Kiss Before the Kill

Chapter One: The Night It All Began

Isaac

“Isaac, take Lydia and hide!”

My dad’s voice cut through the noise like a knife, sharp, panicked.

I froze.

My little hand clutched Lydia’s tight.

She whimpered, her tiny fingers shaking in mine like they might slip away. The fire was everywhere behind us, lighting up the house in angry orange and gold. Everything was breaking. Crashing. Screaming.

Then I heard it—Mom’s voice. Her scream. It cut through me like a sharp knife.

“Go! Now!” Dad yelled again. I couldn’t see him, but his fear was loud enough to shake the whole house. He was fighting them off—the Devereux. The monsters we’d only ever heard about in stories.

I pulled Lydia closer and ran.

We threw ourselves into the pantry.

I slammed the door shut and leaned my back against it, heart pounding. My arms tightened around Lydia. I didn’t care if it hurt… I wasn’t letting go.

I couldn’t.

Through the tiny cracks in the old wooden door, I saw them. Shadowy shapes. Moving too fast. Too quiet. Their eyes—God, their eyes. Glowing red.

“Shhh,” I whispered, pressing a finger to my lips.

Lydia gave a tiny nod.

God, she was so scared.

Her lips shook. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she bit her bottom lip to keep quiet.

She looked up at me with wide, scared eyes, like she wanted me to make everything go away.

But how could I?

She was shaking in my arms. And honestly… so was I.

The floor suddenly shook.

The air went icy cold.

Through a crack in the door, I saw him.

Prince Lucien Devereux.

He looked wrong—like he wasn’t meant to be here. His black hair hung over his pale face. His lips were dark with blood. And he was smiling. A slow, cruel smile. Like this was all some sick game to him.

His brother, Elias, stood beside him. Quiet. Waiting. Like he was watching a show.

“Where’s the boy?” Elias said, his voice soft but sharp, like a snake about to strike.

Elias asked, his voice smooth, like he was teasing a child. “Come now. Don’t be shy. I promise we won’t bite… much.”

My heart stopped.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just held Lydia tighter, hoping—praying—he wouldn’t hear us.

But then Lydia let out the tiniest sound.

A whimper.

Elias’s head turned sharply.

He heard her.

And before I could even blink, he was right there. In front of the pantry. He ripped the door off like it was nothing. Just stood there, staring at us. His face didn’t change. No anger. No pity. Nothing.

For one moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—he might let us go.

But I knew better.

“Brother, I found them,” Lucien announced, his voice cold as death.

Elias's face lit up. “Ah, there they are. Our final witnesses.”

Father appeared then, bloodied but unbowed, hurling himself at Lucien with a shout that rang with defiance.

Lucien barely flinched. He caught Father by the throat and lifted him effortlessly, like a rag doll.

“Say goodbye,” Elias whispered.

And then—he sank his teeth into Dad’s neck.

I heard a sick, awful snap.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

And just like that, Dad fell.

He was gone.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t even look away.

Mom screamed — a sound so full of pain, it crushed me inside.

Lydia shook in my arms, trying to hide her face against me.

I wanted to cover her eyes, to protect her from it all.

But I couldn’t move.

I was frozen.

Then Elias grabbed my shoulder, his hand like iron. I winced.

“Look at them,” he said coldly, yanking us out of the pantry. “Let them see what happens when someone dares to stand against us.”

He pushed us forward.

I stumbled, dragging Lydia with me.

And there she was—my mom.

Tears ran down her face.

God, she was crying!

That sight shattered my heart into millions of pieces.

When she looked at me, she was like the mom I knew—the one who used to tuck me in and make me feel safe. But now, her eyes held no comfort. Just sadness… and a quiet goodbye.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. I saw it in her eyes.

I’m sorry.

Then Lucien reached for her.

---

Sixteen years later

I never forgot that night.

The screams. The fire. The blood.

They lived inside me, always. Like a second skin I couldn’t peel off.

Now, I stared into a cracked mirror above Aunt Eleanor’s old vanity. The same eyes that had watched my parents die stared back at me. Older. Harder. But still haunted.

“Isaac! You’re dawdling again!”

Aunt Eleanor’s voice cut through the air, sharp like always. You couldn’t ignore her, even if you wanted to.

And God knows, I’d wanted to. So many times.

I took a deep breath and pushed the memories down. Just for now.

Lydia was standing in the hallway with her arms crossed. Her shoulders were tight. She looked small. Afraid.

When she heard my footsteps, she looked up. Her big brown eyes were tired. Too tired for her age.

I gave her a small smile. “Let me guess… still no bed made?”

She almost smiled. “Didn’t have time.”

Before we could say more, Aunt Eleanor appeared behind us like a bad storm.

“If you’ve got time to chatter, you’ve got time to work,” she snapped, her eyes hard as stone. “Isaac—outside. Lydia, floors. Scrub.”

Lydia looked at me, silently asking, Please don’t leave me alone with her.

I gave her hand a quick squeeze. I’m here. Then I stepped outside, knowing Aunt Eleanor would follow.

“You think you’re special?” she hissed. “Better than the rest of us? That you’re gonna get revenge for what happened? You’re a fool.”

Then came the slap. It wasn’t even about pain anymore. I barely felt it.

I stood straight. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“I don’t have dreams,” I said quietly. “Just things I have to do.”

“Good,” she spat, then turned and left me alone.

I rolled my shoulders. I’d spent sixteen years under her roof, learning to swallow pain, to stay quiet, to wait.

I wouldn’t wait much longer.

The whole village was buzzing with news: Prince Lucien Devereux was throwing a grand ball… to choose a bride.

Rumors said he didn’t actually want a bride at all. That he preferred men.

To me, it was perfect.

In the old barn where I trained, I told Lydia and Evelyn, my girlfriend my plan.

Evelyn blinked at me. “You’re doing what?”

“I’m going to the ball,” I said simply. “As a suitor.”

Lydia gasped. “Isaac, no! They’ll recognize you. They’ll know who you are!”

“Not if I become one of them,” I said.

Evelyn’s face darkened. “You mean the blood. The vampire blood. The stuff from Wiltshire. You’re actually thinking of using that?”

“I’ve already tested it. A little. It works.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Evelyn’s voice cracked. “You’re not even gay! Are you?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

“This isn’t about that,” I said. “This is about justice. About what they did to us. I don’t care what it takes.”

“You don’t care?” she whispered, eyes filling with emotion. “You’d pretend to fall in love with him—just to kill him?”

“This is the only way. I’ve trained my whole life for this. Lucien has to die.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then Lydia stepped forward, her voice soft and scared. “If you do this and they find out—”

“They won’t,” I said quickly.

Evelyn’s fists clenched. “Then we’re going with you.”

I shook my head. “No. If this goes wrong, I can’t risk either of you.”

Before they could argue, I rolled up my sleeve and picked up the syringe. The blood inside shimmered like liquid fire.

One last look at Lydia. One at Evelyn.

Then I pushed it into my arm.

Pain hit first—hot, blinding. Then cold. Like ice in my bones. My heart thudded. My vision blurred. I dropped to my knees.

“Isaac! Isaac!” Evelyn was screaming. Lydia too.

Their voices sounded far away, like I was sinking underwater.

Then it was over.

I looked up.

They both stared at me, wide-eyed.

I felt different. Stronger. Like something wild had woken up inside me.

“It worked,” I whispered.

Lydia looked scared. “Isaac… you look like them.”

“Good.” I wiped my forehead, already feeling the heat fade. A new hunger pulsed through me. I smiled, fierce.

“Let’s make sure Lucien Devereux remembers this face… right before I end him.”