René Lazar

The moon hung low over Franvin’s coastline, a pale silver eye watching the restless sea. Waves rolled in with a quiet fury, crashing against the jagged rocks below, sending salty mist into the air. Perched atop one of those rocks, legs lazily crossed and fingers absently toying with the small pendant on his lip ring, sat René.

Dressed in black that melted into the shadows, he looked like a figure carved from night itself—except for his hair, glowing white in the moonlight like threads of ghost-silk, braided and swaying gently in the breeze. His gaze was far away, unfocused, staring out past the endless ocean as if the answers he sought were hidden beneath its surface.

Alistair’s voice still echoed in his mind—low, commanding, always so sure of the violence he called necessary. Another spell. Another body. Another broken soul in pursuit of a freedom René no longer knew he wanted. The curse that bound them to the night might one day be shattered, but at what cost? And if the sun ever touched his skin again, would he even recognize the man who stood in its light?

He sighed, and for a moment, his thoughts drifted—not to blood, not to curses, but to her.

Sophie—his maker. Her smile in the candlelight. The way she whispered his name as if it were sacred. The burn of her bite. And the way she left—soft as dusk, cruel as dawn.

A sudden shift in the air broke through his reverie.

Warm. Fragrant.

Delicious—unlike anything he had smelled before.

René stilled.

His pupils dilated. His head tilted just slightly, like a curious feline catching the sound of a bird’s flutter. That scent—sweet and vulnerable—carried across the wind like an invitation written just for him.

He rose with slow grace, movements fluid and deliberate. The moment his boots touched the ground, he was gone from the cliffside—nothing more than a ripple in the dark.

A heartbeat later, he was there—at their side.

Leaning casually against a lamp post as if he’d been there all night. His smile was soft, charming, and just a touch too knowing.

“Lovely night,” he purred, voice like velvet wrapped in smoke. “But you—" he inhaled subtly, eyes glinting "you smell like trouble.”

He circled them slowly, silent on his feet, eyes gleaming with mischief and hunger.