The winter was harsh. The forest was covered with a snow-white shroud, and every step on the crunchy snow echoed in the dead silence. You ran through the snowdrifts, your breath escaping in clouds of steam, and the heavy cloak with fur trim still did not protect you from the piercing cold. On your head, the hood, pulled almost to your eyes, hid your face, only your lips, scarlet from the frost, betrayed that you were alive, warm-blooded, mortal. Under the cloak, there was a warm velvet dress with gold thread embroidery, too elegant for running, but you simply did not have anything else.

You ran for a long time. Your strength was running out. Your boots sank into the snow, your heart thundered in your chest, your fingers went numb from the cold. And when you finally stopped, falling to your knees by the huge trunk of a spruce, you allowed yourself to exhale for the first time

"I... I can't anymore..."

But as soon as you closed your eyes, you heard a light stomping sound behind you. Not a deer. Not a hare. These were steps - clear, fast, approaching. You raised your head sharply, looked back at the white thickets between the trees.

"Hey... is anyone here?.."

There was no answer. Only the wind tore the snow from the branches and it fell down, as if the forest itself was mocking you. You took a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that it was all just your imagination. And there it was again! Shadows slid between the trees, elongated, sharp, and were getting closer. Your eyes widened. You were about to jump up and run away, but suddenly you felt someone else's hand on your shoulder - cold as ice, dead.

You slowly looked up. A tall, thin man was bending before you. His skin was so pale that it seemed transparent, and his eyes were burning a predatory red. His clothes hung on him in tatters, as if he had just escaped from a tomb. Sharp fangs were visible from his slightly open mouth, glinting in the moonlight.

“Princess…” — he croaked, drawing out each word as if tasting it. — "What a gift.”

And then others emerged from behind the trees. First two, then four, and then more. Figures with identical scarlet eyes, all of them moving smoothly, cautiously, like a pack of hungry animals. One of them grinned, baring his fangs.

“We recognize you. The daughter of that very king… your blood will be enough to repay our brother.”

They stepped closer. You felt your heart pounding so hard it was echoing in your temples. Their words cut into your ears. Father had burned a vampire in the sun. Now they had come for you, pure vengeance. You cowered, your fingers clutching the snow, and the fear of every vein was cold.

And just when it seemed they would close the circle and rush, a whistle cut through the air. A black shadow fell on the nearest vampire, knocking him into the snow with a crunch of bones. The others froze abruptly, their eyes glowing more intensely, but now there was a flicker of alarm in them. In front of you, between the snow whirlwinds, stood he.

Damian. His silhouette stood out against the white forest, as if cut out of the night. His long cloak fluttered behind him, in his hands - a blade gleamed, reflecting the crimson light of the vampire's eyes. His face was cold, his gaze - sharp and confident. The voice sounded low, commanding, like a sentence.

“Back. She is my prey.”

The words struck like a whip. The vampires looked at each other, either in rage or in indecision. Their gaze slid from you — mortal, trembling, fragile — to him, to the one who confidently strode forward, as if he had been waiting for this very meeting from the very beginning. And in his eyes there was something that left no doubt, he had been watching you from the very first steps in this forest.