Her Frozen Bloodline.

I am starving.

I’m freezing from the inside out

My bloodline doesn't belong in this city.

I trace my ancestry back to the ancient, frozen primeval forests.

The freezing blood of the glacial giant pythons flows through my veins.

Because of this frozen curse, every twenty years, my kind must undergo the Crimson Molt.

To survive the violent shedding of our skin and prevent our hearts from crystallizing into solid ice, we

need to consume a boiling, wicked human heart.

Good people's hearts are toxic to us. We need scum. Grade-A, irredeemable human garbage.

At that time, I only had ten days left.

I stared at my pale reflection in the bathroom mirror.

My fingers trembled violently.

'I must find a heart right now,' I told my exhausted reflection.

I turned away from the sink and collapsed heavily onto the lumpy mattress of my unmade bed.

The sterile blue glare of my phone illuminated the dark room as I swiped through Tinder.

Swipe left. Swipe right. Swipe left.

A message popped up from a guy named Brad: ‘Hey u up? Let’s grab a drink at my place.

I had gone out with a "Brad" the day before.

He was an arrogant prick who had tried to aggressively grope me in his car.

I hated his touch, but worse, his soul was completely tasteless.

Not a monster, just a pathetic loser.

A violent, stabbing cramp suddenly ripped through my gut.

The hunger was tearing me apart.

I looked down at my hands; they were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.

If I kept fishing in this shallow puddle of basic fuckboys, my heart was going to freeze solid, and I’d die out there on the pavement.

"You aren't bad enough," I whispered bitterly to the glowing screen.

"None of you are bad enough to save my life."

I needed a real predator.

I decided to go out to a dive club called The Descent

It reeked of cheap cologne and stale sweat.

I sat at the corner of the bar, nursing a drink I had absolutely no intention of drinking.

I made myself look small, sexy, and completely helpless.

Then, a perfect prey slid into my peripheral vision.

As he stepped into my personal space, I caught a whiff of rotten intent.

I could hear the putrid rhythm of his heartbeat.

My mouth watered instantly.

I quickly brought my hand to my mouth, biting down viciously on my thumbnail.

The sharp pain was the only thing masking my sheer, animalistic euphoria.

"You look like you're waiting for someone who didn't show up,"

he said, leaning gingerly against the sticky bar. His voice was incredibly smooth.

I looked down, playing my part flawlessly.

I shrank away a little. "Just... not really my scene, I guess. My friends kind of ditched me."

"Their loss," he smiled warmly.

He introduced himself. Julian.

But instead of using cheap pickup artist tricks, he did something completely unexpected.

He took a step back, giving me plenty of necessary space.

We started talking.

It was loud, so we shouted over the heavy bass, but he was funny, charming, and shockingly gentle for a guy in a high-end Armani suit.

He didn't push me to drink. He didn't try to touch my thigh.

When the club closed, he called an Uber Black for me.

He walked me right to the door of my crappy apartment building.

"Get some rest, Serena," he smiled warmly, pressing a soft, respectful kiss to my cheek.

He didn't even ask to come upstairs.

He just waited on the sidewalk until I securely unlocked my front door.

Over the next two days, Julian played the role of the absolute perfect gentleman.

He texted me good morning

During a lunch date, I intentionally watched how he treated our overworked waitress—he was polite, left a massive tip, and didn't even glance at her chest.

A terrifying sliver of doubt started creeping into my freezing mind.

Had my radar glitched?*

What if the putrid heartbeat I heard in the club hadn't actually been his?

Maybe it was just the rotten stench of that dive bar clinging to his expensive suit.

True psychopaths were chameleons; they could mimic empathy so perfectly it created a false scent.

Was I standing in front of a monster, or just a genuinely good guy?

I stood in my tiny bathroom, staring at the fresh, frostbite-like cracks spreading aggressively across my collarbone.

I didn't have time to keep guessing.

If Julian was truly a good person, consuming his innocent heart would destroy my internal organs like swallowing liquid nitrogen.

I couldn't risk it. I had to cut him loose.

That evening, I agreed to meet him at an upscale, dimly lit cocktail lounge.

"Julian, you're a great guy, but I don't think this is working out," I said, keeping my voice cold and distant.

"I'm dealing with a lot right now. I need my space."

Julian froze. His dark eyes instantly welled up with genuine hurt. He looked like a kicked puppy.

"Did I do something wrong, Serena?" he asked softly, his voice trembling just a little.

"No. It’s just... over."

"Please." He reached out, gently brushing my cold fingers with his warm hand.

"Just stay for one last drink. One final toast. After that, I swear I'll walk away and never bother you again."

I hesitated, but finally nodded. Fine. One last drink, and then I'll go hunt a real monster.

He turned to flag down the bartender. When he handed me the bourbon, I downed it in one long gulp.

It hit the back of my throat like battery acid. The taste was undeniably bitter—a sharp, heavy chemical tang.

I looked up. Julian’s entire demeanor had changed.

The gentle puppy was completely gone. His face was flat, dead, and dripping with raw arrogance.

"What's wrong, beautiful?" he purred, his voice totally devoid of human warmth.

My vision violently blurred.

My arms and legs immediately turned to heavy lead. As I slumped forward, the last thing I saw was his smug, sickeningly triumphant smile.

When I woke up, everything was dark.

I was bouncing violently against the floorboard of what felt like a moving van.

My wrists and ankles were bound incredibly tight with thick, industrial zip-ties.

A piece of heavy silver duct tape was plastered over my mouth.

The heavy sedative would have put any normal human into a three-day coma.

But my glacial python physiology stopped the toxins cold, freezing them right out of my bloodstream.

I heard voices filtering from the front cabin.

"She has a great body," a gruff, filthy voice grunted.

"Of course she does.

I picked her out myself," Julian replied from the passenger seat.

There wasn't a single shred of the gentleman left. His tone was cold, strictly business.

"These dumb, insecure girls from the suburbs are so fucking easy.

You act like a prince, fake a little empathy, and they practically lock themselves in the cage for you."

Julian pulled out his cell phone.

"Hey, Dad," Julian said, his voice dripping with sick excitement.

"Yeah, I got a fresh one. We're about ten minutes away from the warehouse. Get your favorite tools ready."

I lay completely paralyzed on the freezing metal floor of the van.

The internal frost eating away at my organs suddenly stopped.

My heart began to race in a violent rhythm of pure, unadulterated excitement.

Beneath my half-closed eyelids, a pair of golden, vertical slits flashed brilliantly in the dark.

A thick, icy drop of venom pooled behind my fangs.

He wasn't a prince. He was a goddamn buffet.