Nisha Maginos, Grand Duke Elida's only daughter, moved through the sterile silence of Zhou Yi's sprawling New York mansion like an elongated shadow. Her innate dark vision, a pureblood vampire's profound gift, rendered the dimly lit interior as clear as day, yet the deep-seated, ancestral terror of her quarry forced her to cling instinctively to the obscurity of the shadows.
Her inner conflict was immense. For a creature of the night, Zhou Yi's sheer proximity was a living violation of every ancient law of her race. Vampires instinctively feared silver, the cross, and the absurd theatricality of garlic, but their most profound, bone-deep fear was reserved for Sunlight.
Zhou Yi, with his overwhelming, vital aura and the almost-tangible field of energy he radiated, felt like a miniature, localized sun—a sacred fire that threatened to burn not just her flesh, but her very soul, which she had long ago exchanged for eternal life.
To willingly approach him was the ultimate contradiction, a bizarre death wish for a creature who had lived too long.
I have lived too long, and I must still face the sun, she thought bitterly.
Since their prior, unpleasant encounter, Nisha had devoted considerable, cautious resources to identifying her attacker. Her findings, unfortunately, were less mythic and more pedestrian: Zhou Yi, one of Manhattan's top five recognized playboys, a financier with an inexplicable genius streak, and a tabloid favorite.
The press, in their relentless pursuit of a scandal, had done half the work for her. She had quietly confirmed the identity of the Dawn Knight—the armored terror that had ravaged her father's operations—was this very man.
She wouldn't betray his existence, as she was bound by the oath she had given him in the tunnel, but the irony of having to seek out this monster again so soon was almost unbearable.
Her father, the Duke, had sent her, she knew, not purely for diplomacy, but as a subtle expression of his absolute displeasure—a ruler forced to utilize his daughter as an emissary because his pride had been wounded by being kept out of the loop.
Nisha passed the library and the master suites, her soft leather boots making no sound on the polished Brazilian cherry wood floors. She had searched the traditional resting areas.
Her internal calculation suggested he would be either in the gym or, more likely, in the garage where his exotic toys were housed. She moved with the silent, coiled efficiency of a hunting cat, a creature capable of delivering instant, soundless death in the dark.
Her abilities, which had ensured the survival of her bloodline for generations, failed her completely this time.
Just as she reached the door leading toward the rear ancillary structures, her sensitive hearing, which could track the heartbeat of a mouse hundreds of yards away, failed to register the sudden displacement of air.
She pushed the door inward, and a flash of silver light exploded toward her face.
The light was not an electrical spark, but the reflection of the hallway lamp on a high-density, impossibly sharp piece of metal moving at terminal velocity. It was the Adamantium spearhead, a spear point as massive as a short sword, aimed squarely at the center of her brow.
Nisha's mind went momentarily blank—a lapse of pure terror—but the millennia of rigid, pureblood training took over. Her survival instinct, honed by centuries of close calls and political assassinations, violently forced her body to react.
Her unnaturally thin waist bent at an angle that would shatter a human spine, curving her torso backward in a breathtaking arc that narrowly avoided the fatal blow.
The projectile ripped through the space where her head had been, and she registered the metallic scent of displaced, ionized air. The attack, however, was far from over.
Missing its intended target, the one-ton shaft of Alpha Nano Metal Type VI struck the solid wooden floor of the hallway. The force of the impact was immense and localized. It didn't just strike; it created a brief, violent vacuum.
A deep, whumph sound, like a giant pneumatic cylinder exhausting, shook the structural foundation of the mansion, and the air seemed to be physically sucked out of Nisha's lungs. Had the shaft connected with her, the force alone, regardless of the Adamantium tip, would have reduced her body to paste.
Ignoring the pain in her hyper-extended back, Nisha abandoned all pretense of elegance. She executed a rapid, multi-directional tumble—a desperate series of acrobatic rolls across the floor, a maneuver she privately dubbed the "lazy donkey turn"—to escape the lethal radius of the weapon.
She was just outside the weapon's range when the attack was violently recalled. The heavy shaft, which had momentarily bounced off the floor, reversed its kinetic direction, pulled back with unseen, yet colossal, force. It shot backward, whipping through the air like a massive, angry python drawn back by its master's hand.
As the noise subsided, Zhou Yi emerged from behind the open doorway, holding the massive weapon vertical, its butt resting firmly on the floor. He was not in armor, but dressed casually in a plain black t-shirt and grey slacks, the picture of composed, human strength.
He looked down at the beautiful vampire, who was half-squatting, half-crouching, dressed in a form-fitting black leather jumpsuit that highlighted her alluring, yet now slightly disheveled, physique. His slightly furrowed brow eased.
"I recognize you," he stated, his voice calm, dangerously level. "From the bar. And based on your rather aggressive form of entry, I gather you are indeed a Vampire."
Nisa secretly inhaled a shallow, shaky breath. The immediate threat of summary execution seemed to have passed.
"My Lord," Nisa responded, rising slowly to her feet, her movements regaining a semblance of control despite the internal shaking. She executed a perfect, deep curtsey, a gesture of almost archaic courtly respect, placing her hand briefly over her heart.
"We have met. The last time, I was accompanying my associates in a misguided attempt to secure assets that were rightfully yours. I assure you, my presence tonight is by the direct and necessary instruction of the High Duke."
With a subtle, controlled twist of the hilt, the VI-ANM shaft instantly compressed and flowed, shrinking the twelve-foot spear into a short, heavy, double-edged sword now clipped silently into a discreet slot near Zhou Yi's waist. The weapon, for the moment, was contained.
"I don't recall extending an invitation, Vampire Lady," Zhou Yi said, his eyes sharp and analytical, stripping away her pretense of nobility.
"And while I appreciate the ancient gesture of respect, I must inform you that our relationship, in my estimation, falls somewhere between 'hostile' and 'warranting immediate extermination.' Before we discuss any 'invitation,' tell me why your so-called Vampire Guild has sought me out. If we were to sign an agreement, it should be a declaration of war, not a diplomatic truce. What, precisely, do you want?"
His tone sharpened, becoming aggressively kinetic. He projected a faint, internal pressure—not enough to hurt her, but enough to convey that any dishonest answer would result in a violent, final interaction.
"Sir," Nisa began, maintaining her low, respectful voice, yet allowing a faint, steel-hard resistance to enter her cadence. She disliked his tone—the tone of a predator addressing his trapped prey, not a being with whom he should communicate on equal terms.
"A crisis of paramount severity has emerged. A creature, a mutant, is now loose—a threat capable of shaking the very biological foundations of both our race and the human populace. We are not requesting cooperation for political gain, but for mutual species survival. The High Duke extends an offer of a temporary truce to fight shoulder-to-shoulder during this unprecedented period."
Zhou Yi noted the subtle shift. Her aversion to his dominance was palpable, yet her fear was genuine. He was forced to admit that, beneath the veneer of bloodlust and immortality, the beautiful woman before him exhibited familiar human traits: pride, anger, and the primal fear of extinction. His initial, absolute prejudice against all vampires—stemming from his sister Sharice's near-fatal exposure to them—was momentarily eroded.
He took a careful, long look at Nisha. Her skin was incredibly fair, a stark contrast to her jet-black hair. Her features possessed a captivating, almost impossible symmetry, imbued with a mysterious, ancient grace that no modern actress could mimic.
She was, objectively, a devastating example of exotic beauty, a sight that engaged the appreciative part of his mind.
Women, particularly beautiful, high-status women, always held an edge in negotiations with a man who appreciated them. Zhou Yi, the skilled flirt, instinctively adjusted his demeanor.
"My apologies, Miss Nisha. I believe I was unnecessarily rude," he stated, his aggression vanishing as quickly as the spear had recoiled. "I am used to dealing with your associates in a far less civilized manner. Please forgive me if I offended you."
"There is no need, Sir," Nisha replied, relieved by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "If you accept the proposal, I think it would be beneficial to leave as soon as possible. The urgency of the matter is extreme."
"Of course. We can depart now," Zhou Yi replied, nodding.
Nisha hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the spot where the spear had just been compressed into a sword. "You… shouldn't you change your attire, Sir?"
Zhou Yi frowned, genuinely puzzled. He looked down at his t-shirt. "Change my clothes? Why?"
Nisa looked at him, then looked around the hallway, her deep, dark eyes widening slightly in genuine surprise and a touch of professional shock. She whispered, as if the words might carry beyond the sealed walls.
"The High Duke, my father, and the entire Vampire Court… they do not know your true identity."
Zhou Yi blinked. The implication was profound. He had anticipated that Nisa's visit was predicated on the revelation of his identity—the secret he had exposed during his raid on their base. He had resigned himself to the fact that the secret was out.
Yet, Nisha was confirming that, despite the immense political and personal pressure she must have faced, she had kept the exact promise she had made to him in the tunnel: she had not revealed the fact that the Dawn Knight was simply Zhou Yi, the playboy financier.
This unexpected demonstration of loyalty—or perhaps, extreme, calculated self-preservation—from a creature he had dismissed as a blood-crazed demon instantly elevated her standing in his eyes.
"What?" Zhou Yi asked, a faint smile spreading across his face. "You mean to tell me that after all of that, the Grand Duke still thinks the Dawn Knight is just some… ghost?"