"I'm going downstairs, Kara," I whispered, slipping out of her line of sight. Regret washed over me the moment the words left my mouth. In an instant, she darted from her spot, reappearing in front of me.

I barely had time to react before Kara's head snapped to the right. A bottle hurtled toward us, her face twisting into a hostile grimace as she caught it deftly with her left hand. Hastily, she dropped the bottle to the ground, and I was surprised it didn't shatter on impact. Her eyes were wild with intensity as she grabbed onto my arms. Before she could respond to the group, I shuffled us aside, letting the drunken revellers stagger past.

"For what?" she asked quietly, her voice tight as she held onto my arms. I straightened cautiously, clearing my throat. My gaze was drawn to the staircase where Adrienne was muttering to someone out of view. Kara, impatient, grabbed my hair and pulled my head down, her expression demanding an answer.

"To spar. It's a great time; everyone's eaten recently. I've wanted a good fight for a while," I admitted honestly. I didn't spend much time in the skyscraper; there were books to read, people to talk to, clubs to attend, and humans to taunt. While sparring had never fully captured my interest, it was a skill I had honed over the years as a vampire. There were very few in this building, or even others, who could successfully take me in a fight.

The room's ambience shifted as Kara's expression softened slightly, though her grip remained firm. Her concern was palpable, her eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation. I couldn't deny the thrill of a good spar, the way it sharpened my senses and kept me grounded in our reality. The thought of facing an opponent, testing my strength and skill, was intoxicating in its own right.

Kara's lips parted as if to protest, but she hesitated, recognizing the resolve in my gaze. I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it," I said, my voice steady and reassuring.

She finally released her grip, though her eyes never left mine. With a final nod, I turned toward the staircase, feeling anticipation build within me. The faint murmurs of Adrienne's conversation faded into the background as I descended.

"Can you teach me now?" Kara's words burst out, her head snapping toward the staircase and then back to me. Her eagerness was palpable, her body practically bouncing with excitement despite the many failures she'd faced before. I must have frowned because she immediately pouted and added, "I promise I can hold my own this time!"

I couldn't help but recall the last time she had tried. She'd been knocked down repeatedly by several different vampires, her head slamming into the concrete each time. Often, she just lay there, cursing at the ceiling in frustration. Eventually, she would shoot up and start another fight, only for the cycle to repeat: a kick to the chest or a punch to the spine, and she'd be down again. Some had simply placed their hands on either side of her and thrown her across the room.

This wasn't quite the interaction I'd expected when I decided to spar today. Kara wasn't on the same level as other vampires; she was stronger than most humans but lacked the control to harness that strength effectively and at the right times. Her punches, now able to make contact, did little more than inconvenience me and her kicks and blocks fared no better.

I found myself on top of her, gripping both her arms above her head. She struggled, trying to scratch at my skin to free herself, but to no avail. I exhaled heavily, releasing my grip and pulling her up with me. "I'm never going to get this," she muttered, frustration lacing her voice as she ran from the room.

Left standing alone in the middle of the warzone that the sparring room had become over the past thirty minutes, I couldn't shake the image of her determined yet disheartened face. The room still echoed with the sounds of sparring, the grunts and shouts of vampires locked in combat, but my focus had shifted entirely to Kara. Her tenacity was admirable, even if her technique needed refinement.

I sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. Teaching her wasn't just about strength or skill; it was about patience and understanding. Maybe next time, I thought, as I turned my attention back to the room, ready to dive back into the fray, yet still thinking about how to better guide Kara through her journey of self-improvement.

The sparring room was one of the first projects the bloodline eagerly tackled. What had once been a hodgepodge of storage rooms, IT closets, and a large gym transformed under our hands. We tore everything out, spending the day gleefully running into the walls, only pausing when the more cerebral vampires demanded our help with putting up support beams to prevent the entire structure from collapsing.

The result was a vast, improvised space, hastily constructed with any materials we could scavenge. We layered the floor as compactly as possible, not bothering with smoothness—our primary goal was durability, not elegance. It wasn't as if we needed a pristine surface to fight on; we just wanted a place that would last long enough until we could afford to invest more effort into it.

As months passed, we grew to love the raw, unfinished nature of the room. The broken furniture scattered around, the splattered paint on the walls—these imperfections became part of its charm. The room felt alive, a testament to our shared history and the battles fought within its confines.

I heard a cry of frustration behind me. I stood and barely turned my head to see Samuel and Anya weakly sparring. Anya was struggling to get to her feet, leaning against the wall for support as she looked up at him. They'd been sparring for several hours, already amid their bout when Kara and I had entered the room. Their skin had begun to bruise in various shades of blue and purple, and gashes were releasing streams of blood that trickled down, soaking into their clothing.

"I'm starving all the time," Samuel said through gritted teeth, landing a punch squarely on Anya's chest. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head from the impact. I took a step forward, entering the safe zone of the lower level. The rules were simple: you could fight anyone within the lines we'd roughly drawn in blue paint on the floor. The centre of the room was left unpainted, reserved for those who didn't want to fight or were content to watch.

"That's because you blow your load at the same time," Anya hissed, shaking her head to clear her vision. With a swift kick to his knee, Samuel fell to the floor, looking up at her. Her hair was matted to her face from a gash on her forehead, the usual blonde now unrecognizable under layers of blood and sweat.

He grabbed one of her arms, pulling her down to his level before shifting their positions and cradling her stomach. He leaned in close, but even from where I stood, I could hear his crisp words. "If we lived by underground rules, this wouldn't be a problem! I'd have plenty of blood in my system."

"Even if you did have more blood, I'd still beat you," Anya giggled, her leg shooting up to meet his groin. I stifled a laugh, and Samuel threw a dirty look in my direction. He probably regretted it, as Anya used the distraction to move out from under him and grab his head, snapping it with a swift motion.

"One day he'll beat you, Anya," I said, smiling as she stood up. Samuel would be up again and raring to go in twenty minutes, but for now, Anya could savour her victory. She threw me a look, wiping her face with her hand, smearing blood across her palm and deeper into her skin.

"In his dreams," she smirked, her nose scrunching as she looked past me. Her eyes squinted ever so slightly as she walked next to me and pushed me past the lines. Raising her hands, she stepped backwards. I simply shrugged and walked confidently to the middle of the fight zone.

It didn't take long to understand Anya's reaction, as I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, I was greeted by a fist aimed directly at my face. Instinctively, I caught it mid-air, holding it in front of me as I assessed my attacker. It was Vok.

Once a curly-haired redhead, Vok had transformed drastically. He now sported a slicked-back mohawk dyed an audacious shade of blue, and his physique had grown considerably more muscular. He took pride in being one of the most undefeated vampires in our skyscraper. If there was anyone in this building who made my muscles tense and my eyes narrow, it was Vok. He was the epitome of arrogance, caring for nothing beyond the tip of his nose.

"Nika, Nika, Nika," he grunted, his stance firm and challenging. His brows furrowed as he stared intensely at his stopped fist. "You think you can beat me this time? Step up and prove you're better. Show me why people don't fight you!" I sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes narrowing.

"This time?" I echoed, tilting my head as I scrutinized him. His gaze locked with mine, and I let my eyes travel across his chest, noting the purple and blue bruises that marred his skin like a patchwork quilt. I focused on the fading scar beneath his collarbone, a testament to one of my greatest victories—a knockout that had sidelined him for a weekend. "I've beaten you every time so far," I scoffed, releasing his fist, which had been clenching tighter under my grip.

He immediately kicked towards my chest, but I caught his leg as it swung past. He twisted out of my grasp and threw a series of punches at my head, which I narrowly dodged. I countered with my own punches, each one intercepted by his agile manoeuvres. As he attempted another kick, I grabbed his leg and hurled him against the wall. His head collided with the brick, and he slid down, sprawled and shaking his hands weakly. I saluted to signify the end of the fight and began to walk away.

This usually wouldn't be the end of it; Vok was relentless and would often pull me back for more until he was utterly spent. While I usually indulged him, tonight it wasn't my priority.

As I walked away, running a hand over my mouth and chin, I heard the telltale sound of another attack. I quickly ducked, avoiding another fist aimed at my head. Letting out a guttural noise, I grabbed the arm and pulled forward, my other hand making solid contact with their head. The force sent them skidding across the ground, hissing as they clutched their legs. A pained cry escaped their lips, but I didn't give myself the luxury of savouring the moment.

I took my place back in the centre of the room, contemplating whether I wanted to challenge someone else. I longed for an opponent who could genuinely test me, someone who could finally succeed in taking me down; it had been far too long. When I had first been forced to change, I hadn't thought much of myself, because, truthfully, I wasn't much of a fighter then. It was a combination of Ruaidhri's tutelage in technique and a variety of witch concoctions that had transformed me. My only contribution had been the unwavering confidence I was born with.

In a matter of minutes, I found myself cross-legged and bored. Even those whom I had deemed capable of giving me at least twelve per cent of a challenge had backed off immediately. The sounds of fighting gradually faded from my focus, and the silence began to gnaw at me. The gentle rhythm of breathing nearby became a soothing backdrop to my thoughts, a lullaby that almost put me at ease.

Almost, until a hand gripped my knee, jolting me from my reverie. The familiar, comforting scent of a warm spring day filled my senses. I let out an annoyed sigh and turned to see a mess of chestnut curls beside me. The curls, usually pulled back into a tight bun, now cascaded down her shoulders. I couldn't help but return her dimpled smile with one of my own.

Marianna.

She was the long-term lover of Ruaidhri, or as I liked to call her, the half with a heart still beating. We had met around the time of my first change, and she had appeared sporadically ever since, always finding me and uttering nonsense in my direction—even before I met Ruaidhri himself. For the most part, she was a welcome change to the rigid hierarchy of the bloodlines. She believed fervently that there had to be a bright side to every action we took together, a philosophy she lived by with unwavering conviction.

I had put it down to her beauty alone that people were so willing to let Ruaidhri take hold of the leadership position. Marianna looked like she belonged in one of those old paintings hung in the treasury, and if not that, been taken as a muse for one of those marble statues chiselled to perfection and veiled in glory. That wouldn't have been far from the real picture of her; even now she chose to wear long flowy gowns in pastel shades - currently boasting a garment made of a chiffon lilac.

Every time I glimpsed her, I wondered why she had chosen me to take under her wing. Yet she had. Our friendship alone allowing me a level of freedom and trust that came with being by her side. Her presence was a gentle reminder that even in our world of darkness and conflict, there could be moments of grace and beauty.

We had been close, often inseparable in the past. While I would plunder the treasures of clubs, revelling in the nocturnal delights of our world, she would remain behind, immersed in pools of blood in our hotel room, absorbed in books ranging from cooking to mechanical engineering. Even when we had drifted apart, she always found a way to reappear in my life. She derived great pleasure from finding me at my lowest and ingeniously pulling me back from the brink.

We had only one fight on record. My role in the emergence had doused the flames of our friendship, leading to months of silence before she could greet me with a smile again. On the bright side, it had taken Ruaidhri nearly a year to reach that point.

"Buena noches," she said cheerfully, then whispered, "Encantador." I couldn't help but smirk at her words. I glanced down at her hands and noticed the tight grip she had on a Spanish dictionary, a little green notebook, and a pen. They were placed atop an exercise book that seemed so tarnished it was nearly unreadable. I pointed to the blue cover of the book.

"Learning Spanish, are we?" I grinned, pulling the hood of my top over my head as I began to watch the end of another fight. I'd missed most of the action, catching only the crack of a neck and a head slumping back to the floor. An imprint had been created against the concrete where the vampire's head had struck.

"How else am I meant to keep life interesting?" she muttered, closing the book and looking at me. I found myself looking down guiltily. She hadn't meant any ill-will, but I immediately understood the undertones of her answer. With Ruaidhri taking on the leadership position, he wasn't entirely available to her anymore.

Her heart only beat for that man, even after decades together. It had passed me by that a love that strong would struggle under the weight of such pressure. Her unwavering devotion to him was a testament to a bond that few could comprehend. It was a love that could weather storms and withstand the heaviest burdens, yet the strain of his newfound responsibilities had cast a shadow over her once radiant spirit. In those moments of quiet reflection, I realized how much she had sacrificed for him, and how her love had been the anchor that held them both steady amidst the chaos.

She gazed at me for a moment before inquiring, "How was the blood drive?"

I could only shrug in response. Her phrasing suggested she hadn't attended herself, but the fresh bruising on her cheek indicated she had eagerly participated. "Enough there?" she asked.

I nodded meekly, taking the dictionary from her lap and beginning to flip through its pages. Her silence lingered as I searched for some words. Hesitating, I attempted a phrase I had heard somewhere during my travels, "Suficiente. Tipo de. Suficiente."

She smiled encouragingly, "You could work on the pronunciation. Not bad though." She cleared her throat. "I heard the rumours about fifteen. I don't want you giving anyone any of your food. You barely get by on your own merits, Nika."

Even with the beaming grin on her face, I could tell she meant that. Deep behind that calmly elated exterior was a sense of dread and worry. Our relationship hadn't fully healed, but it had been patched enough for her not to want me to perish. That much was certain.

"I have enough," I assured her, squeezing the hand that had lingered on my knee during our talk. "I promise."

"If you don't..." She began but was stopped by the look I gave her, frustration wrapping around me like a cold shroud. "I'm just saying. If you don't have enough, take bits here and there in Ruby, genius."

"That's not allowed, Marianna," I scolded jokingly.

"I won't tell if you don't. Who's going to stop you?" She winked, taking hold of the dictionary I had dropped into my lap. I shook my head as she rushed out of the room in a flash.