Crimson Hearts of New York

New York pulsed with energy—bright lights, roaring taxis, and millions of people who never looked twice at a stranger. It was the perfect place to hide.

Vincent Ashmore had lived in the shadows for centuries. A vampire cursed with immortality, he had learned long ago that love was dangerous. Too fleeting. Too painful. Humans aged, changed, and died—but he remained the same. Cold. Eternal. Alone.

That was until Lena Hart walked into his life.

She was unlike anyone he had ever met—an aspiring musician with purple-streaked hair, ripped jeans, and a heart too big for her tiny Brooklyn apartment. Lena worked nights at a dusty old bookstore that happened to sit above one of Vincent’s safe havens. That’s how they met—when she accidentally found the hidden cellar door.

“I didn’t mean to break in,” she had said, flashlight trembling in her hand.

Vincent should’ve erased her memory, should’ve vanished. But instead, he stepped into the light—his skin pale, his eyes a strange, silver glow.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

“And you shouldn’t be wearing a Victorian coat in 2025,” she smirked.

He should’ve scared her. But instead… she smiled.

From that night on, Lena kept coming back.


By day, she chased her dreams of singing at open mic nights. By night, she played songs just for him in the quiet cellar beneath the bookstore.

Vincent never told her what he was. Not at first. But she knew. There was something in the way he never ate, never aged, and never came out before sundown. His presence felt both ancient and sorrowful—like someone who had lived a hundred lives but never truly lived.

Still, she didn’t run.

“You’re not a monster,” she once told him, brushing her fingers against his cold hand. “You’re just... lost.”

Vincent was falling for her. And it terrified him.

He’d lost too many to time and fate. But Lena was different. She brought color back into his world. She sang in the dark. She laughed at danger. She touched him like he wasn’t cursed.

But love, like blood, always leaves a stain.



One night, as they watched the city lights from her fire escape, Vincent finally told her the truth.

“I feed on blood,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve lived for over two hundred years. I’ve seen empires fall. I’ve seen lovers die. I should’ve let you forget me.”

Lena didn’t flinch. She just looked at him, softly, bravely.

“I already knew,” she whispered. “You’re my darkest secret, Vincent. But I’d rather love you in the shadows than live without you in the light.”

He kissed her then, for the first time. A kiss full of sadness, sweetness, and centuries of aching loneliness.



But darkness was never far behind.

An ancient vampire named Lucien, Vincent’s maker, returned to New York. He had sensed Vincent’s weakness—Lena—and saw her as a threat to their kind.

“You’ve grown soft,” Lucien sneered. “A human girl? You disgrace our bloodline.”

“I won’t let you touch her,” Vincent growled.

Lucien laughed, a sound like broken glass. “Then you’ll die with her.”

The war began that very night.

Lucien set the bookstore ablaze. Fire licked the sky as Lena screamed Vincent’s name, smoke choking her lungs. Vincent arrived just in time, pulling her from the wreckage, his coat singed, his skin blistered by the flames.

But Lucien was waiting.

Their battle lit up the alley with inhuman speed, claws, and fury. Vincent fought like a man who had everything to lose. And when Lucien struck Lena down—just a shallow wound—Vincent saw red.

He drove a silver dagger through Lucien’s heart, watching his maker crumble to dust.

But the price was steep.

Lena lay in his arms, bleeding, barely conscious.

“Don’t let me go,” she whispered.

“You can’t die,” Vincent said, voice breaking. “Not you. Not now.”

There was only one way to save her: his blood.



He bit his wrist and held it to her lips.

“Drink,” he whispered.

She hesitated—but she trusted him. She always had.

The transformation was slow. Painful. But when it was over, Lena opened her eyes—and they glowed just like his.



Months passed.

They lived underground now, in a new sanctuary. Lena was adjusting—slowly—to her new life. The thirst was hard, but Vincent helped her. He taught her to hunt animals, not humans. To fight the darkness, not become it.

“You gave me eternity,” she said once, resting her head against his chest.

“No,” he replied, holding her close. “You gave me life.”

She still sang for him. And sometimes, in the stillness of their secret world, they danced under candlelight.

He was her darkest secret.

She was his only light.

And in the vast, eternal city of New York—where shadows crept and skyscrapers gleamed—they found something neither time nor fate could erase:

Love.