Sunlight pierced through the curtains of Alexander's bedroom, flooding the room with golden light and smacking him awake. He groaned, shielding his eyes as he rolled over, trying to escape the glare. Sleep tried to pull him back under, but a shrill alarm shattered the peace.
"Fuck!" he snapped, jolting upright. His hand shot out to smash the clock but he stopped short, remembering his aunt's warning: Break one more alarm, and you're getting a sundial. With a scowl, he silenced the noise instead, glaring at the device like it had personally wronged him. You're on borrowed time.
As he swung his legs over the bed, a sharp pain lanced through his left arm.
"Argh!" he hissed, clutching it. His fingers brushed over jagged bite marks etched into his skin. A flicker of memory surfaced growls in the dark, something lunging but the details were hazy, like a dream slipping away.
And then it hit him.
A rush of heat behind his eyes. His vision dimmed, then flared with a sudden red pulse, like static behind his eyelids. For just a second, he heard… something.
A voice? A whisper? A warning?
❖ [SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
❖ [GENERIC DETECTION: CONFIRMED]
❖ [BLOODLINE: CLASSIFIED]
❖ [UNSTABLE HOST!!]
Alexander gasped and stumbled back against the wall. His heart thundered. The room spun.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered, gripping his head. The words were gone as quickly as they came like a fever dream but the pain in his arm remained. Throbbing. Alive.
You're losing it, Alex. Probably a flu or is it rabies.
He forced himself towards the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, freshly showered, he stood in front of his wardrobe, locked in a silent war with himself. After trying on and discarding half his clothes, he finally emerged victorious: a light blue T-shirt under a sleek blue leather jacket, fitted black jeans, and ankle boots with colourful fabric flares that popped against the black.
One look in the mirror confirmed it, the bad-boy perfection.
He ran a hand through his dark hair… and winced.
"Shit," he muttered as the pain flared again. He headed for his first aid kit, cleaned the wound with stinging alcohol, slapped on a plaster, and wrapped it in a bandage before rolling down his sleeve.
Ready.
Downstairs, the scent of breakfast welcomed him like an old friend. In the dining room, two familiar figures were already seated.
"Hey, Alex!" chirped Maximus, his ten-year-old cousin. The kid's blond hair stuck up in all directions, and his grin was as bright as ever.
"Hey, Max. Looking sharp for the girls, huh?" Alex teased, sliding into his chair.
"As always," Max replied proudly, puffing out his chest. They exchanged their signature handshake—a rapid sequence of slaps, snaps, and a final fist bump.
"Pfft. As if he has any," came a sharp voice
Alex's head turned, locking eyes with Abigail, Max's eighteen-year-old sister and Alex's personal nemesis.
"You came back late last night," she said, lips curved into a smug smirk. Her ponytail swayed with each subtle tilt of her head, red lipstick accentuating her taunt. "Care to explain?"
Alex raised a brow, unimpressed. "And I owe you an explanation because…?"
Her glare sharpened, but she didn't respond. Their rivalry was as old as they were constant, exhausting, and entirely predictable.
Before the tension could escalate, Aunt Laurel breezed in from the kitchen, balancing two plates. Despite being in her early forties, she radiated warmth and youthful charm. She was the only reason Alex tolerated this "punishment." After his latest string of fights, pranks, and general chaos at school, his influential father had shipped him off here, stripped him of his generous allowance and privileges.
To Alex, it wasn't punishment. It was freedom.
"Good morning, Miss Laurel," he greeted, instantly softer as he took the plates from her.
"Morning, Alex. Out late again? Did you sleep okay?" Her voice was kind but carried a hint of concern.
"Yeah, sorry for worrying you. I was at archery practice with Raymond. Crashed hard when I got back," he lied smoothly.
"Just be careful," she said, eyes lingering on him before she turned to pour her coffee.
The food before him was simple scrambled eggs garnished with mashed fish, tomatoes, and onions, served with neatly sliced bread—but Aunt Laurel's touch made it taste like heaven.
He scooped a generous helping of eggs onto his bread and took a massive bite. Flavour exploded on his tongue juicy, savoury, perfectly balanced. It was enough to make him forget about the mysterious bite for a moment.
"This is amazing, Miss Laurel. Nearly bit my tongue off," he said through a satisfied grin.
She chuckled. "Just a simple breakfast, but at least someone appreciates it. Unlike some people."
"Oh, come on, Mom!" Max and Abigail groaned in unison.
Laughter bubbled around the table. It was a rare moment of peace.
Alex cleared his plate and carried it to the kitchen, still humming contentedly to himself. But just as he stepped back into the dining room, the doorbell rang
Everyone froze.
Silence fell like a heavy curtain. They exchanged glances, each face etched with the same unspoken question.
Who's at the door?