The fearsome newcomer lingered like a shadow outside the lobby door as I caught up to her, her features barely touched by the nearby streetlight, casting her in an eerie, otherworldly glow. With a primal intensity, she tore open one of the packs I had stowed in her backpack, using her teeth with a savage grace. As the plastic yielded, crimson blood spilt forth onto the pavement before the building, a vibrant contrast against the muted hues of the night. For an instant, she snarled at the lost blood, a fleeting display of frustration, before her focus returned to the remaining contents within the pack, her eyes wide and hollow, gleaming with an insatiable hunger.

In mere moments, her face was transformed into a mask of scarlet. I stood mere arm's length away, a witness to her ravenous consumption as she poured the life-giving fluid into her mouth. The deep richness of her dark complexion became a canvas for the crimson liquid, a decoration that seemed to blend seamlessly with her essence like an accessory.

She raised her head slowly as I approached, her darkened eyes fixing on mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. I struggled to reconcile with the profound changes that had overtaken her in such a short period; the animalistic tendencies she had picked up in the past few months were frightening. What I had met in her humanity, the fragility, the weakness, seemed long gone now.

Blood trickled down her neck, staining the pristine white fabric of her shirt, and saturating the material around the collar. At first, I hadn't noticed the pained expression etched upon her face, a subtle undercurrent of fear. It was her eyes that betrayed her inner turmoil, revealing a profound sense of terror. With each swallow, she seemed to confront the depths of her newfound cravings, it wasn't a sudden understanding of what she had come to be, but rather a realisation that had been tip-toeing towards the door of her consciousness and preparing to knock.

I stood before her as she dropped the empty pack to the ground, my arms outstretched. She hesitated for a fleeting moment before enveloping me in a vice-like grip. Her hug was unexpectedly strong, holding onto me with a desperation that bordered on life-threatening. She pressed her entire being against me, her face nestled tightly against my shoulder. Allowing myself to relax, I slumped slightly, my muscles loosening as I felt her calm against my embrace, seeking solace in my arms. My gaze drifted to the gravel below, a sense of weariness settling over me, the tiny stones bearing witness to our moment of quiet vulnerability. Despite the absence of physical warmth in our embrace, it still allowed me to ignore the sunken feeling in my stomach, replacing it momentarily with a tiresome hunger instead.

My focus shifted to comforting her, knowing she was grappling with the fragile remnants of her humanity, not quite ready to let go. Treating her with the care reserved for a child, like tending to a delicate flower, I understood her need for protection while respecting her fierce determination to assert her independence. She was on the verge of confronting the second phase that most newly turned vampires experience— beyond the awe of newfound strength and the sensory richness of her heightened existence.

It's a harrowing realization that survival now hinges on taking life from others. We cannot abstain from blood without suffering debilitating weakness, the loss of precious hair that struggles to grow back, and a host of unsettling physical changes that were dreadful to behold. Overcoming the guilt that accompanied this primal necessity would be her next formidable challenge.

She wasn't there yet, but soon, the primal need for survival would eclipse the innocence of her heart. In time, the vulnerability of her past would fade, replaced by the harsh truths of her new existence, where every moment brought a relentless battle against her inner turmoil and the unforgiving demands of her nature.

"Let's go inside," I murmured into her ear, my voice a quiet reassurance amidst the elevating sounds of our bloodline making their way back to the skyscraper. The thought of freshly fed vampires flooded my mind, overwhelming in its implications.

"I need to freshen up. I'll meet you in the lounge," she replied, her smile warm despite the urgency in her voice. With a quick stride, she moved ahead, carrying the backpack in her hand, slightly ajar to reveal the packs of blood still nestled inside. I fought against the hunger stirring within me, a test of my own restraint. I wanted to know if I chose not to feed, I would be able to control myself.

She disappeared upstairs while I entered the warmly lit building, savouring a fleeting moment of solitude before the bustle returned. I knew I had only a few minutes at best to enjoy the quiet of the lobby, adorned with the opulence of its former hotel grandeur. When the bloodlines had swarmed Eastern to take over buildings, Seventeen had claimed this one almost immediately; a prestigious resort of a hotel readily decorated with luxurious splendour.

My first thought was to take up space in the lounge - a spacious haven adorned with plush couches, bathed in the soft glow of fireplaces and shimmering golden chandeliers. I couldn't help but appreciate the serene ambience that surrounded me, a stark contrast to the primal urges that constantly tested our restraint and resilience.

I had been gazing absently into the flickering flames of the corner fireplace when Adrienne approached. Her presence was unmistakable; her blonde hair was a striking contrast against her porcelain skin, and she almost always wore tones of deep emerald or scarlet red that caught the eye. Her footsteps echoed softly across the polished wooden floor, only softening as she crossed rugs, and harmonizing with the distant piano melodies wafting from the opposite end of the room.

Adrienne, despite not being among the earliest bitten, held a revered status as one of the "top guns" in our bloodline. Her age bestowed wisdom, her beauty remained timeless, and her demeanour exuded a rare joy that set her apart from the sombre tones of our kind - she was one of the few vampires I could stand to be around.

Balancing a goblet of blood in one hand and a stack of books in the other, Adrienne nodded toward the armchair opposite mine. I reciprocated with a slight nod, and she gracefully lowered herself into the seat, seemingly content with the weight she had momentarily relinquished. She handed me the goblet before placing the books carefully on the ornate marble coffee table between us.

As I glanced down at the crimson contents, contemplating not only taking a sip but also pondering its origin, I couldn't help but wonder where Adrienne had sourced this blood. Despite her esteemed position within Seventeen, exceptions to the blood-providing rules were nonexistent. Special blood deliveries were reserved for locations in Ruby to mitigate the rampant biting incidents there.

I didn't have a chance to voice my concern, as Adrienne released a low breath and settled into the back of her chair with a sigh. "Fifteen didn't receive their packs," she murmured, accepting the goblet I offered as she straightened up. My brow furrowed in response. Meanwhile, Kara slumped onto the couch beside me, clad in a fresh black dress, her face scrubbed clean of blood smears, though traces lingered on her fingertips which she nervously gnawed on.

"What do you mean they didn't get their packs?" Kara inquired, reaching for a book from the pile Adrienne had placed on the table. She was feigning interest in what Adrienne was saying but the slow turn of the book pages told me it had struck a chord with her; that she was going to pretend she didn't care about this new information and would prefer to read about the history of wine.

"Their machine was empty," Adrienne replied bluntly, not bothering to look up to gauge our reaction, her attention focused on swirling her finger around the rim of her glass, savouring the last remnants before delicately sucking them off. She displayed an air of dignity even in such mundane actions.

"How is that possible? They all get refilled at the same time," I interjected. It was common knowledge among the bloodlines to avoid leaving the skyscrapers around two to three in the afternoon before the refill day, when humans would gather under the protection of neutralizers, masking the scent of their blood. Despite these precautions, any hungry vampire could easily discern their presence.

"I don't know," Adrienne sighed, her voice carrying a hint of weariness as she took a sizable gulp from the goblet. Her gaze drifted towards the centre of the room, where members of our bloodline returned from the vending machine, jubilantly displaying their acquisitions. Hearing their exuberance, I couldn't help but allow a faint smile to cross my lips, knowing full well that some would regret their celebrations later tonight. After every refill, there were always wagers—a night of poker games and, inevitably, brutal altercations among those who gloated too loudly.

Clearing her throat, Adrienne continued in a softer tone, "All I know is they've been scouring the other machines as the line moves on, snatching up whatever's left behind. It'll be a wonder if they all survive the next month."

"That's going to stir up trouble in Central," Kara remarked, her attention seemingly absorbed in the pages of the book she flipped through, avoiding direct eye contact with either of us. "If anything like that happens, they'll go into a frenzy."

Kara possessed more knowledge about Central than I did, having once freely roamed its corridors as a human volunteer. During her time there, she witnessed firsthand the skyrocketing complaints and bureaucratic chaos during refill periods, perpetually plagued by shortages of blood and meat. The situation hadn't improved with time; if anything, it had worsened, and it surely wouldn't get any better now.

I couldn't help but wonder about Kara's motivations for volunteering there. Was it to forge ties with members of the Eastern Zone or to glean insights into how to navigate its bureaucratic labyrinth? Whatever the reason, she was no longer directly involved with Central, her ties now firmly anchored within our enclave.

"It's causing issues already. Ruaidhri is furious," Adrienne replied with a solemn tone, setting down the empty goblet on the ornate coffee table. She meticulously stacked the books one on top of the other, her focus intense on each volume. "There won't be enough to go around for all of them. Some will have to starve."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I had lived through the war and recognized the echoes of history repeating itself. It had all begun with a few vampires facing starvation due to feeding restrictions; vampires befriending humans on the surface and refusing to allow the hungrier to feast on them. This was compounded by the loss of strength and fangs, eventually leading to deadly confrontations where stakings... well they didn't help.

Ruaidhri was an unwavering companion and had been for several years - even after he was bestowed the leadership of all vampires in the aftermath of the first war, owing to his reputation alone as a powerful and wise figure in our community. His leadership had brought stability and unity, yet it also bore the weight of preventing future uprisings. He'd been a close friend of mine for several decades and we'd enjoyed each other's company through the hardest of times. Recently, he had sought my counsel on matters of leadership, heeding my advice to write and enforce policies. I knew firsthand the dedication he poured into improving our lives, striving for equality among humans and werewolves alike. The prospect that his efforts might be in vain weighed heavily on my heart.

"Surely Central will send more packs?" I ventured hopefully, though deep down I knew the answer was uncertain at best. If they valued their safety, it would be imperative for them to prioritize replenishing our dwindling supplies.

"We can't count on that," Adrienne grimaced, pushing herself up from the armchair and gathering her neatly arranged stack of books, "I'm sure it'll be fine, as always," Her smile, though strained, offered a semblance of reassurance before she departed, leaving Kara and me to ponder the uncertain future ahead.

I watched Adrienne glide gracefully through the lounge, her hair cascading loose around her shoulders, commanding the attention of every eye in the room with the assertive tap of her heels against the polished wooden floor.

Kara's face had shift in discomfort, a pall cast over the room that seemed to settle on each of us like a heavy mist. The unsettling news spread gradually, weaving its way through the lounge, transforming once animated conversations during refill into hushed murmurs of concern. The room, once alive with boisterous chatter, now echoed with quiet footsteps and the occasional crackle of flames from the fireplace.

"Something must have gone wrong," I muttered, picking up the book that had slipped onto Kara's lap and flipping through its pages. Despite its wine-themed cover, the pages were filled with meticulous records of the skyscraper's inhabitants and their comings and goings. Adrienne's apprehension about the books hadn't escaped me; her eyes had darted to them nervously, though I couldn't recall if she noticed Kara pocketing one.

"What?" Kara responded, her gaze fixed on the flickering firelight. The soft glow highlighted tear streaks on her cheeks that she hadn't managed to wipe away earlier.

"They don't just forget to fill a machine," I insisted, my voice firm. The vending machines had operated flawlessly for months, following a meticulous procedure. Even the initial hiccups, caused by rogue vampires rather than machine malfunctions, were now distant memories. This unexpected lapse troubled me deeply, it just didn't sit right.

"They must have," Kara defended, her faith in Central unwavering. "They wouldn't jeopardize the procedure like this." Her optimism was foreign to me. I had never viewed Central favourably, though my perspective was coloured by never having worked for them directly. Kara, however, had a different insight—an understanding that eluded my grasp.

"There's no way. No one wants another war Kara; they would never forget," I said firmly. War loomed on the horizon, catching everyone by surprise. It ushered in a collective state of anxiety and fear, one that no one wished to revisit. Conversations with humans in the Ruby District clubs revealed a resolute aversion to another conflict. While post-war depression cast its shadow, the consensus remained clear: combating pain with more pain was simply untenable, and this sentiment resonated deeply within humanity.

Both the Eastern and Western zones understood this well—some of our citizens were humans turned during the war. These individuals were unfamiliar with the anguish caused by harming others. Simply knowing they possessed the capability to harm those they once cherished weighed heavily on their human souls. I still vaguely remember the first time I sank my teeth into a human's neck.

The act had always caused me emotional distress beyond my understanding. Even now, the notion of altering or terminating a human life without their consent churned my stomach. It inevitably brought memories of my mother to the forefront—the smile she reserved solely for me. It was the same smile she had bestowed upon me before her transformation. The same smile she had worn before she turned me.

"They have procedures and schedules. They couldn't have forgotten," Kara pleaded softly, resisting the troubling implications. Her hopeful tone bordered on denial, a fragile shield against the harsh reality. I could tell she didn't want to believe it. It was almost as though she was hoping the news had been a rumour or simply a story. That come the dawn of day, she'd have her faith restored in Central.

"I'm sure fifteen will be fine," I reassured, rising from the couch and moving closer to Kara. "There are probably leftovers from other machines, and Central will rectify their mistake." I had hoped to ease her nerves. I didn't want to hear her worry over it any longer.

"I hope you're right," She whispered. She had reclined into the space I'd vacated, grabbing onto one of the decorative pillows and squeezing tightly, "I can't imagine what would happen otherwise."

"I know I'm right," I said with an overly joyous grin, taking a step around the couch and looking down at her. She gazed into the fire, her eyes searching for something while I stood silently, offering quiet reassurance in the face of looming unease. I shrugged my shoulders back before leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead.