Crimson Reflections
Alex stood frozen, shrouded in the deep red robe that hugged his newly bathed form. The silk-like material glittered in the dim light, the golden stitching glinting with the soft sheen of the magical wall sconces. It wrapped around his wide shoulders and muscular chest, hugging him like a second skin—familiar yet alien. As if it had once been worn by someone else, yet always was destined to be his.
Entering into it hadn't been simple. The waist knot was complex, the inner lining of the robe rubbing against his skin in an unsettlingly sensual way. His hands had stumbled over the folds, unaccustomed to the ceremonial pattern. But then… something inside him awakened. His fingers responded with a memory that wasn't his own. An instinct? Something left behind by the man he now called his own—Alex Bloodheart.
As soon as it was fastened, the robe's weight fell onto his body. It didn't feel decadent—it felt imposing. Heavy with significance. A robe for a prince. No, better than that.
It was the cloak of something reborn.
He made a slow move towards the great obsidian mirror that stood in the corner, its border etched with roses and fangs twining together. A chilly breath slipped from his lips as he viewed his reflection.
"…Is that really… me?"
The gangly, beleaguered scientist he once knew from photos—tousled hair, bloodshot eyes, and fingers ink-stained and burnt with circuits—was gone. In his place, a man unlike any other. Unhuman.
He was beautiful. Deadly.
His pale pink hair now lay neatly on his shoulders, recently trimmed by Rose's hand. It shone dimly in the vampire glowlamps, soft curls framing near the ends. Crimson-red eyes—no longer dull, no longer shy—glowed with depth and quietly furious storm. They seemed sculpted of blood and moonlight.
His features had defined themselves, jawline clean and chiseled, cheekbones prominent, lips pale but plump. Even his posture was different. He was taller, more solid, as if the world underneath him had moved to comply.
And his physique…
He sucked in his breath as his eyes wandered down. The robe outlined his lean, hard body—now chiseled no longer by workouts, but some finer work. Supernatural elegance flowed over every part of him. Even the tension in his muscles as he moved seemed. primal. Refined. Seductive.
His fingers grazed his cheek.
"This isn't science…" he muttered to himself, voice low, incredulous. "This is like the myth we spent our lives pursuing… what she and I wanted to discover… before we died."
His throat constricted at the words.
"I actually died back there… didn't I?"
The canyon. The sudden snap of the gun. Blood on his shirt. Anna's last breath.
His eyes went fuzzy for a moment. Pain curled in his chest.
"Anna, my mother…" he spoke softly, his voice almost inaudible, the pain weaving through each syllable.
There was a silence. Deep. Unspoken.
But just when the sorrow began to drag him down, there was a voice in his head—the icy, crystalline whisper of the Bloodwing System.
Mission: Find your initial Empress. Perform the Vampire Blood Ritual. Activate the Bloodwing System in full.
He flexed his fists at his sides, jaw tensing.
"So. she's still out there. Or at least. if I finish this ritual—if I do it the right way—perhaps the system will reveal to me all of it."
The blaze in his eyes intensified. Purpose piercing through sorrow.
Regardless of how artificial this world was—regardless of how perverse the rules—it was the sole thread left. And he'd pursue it till the end.
His hand dropped down his chest, palm hovering above the soft throb of his dragon core under the flesh. It pulsed—warm, old, alive.
And under it all, her perfume still clung.
Rose.
The feel of her fingers raking through his hair lingered, bright and warm. Her voice—soft, intimate—still resonated in his mind. Her eyes, shining like rubies under moonlight, would not release their hold on his mind.
Alex's heart skipped a beat.
Then it pounded harder.
Something had changed. Something irrevocable.
Earlier, when he'd first opened his eyes here, his head was turmoil—scared and turned around, the kind of waking that was more like falling. The scent of rock and perfume. His own blood buzzing. The presence of a stranger who said she was his mother. Everything had been strange. Even his own body.
But now…
Now, before the mirror swathed in regal red and gold, he was no longer trapped in confusion.
The bath had done something to him.
Or perhaps—she had.
Her hands hadn't merely washed his body; they'd grounded him. Her fingers in his hair, the way she cut it with still reverence—it recalled something gentle, like a ritual designed to soothe a tempest.
And it had.
For the first time since he'd arrived, his mind wasn't fogged over with fear and panic. His was clearer. Sharper. As if he was finally beginning to look through the veil of death and rebirth.
"This life…" he said to himself under his breath, "it's crazy. But it's a second chance."
His introspection greeted him with a serene look. The scarlet eyes, having been shocking, now simply seemed familiar. Gradually, steadily, his tone evened. "And I've read enough books to know where these stories are headed… so I don't have to freak out."
A subdued smirk played on his mouth. Dry. Aware.
"System. Harem. New abilities… Vampire lineage… dragon core or whatever. A strong mother who's too gorgeous to behold without wincing—"
He cut off in mid-sentence.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"…Okay, that last bit's still strange."
He kneaded the back of his neck, and the warmth crept up his nape. The recollection of her fingers trailing over his scalp, the look in her eyes that had rested on him in the bath—too long, too knowingly—caused him to shiver involuntarily.
She hadn't regarded him like a normal mother.
And he—shucks—hadn't even looked at her as a son.
His face flushed, eyes downcast. A fire of shame spread across his skin.
"Why did I even feel that way?" he grumbled. "She's… my mother."
But the word—mother—was a fragile thing in this world. Not like the mothers he'd known back on Earth. No cardigans wrapped snugly around the waist, no bedtime stories or ballerinas or comfort. Rose was a different kind of creature altogether.
Lovely. Deadly. Otherworldly. Divine. And frightening in her gentleness.
But this isn't Earth," he told himself. "This is. a vampire world."
A world of other rules. Other sins. He'd read vampire webnovels—some of them hinted at forbidden bonds. Bloodlines tangled with power and desire. Royal families where dominance and intimacy became indistinguishable.
Perhaps. perhaps this world permitted things his old one never could.
His lips parted slightly as a glimmer of understanding curled in his chest.
"Perhaps… normal here," he breathed, unwilling. "Mother-son romantic attachments. Particularly vampires."
The consideration left a bitter taste in his mouth—half revulsion, half. curiosity.
He shook his head violently, attempting to shake it off. "No. First things first."
There were more pressing questions gnawing at him. Like why the system hadn't granted him complete access. Why he didn't have memories of inheritance. Why his dragon core throbbed like a sleeping deity within his chest, yet said nothing.
"Wait," he grumbled, furrowing his brows. "Why don't I have any blood memories?
His eyebrows furrowed in worry. "Vampires are meant to inherit knowledge. Instinct. Generational memory stored in blood. But I remember bits and pieces—just glimpses from the old Alex."
He sighed, agitated. "I know nothing about this world. I don't even know where I am outside of this palace."
His mind looped back to the only one he could trust.
"Should I ask her?" he asked himself. "Rose… she's the only one I know. Perhaps she can explain everything. Help me find someone. Teach me about the world…"
Perhaps even assist him in finding a woman for the ritual.
The idea stopped.
His mind divided, half of it still rational… the other gradually betraying him.
He caught sight of her once more.
Her pale, flawless skin reflecting candlelight. The way her robe clung to her shape. The water running down her neck. between her breasts.
Alex's hand spasmed at his side. His lower stomach constricted with heat.
His eyes clamped shut. "No. Don't think of that. Not now."
But the picture seared itself in the back of his head.
The touch of her smooth fingers. Her naked shoulder against his chest. The gentle line of her waist. The heat of her breath against his skin as she leaned in.
He swore under his breath.
"Why is this happening?"
His erection throbbed—unwelcome, persistent. His body reacted even as his conscience protested. Lust and guilt warred. Desire and confusion wrestled.
And then—
Click.
A hard, conscious sound pierced the fog in his brain.
Alex's eyes flew open.
The gentle creak of a door broke the stillness, and his breath snagged in his throat. He turned, the air already altering—warmer, fragrant, tinged with that unmistakable something.
He sensed her before he saw her.
And then—she moved into view.
Rose Bloodheart. Supreme Vampire Empress. His mother in this new, odd existence.
She moved into the room, a vision that took the breath from his chest. Her pink hair was still wet from her bath, locks sticking to her ivory shoulders and flowing silkily down her back. Beads of water sparkled on her skin, falling along the gentle curve of her collarbone and disappearing beneath the thin black material of her nightdress.
It was indecently lovely.
The satin was molded against her like a second skin—tight over her generous breasts, secured just below with a scarlet ribbon that served only to accentuate the tender rise of her cleavage. The hem fell mid-thigh, showing the full length of her pale, unblemished legs. Her very presence was not only regal—it was threatening, compelling.
A tender smile brushed her lips as her burning red eyes locked onto his.
And she started to walk toward him.
Alex was unable to move. His hungry, traitorous eyes were drawn to the seductive rhythm of her breasts under the silk. Each step moved them ever so gently, in rhythm—just enough to dry his throat.
Rose saw.
Her smile was just slightly turned up, knowingly, as she halted before him—his eyes still, unthinkingly, on her breasts.
"My, you're still so young," she whispered teasingly. "Even now, your eyes haven't changed." She cupped the underside of her breasts in both hands and raised them a little way by a slow smile. "Remember, Alex? When you were little, you'd sleep here right where you are now?"
He blinked. Wide eyes. Blazing face.
"Always slept between my breasts, you did," she said with a playfully wicked purr. "Drank from anything but me, you wouldn't—not until you were ten years old. My little prince was a greedy one."
Alex's whole body flushed scarlet. His lips parted, but no words emerged—only a strangled, embarrassed, "M-Mother…
Rose smiled sweetly, the sound rich and deep. She gazed at him with a combination of laughter and love. But under her taunting words, there was something else—something bittersweet.
"But really," she breathed, eyes relaxing, "I used to smile this way when you were little. You simply don't recall. I missed you more than you could ever imagine."
Her hand went up, engulfing his face in such instinctive gentleness that it shook him out of his whirling thoughts.
Alex stopped.
Her thumb trailed against his cheek, her palm cool and soothing. Her red eyes scanned his face—not with desire, but with something more innocent. More ancient.
Warmth. Desire. Love.
"I waited all those years," she whispered, "just to see you again this way. To smile at you. To cup your face in my hands."
His heart twisted.
Because buried deep inside of him, something awakened. Something that hadn't originated from the present Alex—but from the one who had once lived here. Something old, passed down.
He did miss her, too.
Though he'd just woken up in this body… he felt it. The heaviness of years. The pain of distance. The soft pain for her heat. Her sound. Her touch.
And as she held his face softly, something within him hurt.
Not with desire.
But with yearning—for comfort, for tenderness. For the motherly love that had once enveloped him like a lullaby.
His throat constricted. Words lost him. Feeling knotted in his chest.
Rose did not walk—she moved. Each step was smooth, as if even gravity yielded to her presence. She moved closer, sweeping a loose wet lock of hair from her face with a delicate fling of her fingers.
"You've become a good man, Alex," she said softly. "The last time I saw you, you could hardly hold on to my finger." Her gaze followed his outline—his height, the robe fitted to him, the new cut of his hair. "And now look at you. A prince. A man whom the world will soon fear. and crave."
Alex's breath was caught. His cheeks flushed once more, and this time he looked away hastily, attempting to conceal behind the tumble of his pink hair.
"I-I'm not," he murmured. "It's just. I've only just woken in this form. Everything is. quick. I have to get used to it."
Rose nodded cautiously, her face sympathetic. "Of course," she breathed. "You've traveled far in a short span.
She spoke softly, her voice dropping. "You're tired, my son. Come. Sit down. We have a lot to discuss."
She held out her hand.
Alex hesitated.
But slowly—torn by instinct, by trust, and by something more—he put his hand in hers.
Her touch was cool and smooth. But as soon as their skin met, something else inside him began to stir. A pulse. A spark.
Not desire this time.
But bond. Deep. Unavoidable. Blood to blood.
He glanced up at her—really looked. And saw not merely the Empress, not merely a stunning woman.
He saw Rose.
His mother.
And her smile… was the first thing in this world to make him think that he wasn't alone.
"Tonight," she said quietly, voice warm with something ancient and full of promise, "you are no longer alone."
And side by side, their hands still clasped, they moved further into the vampire palace.
Into fate.
Into desire.
Toward the story only beginning to unfold beneath the moonlit shadows of the Bloodwing.