Stake & Shake – Chapter 1
Vivienne
Bass pulsed through the ancient stone walls of Crimson Rose Castle, a heartbeat for the undead. Vix adjusted her monitor cans, fingers sliding across the capacitive jog wheels with practiced precision as she beat-matched the incoming track, syncing it perfectly with the outgoing groove before easing up the crossfader. The grand ballroom sparkled with influencer energy—ring lights, sequins, and the unmistakable glint of opportunity.
Three hundred years of aristocratic portraits gazed down at her from gilded frames, probably scandalized by her neon-pink hair and the way she’d transformed their dignified ballroom into a throbbing nightclub. But Count Vlad had specifically requested her “modern sensibilities” for the B&B’s soft reopening, and Vix desperately needed this gig to become permanent.
She built the tension through a sixteen-bar phrase, juggling complex percussion patterns before cutting the mid-range and letting the bass drop with seismic impact. The crowd of beautiful people surged like a wave, designer cocktail dresses and tailored suits bouncing to her rhythm. For a crystalline moment, Vix felt powerful—not the dangerous kind of vampire power that kept her awake during daylight hours, but the intoxicating rush of controlling a room through sound.
“Killing it, DJ Vix!” A woman in a silver lamé jumpsuit raised her champagne flute.
Vix flashed a smile, careful not to reveal her fangs. Six months since her turning, and she still hadn’t mastered the casual retraction most vampires managed effortlessly—that subtle control of the maxillary muscles that kept their true nature concealed in human company. The veterans made it look so easy, just another muscle to control, like flexing your bicep. For Vix, it remained a conscious effort, especially when her emotions spiked. A dull ache spread through her jaw, the vampire equivalent of a sweet tooth, except what she craved was anything but dessert.
The final beat dropped, and applause rippled through the ballroom. Vix bowed with a flourish, heart racing with pride. This was her element: music, energy, connection. Not stalking the night or whatever gothic cliché humans imagined vampires did.
Count Vlad materialized beside the DJ booth, his tailored burgundy velvet suit a nod to vampire tradition while still Instagram-worthy. “Marvelous energy, Miss Moreau.” His accent carried the weight of centuries, though Vix knew he deliberately thickened it for the guests. “You’ve transformed our humble abode into quite the hotspot.”
“Thanks for the chance,” Vix said, unplugging her equipment. “Your castle has killer acoustics.”
“Perhaps you might consider a regular engagement?” He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Our weekend brunches could use some… atmosphere.”
Jackpot. Vix managed to keep her face neutral despite the victory dance happening in her head. A steady gig meant steady income, which meant not having to crash on her friend’s couch anymore. “I’d be into that.”
Anabelle, the Count’s human wife and co-owner, appeared at his elbow. Her warm smile contrasted with the warning in her eyes as she glanced meaningfully at Vix’s mouth. “Wonderful set, Vivienne. The guests are absolutely buzzing.”
Vix ran her tongue over her teeth, realizing her fangs had slipped out during her excitement. She quickly retracted them, shooting Anabelle a grateful look. The woman had a sixth sense for preventing vampire faux pas.
“Remember,” Anabelle added softly, “the supernatural insurance adjuster is here tonight. No accidents, please.”
The reminder landed like ice down Vix’s spine. The B&B’s grand reopening depended on passing the notoriously strict supernatural insurance inspection. One slip, one tiny hint that the resident vampires couldn’t control themselves around the human clientele, and the Crimson Rose would be slapped with premiums so high they’d never turn a profit.
“I’ve been a good girl,” Vix promised. “Haven’t even looked at a neck all night.”
That wasn’t entirely true. She’d been stealing glances at the carotid arteries pulsing beneath designer chokers all evening. The synthetic blood packs Anabelle had discreetly placed in the staff refrigerator remained untouched; Vix had skipped her pre-event feeding to avoid the telltale redness that sometimes stained her lips and teeth. She wanted to look human in the inevitable Instagram photos, not like she’d been guzzling cherry slushies.
Big mistake.
“The midnight toast is about to begin,” Vlad announced, clapping his hands with theatrical flair. “Everyone, gather round!”
The crowd condensed toward the center of the ballroom where waiters circulated with trays of champagne flutes. The scent of alcohol mingled with perfume, aftershave, and beneath it all, the metallic tang of human blood pumping through warm bodies. Vix swallowed hard.
“Just one glass,” she muttered to herself, accepting champagne from a passing waiter. “For the toast. Then I’ll grab a synthetic pack from the kitchen.”
She slipped into the crowd, pink hair bobbing among the oblivious influencers who thought the ‘supernatural’ theme was just clever marketing, not realizing they were clinking glasses with actual vampires.
The champagne fizzed on her tongue, pleasant but not satisfying. Nothing really satisfied since her turning, except the one thing she was trying desperately to manage responsibly. Six months of learning to live with constant hunger, of waking up with her sheets shredded by unconscious clawing, of alienating old friends who couldn’t understand why she suddenly canceled all daytime plans.
She’d spent twenty-six years as a human, building an identity around her music. Now, six months as a vampire had erased everything she thought she knew about herself.
“Is this the famous DJ Vix?” A male voice cut through her thoughts.
She turned to find herself face-to-face with Rhett Jenson, better known as RhettTheJet to his fifteen million followers. His perfectly styled hair and camera-ready smile were instantly recognizable from the promotional materials. He was the evening’s guest of honor, the influencer whose endorsement could make or break the Crimson Rose’s launch.
“The one and only,” she replied, forcing her attention away from the pulse visibly throbbing in his neck.
“Your set was fire,” he said, leaning in close enough that his cologne, something expensive with notes of sandalwood and musk, enveloped her. “I’ve never experienced a rave in a literal castle before. Mind-blowing content potential.”
“Thanks.” Vix took another sip of champagne, hoping the bubbles might distract her from the increasingly loud drumbeat of his heart. When did human pulses get so loud? It was like standing next to a subwoofer with the bass cranked to eleven.
Rhett raised his glass. “To new experiences, right? That’s what my brand is all about.”
“New experiences,” Vix echoed, clinking her glass against his. Her fangs ached, pressing against her gums. She needed to excuse herself, find the kitchen, and down a synthetic pack before—
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Vlad’s voice boomed across the ballroom. “A toast to our honored guests, and to the grand reopening of the Crimson Rose Castle Bed & Breakfast!”
Everyone raised their glasses. Cameras flashed. Rhett slung an arm around Vix’s shoulders, pulling her against his side.
“Selfie with the DJ!” he announced, raising his phone. The ring light attached to his case illuminated them both in flattering gold. “Smile!”
The champagne. The warmth of his body. The thundering pulse. The flashing lights. It was too much.
Vix felt her control slipping, the predator inside her surging forward. Her vision tunneled until all she could see was the delicate blue vein in Rhett’s wrist as he held up his phone. His arm brushed against her lips as he angled for the perfect shot.
For a flickering moment, Vix remembered what it felt like to be normal, just a DJ having a drink, not a predator fighting her nature with every heartbeat in the room.
The scent hit her like a freight train—copper and salt and life.
Her fangs descended fully, and before she could stop herself, she bit down.
The champagne flute shattered on the floor. Rhett’s selfie captured the exact moment of horrified realization in his eyes. Vix’s mouth filled with the effervescent sweetness of his blood, neural pathways lighting up like her soundboard during a drop. Pure, unfiltered euphoria flooded her system with each involuntary swallow. Still fizzing with champagne, electric and alive in a way synthetic blood could never replicate.
For one terrible, wonderful second, everything else disappeared.
Then reality crashed back.
Rhett staggered backward, clutching his wrist. “What the—did you just—?”
The room froze. Phones lifted, not in celebration now, but to document the disaster unfolding. Someone screamed. Then everyone was screaming.
“Oh my god, she bit him!”
“Is this part of the vampire experience?”
“Someone call an ambulance!”
“I’m posting this right now; this is insane!”
Horror flooded Vix’s system, washing away the momentary bliss. Blood, Rhett’s blood, stained her lips. The evidence of her failure gleamed crimson under the chandelier lights.
Vlad materialized beside the stunned influencer, moving with supernatural speed. He pressed an embroidered handkerchief against the wound. “A thousand apologies, Mr. Jenson. A simple misunderstanding.”
But Vix knew it was much worse than that. Vlad’s eyes flashed red for a millisecond as he glanced her way, not with anger but fear. This wasn’t just an embarrassing faux pas; this was potentially ruinous.
Anabelle appeared, somehow managing to look both calm and murderous. “Everyone, please proceed to the dessert buffet! We have blood orange soufflé that’s simply to die for!” She ushered the shocked crowd toward the far end of the ballroom while shooting Vix a look that said: Fix this. Now.
But how? Vix backed away, panic rising in her throat. The insurance adjustor would be watching, taking notes, calculating the liability of a vampire who couldn’t control her hunger at a public event. The Supernatural Regulation Bureau would be notified; Section 5 violations for unauthorized feeding always triggered automatic alerts to the local Enforcement Division.
The Bureau, with its regulations, tracking, and “rehabilitation” programs, represented everything she’d been trying to avoid since her turning. They claimed to help vampires integrate, but their idea of integration looked suspiciously like submission.
She yanked her hoodie from the DJ booth and pulled it over her conspicuous pink hair. The staff corridors behind the ballroom offered escape routes through the labyrinthine castle. She slipped through a service door, the sounds of chaos fading behind her.
The stone corridor stretched ahead, lit by electric sconces designed to look like medieval torches. Vix ran, her footsteps echoing against walls that had witnessed five centuries of secrets. What would they say about her? Just another monster who couldn’t control herself?
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I was doing so well.”
Six months of careful feeding schedules, of practicing control, of proving she could exist in the human world without being a danger, all undone in a single impulsive moment. The worst part was that she’d enjoyed it. The taste still lingered on her tongue, infinitely better than the synthetic substitute.
Voices echoed from an intersecting corridor. Vix pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath.
“—delay the insurance adjustor, just ten minutes!” Vlad’s voice, strained with desperation. “I can handle the Bureau, but if the insurance claim is filed tonight, we’re finished before we’ve begun.”
“I’m trying,” came Anabelle’s reply. “But there are at least fifty witnesses with video evidence. It’s already trending on TikTok. #VampireBiteTok.”
“The girl has ruined us,” Vlad moaned. “All the work planning this venture, and she destroys it in seconds.”
Vix’s stomach twisted with guilt. The B&B wasn’t just a business to them; it was a dream, a way for Vlad to adapt to the modern world after centuries of isolation. And she’d jeopardized everything because she couldn’t control her hunger for one night.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Bureau response drones, with their distinctive high-pitched whine that made vampire ears ring painfully. Standard protocol for unauthorized feeding incidents.
Vix darted down another corridor, searching for somewhere to hide. She needed to improvise, to find the rhythm of escape in this chaos, just like mixing tracks on the fly when the crowd’s energy shifted unexpectedly.
The kitchen would be too obvious. The staff quarters too exposed. She needed somewhere overlooked, somewhere—
The cold storage pantry. Perfect.
She slipped inside, pulling the heavy door almost closed behind her. The small room was stacked with provisions for tomorrow’s influencer brunch: raw venison, exotic fruits, bottles of champagne for mimosas. The smell of raw meat battled with the lingering copper taste in her mouth, making her stomach clench.
Vix wiped her lips with her sleeve, smearing Rhett’s blood across the fabric. Evidence. She was covered in evidence of her failure. Even her hair screamed for attention, a neon beacon announcing: Vampire disaster right here!
She yanked a beanie from her hoodie pocket and stuffed her pink locks beneath it. Not much of a disguise, but better than nothing.
Outside, the sirens stopped. Doors slammed. Radio static crackled as Bureau agents coordinated their response. They’d be searching the castle, room by room. It wouldn’t take long to find her.
What were the penalties for unauthorized feeding these days? Mandatory rehabilitation? Restricted movement? Tracking implants? Whatever it was, it meant losing her freedom, her music, her chance at building a life in this strange new existence.
Regret churned in her stomach, mixing with stubborn determination. She wouldn’t be carted off without a fight. There had to be a way out of this mess, a loophole, a technicality, something she could leverage. She just needed time to think.
Heavy footsteps approached the pantry. Radio chatter grew louder, clipped, professional voices discussing “the incident” and “the perpetrator.” The sconces in the corridor outside flickered as shadows passed beneath the door.
The handle jiggled.
Vix pressed herself against the far wall, behind a shelf of venison, her mind racing. Her fangs reflexively extended again at the scent of fresh meat, the very instinct that had landed her in this mess. Could she control herself long enough to hack an escape route before whoever that was broke in?
The door swung open, flooding the dark pantry with light.
You have been reading Stake & Shake...
One viral video destroyed Vix Moreau’s life. Seventeen million views of a vampire DJ losing control and biting a famous influencer at the supernatural world’s most exclusive event.
Her punishment? Thirty days with the Bureau’s most uptight hunter. Elias Ashcroft was all pressed uniforms and rigid protocols, devastatingly handsome in a way that made her fangs ache.
He was also her anonymous food blogger crush.
The man whose reviews had been her escape was now professionally obligated to keep his distance. Every shared meal became a test she couldn’t afford to fail.
When blood wine smugglers hijacked his blog for illegal drops, professional distance became impossible. His missing sister’s life hung in the balance, and Vix’s hacking skills might be their only advantage.
She’d already lost everything once.
Was she brave enough to risk her heart for the hunter who’d become her whole world, knowing that saving him might destroy any chance they had together?†
†This story was produced using author‑directed AI tools.
