Vintage Vampire Novels & Stories

She plunges herself into the past, her spirit slicing through the veil of time, her consciousness landing centuries ago. She arrives to find a silver-haired, pint-sized vampire toddling unsteadily on two legs, a cherubic face painted with a mischievous grin. Baby Chloe, barely two, darts across the room on pudgy legs, no trace of vampiredness yet; no visible fangs… just a normal growing toddler. She teases her twin brother Valentine. Valentine’s face is smeared with tears, his pale cheeks streaked, his tiny fists curled up as he wails in toddler anguish, the purple of his eyes dulled by helplessness. His nostrils are smeared with mucus—a grotesque reminder that even demon-blooded children kn

he growled, low and lethal, “be this demonic?” Her feet scrabbled for the floor, hands clawing uselessly at his wrist, whatever composure she’d been wearing shattering into real fear. “Let me go!” she gasped, clawing at his wrist, feet kicking uselessly at the air. Zyren’s grip only tightened. “You think you deserve to live among humans?” His voice had dropped to something barely recognizable — cold, ancient, terrifying in its stillness. “I would kill you where you stand right now, if things were different.”

She raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Behind her, the air tore open. Literally tore—like reality splitting into a wound. From the darkness within, two figures stepped out. Vampires. Tall, pale, with that unnatural stillness of the undead. Light black leather armor. Short swords glowing with dark energy—silver infused with something demonic. A shadow portal. Malik’s warlock had opened a gate straight into the greenhouse basement. “You’ve got company,” Valentina said. “And before you think about screaming—there are four more upstairs. Your silver guardian friend was the first to fall. Paralyzed spell. She’s alive… but if you don’t cooperate, she won’t be.”

“It's way more than that. We have: Moonfeast: Once a month, the village gathers beneath the Bloodwell. Goblets overflow with mortal blood, and the air fills with haunting music played on bone flutes and silver strings and the blood is shared one by one. The Claiming: A ritual where vampires mark chosen humans as theirs, lovers, thralls, or prey. Possession is both power and devotion. The most terrifying of them all. The Eternal Silence: A law forbidding loud laughter, music, or mortal-like festivity. Joy, if it exists here, is quiet, dangerous, and always tinged with hunger. Where are we, in prison?” “Okayyyy… That's wayyyy worse than I imagined. I won't even survive one week here. How do yo

"Uh-oh, I know that look." "No, I'm fine, I think the worst parts of the transition are over… There's actually more that I wanted to talk about." She assured him. "Then why do you have that look?" "What look?" "You look like someone just died or something." "Mason, that's not funny." She scolded. "It has nothing to do with what happened yesterday." "Sorry, too soon?" He raised an eyebrow. "Way too soon." "Anyway, I'm guessing that what you wanna talk about involves a certain geriatric vampire and his band of idiots?"

"No problem." I strolled into The Mirage, eyeing the blood dripping from the sign, indicating it was a vamp club, and walked straight up to the bar. Inside the door, some vamps swayed to the music on the dance floor, while others were perched at the bar from every era, just like the last time. On the end stood a vampire with a high-collared cape, just like in the old days, talking to a pretty young vamp probably from the 1800s. Walking past them, I slid onto a vacant bar stool beside a beautiful blonde that—if I didn't know any better—looked exactly like Marilyn Monroe. Her hair was in platinum blonde waves—as was the style in the sixties—and black eyeliner with bright red lipstick. And desp

Third Person POV Cole’s eyes shrank, but he quickly composed himself. “Elder Valkil. How nice of you to come visit me when I’m mourning the death of a subordinate you assigned to me.” Elder Valkil, a 400‑year‑old vampire elder, slowly took off his hood, revealing a handsome face that didn’t look older than twenty‑four. “You must have had quite some fond memories with Lord Joyce.”

When the fog settled, we were back in the Victorian era, right when the man was ordering for my copy to be killed. Right before the first knight could stride my clone down, giant wolves leapt through the windows, their paws crunching the broken glass on the ground. The wolves fought with the knights, and then a darker figure floated into view from the darkness in the corner. He was a vampire. I could tell from the red tint in his eyes. He looked lethal, glaring at the old man who struck the woman down, but when she saw the vampire, she got up and ran to him. She wasn’t scared. She clung to him like I would cling to Mick or Miles.

I wasn't invincible but very nearly so and Werewolves weren't. Both Vampires were standing and watching me as I entered the room. Damn. The Council member was so old that his eyes were completely black with no whites. Double Damn. He was Alexis old. It was weird when the old ones looked chronologically young. He had probably been turned while in his mid-twenties. He was no taller than me and his skin was wrinkle-free, but it was pale like porcelain. That was another way to tell his Vampire age. His hair was cut into a pageboy style and was very light. Someone might have made a comparison to the little Dutch boy—but I wouldn't be the one to say that to his face.

Now, a mere werewolf had taken her place in his heart. As Vanessa paced her room, her thoughts raced. She gazed at an ornate mirror, where her reflection, a stunning vampire with long ebony hair and piercing red eyes, stared back at her. She whispered to her own image, her voice seething with bitterness, "Mara, you will not take what's rightfully mine. I will ensure that you meet your doom."