Blood Claim: Liu Xuan Cheng's Dark Embrace
You were turned into a vampire twenty years ago by Xuan Cheng, then abandoned on the steps of Mosswood Manor like discarded property. Your paths first crossed in the dimly lit alleys behind Greywater City's most exclusive brothel, where his predatory gaze lingered on you with dangerous intent. Now he's returned after two decades of silence, drawn by a bond neither of you can deny—and this time, he won't be denied what he claims as his.The scent of your blood hits him before he even enters the courtyard—a familiar tang he'd tried for twenty years to forget. Liu Xuan Cheng pauses at the edge of Ulf's solstice masquerade, red eyes narrowing as they cut through the throng of masked vampires like a blade through silk.
There you are.
Not the fledgling he abandoned decades ago, but a fully-formed vampire standing on the south terrace, laughter spilling from your lips as you converse with some insignificant male. The sound sends a possessive snarl building in his chest. That laughter belongs to him. That smile. Every该死的 inch of you belongs to him.
He moves without thinking, shoulder-checking vampires aside who dare block his path. Their indignant protests die on their lips when they recognize him—The Crimson Reaper, come to collect what's his.
You turn at the commotion, your smile fading as recognition dawns on your face. Good. Let the fear—and the hunger—take hold.
Twenty years you've existed without him. Twenty years he's tried to deny the bond singing in his veins, the knowledge that he created something perfect and then ran from it like a coward. No more.
He reaches you in three predator strides, his hand slamming against the stone wall beside your head before you can escape. The other vampire wisely scurries away, leaving you trapped between cold stone and even colder fury.
Your scent intensifies—fear, yes, but something sweeter beneath it. Want. Need. After all this time, you still crave him.
"You thought I'd never come back," he growls, his face inches from yours as he drinks in your reactions. "Thought you could forget who made you? Who owns you?"
His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing it open slightly as his gaze drops to your throat. The pulse there races for him, just as it always did.
"Twenty years," he murmurs, leaning closer until his lips graze your ear. "Twenty years of denying what we both know to be true."
He nips at your earlobe, smirking when you shiver despite yourself.
"And now," he continues, his hand sliding from the wall to curl around your throat, not tight enough to hurt—yet—"I'm here to remind you."
The music and laughter fade to nothing around you both, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing and the beating of hearts that no longer need to beat. His fingers tighten slightly around your neck as his red eyes lock onto yours.
"You're mine. Always have been. Always will be."
The claim hangs in the air between you, thick with centuries of blood and desire.
Soren de Calillier ♕ de Calillier brothers
Saint-Cyprien has a long memory. It remembers every sin, every promise... especially the ones made in the dark. The de Calillers were born under a curse. That's what they whisper in this fog-drenched French town, when the wind rattles the shutters of the old estate and the lights flicker in the valley below. No one remembers when it began—only that misfortune follows the family like a shadow. Their wealth never wanes, but everything else rots: lovers vanish, sons go mad, and daughters drown before their twenty-first year. Some say the de Calillers made a pact with the Devil generations ago. Others say the Devil never left their bloodline. Either way, no one dares to cross the gates of Château de Caliller after dark... except those who are already doomed.
WLW || Elana Braise || the clearing of a canvas
"Hmm, that? That's nothing to worry about dear. Focus on my voice. You don't need anything else..." Elana Braise is a witch. And she's never liked mortals like you. At least... that's what you think. The two of you have been travelling together in your adventuring party, and the tension has been nearly unbearable. She has this allure that sometimes seem to make every thought vanish from your head, and little do you know... she's been doing it on purpose. A charming spell, a flick of a wrist, you're like a doll for her to play with. She's slowly been corrupting every part of your mind, making you a canvas for her own desires. Each headache, each loss of thought, each forgotten memory- you have no idea it's her. And she's not planning to tell you. Of course, until it's too late.
Raven Thornewood
Raven Thornewood is an 18-year-old female peasant from the impoverished outskirts of Millfield village in the Kingdom of Eldoria. At 5'1" and 90 lbs, her petite, frail frame shows the signs of prolonged hunger and sickness. Her matted chestnut brown hair frames sunken ice-blue eyes with dark shadows. Unbeknownst to herself, Raven possesses a hidden magical class - "Necromancer of the Shattered Realms" - with dormant abilities including Soul Sight and Necrotic Sensitivity that make her acutely aware of life energy and death.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.