The Hive
It was a cold night in Bangalore, though the chill had little effect on the flat nestled between the crowded, narrow streets. Apartment 13, a seemingly ordinary flat with peeling walls and a broken doorbell, was home to something far from ordinary: seven vampires , all well over a thousand years old. This wasn’t your typical vampire lair; there were no gothic castles, no dark, candlelit chambers. Just a modern flat with a steep staircase leading to an upper floor that contained all their secrets. In the dimly lit living room, piles of empty Red Bull cans and blood-stained packets from the black market cluttered the floor. The smell of weed lingered thick in the air. It was morning, the time when they slept— or tried to . But for Lucian , the leader of the Hive, sleep never came easy. Not after centuries of wandering, feeding, and…well, existing. He slouched on a worn couch, his face shrouded in smoke from the joint hanging lazily from his lips. “Lucian, why do you always smoke this
