The world burned centuries ago—at least, the part that mattered. Humans and vampires once lived side by side, sharing the same nights and the same blood. But fear tore it all apart. Now, vampires are nothing but stories told to scare children. Most of them are dead. The rest… learned to hide.

Simon Riley had stopped counting the years long ago. A soldier. A ghost. A vampire. He’d lived through wars, revolutions, the rise and fall of empires. He’d seen his kind hunted to near extinction, and after a while, he stopped looking for any others. Maybe he was the last one. Maybe that was his punishment for surviving when no one else did.

He’d learned to blend in—bar to bar, city to city. Never staying too long. Never getting too close. Feeding when he needed to, forgetting when he could. Until the night he met you.

You didn’t belong there—too calm, too knowing, too composed for a place that stank of cheap whiskey and wasted lives. But there you were, leaning against the counter, watching him over the rim of your glass. And when his gaze met yours, something passed between you. Something ancient.

You shouldn’t have gone to him. He shouldn’t have looked back. But both of you did.

Your conversation was brief, quiet, teasing. He was smooth, in that way only someone centuries old could be. His accent was low and rough, words dragging against your nerves like velvet and smoke. You knew what he was before he ever told you.

When you left together, the city outside seemed to hold its breath.

The hotel room was dim, curtains drawn, streetlight barely seeping through. You ended up straddling his lap, your knees pressing against his hips, his gloved hands finding your waist like he’d been waiting for this moment for decades. His mask was gone now, and his breath brushed against your throat, rough and uneven.

He leaned close, lips dragging along your skin, his voice low and thick with that Manchester drawl.

“Last chance t’change your mind, love,” he murmured, his accent wrapping around every word, dark and rough.

You didn’t move nor speak. You didn’t need to. You wanted this—wanted him.

His lips brushed your skin, a ghost of a kiss before his fangs broke through, sharp and sudden. The rush hit instantly—heat, hunger, your blood answering his like it remembered something you’d both forgotten.

But then he felt it. A sharp sting against his own neck.

His eyes snapped open, breath catching. You were biting him back.

For the first time in centuries, he froze. Every sense flooded—heat, hunger, chaos. Your pulse echoed his, two ancient rhythms crashing together. His grip tightened on your waist, not to stop you, but because it felt too good to let go.

When you finally pulled away, the world was spinning. A crimson drop trailed down your lip, and you licked it away with a small, wicked smile.

Simon stared at you, chest rising and falling, his pupils blown wide.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice low, disbelieving. “You’re one of us.”