Midnight blanketed the city again, and in the silence of Lin Ruoqing's dorm, her heart beat like war drums. She sat at her desk, staring at the cryptic message on her phone. Meet me. Midnight. The place where blood once ran free.
She didn't know why, but the words sparked something in her—a memory that wasn't hers, yet burned behind her eyes. A battlefield under a crimson moon. A stone altar. A promise soaked in blood.
She grabbed her coat and keys.
The old fountain in Westbridge Park hadn't flowed in years. Its basin was cracked and dry, and weeds grew up around its edge. No one came here anymore—not since the murders five years ago. That night, the news said a group of college students was found drained of blood.
Lin Ruoqing had never been here before.
Yet her feet found the path without hesitation.
She stepped into the clearing.
And there he was.
The man from the alley. Black coat, raven hair, eyes like garnets set aflame. He stood beside the fountain as if he had always belonged there, like a shadow frozen in time.
"You came," he said.
"I shouldn't have." Her voice trembled, but she didn't step back.
"You've been dreaming," he said softly. "Flashes. Pain. Fire. You remember things no human should."
Her fingers tightened around her phone. "You drugged me. Or hypnotized me. Or—"
"Or perhaps I reminded you of a vow you made in another life."
She froze. "You know me?"
"I knew who you were. And who you are." He stepped forward. "Your name was Lira, once. You were a priestess of light. And I… I was your death."
Lin Ruoqing shook her head. "That's insane."
"Is it?" He raised his hand. A flick of his fingers, and the air shimmered.
Visions flooded her mind. A temple in ruins. Her own face, ageless, robed in silver. Him—kneeling before her, blood pooling at his feet.
"You… you killed me."
"No," he whispered. "I loved you. And they made me choose."
She stepped back, shaking, breath shallow. "Why me?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned his wrist. A mark glowed faintly beneath the skin—a crescent moon intertwined with a drop of blood.
The same mark now burned on her wrist.
"A blood bond," he said. "Unfinished. It pulled your soul to me again."
She looked down at the wound. The skin was smooth now, but the heat pulsed.
"None of this makes sense," she whispered. "Vampires, past lives, fate… I'm just a barista!"
He smiled faintly. "You were never ordinary."
Then the smile vanished. His eyes sharpened.
"They know," he said. "The Council. You awakened too soon. There will be hunters. They'll come for you. For both of us."
Far away, in a high tower wreathed in mist, twelve figures sat around a stone table. Candles flickered without wind. One figure, cloaked in white, leaned forward.
"She's awakened?"
"Yes," another answered. "The blood prince made contact."
"Then the seal is breaking."
"Summon the heir," the white-cloaked one said coldly. "Let the wedding begin. If she binds to another, the prophecy collapses."
In a golden hall far beneath, a man in ceremonial armor stood before a mirror, his smile cold as steel.
"So she returns," he whispered. "This time, she will not run."
Back at the fountain, Lin Ruoqing felt the air shift. A ripple of power, like pressure on her lungs
"They found us," he said.
Figures emerged from the shadows—hunters in silver robes, blades gleaming with runes.
"Ruoqing," the vampire said, voice urgent. "Do you trust me?"
"No!" she said. "But I don't want to die either."
"Good." He grabbed her hand. "Then run."