Alara stood at the edge of the Volturi's throne room, her body humming with tension. The scent of the humans—warm, alive, utterly unaware of their fate—filled her senses, sharper than ever. Her throat burned, but it wasn't hunger that consumed her. It was something else, something deeper, primal. The fire beneath her skin grew stronger with every breath she took, her instincts coiling tighter like a snake preparing to strike. The humans' heartbeat was loud, deafening, like a drumbeat taunting her.
Aro's voice filtered through the haze, smooth and polite as he greeted the doomed tourists, but Alara barely heard him. The weight of his gaze pressed against her skin, but she didn't dare meet his eyes. She hadn't allowed him to touch her since her transformation. She couldn't. Her newborn senses were too overwhelmed, and the brush of his cold fingers felt like a threat, a challenge, though she knew it wasn't meant to be. Aro wasn't a threat—he was her mate. She was certain of that. But the newborn instincts raging inside her refused to bend to that certainty. She had avoided him, kept her distance, because controlling the wildfire within her was already a daily struggle.
And now, it was slipping through her fingers.
Beside her, Marcus sat still, his eyes half-lidded, but they were no longer clouded with eternal sorrow. Not since he had found Alara—his mate, his solace. His gaze, though soft and distant to all else, was locked entirely on her, a quiet intensity simmering beneath his calm exterior. The world around him—the tourists, the endless machinations of the Volturi—held little interest to him now. Only she did.
Aro shot her a smile, his thin lips pulling back just enough to expose a flash of teeth. Caius, on the other hand, sat rigid, his cold gaze locked on her, sensing the storm that was brewing inside her. They knew she struggled. But they didn't understand.
They never would.
To them, she was a newborn, a feral thing that needed control, guidance, discipline. A weapon to hone, but a wild beast underneath it all. And yet, she was mated to them—Aro's obsession, Marcus's solace, Caius's match in rage. They all claimed her in different ways, but it was that claim, that tether, that made her feel… caged.
The Volturi's way of feeding made her stomach churn. Every time they waited, watched, and lured their prey into this pretentious palace, Alara's instincts recoiled. It wasn't the act of feeding that repelled her—it was the charade of it all. She wasn't meant to feast like a pampered pet, waiting for her masters to toss her a bone. She was a predator. She was meant to hunt.
And the hunger—oh, it was unrelenting. The fire in her veins, the clawing at the back of her throat, never satisfied. But worse than the thirst was the desire, deep and primal, to stalk, to chase. The Volturi's pristine halls and silent methods felt like a prison, like they were robbing her of the most vital part of her nature. Every time she watched one of the guards step forward to indulge in Heidi's carefully selected prey, something inside her screamed.
And today, that scream was deafening.
Heidi's latest victims stood in the centre of the room, laughing softly, oblivious to their deaths that loomed just behind a curtain of false civility. Alara's eyes, a bright crimson that betrayed her youth, flickered to them, the urge to hunt rising like a tidal wave inside her. She was sick of this. Sick of waiting, sick of watching like some tamed predator while the others indulged in their meticulous routine. This wasn't feeding. It wasn't even surviving. It was a mockery of what she was. A wild thing forced into captivity.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, nails sharp against her palm as she clenched her fists, every muscle in her body begging her to act, to move.
Aro sensed her shift. She felt his attention fixate on her, his gaze soft but calculating. His pale fingers rested steepled beneath his chin, lips pulled into a thin smile. He hadn't touched her in weeks, didn't know the torment swirling within, but still, he watched her closely, as if waiting for something—some moment to prove she was more than the wildfire burning through her veins.
"Alara," he called softly, the sound of her name dripping like honey from his lips. "Would you care to feed first?"
The words were a simple invitation, but they felt like a dare, a test. Alara's entire body stiffened, her sharp gaze snapping toward him. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, and her control wavered. He was testing her ability to reign in the insatiable hunger of a newborn, to resist the primal instincts that clawed at her every second. He was trying to help her, trying to guide her through the maelstrom that came with her transformation. She knew this.
But the flames inside her only burned hotter. The temptation of the humans before her, the easy feed, wasn't enough. It never would be. It wasn't just hunger she battled—it was the unyielding demand of her instincts to dominate, to be free.
Her hunger was for the hunt.
She inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring as the scent of the prey filled her lungs, mixing with the underlying scent of earth and stone from the castle's underbelly. The tunnels. Her mind raced, her instincts seizing the thought. If she couldn't find release here in this controlled environment, then she would make her own path. She would do what she was born to do.
Hunt.
Before she could second-guess herself, Alara lunged forward, her movements a blur. The humans barely had time to gasp, barely had time to register the flash of red eyes, before her body collided with theirs—not to feed, but to push them out of her way, scattering them like leaves in the wind. Screams erupted as the group fell, their confusion morphing into terror, and as they scrambled to their feet, the true horror began.
She had other needs. Only the hunt mattered.
The guards descended upon them in an instant. The air was thick with the sounds of fangs tearing into flesh, the unmistakable crack of bones breaking, and the wet, muffled cries of the humans as they realised their doom. Alara barely glanced back, but the carnage behind her was unmistakable. Vampires, driven by centuries of practised control, feasted upon the panicked prey, each one moving with lethal precision, elegant in their destruction.
With a sharp turn, Alara darted toward the dark tunnels beneath the castle, her steps silent as she left chaos in her wake. She could hear Caius's furious snarl, his anger like a whip cracking through the air, while Marcus's calm voice rose above the chaos, trying to quell the growing tension. Aro's voice was quiet, though not amused—calculated, curious, as if he were weighing every possibility. Yet none of it touched her.
The smell of blood filled the air, rich and overwhelming, but Alara's focus never wavered. It wasn't the feast she craved. Her hunger was for the chase, for the hunt that her instincts screamed for.
But her defiance hadn't gone unnoticed.
She could hear the sharp clack of boots on the cold marble behind her, the distinct sound of footsteps giving chase. Caius's fury was unmistakable, his snarl carrying through the throne room as he ordered the others to follow. But Alara didn't slow. Her newborn speed was unmatched, her strength still wild and raw.
Yet it wasn't only her vampire strength that propelled her forward. The faint trace of human blood still coursed through her veins, her heart having stopped beating only a short time ago. That lingering humanity, the remnants of the life she'd left behind, pushed her faster than even the Volturi guards could follow.
The tunnels were her goal, the dark maze beneath the castle where the scent of stone and earth beckoned her, promising freedom from the cage that was tightening around her. Each step took her further away from the screams, from Aro's calculating gaze and Caius's furious pursuit.
She reached the tunnels and the darkness enveloped her, the cool air rushing past her skin as she ran. Alara's footsteps were silent, her every movement guided by instinct. Her senses expanded, the sound of the humans' panicked voices still audible from the throne room, their heartbeat still echoing above, but it was already fading behind her. She didn't care about them. She needed something more.
The labyrinth beneath the Volturi castle stretched on, ancient and vast, but she knew the way. She had memorised every twist, every turn. It was the only thing that gave her solace in the weeks since she had been turned—this knowledge that there was a way out, a path to freedom, even if it was temporary. Her feet carried her swiftly, the stone walls blurring around her as she pushed forward, the scent of earth growing stronger, mingling with the first traces of cool evening air.
She ran until the narrow passageways opened up, until she reached the exit far beyond the city gates. The night sky stretched out before her, painted in shades of deep violet and amber as the last traces of the sun dipped below the horizon. It was twilight—her favourite hour. The light was fading, but not gone.
For a moment, Alara stood at the mouth of the tunnel, taking in the scents of the cool evening air. The city of Volterra loomed far in the distance, the lights twinkling softly against the coming dark. It was peaceful, quiet, but the peace didn't settle her. It only stoked the fire inside her further.
Then, without hesitation, she took off running.
Her feet pounded against the earth, faster than any human could ever hope to move. The trees blurred past her as she moved through the forest that stretched beyond the city walls, her senses alight with the thrill of it all. The prey would come soon enough. There would always be something to chase, something to stalk. The hunt was in her blood, and finally, after weeks of suffocating under the Volturi's rules, she was free to embrace it.
Alara's lips curled into a wild, feral smile as she moved deeper into the wilderness, her newborn senses heightening with every passing second. The hunt had only just begun.
Alara's legs carried her far beyond Volterra's gates, through the forests and into the open stretches of countryside. The hunt had set a fire inside her, the burning need for the chase driving her forward, faster and faster. She could hear the distant hum of a city long before it appeared on the horizon, a sign she was nearing her next potential playground. By the time she reached the outskirts of Pisa, the sky had deepened into night, and the city lights twinkled in the distance like a thousand flickering stars.
The sound hit her first—a steady thump, a rhythmic pulse of electronic bass that vibrated through the air. It was loud, chaotic, alive. Her senses sharpened, and she slowed her pace, drawn toward the unfamiliar noise. In the distance, she spotted an old warehouse, its broken windows glowing faintly with flickering lights. As she drew closer, the scent of sweat, alcohol, and blood hit her full force.
A rave.
Alara's lips twisted into a sly smile as she stalked toward the building, the heavy beats growing louder with each step. As she neared, she saw signs slapped haphazardly on the front of the warehouse, scrawled in Italian: Happy Hour. The revellers were getting an early start, and Alara couldn't help but feel a dark thrill at the thought of what she might find within.
The old warehouse was buzzing with energy, the music spilling out into the night. People were scattered around the outside of the building, smoking in tight-knit groups, making out in the shadows, or drunkenly swaying to the beat that leaked from the inside. Some were already fighting, shoving each other in heated arguments that would likely dissolve into broken bottles and blood. Perfect chaos.
Her predator's instincts took over.
She slowed her pace to a walk, her body moving with calculated ease as she surveyed the scene. Her crimson eyes flickered across the groups outside, cataloguing each potential target. Too many people crowded the entrance, too many witnesses inside. She couldn't just snatch one of them from the crowd without risking a scene. The thrill of a true hunt was about stealth, precision.
No, her prey wouldn't come from inside the warehouse.
Alara's gaze flicked upward, scanning the structure. In an instant, she crouched low and leaped to the roof, her body moving with effortless grace. She landed silently, her boots touching down on the edge of the warehouse as she peered over the side, watching the gathering unfold below her.
From her perch, she had a perfect vantage point. She could see everything—the writhing mass of bodies inside through the shattered windows, the dull glow of coloured lights flashing across faces lost in the music. But more importantly, she could see those who lurked outside. People scattered around the building, unaware of her presence above them.
A couple leaned against the rusted metal walls, locked in a drunken kiss, their fingers clawing at each other's clothes. A group of young men laughed loudly, the smell of cigarettes thick in the air as they passed a bottle of cheap alcohol between them. Another figure sat alone, half-hidden in the shadows, watching the others with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes—a human predator in his own right. She could see it in the way he watched the women stumbling around, his hands twitching as if ready to strike when the moment was right.
Alara's lip curled. Pathetic.
She could easily kill any of them. Any one of these revellers could be dragged into the night, their blood drained before they even realised what had happened. But that wasn't what she wanted. She was looking for something more. She wanted to play with them, toy with their minds and watch them squirm. This was a game to her, though she hadn't yet decided on the rules. All she knew was that she didn't want to be waited on or served like a queen. She wanted the thrill of luring them in herself, drawing them close, making them beg without even knowing why.
Alara's eyes slid past the chaotic crowd once more, scanning the revellers with a predatory patience. The energy of the rave was electric, but inside she remained cold, detached, and utterly focused. She could sense every heartbeat, feel every pulse of blood in the crowd, but none of them were worth her time.
Then she saw him.
A young man, staggering slightly as he zipped up his pants about twenty feet behind the warehouse. His back was to her as he finished relieving himself, but Alara could already tell by the casual, lazy movements of his body that he was just tipsy enough to be careless. He was still in control. He still had enough wits about him to make this fun.
Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she watched him start to amble back toward the rave, his steps slightly uneven. But he wasn't entirely drunk. No, she could tell from the way his shoulders rolled, from the slight swagger in his movements, that he thought he was in control of the night. He had the confidence of someone who felt untouchable in the haze of alcohol and loud music.
Perfect.
Alara jumped down from her perch on the roof, landing gracefully in the shadows, her movements utterly silent. She smoothed her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders in loose waves, and began walking toward him, her body language shifting into something more enticing, more… human. She could play the game when she needed to, and tonight, she would. The seductress inside her woke with a familiar hum as she sauntered forward, her hips swaying subtly, her steps slow and deliberate.
The man looked up as he saw her approaching, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as they locked onto her. Alara met his gaze, her red eyes half-lidded, shimmering in the dim light as she gave him a slow, sultry look. Her lips parted ever so slightly, just enough to give the impression of an unspoken invitation. She could see the effect it had on him instantly—his steps faltered for a moment, and his attention shifted from the warehouse behind him to the woman standing directly in his path.
Her.
The corners of her mouth lifted in a soft, knowing smile as he took her in. His breath hitched, and Alara could hear his heart skip a beat, just enough to tell her he was intrigued. Her sharp senses caught the slight flush of his skin, the scent of adrenaline mixing with the alcohol. She didn't even need to say a word; her eyes did all the work. She could see it in the way his gaze travelled over her, slowly, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
"Ciao," she purred softly as they drew closer, her voice low and intimate. It wasn't necessary for her to speak, but she knew humans were easily lured by the sound of a sweet voice, especially when they thought they were in control.
The man blinked, taken aback for a second, before a slow, lazy grin spread across his face. "Ciao, bella," he slurred, his eyes flickering with interest. His gaze travelled up and down her body, clearly appreciating the sight of her standing there in the night, illuminated just enough by the faint lights of the rave to catch the full effect of her beauty.
Alara let the tension hang between them for a moment, her body swaying slightly as she moved closer, her eyes never leaving his. She could smell the alcohol on him now—cheap beer and sweat—but beneath that was the scent she craved. Blood. Warm, flowing, and ripe for the taking.
But it wasn't time yet. No, not yet.
She tilted her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder as she slowly, deliberately, ran her tongue over her lips. She could hear his breath catch again, and this time, he stepped toward her, his bravado building as he took the gesture as an invitation.
"You lost?" he asked, his words playful, though his voice was thick with alcohol. He was close now, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the adrenaline coursing through him as his interest sharpened. He was hooked. So easy, she thought with a dark amusement, though she kept her expression soft, seductive.
"No," Alara murmured, her voice like silk as she took another step toward him, closing the gap between them. "I was just looking for someone… to satisfy my needs."
Her words hung in the air, a dark and dangerous double entendre. The man's grin widened, his confidence swelling as he heard what he wanted to hear. Alara could see the flicker of lust in his eyes, could almost taste the thrill of his anticipation as he made an assumption, completely oblivious to the real danger standing before him.
The man grinned wider and he leaned in slightly, close enough that Alara could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. She didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, she stepped even closer, until she was just inches from him, her eyes locked on his with a gaze so intense it made him hesitate, just for a moment.
"I think you found him," he said, his voice low, dripping with arrogance.
Alara smiled, her lips curling into something that was both enticing and predatory at the same time. He had no idea what he was walking into. He had no idea how true those words were. He was exactly what she had been looking for, but not in the way he imagined.
"Good," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr as she reached out, her fingers tracing lightly down his chest. She felt his pulse quicken beneath her touch, the heat of his blood just beneath the surface. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, "Come with me."
The man barely had time to respond before she took his hand, leading him away from the open area behind the warehouse and deeper into the shadows. His steps were eager, his breath quickening with each passing second as he followed her willingly, completely unaware of the danger that awaited him.
Alara's heart raced, but it wasn't from excitement—it was the thrill of knowing how close she was to the kill. How easily he was falling into her trap. How perfect he was for her tonight. She led him farther from the others, where no one would hear his screams.
If she had a heartbeat, it would be racing, the dark thrill of the hunt surging through her like a shadowy current. It wasn't excitement or lust that filled her—it was the sweet anticipation of the kill, the knowledge that her prey was sinking deeper into her trap with every step. The man followed her willingly, his breath hitching with every sway of her hips, completely oblivious to the fate awaiting him. She needed no pulse to feel the intoxicating power of control, the undeniable pull of the predator drawing in her prey.
When she led him far enough from the others, where the thumping music and drunken voices were drowned out by the silence of the night, she pushed him against a thick tree, the rough bark scraping against his back. His eyes widened, not with fear, but with excitement, thinking he was about to get exactly what he wanted.
Alara leant in, her body pressing against his, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His breath was hot and heavy with anticipation, his heart thundering in his chest as his eyes roamed over her with hungry desire. He reached out, his hands eager to touch her, but Alara caught his wrists, pinning them against the tree with a strength that made his breath hitch.
Her lips brushed his ear, her voice a soft whisper, "You don't know how much I need this."
He shivered beneath her, mistaking her words for something sensual, his body tensing with expectation. He had no idea that what she needed wasn't him—only the blood coursing through his veins. The hunger inside her flared, fierce and ravenous, her senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of his life force just beneath the surface.
The man tilted his head, offering his neck without even realising it, his breath quickening as he thought he was about to satisfy her needs. Alara smiled darkly, her eyes flashing with hunger. His surrender only made her craving stronger, the predator in her fully awakened now, her fangs aching to sink into flesh.
She leaned closer, her lips ghosting over the pulse point at his throat, feeling the warmth of his blood pumping just beneath the skin. For a brief moment, she let herself savour it—the tension, the heat, the sheer power of knowing that he was hers to take.
With a feral snarl, she sank her fangs into his neck. The man gasped, his body jerking in surprise, but Alara's grip was unyielding. His hands struggled against her hold for a fleeting moment, but the shock of her bite paralysed him, his body going slack as she fed, drinking deeply from the sweet, warm rush of his blood.
The taste was exquisite, rich and full of life. It filled her senses, igniting her veins with a fiery pleasure that consumed her. Each pull from his body fed the dark hunger that had been burning inside her for weeks, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the taste of his blood on her tongue.
His breath hitched once, then again, before finally growing weaker as the life drained from him. Alara didn't stop until she had taken her fill, leaving him limp and lifeless in her arms. When she finally pulled away, her mouth was stained with blood, her eyes burning with satisfaction.
She let his body slump to the ground, her gaze lingering on the stillness that now enveloped him. The once warm pulse of life had vanished, replaced by the quiet finality of death. Alara's thirst had been sated, but it wasn't just the blood that satisfied her.
It was the hunt.
The chase.
The kill.
The raw, unfiltered release that came with letting go of the chains that had bound her.
For the first time since becoming a vampire, she felt whole.
The fire that had raged inside her since her transformation, the desperate need to feel like more than a controlled weapon, had finally been quenched, to a degree. She stood there in the stillness of the night, her chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths, feeling the weight of her new reality settle over her.
The coven would be in chaos. A newborn vampire, unbound by the Volturi's strict methods, was dangerous enough on its own. But she wasn't just any newborn—she was his mate. Aro's. And the others'. The kings had claimed her, whether she wanted it or not, and her actions tonight would not be ignored. Aro's amusement could only stretch so far. She knew it, could feel it like a cold blade in her spine. And Caius… Caius would rage like a tempest once he realised what she had done. His fury would be swift and merciless.
But Alara didn't care.
She licked the blood from her lips, standing tall in the darkness, her body thrumming with a newfound freedom.
Let them come for her.
Let them rage.
She welcomed it.
The Volturi had tried to tame the wild thing she was, but tonight, in the hunt, she had reclaimed herself. She had remembered what it felt like to be alive—truly alive. Not shackled by rules, not held down by their need to have every desire, every indulgence, handed to them on a platter. That life, their life, was a mockery of what it meant to be a predator.
The carefully curated meals, the choreographed feasts—that wasn't survival. It wasn't power. It was arrogance. They feasted like kings while their hunger for control eclipsed the true nature of what it meant to be vampire. But Alara was no puppet, no queen to be pampered and polished for show. She was meant to hunt, to feel the thrill of the chase, the blood coursing fresh and fast from prey that ran in fear.
Not to sit idly by while servants brought them sacrifices like spoiled gods.
Her lips twisted into a dark smile as she stood there. She wasn't one of them—not tonight. She was more. Her needs weren't met by something as hollow as power and wealth. What she had tonight—freedom, the hunt, the blood—this was her truth.
She wasn't afraid of what they'd do, of the wrath that would follow. No, she welcomed it. Let them seethe, let them rage at her disobedience.
Because tonight, she had tasted what it truly meant to be free.
The Volturi may have claimed her, but today, she had reclaimed herself.