First Blood
The grand hall of Nightshade Academy was alive with tension, the flickering glow of crimson candles casting eerie shadows along the walls. Rows of dark tables were set with goblets of blood, the metallic scent filling the air like a predator’s warning.
Lyra and Eryon stood near the back of the room, their postures stiff. The blood-drinking initiation ceremony was the academy’s oldest tradition, a rite of passage for new students to declare their allegiance to the vampire bloodlines.
Amelia’s warning echoed in Lyra’s mind: Blend in. Show no hesitation. Or they’ll rip you apart.
The twins had practiced for this moment, using Amelia’s synthetic blood to perfect their reactions. But this wasn’t a controlled test in a hidden room—this was the academy, with dozens of predatory eyes watching their every move.
Headmistress Valeria stood at the head of the hall, her commanding presence silencing the crowd. “Tonight,” she began, her voice smooth and deadly, “you join the ranks of the elite. Drink, and prove your loyalty.”
Lyra’s stomach churned as goblets were passed down the rows. The heavy cup felt cold in her hands, the thick, dark liquid inside glinting ominously in the candlelight. She glanced at Eryon, whose jaw was set, his eyes flicking to her in silent reassurance.
They lifted their goblets in unison, the room falling silent as every gaze turned to them. Lyra hesitated for the briefest moment, the artificial scent of the synthetic blood clinging to her senses. Then, steeling herself, she drank.
The taste was bitter and cloying, a far cry from the indulgent reactions of the vampires around her. Lyra forced the revulsion down, her throat tightening as she finished the goblet in a single swallow.
Beside her, Eryon did the same, his movements calculated and deliberate.
Applause erupted, the students cheering as the twins were formally welcomed. But Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes still watching her. She turned her head slightly and met Adrian’s gaze.
He was across the room, leaning casually against a pillar, his goblet untouched. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, intense and unyielding. Lyra’s pulse quickened, her wolf stirring uneasily beneath her skin.
After the ceremony, Adrian approached her with quiet confidence, holding two glasses of vintage blood. “A toast,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile.
Lyra took the glass reluctantly, her fingers brushing against his as she accepted it.
“To new beginnings,” Adrian said, his tone casual yet laced with something deeper.
Lyra raised her glass and took a sip, the thick liquid bitter on her tongue. Adrian did the same, his gaze never leaving her. But as he lowered his glass, his expression changed.
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, his brows furrowing. His tongue flicked over his teeth as if tasting something unfamiliar.
“This,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “This… isn’t right.”
