Stains of the Past

AYA

^CAIRO, 1926^

He vanished into the night, leaving me alone in the darkness. My fingers dug into the sand, his presence still lingering like a ghostly touch, slowly fading with each passing moment.

The scent of them still hung in the air. If I concentrated, I could still hear their voices, distant but present. My hands tightened around the reeds, and I forced myself to stand.

“I just want them to know I’m okay,” I whispered into the warm night. “I don’t want Mama to worry about me.”

Then, I took off running.

I sprinted across the sand, a mere shadow in the night, racing back toward the city. My mind was focused on one thing—my body driven by the familiar scent of my family, guiding me through the maze-like streets.

I brushed past humans, their warmth burning my skin, their heartbeats—loud, overwhelming—echoing in my head.

My throat was on fire. My senses were heightened. My vision flickered, turning a deep crimson.

I turned the final corner, my eyes landing on my mother’s shop. Their heartbeats were like a siren’s call. Just one more step. One more—

Suddenly, a figure appeared before me. I stumbled back, gasping for breath.

She stood in the middle of the street, her gaze fixed on me with a calm intensity. Tall and slender, her pale skin glowed under the streetlamps. Her long, black hair flowed down her back in a wave.

She was dressed in a deep red dress, a light scarf draped over her head. But it was her eyes—dark, ancient—that sent a shiver down my spine as she took a step toward me.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Every movement she made was deliberate, graceful, and controlled. Her lashes brushed against her high cheekbones.

Her straight nose and full lips gave her an air of cruel elegance.

She radiated power—it was thick and suffocating. She was a pureblood; it was clear as day.

And she wasn’t just any pureblood. She was from an old, powerful family. Despite looking no older than me, I knew she had centuries on me.

She studied me—our heights almost identical.

“You must be her,” she murmured, her Egyptian accent perfect.

“Who are you?” I managed to croak out, my throat tightening with thirst.

She tilted her head, assessing me.

“Don’t speak out of turn,” she warned, her eyes flaring a deep crimson.

A chill ran through me. My throat tightened painfully, my hunger intensifying. Was she doing this to me? Could she draw it out of me?

Alexander had warned me about purebloods, but I had never met another vampire before. He avoided them at all costs.

I took a step back, glancing in the direction I had come from. Where was Alexander?

“We knew you would come here,” the pureblood said, her gaze shifting toward my uncle’s house. “Alexander has been quite good at avoiding the guards we sent after him. But he caved, didn’t he? For you?”

“I don’t understand,” I confessed, my throat raw with need.

She let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

“How much didn’t he tell you? He is a prince of vampires, half-blood. He has responsibilities.”

“I know,” I snapped back. “But he doesn’t want the crown. He wants to be with me.”

She threw her head back and laughed—a cold, cruel sound.

“He doesn’t have a choice. And neither do you,” she sneered. “You are dirt beneath my feet. Your only redeeming quality is that you survived your turning. I don’t know what Alexander saw in you, but you’re nothing more than a temporary plaything.”

My nails dug into my palms.

“He’s been alive for nearly four hundred years,” she continued, her voice filled with amusement. “Did you really think three years with you would change anything? He is a pureblood prince. One of the most powerful beings on this planet. One day, he will be king. And you?”

She scoffed. “You’re a speck of dirt.”

A violent shiver ran through me. My thirst was unbearable. Rage and humiliation battled within me. I felt exposed, like she had torn me open and left me to bleed.

“You think you’re good for him? You think you’re enough?” she taunted. “He needs a strong pureblood by his side. Look at you—weak, desperate, pathetic. He will forget you in a heartbeat.”

“No,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly. “He won’t. He loves me. And I love him, and there’s nothing—”

“He doesn’t love you,” she interrupted, her words slicing through me like a knife. “How could anyone love a pathetic half-blood like you? Your only purpose in this world is to serve us. The only reason he turned you was to fuck you and have you serve him.”

She shook her head, her lips curling in disgust. “I bet you gave it up to him fast, didn’t you?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my body shaking.

She smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

“I almost want to watch him destroy you,” she said, her voice filled with cruel amusement.

I turned away from her, desperately searching for Alexander. But I couldn’t hear him. I pushed my emotions outward, reaching for him.

“He’s not coming,” she said, her voice filled with amusement.

I turned back to her, forcing down my panic.

“Yes, he is. He will come for me.”

She giggled.

“No, he won’t,” she murmured. “Not anymore.”

Her eyes flared crimson.

A searing hunger erupted inside me. It burned through my veins, through my thoughts, through my very soul. I doubled over, gasping. My emotions splintered—rage, humiliation, desperation.

Where was Alexander?

I stumbled away, her laughter echoing in my ears.

Then the scent of blood hit me.

I staggered into the nearest shop.

Humans.

The thick, heady scent of their blood overwhelmed me. Their heartbeats—steady, pulsing—sang to me. My vision blurred with hunger.

Where was Alexander?

Who was she?

Someone brushed past me.

I grabbed them.

I didn’t look. I didn’t think. My fangs pierced soft flesh, and warmth flooded my mouth. The taste was intoxicating and consuming. My grip tightened as my victim writhed, their muffled cries meaningless against the storm of my hunger. Their struggles slowed. Then stopped.

The body slipped from my grasp.

I lifted my gaze. The humans in the shop stared in stunned horror.

My fury ignited.

I lunged.

Silent. Deadly.

Fangs met flesh. Blood filled my veins. One by one, they fell.

A body hit the floor. Then another.

Heat flooded through me, euphoria blinding me as I ripped through them.

Then—

Strong hands seized me.

I snarled, twisting violently.

“Aya! Aya, stop!”

That voice.

My vision swam. My hunger snapped like a frayed thread.

“Alex?”

His silvery blue eyes met mine, dark with horror.

“What have you done, Aya?” he whispered.

I turned.

Bodies lay crumpled around me.

Their faces—their eyes were dull and empty.

My breath caught.

Bahiti. Dalila. Heba. Mama.

And in my arms—

Little Femi let out her last breath.

A sob ripped from my throat.

I crumpled to the ground, my screams tearing through the night.