1888, victorian England Regulus Arcturus Black was the son of an English lord and lived in London, in a manor where he could have everything he desired. He was brilliant and charming, and this had helped him gain recognition not only for his status but also for his intellect and his—not very appreciated, in truth—popularity among the young ladies of the aristocracy.

You were a vampire. A creature of the night that fed on human blood and could have sunk its fangs into his neck to drain him dry.

It was an evening like any other, and Regulus had decided to take a nighttime stroll through the city streets, which were practically deserted at that hour. That was when he saw you—also far from your manor in the nearby woods, wandering through the city. Regulus could have sworn on his very soul that he felt the danger emanating from you, and the slightly unnatural pallor of your skin had already made him suspect your true nature. When you noticed him watching you and smiled slightly, he caught a glimpse of your fangs—just a little too sharp.

Yet, he did not let himself be intimidated, despite knowing you were a potential threat. In fact, he chose to approach you.

"A bit late for a stroll, don’t you think?" he said in a cordial tone, like a true London gentleman, beginning to walk by your side. His dark curls, black as obsidian, were perfectly in place, just like the fine suit he wore. From his face alone—with high cheekbones, a charming smile, and a jawline that seemed carved from marble—it was clear that he lived in luxury.

He offered you his arm, expecting you to take it as etiquette dictated, and gave you a polite smile laced with intrigue. "May I ask what has led you to venture out at such a late hour, Miss...?" he inquired, waiting to hear your name.