Taste of Eden

CHAPTER ONE — THE FIRST HUNTCities are loud to humans.To me, they’re symphonies.Every heartbeat is a drum.Every breath is a violin string.Every footstep is a whisper against stone.Tonight, the city plays for me alone.Rain slicks the old cobblestones, turning the alley into a river of reflected neon. The air tasteslike wet iron, cigarette smoke, and the faint sweetness of spilled wine. Beneath it all, beneaththe noise and the stink and the humanity, there’s her.Seraphine.I don’t know her name yet.But I know her heartbeat.It’s wrong.It’s beautiful.It’s ancient.I track her by sound first — the soft rhythm of her boots on stone, the quickened breath shetries to steady. Then by scent — warm skin, rain damp hair, and something beneath it thatmakes my fangs ache.Something I haven’t smelled in centuries.Something I shouldn’t be smelling at all.I move through the alley without a sound. My shadow stretches ahead of me, long and thin,slipping over the walls like a living thing. The city lights flicker when I pass — they always do— but she doesn’t notice.Humans rarely notice the world bending around them.She walks faster.Good.Fear sharpens the blood.I let her feel me behind her — not enough to panic, just enough to raise the hairs on her neck.The anticipation is a tool. The tension. The rising pulse. The way prey tries to convince itselfit’s safe.She turns down a narrower street, one lined with old stone buildings and shuttered windows.The kind of place where screams don’t echo far.I inhale deeply.Her scent hits me like a memory I can’t reach.Sweet.Bright.Wrong.I’ve hunted queens, killers, saints, monsters. None of them smelled like this.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.She stops.Her heartbeat spikes — not in terror, but in irritation.And then she turns around.Her eyes meet mine, sharp and unafraid, and for the first time in a long time, I hesitate.“If you’re going to follow me,” she says, “at least try to be subtle. You sound like a cat with alimp.”I almost laugh.Almost.Instead, I step closer, letting the shadows cling to me like a cloak. The rain hisses against myskin. The city noise fades until all I hear is her pulse — steady, defiant, calling to me.“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” I murmur.She tilts her head. “Neither should you.”Her voice is a blade wrapped in silk.Her scent is a storm.Her presence is a mistake I want to make twice.I close the distance, slow enough to give her time to run. She doesn’t. She stands her ground,chin lifted, eyes bright with something between curiosity and challenge.Brave.Or foolish.Both taste the same.I lean in, letting instinct guide me. My senses sharpen — the warmth of her skin, the flutter ofher pulse, the faint tremor in her breath. I can hear the blood moving through her veins like ariver under moonlight.Just a taste.Just enough to quiet the hunger.My lips brush her throat.She shivers.And I bite.Not deep.Not lethal.Just—Light detonates behind my eyes.Her blood hits my tongue like fire and sunlight and something impossibly old. My visionfractures. My knees buckle. The city disappears.What—What is this—What is she—Pain lances through me, bright and divine, burning through every vein. I tear myself away witha gasp that rips out of me before I can stop it.The taste of her lingers like a memory of heaven.And hell.I stumble back.Shaking.Terrified