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"Artistic my ass, you're about as creative as a toddler with a crayon." Celeste's message sneered in my mind, and I couldn't help the smirk that twisted my lips. The girl had spunk, I'd give her that. Her words were meant to sting, to claw at my ego, but they only fueled the fire in me, sparking a dark amusement. Little did she know, I thrived on this shit—this game we played.
Her bratty defiance was a fucking delicious challenge, one I planned to savor just as I’d savored every last drop of her blood mixed with cum she’d placed on her front step for me. Each barbed word from her was another layer peeled back, revealing the raw canvas beneath, and I was itching to paint it black with my own brand of corruption. She thought she could rattle me with taunts, but hell, I welcomed them like an old friend, whiskey on the rocks after a long night.
Celeste Holloway didn't realize that she was messing with a man who'd made a fortress out of his darkness. A predator camouflaged among the elite, a vampire cloaked in the allure of wealth and power—the perfect mask for a vigilante with a vendetta against the monsters that preyed on the vulnerable.
Her resistance was intoxicating, each little act of rebellion a thread pulling me closer to unraveling the mystery that was Celeste. And unravel her I would, until her secrets spilled out like pearls from a broken necklace, scattering across the floor for me to collect one by one.
I chuckled low and dark, imagining her reaction when she discovered just how wrong she was about me. Oh, I had creativity, sweetheart. The kind that lurked in the shadows of nightmares, the kind that bound and dominated until submission was the only release.
But for now, I contented myself with watching the city below. Tonight, Chicago was mine to protect, mine to command—and soon, Celeste would be too. The goddamn police, all badges and bullshit, sat on their hands while the city bled out. I watched from my high-rise perch as the twinkling lights mocked me with their indifference. This city was a battlefield, and the latest casualty count was etched in invisible ink on the ledger of justice—names without faces, stories without endings.
As a vampire, I was no stranger to the thirst for blood. But it was the nameless killer, preying on the LGBT community, who deserved to feel the sharp embrace of my fangs. Those were my people down there—my fight. And if the cops wouldn't step up, then it was up to me to drag this son of a bitch into the light.
The sharp trill of my phone shattered the silence, its ring slicing through the tension like a knife through flesh. Glancing at the caller ID, I could already tell it wasn't going to be good news. No one calls with sunshine and fucking daisies at this hour.
"Talk to me," I answered, the growl in my voice betraying my impatience.
"Boss, we've got trouble at HQ," came the terse reply from one of my dispatchers, her voice tight with urgency. "It's bad."
"Define 'bad'," I snapped, my pulse quickening despite the centuries that should have dulled such human reactions.
"Security breach. Potentially compromised files. We need you here, now."
"Shit." There went my plans for a calm night watching my Little Shadow. I tossed the towel aside and strode naked across the cold marble floor, my mind already shifting gears. My organization was the heart pumping lifeblood into the supernatural vigilante network I'd built from scratch. If that heart stopped beating, the city's most vulnerable would bleed out in the shadows.
"Lock it down. I'm on my way." I cut the connection and grabbed whatever semblance of clothing seemed appropriate for an emergency that reeked of betrayal.
The suit was charcoal and razor-sharp, tailored to intimidate. I shrugged into the jacket, my movements brisk and mechanical. Celeste's safety was the drumbeat in my mind, propelling me forward with a fury that could scorch the very threads of my attire. Monsters lurked in every fucking corner of this city, and I'd be damned twice over before I let one of them touch a hair on her head.
"Should've known peace was too much to ask for," I grumbled, stalking towards the door. It wasn't just about the safety protocols or the damn paperwork—it was about keeping those monsters away from Celeste. She might think my creativity was a joke, but she had no idea how dark my canvas could get when painted with rage and vengeance.
Keep your shit together, Rigby. I adjusted the cufflinks with a snap of my wrists. The viperous part of my soul was itching for a brawl, but there was no room for recklessness—not tonight.
I descended from my penthouse like death itself was my chauffeur, the elevator's descent far too slow for my liking. Stepping onto the street, the chilly Chicago wind was a slap to the face, sobering up any remnants of warmth I had left inside.
The headquarters were just a mask—a fucking well-designed cover for the uninitiated. From the outside, it screamed mundane marketing gimmicks and nine-to-fivers hopped up on caffeine. But beneath that, it was the nerve center of an operation that gave the middle finger to the natural order.
"Vanguard" we called ourselves—an ironic toast to the vanguards of old, except we weren't protecting kings or empires—we were shielding those who slipped through society's cracks. Supernaturals without a voice, without a fist to raise against the world that wanted them dead or worse, forgotten. We were their advocates, their guardians, their avenging angels with bloody knuckles and tarnished halos.
I strode through the lobby, bypassing the clueless receptionist with a nod. Her eyes followed me—part suspicion, part intrigue—as I plunged into the hidden depths below.
The underground lair buzzed with tension, screens alight with data streams and faces grim with the weight of our mission. In these walls, we were more than misfits; we were mavericks hell-bent on rewriting the narrative for every shunned werewolf, ostracized fae, and vampire tired of living in the dark—like me.
"Fuck, Nash, you took your sweet time," one of the techs barked as I passed.
"Traffic was a bitch," I shot back, though we both knew damn well I hadn't touched the asphalt.
"Security breach" echoed in my skull, a grim reminder that even amongst our own kind, betrayal wasn't just a possibility—it was a goddamned promise waiting to be fulfilled. And promises, as much as I hated them, were something I intended to keep, especially when they were whispered in the dark with breaths mingled between sin and salvation.
The moment I stepped in, the air shifted, thick with adoration and barely concealed lust. It was almost palpable—the way they looked at me, like I was some goddamn God stepping off Olympus. But their fawning glances slid off me like rain on marble. My mind was a fortress, and its walls were lined with images of Celeste—her defiance, her brazen wit, that unbreakable spirit of hers.
"Jesus, Nash," Simone purred as she sashayed by, her hips swaying in a rhythm meant to entice. "Looking sharp could cut a girl."
"Careful then," I replied without missing a beat, my eyes never leaving the steel door ahead. "Wouldn't want you bleeding all over the carpet."
Laughter followed, a symphony of high pitches that clashed against the somber mood I carried. They tried to pierce my armor with every step I took, but it was no use. Celeste had unwittingly become the chink in my armor, and I'd be damned if any of them got close enough to notice.
I barged into the meeting room, the heavy door slamming shut behind me with the finality of a coffin lid. The dispatchers were already huddled around the holographic map, their voices a low hum of urgency and fear.
