The Devil in Black

The sprawling skyline of Dehradun glistened beneath the soft hues of twilight as Sidharth stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office. His figure, tall and imposing, was silhouetted against the view of the bustling city.

He wore an impeccably tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist, paired with a crisp black shirt buttoned up to his throat. A matte black tie completed his look, complemented by his polished Italian leather shoes. On his wrist gleamed a sleek, diamond-studded black watch worth more than most people earned in a year.

Sidharth adjusted his cufflinks—a habit when deep in thought—before turning toward his glass desk, devoid of clutter, except for the latest contract he’d just signed. The faintest trace of a smirk played on his lips, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

A sharp knock at the door broke his reverie. "Enter," he commanded, his voice deep and rich, carrying an air of authority that demanded immediate attention.

The door opened to reveal Vineet Chopra, his personal assistant, who walked in briskly, holding a leather folder. Vineet was dressed in a classic grey suit, looking every bit professional. Yet, despite his polished appearance, there was a youthful energy about him—perhaps because, at 150 years old, he was still considered young in their world.

“Good evening, sir,” Vineet greeted, placing the folder on the desk. “The deal has been finalized. 100 crores, as expected. The clients were very impressed with the terms.”

Sidharth leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. “Of course they were. They didn’t have a choice.” He steepled his fingers, his gaze sharp. “That’s the difference between them and us, Vineet. They negotiate to survive. We negotiate to dominate.”

Vineet chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “True. Shall I arrange a celebration, sir? The employees could use some motivation after the hard work they put into this deal.”

Sidharth’s smirk deepened. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you, Vineet?"

"Anything for our future King," Vineet teased.

Sidharth smiled. "Yes, arrange a party tonight. The usual venue. Make it grand. I want them to feel like they’ve won the lottery.”

“Understood,” Vineet replied, jotting down notes on his tablet. “Anything specific you’d like me to include?”

“Good food, flowing drinks, and a reason for them to admire me even more,” Sidharth said, rising from his chair. His towering presence seemed to fill the room as he walked toward the window, his hands casually in his pockets. “I’ll make an appearance, of course. What’s the point of a celebration if the king isn’t there to bask in their adoration?”

Vineet hesitated for a moment before asking, “And about your… preferences?”

Sidharth turned his head slightly, his sharp features catching the golden glow of the setting sun that matched his eyes. A faint glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes. “I’ll be careful, Vineet. I know how to play the game.”

Vineet relaxed slightly but still ventured cautiously, “You’ve been... indulging a bit too frequently, sir. Five in two months. It’s starting to catch attention.”

Sidharth’s gaze darkened, and his smirk vanished. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was cold, cutting. “I’ve been walking this earth for over a thousand years, Vineet. Do you really think I need a lecture from someone barely out of his fledgling years?”

Vineet immediately lowered his gaze, his tone apologetic. “Of course not, sir. I meant no offence.”

After a tense moment, Sidharth sighed, the hardness in his expression softening slightly. “Relax, Vineet. I’ll handle it. Make sure the arrangements are flawless. I expect nothing less.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the night deepened, Sidharth’s car pulled into the sprawling driveway of his ancestral mansion. The estate was hidden from the bustling city, surrounded by dense, ancient forests. The house itself was a masterpiece of Gothic architecture, with towering black spires, intricate red accents, and massive arched windows. The iron gates creaked open to reveal a cobblestone path lit by flickering torches, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees.

Inside, the mansion was a world unto itself. The walls were draped in rich black velvet, with crimson accents in the form of tapestries and upholstery. Chandeliers made of wrought iron hung from the high ceilings, their candlelight casting a warm, golden glow. A grand staircase with mahogany railings swept up to the upper floors, while the marble floors gleamed underfoot.

Piya Raichand was waiting for her son in the grand hall. She was a vision of elegance, her raven-black long hair cascading over her shoulders, her gown a blend of black and crimson silk that accentuated her regal bearing. Her golden eyes lit up as Sidharth approached. He understood his mother just had a drink of animal blood.

“There’s my boy,” she said warmly, pulling him into a brief hug. “You’ve done well today, Sidharth. Your father and I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Sidharth replied, his voice softening slightly in her presence. “There’s a party tonight to celebrate. I want you and Father to join.”

Piya smiled. “Of course. It’s been a while since we’ve mingled with your associates.”

Abhay Raichand, his father, a very attractive man, entered the hall, his commanding presence rivalling even Sidharth’s. His golden eyes surveyed his son with approval. “Another triumph for the Raichand name. You continue to surpass expectations, Sidharth.”

“It’s what I was born to do,” Sidharth replied smoothly.

As they moved to the study for a private toast, the atmosphere grew more serious. Glasses filled with rich animal blood clinked together in celebration, but Abhay’s expression turned sombre as he pulled Sidharth aside.

“We need to talk,” Abhay said, his voice low.

Sidharth followed him into the study, the heavy oak doors closing behind them. The room was lined with ancient tomes and artifacts, the air thick with history.

Abhay poured another glass of blood and handed it to Sidharth. “You’ve been reckless lately. Five girls in two months. The media is already buzzing about mysterious animal attacks. It won’t be long before someone starts asking the right questions.”

Sidharth’s jaw tightened, his grip on the glass firm. “I’ve been careful. They have no proof.”

“For now,” Abhay countered, his eyes turning black in anger. “But you can’t keep this up. You’re the future king of our clan, Sidharth. You have responsibilities.”

Sidharth’s eyes flashed black for a brief moment, a sign of his irritation. “I’m not a child, Father. I don’t need you monitoring my every move.”

Abhay’s gaze remained steady. “You may not be a child, but you’re still my son. And as long as I’m alive, I will protect you—even from yourself.”

After a tense silence, Sidharth nodded curtly. “Fine. I’ll be cautious.”

The party was a dazzling affair, held at one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. The grand ballroom was transformed into a haven of opulence, with crystal chandeliers, lavish floral arrangements, and a live orchestra providing a backdrop of soft music. Guests mingled, glasses of champagne in hand, as waiters in crisp uniforms moved seamlessly through the crowd.

Sidharth entered the room with the poise of a predator, his black suit and commanding presence drawing every eye. Whispers followed him as he moved through the crowd, exchanging polite nods and brief conversations.

It wasn’t long before Nikita Goyal, a striking young woman in a shimmering silver gown, approached him. Her confidence was evident in her stride, and her bold red lipstick matched the intensity in her eyes.

“Mr. Raichand,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “You’re a hard man to pin down.”

Sidharth turned to her, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “Only for those who lack persistence.”

Her laughter was light, flirtatious. “Well, I’m nothing if not persistent.”

Their conversation continued, each exchange laced with subtle flirtation. Nikita leaned in closer, her hand brushing against his arm. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more private?”

Sidharth’s smirk deepened. “You have my number. Call me.”

As Nikita walked away, her excitement palpable, Sidharth’s expression darkened. His eyes briefly flashed red as he watched her retreating figure. She was no more than prey—a fleeting indulgence in his eternal existence.

From across the room, Abhay, his father noticed the change in his son’s demeanour. He approached Sidharth, his voice low and firm. “Control yourself. Not here.”

Sidharth’s smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Relax, Father. Nothing will happen tonight.”

But even as he spoke, he knew it was a lie.

The night ended with Sidharth driving Nikita to a secluded spot. In the backseat of his car, she leaned into him, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "You’re full of secrets, aren’t you, Mr. Raichand?”

Sidharth leaned back, his smirk returning, his dark eyes glinting with something dangerous. “You have no idea, Nikita.”

The car was parked in a dimly lit area, surrounded by towering trees. The soft rustle of leaves in the wind and the faint chirping of nocturnal creatures were the only sounds. Sidharth studied Nikita intently, his gaze lingering on the curve of her neck, where her pulse fluttered enticingly.

“You’re different,” she murmured, tracing her fingers along the lapel of his jacket. “Mysterious. Intense. I like that.”

Sidharth chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Intense is a word people often use for me,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding.

Nikita tilted her head, exposing more of her neck as she leaned closer. “So, what’s your secret? What makes you so... irresistible?”

He cupped her chin gently, his thumb brushing against her jawline. “If I told you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, “I’d have to kill you.”

She laughed, thinking it was a joke, but the flash of his eyes—now glowing a faint crimson—made her falter.

“What... what was that?” she stammered, her playful demeanour shifting to unease.

Sidharth leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “You’re scared now, aren’t you?” he whispered, his tone both seductive and menacing. “But a moment ago, you were drawn to me, weren’t you?”

Nikita pulled back slightly, her breathing uneven. “I don’t understand... what’s happening?”

Sidharth’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold, predatory expression. “You should have walked away, Nikita,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

Before she could respond, his fangs elongated, glinting in the faint moonlight. Nikita’s eyes widened in terror as realization dawned, but it was too late. Sidharth moved with supernatural speed, his lips pressing against her neck before his fangs pierced her skin.

Her scream was muffled by the car's thick interior, and her struggles were futile against his unyielding grip. Warm blood flowed into his mouth, rich and intoxicating, filling him with a surge of power. The taste was exquisite, a dark symphony of life and vitality.

As her pulse weakened, Sidharth stopped, pulling back to study her pale, unconscious face. A trickle of blood ran down her neck, staining the collar of her silver gown.

He reached into the glove compartment, retrieving a silk handkerchief to wipe his lips. His expression was unreadable as he stared at her lifeless body, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

For a moment, guilt flickered in his chest—a small, unwelcome reminder of the humanity he had long since buried. But it was quickly drowned by the cold rationality that had guided him for centuries.

“She wanted this,” he muttered to himself, though the words rang hollow.

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