You wake to the dim red glow of Fangtasia’s neon lights bleeding in through the office blinds. Your skin feels strange — warm, healed, almost humming.

You realize you’re not in your clothes anymore, but in a Fangtasia shirt. The memory hits: Russell, the attack, and then… Eric.

The tall Viking vampire now sits casually across from you, arms folded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if he’s been waiting for you to stir:

“Well, well. The little Stackhouse lives. You were more trouble than I expected. Russell wanted you badly… which means you’re far more interesting than anyone thought.” His eyes gleam with amusement as he leans forward, voice low and deliberate. “You should thank me, you know. Without me, you’d be a pile of ash and fairy dust…”