They Rise at Dusk (Book #1) ✔️

Chapter 1: Prodigal Daughter Returns

Friday night chaos ruled in the Lion's Den, a nightclub on the 7th Avenue.

Deep dark reflector light shined through artificial fog, combining with real cigar-induced smoke, creating vivid and vibrant tendrils in the air. The entire place thudded with music. Dorian always made sure the music evoked feelings of physical pleasure: sensual, saccharine and seductive. His signature was everywhere; the music, the sweet, sweaty smell, the red velvet wrapping the entire place like a neat present. Ready to consume.

Bodies danced, swayed and bumped into each other in the darkness, drunk on booze, life and Molly. Their blood smelled like sex, desire, destructiveness. An intense sensation of carefreeness captured the nightclub in its sharp talons, unrelenting in its desire to keep them here until the early morning hours.

Part of me wanted to dance with them, give in to the addictive atmosphere, forget the reasons why I came. But I was sober and annoyed. Deeply annoyed.

I gripped the wine glass, staring for a moment at the red tint of the liquor, the same colour as my nails. Sweat coated my neck, drenching my chocolate-coloured hair, and the sleek black dress glued to my bare legs.

I haven't slept in five days.

The fear of seeing them again flashed in the darkness like the ugliest monster every time I closed my eyes. Now, sitting in the lounge, waiting for them to call on me, the insomnia began to take its toll. The control gradually slipped from me and I gripped the glass, channelling my nervousness through it.

It cracked.

"Fuck!"

Wine spilled down my hand, dark as blood. The pieces of glass remained in my hand. I stared at the mess, my heart thudding in my throat.

When I left two years ago, I vowed never to return.

The right to converse with the Chief of NYC, my father, disappeared with that vow.

And now... Now I had to beg. Bow my head, get on my knees and plead for forgiveness, for a moment of his time. The mere idea forced bile to my throat.

And I had no wine to wash it down with. Lifting my head, I scanned the club for the waiter, but instead, my eyes found a peculiar figure leaned against the bar, staring at me.

In comparison to the hectic crowd, he seemed still as a statue. Under the dim club lighting, his eyes appeared dark and alert, half hidden behind the equally dark hair strands framing his face. Intricate tattoos climbed up his arms, until they disappeared behind the short sleeves of his black tee. Red hues lit his face every few seconds, allowing a better look at the tattoos on his neck, vines and lines curling around the bulging muscles.

He was huge; a titan amongst men, calm against the careless crowd, composed, watchful. Cold sweat washed over me under his observing gaze. In an instant, I felt like someone caught me in a crime.

The embodiment of my worst nightmares – a vampire hunter.

No. I looked away and shook my head. Pieces of cracked glass fell off my hand. No. They don't know about us. They think we look like the Elders.

I forced myself to look up again. The man was still staring, although now, his lips spread into a small smile, as if apologizing. Sorry if I creeped you out.

"We apologize for the wait." A sweet, saccharine voice made me look away and up at the doll-faced petite blonde, dressed in a fitting black suit, "Gentlemen were busy."

"Busy draining someone's life force, presumably." I murmured and watched the lady's lips twitch in a nervous smile.

I cocked my head to the side, observing her more carefully. She was a pretty thing, for use. Short and small, with perky breasts. Skin pearly white. Red contact lenses covered the blue of her eyes. My stomach flipped with disgust.