Prelude

 

 

Humans love stories about monsters. 

It helps them sleep at night. 

 

They think we hide in coffins. That we burn the second sunlight touches our skin. That we spend centuries lurking in abandoned castles waiting for victims foolish enough to wander too close. 

 

Humans have always mistaken theatrics for truth. The reality is far less dramatic. And far more dangerous. 

 

We adapted long before humanity realized it needed to. While they buried themselves in technology and excess, we built empires inside it. Nightclubs. Hotels. Private membership lounges hidden behind unmarked doors and velvet ropes. Places dripping in wealth and temptation where people willingly offer themselves to us without ever understanding what we are. 

 

First Rule:

Humans do not know vampires exist. 

 

Not really. 

 

Suspicion is harmless. Fantasy is harmless. Truth is not. Most humans who enter our world leave with nothing more than fragments anyway. A headache. Sore neck. Missing hours they cannot piece together. They blame alcohol. Drugs. Bad decisions. Maybe all three.

 

We encourage that. 

 

Ruby helps. 

 

Humans think Ruby is a luxury cocktail. Sweet. Addictive. Exclusive. Difficult to get unless you know the right people or make an impressive first impression. They are correct about the addiction. Ruby enhances human blood. One sip changes the chemistry for a few hours. Makes the blood richer. Warmer. Sweeter. Impossible to forget. The more Ruby a human drinks, the more they crave it. The more they crave us without realizing it. 

 

Second Rule:

A donor can only be bitten three times safely.

 

After that, the body begins responding differently. The attachment deepens. Instinct takes over. Humans start searching for something they cannot remember. That draws attention. Too much attention.

 

Three bites. No more. 

Rules exist for a reason. 

Not all of us respect them. 

Another disappointment for the human imagination? 

 

 

 

Third Rule:

With the help of a specialized cocktail, vampires age alongside humans. We grow older. Blend in. Become forgettable. And when the time comes—usually after our soulmate has died, unless they were turned—we leave behind the identity we built and begin again somewhere new.

 

Fourth Rule:

Vampires are capable of having only one child, and only with their soulmate. More than that was never meant for our kind. We also do not turn our own soulmate or child. Attachment clouds judgment. Makes us reckless. Children are forbidden from being turned under any circumstance. Eighteen is the minimum age accepted by our kind. Anything younger is considered a violation punishable by death.

 

Not a rule, but important to mention:

We are not dead. We eat. We drink. We sleep in expensive beds beneath city skylines. We wear tailored suits and sit on boards worth billions while humans convince themselves monsters would be easier to spot. We also age. Again, it would be quite suspicious if a vampire was thought to be in his late 60's and appeared 25. We stop aging like humans

 

Sunlight will not kill us either. But it weakens us over time. Slow exposure. Slow decay. Enough of it leaves even the strongest vulnerable. 

 

And vulnerability is unacceptable in my world. 

 

Vampires can not

 

Which brings me to the only rule that truly matters. 

 

Vampires cannot lie. 

We evade. Redirect. Manipulate. But lies? Impossible. Humans mistake that for honesty. It is not the same thing. 

 

Then there is the final rule. 

The one most of us spend centuries pretending does not exist. 

 

Every vampire has a soulmate. 

 

One human capable of binding themselves to us so completely that obsession becomes indistinguishable from survival. Most never find them. Some do and destroy themselves trying to resist it. 

 

I used to think the stories were exaggerated. 

Then I met her. 

 

Emily. 

 

And for the first time in over a century, I understood exactly how dangerous fate could be.

 

 

 

 

 Chapter One

​

 

“Boss,” Jessi, my second in command peeps his head in my door after two knocks. I hadn’t even had a chance to say to enter or go away. But that was Jessi. He typically wouldn’t intrude unless it was justified. I don’t look up right away. I finish signing my name on the last page in front of me, slow and deliberate. Control matters. Always.

 

“There’s a problem,” he tells me.

 

“Say that again,” I tell him.

 

“Roman’s expanding. New territory. Fast.” Jessi steps further in, shutting the door behind

him. “He’s not asking permission this time.”

 

That makes my pen pause. Roman Castle was always bold. But bold men either build empires… or dig their own graves.

 

“And?” I finally glance up at him.

 

Jessi’s expression shifts, something sharper slipping into place. “We’ve got a window. Right now.”

I lean back in my chair, watching him. “You’re about to tell me why.”

 

He nods once. “A certain someone’s daughter has blessed the club with her presence tonight.”

 

My club, DejaVu sits at the center of the city like a pulse—steady, relentless, impossible to ignore. Critics call it one of the hottest spots on the scene, and for once, they’re not exaggerating. On Fridays, the place is packed wall to wall, bodies pressed together under shifting lights, heat rising off the crowd like something alive. But even on slower nights, there’s never silence. There’s always movement. Always a line at the door. People don’t just come here—they’re drawn in, like they’ve already decided they won’t be leaving anytime soon. Some come for the music, for the way it vibrates through their bones until thinking becomes optional. Others chase the atmosphere—the illusion of danger wrapped in velvet and gold, where every shadow feels intentional and every glance lingers a second too long.

 

But most of them? They come for one thing.

 

Ruby.

 

It’s just a cocktail, on paper. Deep red, smooth, deceptively sweet. But there’s something about it that keeps them coming back to the bar, again and again, chasing that same slow burn as it slips down their throat. One glass turns into two, then three, until their edges soften and their senses sharpen in all the wrong ways. They don’t realize it, but by the time they’ve had enough… they’re exactly where I want them. Ready. Open. Waiting for something they can’t quite name. And later—much later—that’s when the real indulgence begins. The kind we don’t advertise. The kind they don’t remember clearly in the morning… only the feeling that they need to come back for more. I don’t react—not outwardly. But I feel it. A flicker. A disturbance I haven’t felt in a long time.

 

“Roman’s daughter?” I ask, my voice even.

 

“The one and only,” Jessi confirms. “Came in about twenty minutes ago. Light security. Either he’s getting sloppy… or he doesn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to touch her.”

 

A quiet huff of amusement leaves me. Roman’s first mistake. Jessi takes a step closer.

“We take her, we control him. Every move he’s planning? Dead in the water.”

 

He’s right. It’s clean. Strategic. Efficient. Exactly the kind of move I’d normally approve without hesitation. But something’s off. I push up from my chair, walking past him toward the wall of screens that stays dark unless I need it. “Put her up.”

 

Jessi taps the mic at his collar. “Control, cue camera three. VIP floor. Zoom in on the brunette at the bar.”

 

A pause. Then the far wall flickers to life. The club spills onto the screen—lights flashing, bodies moving, music practically vibrating through the glass. And then the camera tightens. Finds her. Everything else fades. For a second, I forget where I am. It’s not her. I know that instantly. But the resemblance hits like a punch I didn’t see coming. Same tilt of the head. Same soft curve of her mouth like she’s thinking something she won’t say out loud. Even the way she brushes her hair back—it’s too familiar. Too close. A ghost.

 

One I buried a long time ago.

 

“Caleb?” Jessi’s voice cuts in, cautious now. “You see her?”

 

I don’t answer right away. Because I do. Too clearly. My jaw tightens as I take a step closer to the screen, studying her like I can prove myself wrong if I look long enough. But I don’t. If anything, it gets worse.

 

“She’s alone?” I ask.

 

“Two guys and one other chic near the back wall. Not close enough to matter.” Jessi folds his arms. “We could have her upstairs in under three minutes.” Three minutes. Three minutes to start a war. Or end one before it begins. Jessi shifts, then adds, “She’s leverage, Caleb. That’s all she is. A pawn.”

 

A pawn. The word lands wrong. I exhale slowly, dragging my gaze away from the screen.

 

“No,” I say.

 

Jessi blinks. “No?”

 

“I’ll handle it.”

 

There’s a pause. The kind where he’s deciding whether to argue with me. He chooses wisely.

“Alright,” he says, though I can hear the hesitation in it. “What’s the play?” I head for the door, already pulling my jacket on.

 

“I’m going downstairs.”

 

That gets his attention.

 

“You don’t go downstairs,” Jessi says flatly.

 

“I do tonight.”

 

Because something about this doesn’t feel like strategy anymore. It feels personal. And I don’t like that. Not one bit. I open the door, the sound of the club immediately bleeding into the hallway—bass heavy, alive, chaotic. Jessi falls into step behind me. “You sure about this?” No. But I don’t say that. Instead, I adjust my cuffs, my expression settling back into something cold. Controlled. Untouchable.

 

“Stay on comms,” I tell him. “And don’t move unless I say.”

 

“Got it.”

 

I start down the stairs, each step pulling me deeper into the noise, the lights, the heat. Into her orbit. I haven’t been on that floor in months. I don’t need to be. Everything I own, I control from above. Distance is power. But tonight, I’m closing it. Because I need to see her up close. I need to know why she looks like a memory I thought was dead. And more importantly— Why I suddenly don’t want her to be just a pawn. Not when she could be something far more dangerous.

 

She’s still at the bar when I reach her. I keep my distance. I study her. Taking her in. All of her. The way her dark hair falls past her shoulders, brushing the middle of her back. The clean line of her posture. Controlled. Intentional. Just enough revealed to invite attention—never enough to give it away. I continue to watch her. My eyes steady. She waits for her chance to order. As the bartender moves to her I see my opportunity and take it. I walk over to where she is.

 

“Ummm, my friends want me to order a ruby cocktail. Four, actually,” she speaks. I put my hand up to delay him. She shoots me an irritated glare.

 

“Ryan, a woman of this etiquette deserves something far more exquisite than a simple cocktail,” I tell him, eyes still locked with hers.

 

“I can make my own requests, thanks.” I nod for Ryan to help the others at the bar.

 

“You’ll have to trust. Ruby is great, yes. By far the most popular drink we have here. But… you strike me as someone who does exactly the opposite of what everyone else wants.”

She turns so her body faces me. Still annoyed.

 

“How would you know that? I don’t know you. Nor do I want to,” she turns back to the bar. Her voice sends fire through my body. Smooth. Sensuous. Lustful.

 

“I am really good at reading people. I watch. And study. I am almost always right,” I tell her, stepping closer to her now. I can smell her. Light hint of vanilla with notes of cashmere and florals. Heat coils low in my body—unwelcome, immediate.

 

“So you’re a serial stalker?”

 

I let out a faint chuckle as my gaze drifts to the wall of alcohol behind the bar.

 

“No,” I say calmly. A pause. “I own the club. It’s a requirement. To know what people want, what they desire. What they crave.”

 

My eyes slowly sway back to her.

 

“Oh, okay then. So, since you know so much about people and what they want, if it’s not Ruby, what drink am I wanting? Oh, and my friends too.”

 

“I don’t know about your friends. They aren’t standing before me. You are. You are more of a… passion twist,” I tell her. The corner of my mouth curves up slightly.

 

“Am I? And if I try it and don’t like it?”

 

“Ruby cocktails on me for you and your friends the rest of the evening.” The bartender returns to her and waits for her request. She glances at me and smiles. My heart begins to pound out of my chest. Her complexion, her features, her eyes. The same. Not identical—but enough to make something old and buried shift beneath my ribs.

 

“Passion Twist,” she tells him. “And three more for my friends,” she gestures with her head towards her friends in the corner booth. I glance their way slightly. They are in their own moment. No one is concerned as to why she has been gone so long. Fools.

 

“Have these delivered to them,” I stop a server who picks up three of the four drinks and takes them over to the group.

 

Silence. A stillness between her and I. And then she sips the pink fruity drink.

 

“Why do you think it’s so popular?” she asks, settling onto the stool beside me like she belongs here. Like she isn’t walking straight into something she doesn’t understand.

 

“People just seem to like it. I think it fills some unspoken need. It’s smooth. Not harsh or choking,” I explain, slipping into the seat next to her.

 

“Whiskey,” Ryan asks. I nod once. He sets the tumbler down and pours—slow, steady. I wait until he’s finished before reaching for it. Then I lift the glass and take a measured sip. Controlled. Deliberate. I drag my tongue lightly across my lower lip and glance her way.

 

“So… your thoughts?” I ask.

 

She turns on the barstool to face me, crossing one leg over the other. The heel of her black stiletto dangles loosely from her foot, swaying slightly with the movement. Her dress rides mid-thigh, revealing just enough—there’s a shadow where the fabric leaves her skin. Subtle. Intentional. Tempting.

 

“You are indeed correct in your assumption,” she says. “I like it.”

 

A faint smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth. “I knew you would.”

 

She studies me then, narrowing her eyes slightly, like she’s trying to piece something together. I let her. She won’t find anything.

 

“You are very sure of yourself,” she says, a soft laugh slipping through.

I let the sound settle between us before I answer.

 

“I don’t deal in uncertainty,” I reply, my voice low, even. “It tends to complicate things.”

Her brow lifts slightly, amused. “That sounds exhausting.”

 

“On the contrary,” I say, taking another measured sip of my whiskey. “It simplifies everything.”

 

She tilts her head, studying me again. Not just looking this time—studying. Most people don’t do that. They glance, they assume, they move on. But she lingers, like she’s trying to peel something back. It almost makes me smile.

 

“Is that what this is?” she asks. “You simplifying me?”

 

My gaze drifts over her once more, slower this time. Intentional. Taking in the small details—the way her fingers rest lightly against the edge of the bar, the faint tension in her shoulders, the controlled rhythm of her breathing.

 

“You’re not simple,” I tell her. Something shifts in her expression. Subtle, but it’s there.

 

“Good answer,” she says, turning slightly toward her drink. She takes another sip, slower this time, like she’s testing it again. Or maybe testing me. I set my glass down beside hers, the soft clink barely audible over the music pulsing through the room.

 

“What brought you here tonight?” I ask.

 

She lets out a quiet breath, like the question caught her off guard. “Friends,” she says after a moment, gesturing vaguely toward the corner booth. “They heard about the place. Said we had to come.”

 

“They’re not wrong.”

 

“No,” she admits, her gaze flickering around the club before settling back on me. “They’re not.”

 

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged. I can feel it building. She shifts slightly on the stool, her leg brushing mine for half a second. Accidental. Probably. But the contact lingers longer than it should. Heat threading through something I don’t usually allow myself to acknowledge. I don’t move away.

 

“Do you always do this?” she asks.

 

“Do what?”

 

She gestures loosely between us. “Insert yourself into strangers’ nights and tell them what they want?”

 

A faint smirk touches my lips. “Only when I’m certain I’m right.”

 

“And if you’re not?”

 

I lean in just slightly, closing the distance without fully invading it. Close enough that she’ll notice. Not close enough that she can pull away without making it obvious.

“I rarely find out,” I say.

 

Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, the rest of the room fades. The music, the voices, the constant motion—it all dulls to background noise. There’s something in her gaze. Curiosity. Challenge. And something else… something softer, buried just beneath the surface.

 

Dangerous. She exhales slowly, her lips parting just slightly before she looks away, breaking the moment.

 

“Confidence like that has to come from somewhere,” she says, though her voice isn’t quite as steady as it was before.

 

“It does.”

 

“And where is that, exactly?”

 

I study her for a moment, considering the question.

 

“Experience,” I answer finally.

 

She huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s vague.”

 

“It’s intentional.”

 

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re frustrating.”

 

I shrugged my shoulders at her attempt to insult me.

 

“I’ve been called worse.”

 

“I’m sure you have.”

 

Her fingers trace the rim of her glass, absentminded, slow. She finishes the rest of the drink in one smooth motion, then sets it down with a soft tap.

 

“Okay,” she says, turning back to me. “I’ll admit it. You were right about the drink.”

 

“I told you I would be.”

 

“But that doesn’t mean I trust your judgment entirely.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

 

That earns me another look. Longer this time. Searching. Before I can respond, a presence settles just behind me.

 

“Boss,” Jessi’s voice is low—meant for me alone.

 

I don’t turn right away. My eyes stay on hers, holding the moment in place for half a second longer than I should. Then I shift slightly, angling my head just enough for him to speak.

 

“Say it,” I murmur.

 

“There’s movement,” he says quietly. “Roman’s people. More than we expected.”

 

Something in me stills. The shift is immediate. Controlled. Cold. I straighten, the heat that had been building between us cut clean in half like it never existed. When I look back at her, it’s different now. Measured. Distant. Unreadable.

 

“I have to go,” I tell her.

 

Her brows pull together slightly, caught off guard by the sudden change. “That’s it?”

 

“For now.”

 

There’s a brief moment—like she’s deciding whether to push or let it go. I don’t give her the chance to choose. I step back. Space. Distance. Control—restored.

 

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” I add, my tone even.

 

I don’t wait for a response.

 

Instead, I turn toward the bar, catching Ryan’s attention with a subtle motion. We step out of her sight slightly and around the edge of the bar.  I step close, my voice dropping low enough that it disappears beneath the music.

 

“No Ruby,” I tell him.

 

He blinks. “For—?”

 

I cut him off with a look. “Her. And the group she came in with. Make sure they are undisturbed. But whatever else they order, on the house.”

 

“What should I tell them?”

 

“Just make it simple. Ruby is unavailable for the rest of the night. No one gets it,” I tell him.

A pause. Confusion flickers—but he nods. It wasn't a lie.

 

I am the owner, I say who gets what, and where. And for the rest of the night, no one gets it.

 

“Ok, got it. .”

 

I straighten, my gaze drifting back to her one last time. Just for a second. Then I walk away.