The moment the iron shackles snapped, I was no longer a blood slave.
I gave the middle finger to the stars and ran. I abandoned the Insurgent camp along with the sight of my gorgeous Darklings on their knees. All five of them.
Kaito, Lorien, Ryder, Rush and Arlo.
Five descendants of the Atlantean bloodline, bestowed with formidable bodies and deep rooted kinks only to be sated by their axis, their bloodmate, their Brightling, the center of their dark obsessions. Me. A descendant of the Pleiades Constellation.
Brightlings by nature are martyrs. I am a murderer. My existence is cataclysmic. The best way for me to reciprocate their feelings and keep their hearts beating, is to run from them.
That was three years ago. The rampant bloodlust for stardust is a sick addiction that still persists. As does my determination for dodging fate, fangs and fanatical Darklings.
Until now.
On the brink of burning out, I struck a deal with their starved, bitter souls thinking the stars would claim me. They didn't.
The stars dropped me right into their claws as a prisoner. These particular claws of darkness I selfishly want to tear into me.
My selfishness to claim them will get us all killed. Or worse.
Blood has been stolen.
Bonds have been broken.
Darklings are unsated & starved.
Brightlings are fading & hidden.
The Stars no longer shine for guidance,
they burn with vengeance.