Ivy Sinclair

The night I met Damian Blackthorne, I was supposed to be at home.

Curled up on my second hand couch, a glass of cheap wine in one hand and a half-eaten bag of chips in the other. That was the plan. That was my life.

Instead, I was sneaking into the most dangerous place in Raven Hollow….. THE BLACKTHORN MANOR.

It was just another lead. Another reckless decision. Another attempt at proving to my editor that I was more than just the girl who covered boring city council meetings.

But I should have known better.

The invitation wasn’t mine. It belonged to some socialite who had one too many drinks at a downtown bar. She dropped it. I picked it up. Easy.

I thought it was fate.

But it was a death wish.

LET ME EXPLAIN.

The ballroom was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

I shouldn’t have been there.

I knew it the second I walked through the grand entrance of Blackthorn Manor, blending into the crowd of impossibly elegant strangers. The chandeliers glowed with soft golden light, casting long shadows across the ballroom.

The air was thick with the scent of wine, expensive perfume, and something else, something coppery.

Blood.

I gripped my stolen invitation and swallowed the knot of unease in my throat. This was supposed to be just another undercover story.

A rumor about disappearances, a secret gathering of the city’s elite. I never expected to walk into a room full of vampires.

And yet, as I moved between the guests, their gazes followed me.

Too sharp. Too hungry.

A chill crawled down my spine, but I forced myself to stay calm. Blend in. Act like I belong.

I lifted my chin, took a glass of champagne from a passing server, and pretended not to notice the way their gazes followed my every move.

That’s when I saw him.

Standing at the top of the grand staircase, dressed in all black.

His presence was a storm in a room of whispers. Cold, dark, and unquestionably dangerous. He held a wine glass in one hand, a single drop of red clinging to the rim like blood.

But it was his eyes that trapped me.

Icy red, as if winter itself had been frozen inside them.

For a moment, the noise around us disappeared. It was just him and me. Predator and prey.

I should have looked away.

Instead, I held his gaze.

And then he moved.

A slow, deliberate descent down the staircase.

Every being in the room parted for him like he was a king.

By the time he reached the main floor, my pulse was hammering. I didn’t know if it was from fear or something else.

I needed to get out. Now.

But it was too late.

He just smirked at me, or was I just imagining.

That was my first mistake.

*****

Before that night, my life was simple.

I was twenty-four, struggling to make a name for myself as an investigative journalist at The Hollow Tribune.

My boss barely tolerated me, my colleagues thought I was reckless, and my best friend, Tessa, swore I had a death wish.

She wasn’t wrong.

I had a bad habit of chasing the stories no one else would touch.

The disappearances. The strange sightings. The whispers of a world hidden beneath Ravenhollow’s polished surface.

No one wanted to talk about the missing people.

No one wanted to ask why the city’s wealthiest families always seemed to vanish overnight.

And no one, absolutely no one wanted to mention Blackthorn Manor.

The problem?

I wasn’t good at leaving things alone.

That was how I ended up here tonight, walking straight into a den of monsters.

And the worst of them was waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

Damian Blackthorn – The Monster Who Ruled the Night

If Ravenhollow had a god, it was him.

Damian Blackthorn was ruthless. Merciless.

He didn’t just rule over the vampire aristocracy, he commanded it. With a single look, he could silence a room.

With a single word, he could end a life.

And he did.

Often.

I’d heard the stories.

The whispers of how he punished those who defied him.

How he made examples out of traitors bodies drained and displayed as warnings.

I never believed in monsters.

Not until I met one.

And tonight, as I stood frozen beneath his piercing gaze, I knew..

Something was wrong.

And right now

His eyes were fixed on me.

I was already shaking, seeing some of them opening their mouths, their long and sharp teeths.

Some were already transforming

OH MY GOODNESS

What have I gotten myself into?

I turned too fast.

The drink in my hand spilled forward.

Straight onto Damian Blackthorn’s expensive black suit.

Time stopped.

Every vampire in the ballroom went silent.

Someone gasped.

And then I looked up, into the furious Icy red eyes of Ravenhollow’s deadliest predator.

Oh, shit.

My breath caught as Damian slowly looked down at the dark red stain spreading across his shirt.

Then he looked back at me.

And smirked.

"How bold," he murmured, voice like silk laced with a blade.

I should’ve apologized. Should’ve grovelled. Should’ve run for my damn life.

But, unfortunately for me, my mouth had other ideas.

"Yeah, well," I said, crossing my arms, "maybe if you weren’t standing there like some brooding gothic prince, this wouldn’t have happened."

Silence.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone choked on his/her drink.

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

He took a single step closer.

"You have a sharp tongue, little mortal," he murmured. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah. A pretentious party filled with people who are way too obsessed with red wine."

More silence.

More stares.

I was so, so screwed.

Damian studied me like I was a puzzle. The amusement in his eyes.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, a man appeared at his side.

A vampire. Tall, dressed in black, cold eyes locked on me.

"Erase her," Damian commanded.

Panic shot through me.

Erase? What the hell did that mean?

Before I could move, the vampire gripped my wrist, his fingers like ice against my skin.

"Wait…" I started, but the moment his eyes locked onto mine, my head swam. The world blurred.

A voice whispered in my mind, foreign yet it felt familiar.

Forget. Forget. Forget.

No.

No.

A surge of resistance shot through me. A burning sensation spread through my skull, like something inside me was fighting back.

And then the vampire stumbled backward, shaking his head.

The crowd gasped.

I blinked, breath unsteady, and realized, I was still standing. Still aware.

Damian frowned. His gaze sharpened with interest.

"Curious," he murmured.

He stepped closer, so close I could smell the faint trace of cologne, dark spice and something like an injury scent beneath it, maybe blood.

"What’s your name?" he asked.

A command, I tried to resist answering but I couldn't.

I lifted my chin. "Ivy. Ivy Sinclair."

"Well, Ivy Sinclair," he purred, "I think I’ll let you remember this night."

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

"After all, I do love a good game."