CHAPTER 1 – The Hunter With No Home

The cathedral stood in ruin, its shattered stained glass windows casting broken colors on the cold floor. Dust floated through the silence like old ghosts. Moonlight bled in through the holes in the roof, catching the sharp edge of the blade Serena Ainsley held.

She sat cross-legged at the altar, slowly sharpening her silver daggers. Each scrape of metal against stone echoed through the dead hall.

Once, she believed in faith. In redemption. In love.

But that was before her family had been slaughtered by vampires. Before the Order took her in. Before she tried to fill the hole in her chest with two different men who walked away when she needed them most.

Now, love was a myth. And she was a hunter. Alone by choice. Hardened by force.

Her earpiece crackled.

“Target sighting confirmed near Black Hollow,” said a familiar voice—Commander Rhys, clipped and cold.

Serena stood and slid the blade into its sheath. “The Crimson Phantom?”

“Confirmed. Four rogue vampires dead in his wake. Survivors say he wears black and has eyes like blood.”

A chill rippled down her spine. She’d heard whispers. A vampire who hunted his own. A ghost in the fog.

Either a madman. Or something far worse.

And for the first time in months, Serena felt something other than bitterness.

She felt curiosity.

The woods near Black Hollow were thick and damp, the scent of moss and decay coating the air. Mist rolled in waves across the forest floor, curling around Serena’s boots as she moved through the trees.

Every step was silent. Every breath controlled. She’d tracked dozens of vampires—but this one felt different. The forest felt… alive. As if it watched her with breathless anticipation.

A shadow shifted ahead.

Serena froze, fingers tightening on her blade.

Then he stepped out of the mist.

Tall. Impossibly graceful. His cloak fluttered in the breeze like smoke. Raven-black hair framed a pale face that was too perfect—like something carved by ancient gods. And those eyes…

Crimson. Alive with a thousand deaths. And yet, filled with a grief she recognized in herself.

“Are you here to kill me, hunter?” he asked.

His voice was low, rich—like ink in wine. Not threatening. Not mocking. Simply… curious.

“I’m here for answers,” she said, blade half-drawn.

He tilted his head, as if considering her.

“Then come find them.”

And just like that—he vanished into the fog.

Serena stood there, heart pounding louder than the wind. Her fingers tightened on the hilt.

She should chase him. She should drive a blade through his heart.

But for a single heartbeat…

She didn’t want to

The manor sat in silence, swallowed by ivy and time. Its windows were shattered, its doors rotting—but something about it whispered nobility long lost.

Serena stepped inside, boots crunching on fallen glass. The air was thick with dust and a distant scent of blood and roses.

Portraits lined the walls. Men in armor. Women in silk. A family erased.

And at the center—his face.

Lucien Valez.

Knight. Noble. Legend.

Now? Monster.

He stood by the grand fireplace, staring into the cold ashes. He didn’t turn when she entered.

“You carry grief like armor,” he said.

She kept her blade ready.

“Do you think killing me will bring peace?”

“No,” she replied. “But it might be a start.”

He finally looked at her. There was no malice in his eyes—only centuries of sorrow.