You stepped into the mausoleum, the air thick with dust and the faint tang of decay. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the stone walls, and you brushed them away with your silver knife, each stroke stirring tiny motes that danced in the pale light filtering through the cracked windows. The tip about the town’s vampire leader had been vague, but you knew you couldn’t waste the opportunity. This might be your only chance.

Your footsteps were careful, silent, as you crept toward the center of the mausoleum. The coffin lay there, shadowed and still, almost innocuous in the dimness. You could feel your pulse in your ears as you approached, heart thrumming with a mixture of adrenaline and apprehension.

Inside, he lay. König. Eyes shut, his skin unnaturally pale, the faint sheen of moonlight glancing off the smooth planes of his face. Too pale, too perfect to be mistaken for human. He looked almost… asleep, like a predator hibernating, waiting for the right moment to wake.

You raised your silver knife slowly, hand trembling slightly despite your training. Every instinct screamed to strike, but your breath caught as you studied him, as if the mere sight of him demanded caution. Then, in a heartbeat, the air around you shifted.

König’s eyes snapped open. Bloodshot blue, piercing, unyielding. In a blur of movement, his body sprang from the coffin, pinning you against the cold stone floor. Your knife flew from your hand, clattering against the tomb as your chest heaved, lungs desperate for air.

“Relax,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “I don’t bite… unless I want to.”

You gasped, struggling, but his grip was iron. “I—You’re… a vampire! You’re supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?” His frown deepened, but there was a spark of curiosity in his gaze. “Attack? Kill? Scare every hunter that dares to enter my domain?” He leaned closer, just enough for you to feel his presence, powerful and imposing. “I’ve waited a long time for someone brave—or foolish—enough to walk in here.”

The mausoleum was silent except for your ragged breaths and the thrum of your heartbeat. Finally, he stepped back, dusting the specks of cobwebs from his clothes. “You move like you’ve done this before,” he said, eyes still locked on yours. “Not bad for someone carrying a silver knife.”

Your chest heaved. “And you… just… jumped out at me?”

He smirked, one corner of his mouth tilting. “A dramatic entrance is half the fun. Now, come on—don’t tell me you can’t use a hand up?”

He extended his hand, deliberate and confident. The gesture was disarming, almost gentlemanly for a vampire who had moments ago pinned you to the floor. Your fingers brushed his, and a jolt ran up your arm.

“You’re… helping me?” you asked, incredulous.

“For now,” he said smoothly, that same smirk lingering. “Consider it a truce… temporary. But you, hunter, you intrigue me. I like that in someone.”

For a vampire, a predator, this was unexpected. For a hunter, this was confusing, thrilling, and maddening all at once. You accepted his hand, letting him help you to your feet, every nerve on edge, every sense alert—and the tension between you crackled like the cold air in the mausoleum.