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The underbelly of Nyxhaven thrummed like a vein under strain, its pulse a low, guttural hymn to the endless night. Club Bitter Blood had spilled its neon guts into the streets after hours, the last of the warm meats staggering home with veins humming from synthetic highs and stolen glances at the shadows. Ashriel de Noir, Second Prince of the Spectri, Second Heir to the Abyssal Veil Sept, seven feet of androgynous sin, his platinum hair streaked in poison-green, shrieking purple, and arterial red, catching the sodium glow of a flickering streetlamp like spilled viscera on wet pavement.
His mismatched eyes, one chartreuse liquor, swirling with the haze of half-remembered feasts; the other blood-crimson, sharp as a fresh incision, scanned the refuse of the evening. Chains draped his pale arms, rattling softly against the slits in his black blouse, revealing flashes of his chiseled twelve-pack abs, etched like marble under moonlight. Torn black leather clung to his hips, gold links whispering promises of entrapment. Tonight, his piercings were back in place, silver thorns through lips, brows, and nipples.
He wandered through the back alleys, casually, discreetly, sniffing the air. His most recent show had just ended and he wanted to hunt for a bit to relax.
There, slumped against a graffiti-scarred wall, half-hidden in the alley's throat, was his offering, his prey. A human male, early twenties by the faint lines of youthful excess carving his face. Shaggy black hair matted with sweat, a faded band tee (some mortal mockery of goth rock, emblazoned with a bat-winged heart) clinging to a lean frame. Blue jeans torn at the knees from a clumsy stumble out of the club, where he'd no doubt chased the high of Ashriel's set, mistaking the prince's stage venom for mere theatrics. His eyes, hazel flecked with gold, fluttered half-open, pupils blown wide from whatever cocktail of pills and liquor he'd drowned in. A faint tremor in his hands, a hitch in his breath, an à la carte, solitary and half-lived, crawling home from its cubicle, or whatever picture it's grave took.
Perfect.
Ashriel's lips curled, fangs glinting like polished white jagged stones in the dim alley lighting. He approached without sound, his silver thorn-etched boots silent on the cracked asphalt slick with yesterday's rain and something thicker.
The human stirred, head lolling up, a bleary smile cracking his chapped lips. "Ashley? Shit, man... You just casually stroll around like the rest of us? Fuckin' unreal. Gimme your lighter?"
His fans knew he always kept a lighter on him, why? He'll never tell.
The name, Ashley Ozde, the human myth, the rockstar facade, drew a low chuckle from Ashriel's throat, curved like ocean crests before the crash. Mortals always reached for the mask first, blind to the predator beneath. "Lighter? Ne, micuțule. Not tonight, non? I have something better." His voice was a silken snare, fused accent thickening on the edges. He extended a black gloved hand, rings shaped like fanged mouths and eyeballs catching the light, and pulled the boy upright with effortless strength. The human swayed into him, warm flesh pressing against Ashriel's cold chest, heartbeat fluttering like a trapped moth.
"Wha....hey, you're... tall as fuck up close!" The boy's laugh was breathy, slurred, his free hand fumbling to Ashriel's waist, fingers brushing the gold chains. Desire flickered in those hazel eyes, muddled with the haze. "Wanna... share a smoke? Or somethin' else?"
Ashriel's crimson eye drank him in, savoring the quiver of pulse at his throat, the faint salt-sweat tang rising from unwashed skin. Carne e carne. Flesh was flesh, and this one pulsed with the sharp tang of half-lived regret, nights wasted in mosh pits, days blurred in fluorescent drudgery. "Something else, hai. Come." No question, no plea. Command wrapped in caress. He set him down then draped an arm around the boy's shoulders, guiding him deeper into the alley. He walked with him until they reached the shadows of an abandoned warehouse that bled into The Underlook Hotel's periphery.
His domain's edge, where screams echoed without echo.
The boy,Elias, he'd slur later, in a gasp, leaned into the touch, oblivious to the chains coiling like veins of metal against his side. "Cool... yeah. Lead the way, Ozde." Ashriel's smile sharpened, fangs nicking his own lip in anticipation. Ozde. The mortal lie. By the time they reached the warehouse's rusted door, Elias was pliant, hands roaming Ashriel's bare midriff, tracing the tattooed coils of serpents and thorns that writhed under pale skin.
Inside, the air hung heavy with dust and decay—broken crates like shattered ribs, moonlight slicing through cracked panes like surgical incisions. Ashriel shoved the door shut with a boot, the clang a prelude to the symphony. He turned, pinning Elias against the scarred brick wall with his body, pressing down. The boy stared, eyes widening not in fear, but hungry mortal lust, blind and beautiful. "Fuck, you're... intense," Elias murmured, hands again sliding under Ashriel's blouse, nails scraping over pierced nipples.
Ashriel hissed, low and serpentine, his retractable spines twitching beneath his cock skin, not yet blooming.
"Was at your show the other night, at Club Bitter Blood?" The male started but Ashriel cut him off abruptly.
Their mouths crashed together, Ashriel's fangs grazing Elias's lower lip, drawing a bead of blood that he lapped with a moan. Copper and cheap whiskey, laced with the faint chemical bite of ecstasy pills. Elias groaned into the kiss, tongue thrusting bold, hands fumbling at Ashriel's belt. "Want you... Was watching you, at that show ya know? That weird ass gun looking mic stand you got...shit, the way you move..."
Ashriel laughed, the sound a velvet blade, as he ground his hips forward. His cock, already half-hard beneath the leather, strained against the confines, barbed and venomous in its promise. "You want the performance, mon cher? Then sing for me." He shredded Elias's tee with a casual claw-swipe, exposing lean muscle dusted with dark hair, nipples pebbling in the chill. His mouth descended, fangs piercing one in a shallow bite, not enough to drain, not yet. Just enough to inject the first thread of his necrotizing venom, a slow burn that would sharpen every nerve to erotic agony.
Elias arched, a choked cry escaping as pleasure-pain lanced through him. "Oh god—fuck, yes!" His hands tangled in Ashriel's streaked hair, pulling him closer, oblivious to the subtle shift, the way Ashriel's hardened cock's retractable spines flexed under his skin. Ashriel's gloved hands roamed lower, unbuckling Elias's jeans with surgical precision, shoving them down to pool at ankles. The boy's cock sprang free, hard and leaking, twitching in the cold air.
Ashriel dropped to his knees, princely condescension, mock worship, and took him in one fluid motion, fangs retracted just enough to avoid severance. His mouth was cold, having not yet eaten, his tongue coiling like Swampsnake's strings, vibrating low as he hummed a fragment of Eternal Misery’s Lament, ironic, stolen from those Vermillion Crow poser scraps. Unaware of his true nature, Elias bucked, hands fisting Ashriel's hair, babbling incoherences. "Ashley...shit, your mouth... gonna-"
Not yet. Ashriel pulled back, venom-slick lips curving into a cruel smile. He rose, shedding his own leather pants in a whisper of buckles, his cock emerging, long, thick, veined like marble cracked by earthquakes, the head barbed with retractable spines that promised flaying ecstasy. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, not mortal seed but a shimmering illusion, laced with the same venom that now coursed through Elias's veins, making his skin flush fever-hot.
He spun the boy, pressing his face to the wall, spines blooming fully now that his dick was out of human sights. It's curving hooks raked shallow lines down Elias's back as Ashriel rubbed it up the bottom of his spine. "Beg, boy" Ashriel purred, breath ghosting the nape of his neck, fangs grazing the shell of an ear. One hand wrapped around Elias's throat, squeezing just enough to bruise, the other guiding his barbed length to that tight, clenching heat."Please...fuck me, Ozde, need it-" Elias's voice cracked, body trembling, the venom amplifying every sensation to razor-edge bliss. Ashriel thrust in without mercy, barbs extending mid-stroke, flaying inner walls in ragged petals of muscle and membrane. Elias screamed, ecstasy twisted with torment, as Ashriel bottomed out, hips snapping in a brutal rhythm, each plunge a wet rip of possession.
The warehouse echoed with the guttural symphony: Elias's gasps fracturing into fractured moans, Ashriel's low grunts laced with Romanian curses, “Mă fut în gură de dracu’... atât de strâns, micuțule...” the slap of flesh on flesh, chains rattling like veins of metal in orgasm. Ashriel's spines hooked deeper, retracting and blooming in time with his thrusts, shredding and sealing in venomous cycles. Blood frothed at the join, thick ropes of it hemorrhaging down thighs, mingling with the acidic seed Ashriel spent in hot pulses, necrotizing load churning like cream in ravaged depths.
He suddenly pulled out.
The warehouse's shadows clung like lovers' regrets, dust motes dancing lazy in the slivers of moonlight that knifed through the cracked panes high above. Nyxhaven's rain had eased to a sullen drizzle, pattering the tin roof like fingers tapping out a dirge, but inside, the air hung thick—copper-tanged with sweat and the faint, acrid bite of chemical highs bleeding off mortal skin. Ashriel de Noir—Ashley Ozde to the blind sheep bleating his name from the front rows—had dragged his prize here from the alley's maw, the lean human male slung over one shoulder like a discarded guitar case, all dead weight and fading warmth. Elias, he'd gasped the name earlier, in that bleary haze of recognition and want, hazel eyes wide as saucers when Ashriel's gloved hand had closed around his throat and whispered, Come, micuțule. Let's make music.Now, the boy lay sprawled on a nest of mildewed tarps Ashriel had kicked together in the corner, crates stacked like a makeshift altar around them, moonlight pooling on his pale chest where the band tee had been shredded away. Elias's shaggy black hair fanned dark against the grime, ripped jeans shoved to his ankles, cock still half-hard and twitching from the venom's lingering fire, a slick trail of pre-cum and blood smearing his thigh from where Ashriel had prepped him rough against the wall. His breaths came shallow, ragged—chest rising in hitches that spoke of edges pushed too far, the necrotizing burn in his veins twisting every nerve to a live wire of bliss-agony. He was beautiful like this: half-broken, hazel eyes glazed but locked on Ashriel with that mortal cocktail of awe and desperation, lips parted on a plea that never quite formed.
Ashriel loomed over him, seven feet of unchained hunger, platinum locks streaked purple and red dripping rain onto Elias's skin like anointing oil. His black blouse hung open, chains rattling soft as he shrugged it off, exposing the coiled tattoos snaking his arms, serpents and thorns inked in eternal black, and the pierced peaks of his nipples, silver thorns glinting cold. Leather pants sagged low on narrow hips, his own length freed and throbbing: thick-veined marble, barbed at the head with retractable spines that promised flaying rapture, already leaking that acidic illusion of pre, shimmering in the dim likvenom under streetlight. "Look at you," Ashriel purred, voice a low drawl. He sat, the tarp shifting under his weight, and traced a claw-tipped finger down Elias's chest, parting the faint bruises from their alley foreplay, dipping into the navel before circling the softening cock. "Still hard for me? Ne? Good boy."
Elias shuddered, a whine escaping, half-moan, half-beg, as the touch reignited the venom's blaze, nerves screaming alive.
"Ashley...fuck, please... more. You can't just tease me with that alleyway shit..." The warm meat pressed closer, chasing the contact, hands fumbling up to grip Ashriel's thighs, nails digging into leather like it could anchor him. Mortals always begged so pretty, blind to the shepherd's fangs, thinking this was just another rockstar fuck in a city that ate dreams for breakfast.Ashriel's laugh was velvet over barbs, crimson eye gleaming as he caught Elias's wrists, pinning them above his head with one gloved hand, cold restraint on fevered skin.
"More? Oui, mon cher. All you can take." He leaned in, mouth claiming Elias's in a crush of possession: fangs grazing lip to pearl fresh blood, lapped slow and reverent, copper tang blooming sweet on his tongue.
The kiss broke wet, strings of saliva and blood bridging their lips, and Ashriel shifted down, mouth trailing fire: nipping collarbone, sucking bruise-dark marks over ribs, fangs piercing nipple shallow to inject another thread of venom, the burn lancing hot through Elias's core.The boy cried out, back bowing off the tarp, cock jerking full-hard again, untouched and leaking even more. "Yes! God, like that-" Hands strained against the pin, but Ashriel held firm, free hand delving lower: claws raking inner thigh in shallow streaks that wept crimson, then wrapping his fist around Elias's length. He began stroking slowly, twisting at the head that dragged a sob from the human's throat. Ashriel's own cock nudged insistent at Elias's entrance, slick from the earlier spill, and he thrust in without mercy: bottoming deep in one fluid plunge, barbs blooming again mid-stroke to flay inner walls.
Elias screamed, raw, shattering, the sound echoing off crates, pleasure-pain exploding white-hot as venom seeped deeper, melting nerves to liquid fire. His walls clenched spasming around the invasion, blood frothing at the join against Ashriel's groin, dripping warm onto the tarp.
"Fuck, too much! Oh shit!! Don't stop!" Legs hooked instinctive around Ashriel's waist, heels digging spurs into leather, pulling him closer as hips bucked wild, chasing the burn like it was salvation. Ashriel set the brutal rhythm then: hips snapping like whip-cracks, chains rattling counterpoint to Elias's whimpered moans, gloved hand releasing wrists to rake claws down his chest, his blood flowing like a river onto the tarp.
The scent bloomed, copper pond at their legs as Ashriel rutted harder, spines hooking to retract and bloom in venomous cycles, fucking into Elias's core a froth of blood and acidic seed. Elias convulsed beneath him, walls milking in dying spasms, cock spurting untouched ropes across his own blood ocean, cries twisting from terror-ecstasy to raw, animal pleas: "Ashley...burning... It hurts...what... what did you do?!...Help!! please!!! I-"
"Beautiful," Ashriel hissed, voice dropping in a hum, his fangs sunk into the curve of Elias's shoulder, ripping a huge chunk from it. The warm meat screamed as Ashriel ate it down with nothing more than his head thrown back. The vampire then slit the boy's stomach open and scooped his guts out, tossing them onto the tarp, hot and smoking. He then attached himself to it, ripping the side of his neck out in the same way.
He ate into his throat, fangs gnashing as he gulped flesh, muscle and all down.
Death's hush fell softly, broken only by the wet sounds of Ashriel eating the human's neck fat. Elias's body went limp, hazel eyes staring sightless at the rafters, mouth slack in dead bliss-torment, guts steaming in abstract mosaic on the tarp. Ashriel groaned low, crimson eye half-lidded in savage joy, and spent fully, climaxing ruthlessly. His barbs retracted with a slick schlick that left glistening strings trailing free.
Ashriel withdrew slow, savoring the yield, then flipped the corpse gentle, reverent, almost, laying it face-up on the offal nest: limbs splayed in eternal submission, blood-smeared lips parted like a final invitation, the gut-spill fanning out like a crimson halo. "Such art, Elias," he murmured, tracing a claw along the slack jaw, dipping into the cooling mouth to hook the tongue, tugging playful.
His cock throbbed unslaked, illusionary blood surging hot for the desecration, hunger's second course, holy and unyielding.
Straddling the human husk, his knees sinking into warm viscera with a wet squelch, Ashriel guided himself back in: easier now, no resistance, just slick, yielding channels carved by his own venom, the cavity gaping like a second, bloody mouth. He thrust languidly, savoring the stillness: Elias's blood splattered head lolling with each motion, glassy eyes reflecting moonlight shards; faint gurgles of displaced fluids as barbs extended once more.
"Still so tight, darling, even dead" Ashriel purred, hands pinning lifeless shoulders, chains draping like talismans over paling flesh. Spines raked furrows across the chest, peeling skin in glistening strings, nipples yielding to claw-pinches that drew no gasp, only the wet hiss of flesh splitting open and bone snapping under jaw pressure. Faster now, hips snapping with feral grace, acidic seed frothing anew in hot pulses, second spending painting inner ruins, then third, grinding deep as if to claim the soul already fled to the crypts below. Ashriel moaned a prayer, "Slavă Ție, Domnul Meu... for this flesh's gift" fangs descending to tear a jagged smile from cheek to cheek, exposing bone in a neon wound, lapping the exposed gum-line with reverent cruelty.Spent and sated from the rut, but the true feast waited, carnal lust's prelude to the crush of organs between fangs.
Ashriel rose not to leave, but to consume: kneeling naked, as was his way, he began methodical. Fangs unhinged wide, sinking into thigh first, ripping muscle in tender chunks, the body stinking of dead club sweat and pills.
He chewed slow, savoring the tear of muscle, blood dribbling chin as claws sought the organs, spilling gut devoured bit by bit.
"Mmm, delicios," he hummed around a mouthful, English casual over the gorge, shifting to lap the spilled heart, still faintly warm, valves snapping fang-crisp as he bit deep, pulsing chambers bursting juice-sweet. Ribs cracked like pale kindling under grip, hollows sucked dry of lingering essence, chest carved open to bone in wet sheets, pecs torn slab by slab, nipples crunched incidental like forgotten fruit.
Face last: a deliberate rending from jaw to temple, hazel eyes rolling free in sockets as tongue coiled into skull, lapping gray-pink curls of brain-matter, soft, custard-thick, tasting of half-lived dreams and the sharp bite of unfulfilled nights.
The boy's bones followed, femurs gnawed to splinters, vertebrae popped candy-crisp down the spine, fingers and toes crunched absentminded as after-dinner mints. Ashriel worked thorough, unhurried, kneeling in the slurry's heart, body a canvas of smears, chains matted red like war-paint.
Nothing left but fragments: shards of rib like broken guitar picks, a femur-hollow for a makeshift ashtray if Seifer were here to share the smoke.
But tonight? This was his, no leaving the husk to rot in some gutter grave.
Sated at last, Ashriel rose, gore-slathered and gleaming, cock softening spent against his pale thigh, and gathered the remnants into a canvas duffel from the corner, bones clinking soft like loose change. The Underlook's cellars waited, a private crypt for such treasures: perhaps a spine-rattle for his talismans, or marrow-broth simmered slow for a post-hunt tonic. "Praise be", he whispered to the shadows as he slung the bag over shoulder.
Blood runs sweet tonight.
The drizzle swallowed him whole, warehouse emptying to echo with rain's indifferent tap, another verse etched in flesh, just another neon bloody night in Nyxhaven.