The air in the vampire city of Noctis was thick with the scent of iron and damp stone, the
ever-present weight of their kind's existence pressing down on its people. Vaelith had
learned long ago that power was a language spoken in subtle gestures—the way
someone held their head, the control in their step, the way their eyes lingered too long or
not long enough.
Tonight, the courtyard of the Blood Court was alive with movement. Vampires trained in
disciplined formations, steel clashing against steel, fangs flashing beneath the silver
light of the three moons. Vaelith stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching as Darian
wiped blood from his lip, grinning after a brutal sparring match.
That's when Jackson made his entrance.
"You're getting slow, Darian,
" Jackson called out, sauntering onto the training grounds
with an easy confidence that bordered on arrogance. He was tall, lean but deceptively
strong, his dark hair slightly disheveled as if he'd just been running from trouble. His grin
was sharp, his golden eyes full of mischief.
"Or maybe you're getting cocky,
" Darian shot back, rolling his shoulders.
Jackson let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"Please, I was born cocky.
" He turned to
Vaelith.
"Tell me, Lordling, do you ever loosen up, or are you always this broody?"
Vaelith raised an eyebrow.
"And do you ever stop running your mouth?"
Jackson smirked but didn't press further. He knew where the line was, but he liked to
dance near the edge of it.
That was Jackson—reckless, sharp-tongued, but loyal in ways that weren't always
obvious. He had a habit of keeping secrets, not because he enjoyed deception but
because he wanted to keep people happy. If a truth would hurt, he'd bury it—at least until
the weight of it became too much.
And where there was Jackson, there was Nahla.She entered with a grace that seemed effortless, her long auburn hair cascading over her
shoulder as she walked toward them. Nahla had a warmth to her, an aura that made
people gravitate toward her. She was the type to remember every small detail about
someone—their favorite drink, the way they liked their collars folded, the stories they'd
told in passing.
"You boys and your fighting,
" she sighed, shaking her head.
doubt any of you could outthink a fledgling.
"
"All that strength, and yet I
Jackson grinned, slipping an arm around her waist.
You can do the thinking while I do the punching.
"
"That's why I keep you around, love.
She rolled her eyes but leaned into him. On the surface, they looked like the perfect
pair—her softness balancing his wildness. But Vaelith, observant as always, saw the tiny
shifts. The way Jackson's grip tightened a fraction when she spoke to other men. The
way Nahla's smile sometimes didn't reach her eyes when Jackson teased her.
A Fractured Bond
As the night deepened, the group gathered in one of the Blood Court's lesser halls, a
chamber of red marble and velvet where young nobles and warriors mingled. The air was
thick with the scent of spiced bloodwine, conversation buzzing like a low hum.
Vaelith sat beside Darian, who was recounting one of his more ridiculous battles—an
exaggerated tale about fending off a horde of rogue vampires single-handedly. Across
from them, Nahla leaned into Jackson, but her attention seemed elsewhere.
"You'll never believe what happened earlier,
" she murmured, her voice soft but carefully
controlled.
Jackson, absentmindedly swirling his goblet, glanced at her.
"What?"
She sighed.
"Father sent me another letter. Apparently, I'm still a disappointment.
"
Jackson tensed.
"What did he say?"
"The usual.
" She forced a smile, but there was something almost rehearsed about it.
"That I'm not living up to my potential. That I should be more like my brother. That I
should—
" She stopped herself, shaking her head.
"It's nothing.
"
Jackson's grip on his goblet tightened.
"He doesn't know what he's talking about.
"
"I know,
" she said, but her voice was smaller now.Vaelith watched the exchange closely. He didn't doubt that Nahla's father was
harsh—many vampire nobles were. But something about the way she told these stories
always struck him as strange. Not the words themselves, but the way she wielded them.
Later that night, when Jackson left to speak with some of the higher-ranking warriors,
Nahla slid into the seat beside Vaelith.
"I don't know what to do with him sometimes,
" she said with a soft sigh.
Vaelith raised an eyebrow.
"Jackson?"
She nodded.
"He's wonderful, really, but... I feel like I'm always trying to fix him.
"
Vaelith didn't respond immediately. He'd seen this before—the way she leaned on people,
the way she painted herself as the selfless one, the one who bore burdens others didn't
see.
He glanced toward Jackson, who was laughing loudly across the room, and something in
his gut twisted. There was more to this story.
He just didn't know what yet.
Hints of What's to Come
This was only the beginning. Nahla's complaints would become more frequent, her
words more insistent. Jackson would grow more frustrated, torn between keeping his
secrets and revealing them before they crushed him.
Vaelith, ever the observer, would find himself caught in the middle.
And one day, he would uncover the truth.
A truth that neither of them were ready to face.