Y/N was never supposed to find The Blood Club—and she definitely wasn’t supposed to catch its newly crowned vampire king mid-feed. Kairos should’ve killed the witness. Instead, he lets her run. Now she knows monsters are real, human sacrifices still exist, and somewhere beneath the city, a bloodstained king is becoming dangerously curious about how she tastes. (vampire king x human🖤)
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@kingkayThe invitation had come like everything good in Y/n's life did—through Mackenzie's relentless optimism and a ridiculous amount of luck.
A social media giveaway. Two names pulled from thousands. A black envelope delivered by courier, sealed with crimson wax that smelled faintly of copper.
Mackenzie
I still can't believe we got in. Like, actually got in.
The cathedral rose before them now, ancient stone swallowed by modern glass towers. Its doors stood open, spilling warm golden light onto rain-slicked steps. A bouncer the size of a small mountain checked their names against a tablet, his eyes gleaming with something that wasn't quite human.
Guard
Phones in the lockers. No exceptions.
Y/n barely had time to hand hers over before Mackenzie grabbed her arm, practically vibrating with excitement. They descended narrow stone stairs, the sound of bass growing louder with every step until it vibrated through their bones. Then the stairs ended.
And the club opened up before them.
Mackenzie
shouting over the music Okay. Okay, this is insane. This is actually insane.
The old cathedral had been transformed. Stained glass windows glowed blood-red and violet, casting fractured light across hundreds of bodies moving together on the dance floor. Masked figures pressed close beneath the vaulted ceiling. Champagne towers sparkled in the corners.
And above it all—darker, quieter, shrouded in shadow—balconies circled the space like watching eyes.
Mackenzie
Two drinks. Minimum. grabs her wrist This is a celebration.
The night moved in blurry fragments after that. A cocktail that tasted like berries and burned like hell going down. Mackenzie laughing at something she said. Dancing until her feet ached. Music that seemed to crawl under her skin, too intimate, too hypnotic.
Somewhere between the third drink and losing Mackenzie in the crowd, Y/n found herself at the edge of the dance floor. The corridor ahead was dimmer than the rest of the club. A single velvet curtain swayed slightly, as if someone had just passed through.
No staff. No guards. Just a quiet that felt wrong after so much noise.
Y/n should have gone back. Should have looked for Mackenzie.
Instead, she pulled the curtain aside.
The stairs beyond were narrow and winding, carved from old stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. No music reached her here. The air was colder, heavier, thick with something she couldn't name. Candles flickered in iron sconces along the walls, casting dancing shadows.
At the end of the corridor, a door stood slightly ajar.
Warm light spilled through the crack. Voices murmured low and unhurried. And beneath it all—a sound Y/n's mind had no explanation for. Wet. Rhythmic. Swallowing.
Her hand pressed against the door before she decided to push it.
It swung open silently.
???
slowly lifting his head
The man in the center of the room was beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful—sharp, dangerous, unforgettable. Dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead. His eyes were pale, almost colorless in the candlelight. He sat in a high-backed chair like a throne, dressed in black, utterly relaxed.
A woman was draped across his lap.
Her head lolled backward. Her expensive dress had slipped off one shoulder. Her skin was too pale, her breathing too shallow. Blood ran from the wounds at her throat, staining his lips, his jaw, his pale fingers where they gripped the back of her neck.
He was still swallowing when he noticed Y/n in the doorway.
He paused. Not shocked. Not panicked.
Just curious.
The woman in his lap made a weak sound as he pulled back, releasing her with almost casual carelessness. She slumped unconscious against his chest. Blood streaked his mouth as he wiped it with the back of his hand—the gesture wasted, only smearing it further.
Kairos
tilting his head slightly You're lost.
His voice wasn't what she expected. Low and calm, almost bored. Deliberate. He made no move to stand. Made no attempt to hide what he'd been doing.
Around him, others began to take notice. A broad-shouldered man by his side stiffened, hand moving toward his belt. A leaner figure near the window unfolded from the shadows like smoke, watching her with sharp amusement.
I think she took a wrong turn, Dorian.
Y/n's brain refused to catch up. Because this wasn't a crime scene. These weren't horrified witnesses. The others in the room simply watched. Waiting. A woman seated nearest the fire was studying her fingernails like nothing was happening at all.
Like biting a person's throat open was normal.
Kairos
standing slowly Human. Uninvited. his eyes swept over her, unhurried How did you get up here?
The woman slid from his lap as he rose, crumpling onto the floor like a discarded doll. A man spoke quietly in his throat, and someone else murmured in a language Y/n couldn't understand. Laughter followed, low and unpleasant.
Kairos
stepping toward her; he stopped several feet away, head tilted again I asked you a question.
His voice was patient. Almost gentle. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, collecting the last smear of blood.
The room held its breath.
And Y/n finally understood, in some distant, animal part of her brain, exactly how much danger she was in.