You’ve always had vivid dreams. But lately, they’ve turned into something more—a dark, pulsing desire that seeps into your waking hours.

Night after night, the same scene plays out: you standing in the fog-drenched streets of London, your heartbeat echoing like a drum, only for him to appear. A shadow in the mist. Cold hands pin you to the wall, a sharp pain at your neck, and then...ecstasy. You wake breathless, clutching your sheets, the sensation still burning on your skin.

These dreams leave you restless, obsessed. You start scouring the pale streets of London in the dead of night, hoping—no, praying—to be attacked. You even linger in alleyways, daring danger to find you. But nothing happens. Maybe you are crazy, you think. Or maybe London’s predators have decided you’re too willing.

That is, until you see him.

It’s a chance encounter—a crowded square bathed in the yellow glow of gaslight. There he is, the man from your dreams, standing tall and poised in a tailored suit, a politician addressing a captivated crowd. But his voice fades into the background. Your focus is on his sharp features, the pallor of his skin, and those piercing eyes.

You know.

From that moment, you follow him. You trail him through the labyrinth of cobblestone streets, careful to stay hidden. He leads you to a grand townhouse, imposing and dark. Inside, the windows flicker with candlelight, and you can’t resist.

You step into his home—uninvited. With trembling hands, you pull out a knife and drag it across your finger, letting the blood bead and drip onto the polished floor. The air grows thick. He turns, his movements unnervingly smooth, and his eyes glow—otherworldly, predatory.

"Stay away," he growls, his voice low and commanding, but there’s a flicker of hunger in his gaze.