I have to work to uncurl my fingers from where I'm gripping her arm too tightly. It's not easy because my muscles are spasming. A searing pain rips through me, starting in my throat and radiating outward. It feels like liquid fire coursing through my veins, setting every nerve ending ablaze.

My fist clenches as a wave hits me, and the girl shrieks.

"Darick! What the hell?" Marcus's voice sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears.

I recoil violently, retracting my fangs and shoving the woman away with more force than I intended. She tumbles off the booth seat, landing hard on the floor with a yelp of pain. I barely register her fall or Marcus's startled exclamation.

"Fuck!" My hands fly to my throat as I gasp and choke. The pain is unbearable, unlike anything I've ever experienced. It's as if my body is trying to tear itself apart from the inside out.

The woman stumbles backward, eyes wide with fear and confusion. "What…what's going on?"

I can't answer. I'm doubled over, clutching my stomach, my face contorted in agony.

What the fuck?

Marcus is instantly at my side, all traces of amusement gone. "Darick? What is it?"

I struggle to speak through the pain. "The blood…something's wrong with her blood. I…" I try to continue, but all that comes out is a strangled gasp. My vision blurs, the pulsing lights of the club swirling into a nauseating kaleidoscope. The bass from the music seems to reverberate through my skull, amplifying the agony.

"What is he doing?" The woman's voice is pitching higher.

"Go! Get out of here!" Marcus barks at her. If she does as she's told, I'm unaware of it; the pain has blinded me.

I struggle to focus as Marcus helps me out of the seat and then guides me from the club, my body still wracked with spasms. I barely notice the curious stares as we make our way out. The cool night air hits my face as we stumble onto the sidewalk, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

"Darick, what the hell happened in there?" Marcus's voice is tight with concern. "What's going on?"

I lean against the brick wall, trying to steady myself. "It was…it was like poison," I manage to gasp out. "Her blood…it felt wrong. Tainted somehow."

Marcus is silent for a moment, his expression shifting from confusion to something I can't quite read. "Has this happened before?" he asks carefully.

"What? No, of course not," I snap, irritation flaring through the lingering pain. "I think I'd remember being poisoned by blood, Marcus."

He holds up his hands placatingly. "Alright, alright. But tell me something – why haven't you been feeding regularly? And don't give me that bullshit about not being hungry."

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue. If I'm honest with myself, the thought of blood has been…unsettling lately. Even nauseating. "I… I don't know," I admit reluctantly. "I just haven't felt like it."

Marcus's face grows somber, his usual joviality nowhere to be seen. "Darick, I think… I think this might be something serious."

"You don't say," I scoff. "Last time I'm letting you pick out a blood groupie for me."

"That's not what I mean." He frowns. I can tell there's something he's afraid to say.

"Spit it out, Marcus." I lean my head back against the cool bricks, feeling the agony finally ebb away. That was fucked up.

"I think this might be the Bloodbane," my friend says quickly.

"No." The denial is immediate, instinctive. "That's impossible. It must be something else. Maybe she was on drugs, or—"

"Stop." Marcus cuts me off, his voice uncharacteristically stern. "You need to face this. If it is the Bloodbane, you…you know what that means. This is a big fucking problem."

The gravity of his words hits me like a dash of ice water. I feel a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach. "There has to be another explanation," I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.

Marcus sighs heavily. "There is a solution, you know. We both know what it is."

I bristle at the implication, anger flaring hot and bright. "No. Absolutely not. I refuse to accept this. There has to be another way."

But even as I say the words, I know that he's right. And there is no other way.