1

I always had this feeling—this unshakable sense—that I didn’t belong. It clung to me like a second skin, an invisible weight pressing down on my chest. No matter where I was or who I was with, there was always something… missing. A whisper in the back of my mind, telling me I was meant for something else. Something more.

I just never expected that “something” to be death.

The night it happened, the city was alive in the way only New Orleans could be. The streets pulsed with the sound of jazz, laughter, and the occasional drunken outburst. The scent of beignets and warm spices hung in the air, mixing with the dampness of an oncoming storm. I should have been inside my apartment, curled up with a book, avoiding people like I usually did. But fate had other plans.

Instead, I was in the heart of the French Quarter, weaving through the crowd in my worn-out Converse and thrift-store leather jacket, trying to get home before the storm broke. The wind had a bite to it, lifting strands of my dark hair, carrying a strange, electric energy that sent a shiver down my spine. Something was coming. I didn’t know what—I just felt it.

And then I saw them.

Two men, standing too still in the middle of the street. Dressed in all black, their faces were half-hidden by shadows, but their eyes… something about them made my skin prickle. One had eyes like liquid gold, burning against his pale skin. The other’s were dark—so dark they almost swallowed the light.

They were watching me.

A cold dread slithered down my spine, but I forced myself to look away. Don’t engage. Just keep walking. That was my motto for dealing with the weirdos of the city. Except, as I turned onto a quieter street, the hair on the back of my neck rose.

Footsteps.

They were following me.

I quickened my pace, heart hammering. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe they were just heading in the same direction. But when I turned another corner—this time into an alley, the fastest way home—I knew I’d made a mistake.

The footsteps stopped.

Silence.

Too much silence.

I sucked in a breath and turned slowly.

They were there.

Standing at the entrance of the alley, blocking my way out.

The golden-eyed one smiled. Smirked, really.

“You smell different,” he said, voice smooth as silk, but with an undercurrent of something… wrong.

The dark-eyed man tilted his head, studying me with unsettling curiosity. “It’s her.”

My stomach dropped.

I stumbled back, hitting the damp brick wall behind me. My pulse thundered. I should have screamed. I should have run. But my body felt frozen in place.

“What… what do you want?” My voice barely came out.

Golden Eyes took a slow step forward, hands in his pockets, like this was nothing more than a casual conversation. “Don’t be afraid, Omega. This was always meant to happen.”

Omega?

I had no idea what he was talking about, but every instinct in me screamed that I was in serious danger.

I tried to bolt.

I barely made it two steps before something slammed into me—fast, inhumanly fast—and suddenly I was pinned against the brick wall, my arms trapped. A sharp pain flared at my wrist where he gripped me, his strength unnatural.

“Please—” I choked out.

He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from my neck. “It’ll be quick,” he whispered.

And then—pain.

A sharp, searing pain at my throat, unlike anything I had ever felt before. A white-hot burn spread through my veins, making me convulse. My vision blurred, my head spun. It felt like my very soul was being drained from my body.

I was dying.

I could feel it.

But just as the darkness started to take me, something changed.

A new presence—fast, brutal, furious.

Then—chaos.

The weight on me disappeared, replaced by the sound of a snarl. A growl so deep, so predatory, it sent terror skittering through me even in my fading consciousness. My body sagged, sliding to the ground.

Blurry shapes moved—fighting. There were flashes of silver, a roar of pain, the wet, sickening sound of something ripping.

Then silence.

A moment passed. Another.

A voice cut through the haze. Low, rough, commanding.

“Stay awake.”

I tried to open my eyes, but my limbs felt like lead.

A warm hand brushed against my cheek, forcing my gaze to focus.

And that’s when I saw him.

Lucian.

Tall. Dark. Dangerous. His face was sharp, his jaw dusted with stubble, and his silver-grey eyes burned into mine with an intensity that sent a shiver through me. He was kneeling beside me, one hand stained red. His other hand pressed against my throat. I barely registered the warmth before I realized what he was doing.

He was trying to stop the bleeding.

It was too late.

I could feel it. My body was shutting down.

The world around me blurred, sounds becoming muffled.

I thought I heard him curse. Felt him shift, pulling me closer.

And then—his voice, soft but firm.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Sorry for what?

I didn’t have time to ask.

Because the last thing I saw before the darkness took me… was the gleam of fangs.

And then—

He bit me.