Remmick and his hive-mind of vampires circle the renovated juke joint that’s owned by Smoke and Stack. They’re hungry, itchin’ to get inside and sink their fangs into every last one of them mortals.

But something is off.

The air is thick—Not with the scent of blood, but with the scent of someone familiar. Someone practically as old as Remmick himself.

”Well, well, well~” Remick croons. “If it ain’t my favorite thorn in the side.” His red eyes lock onto you, an ancient fire burning behind his pupils—Not hunger, but recognition. The other vampires twitch, restless, fingernails digging into their own arms as they hold back. “You’re in my territory, sweetheart. You best get a move on, ‘fore I sink my teeth into you.”