Color Me Crimson | 𝘙𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦

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PROLOGUE: LEVI

Life's constricting, caught and bind,

it's like a bird with clipped wings—

forced to fly.

This brain's filled with sick things,

on this course I'll die.

I don't know who penned those words, but they cling to the inside of my eyelids; echo in the hollow that was once my heart. The only thing of mine I have left is a soul, and some nights I wonder if that's already dead.

The oath I made so many moons ago, the seal that lifted me into the realm of the undead and bound me to this never-ceasing life, made me out to be some sort of Savior: 'Protect those who cannot protect themselves.'

My Source was a fool. A charlatan at best, a hypocrite at worst.

I'm not divine or virtuous. The very nature of my being mocks the thought. I'm not here to rescue—I take. I take the sinners of the world and devour their wicked blood like the damned creature I am. It burns my throat, curses my veins, yet tastes sweeter than vengeance. I thrive on evil. Require it. The cup I hold is not filled with the blood of an innocent lamb, but with the product of temptation.

Yet I cannot break that oath, driven by the one common thread I still share with my former self: the will to live. Therefore, I remain; vulnerable only to an immortal death. To the breaking of that promise.

I may save a few from despair, grant them freedom from one oppressor, but in exchange I offer a lifetime of terror. Fear—of me. Of the dark. Because at the lowest moment of their lives, the ones I rescue won't see an angel. They won't be blessed by a light descending from heaven, and no good Samaritan will come bearing healing oil or wine.

No, their salvation is given from one who cannot equate peace with immortality.

It is given by a vampyre.

—

My boot crunches down a discarded bottle of booze, the cheap plastic splintering under my heel. From above, macabre light spills out from flickering street lamps. A black heaven overlooks the city. No clouds. No stars. A single sliver of moon hides between monoliths of steel and cement, their windows bright yet doors locked shut.

Like this, I've watched and listened every night for more years than I'm willing to count. I'm not hunting for pleasure like most vampyres, spinning webs and choosing which prey to lure in.

No, I let the prey choose itself.

The thrum of a million heartbeats reaches my ears. Some soft and steady, the sound of sleep. Some wild and strong, the sound of arousal. Others gently pulse in imitation of a calm ocean—enjoyment. 

My own heartbeat is a whisper, an afterthought.

Instinct directs my senses as I search for a particular combination of factors: the erratic pattern, increased oxidation, a heavy scent of adrenaline.

My nose wrinkles in recoil at the tang of tainted blood, but at the same time hunger seeps through my limbs, a slow poison that heightens my senses. I follow my intuition and leave the main flow of traffic, turning down a dark corner.

Then a pungently familiar scent hits me head on. Several pulses thud like a chorus of chaotic drums. They're close. I hone in on what I've been drawn to, a cluster of humans.

"That, too," a rough voice demands.

Sobs follow the harsh tone. "We gave you everything else, please not this. The diamond isn't even real."

Nine hearts. Four victims.

"She's telling the truth!"

Slap. "Shut up, bitch."

Five assailants, all young. Their veins rich with fresh blood steeped in adrenaline.

"Fine, I'll cut it off along with your damn finger."

I surge forward, fists clenched and claws extended. Snap. One man down.

The woman he was holding crumples to the pavement, and I turn as a bullet rams through my back. Bracing, I take another bullet, the wounds barely dripping before they seal.

"What the fuck?" The two other assailants drop their knives, the metal clattering as they panic. "He's insane! This ain't worth it, man. We gotta jet." Releasing their hostages, the robbers break into a frenzied run towards their accomplice hidden in the shadows.

I turn and curl my lip at the gunman, pissed. His hand begins to shake and he rapid-fires off the rest of his shots. I've decided. That scum will be the one to pay for the blood I lost.

"I don't know what you want, but leave us alone. We did nothing wrong!" one victim calls in a trembling voice, panicked eyes shifting back and forth between me and the women I rescued. It's always like this. Once they see me, the initial threat doesn't seem so bad.

His friend joins in, "Just take us instead! Let the girls go, I swear they won't tell anyone."

A pathetic form of chivalry. Do they really think I'd listen?

The gunman makes a move to run, but before he gets away I block his escape, claws ripping five deep holes in his chest. My fingers find a snug fit between his arteries, poised around his frantic heart. Its rapid beat presses into my fingertips as a reminder of what life used to feel like. Of how closely living is tied to death.

I tear the bag of stolen items from his shoulder then toss it toward the women. It falls on the ground, a few dollars and several pieces of jewelry clattering across the cement. "Grab your things and leave," I snarl, exposing two elongated fangs.

Scampering to pick up the bag, the women are rushed off by their men. I turn back to the gunman, his face twisted in pain and terror. Thick crimson liquid gurgles out of wounds I've made in his chest, coating my fingers with a hot, wretched mess.

"D-don't do this," he stutters, choking on his own blood. "I p-promise, I'll do whatever you w-want. Save me."

Out of the corner of my eye, my attention is drawn to a silver bracelet, dropped and forgotten in the chaos. The brand name is engraved in capital letters. "Pandora," I murmur, turning back to the gunman, "Do you know the myth of Pandora's box?"

He desperately shakes his head. I smile, ruthless and aching to get my fill. But first he should know why this became his fate.

"A box was given to Pandora by the Gods, said to contain special gifts. She was instructed not to open it." I retract my claws, opening the holes in the man's chest as his blood pours out in an excessive stream. His cries of agony pierce my ears. "Pandora had already been blessed with many things, but it wasn't enough and against the Gods' wishes, she opened the box."

Sirens wail in the distance; I need to finish this before the police or Lucien's clan picks up on my presence. "All manner of Evil was released upon the earth due to her action. Yet, she closed the lid before Hope could escape."

I lean in, moving his slack jaw to gain proper access to his artery. At this rate not much will be left, but I have another dead body to take with me and supplement what was wasted. My voice lowers to a growl in his ear, "You caused your own downfall."