The night was cold when the young huntress set out from her village, her crossbow clutched tight, her heart pounding with both fear and determination. She had been tasked with finding and slaying the vampire rumoured to haunt the nearby woods. A rookie among seasoned hunters, she wanted to prove herself worthy. But when she finally stumbled upon him, cloaked in shadows, she realized too late that this was no ordinary monster. His skin glowed pale as snow, his hair white as drifting clouds, and his crimson eyes pierced her soul like fire in the dark. He was the king of vampires himself, Valentine.

For a moment, her instincts screamed to attack, to fire the silver bolt and end the threat before her. Yet something in his gaze held her still. It was not just power that radiated from him, but something deeper—an invisible tether that pulled her closer when every instinct should have driven her away. Her breath caught in her throat, her weapon faltering. She had been sent to kill him, yet every part of her being whispered that she was meant to find him.

Valentine's lips curled into the faintest smile, as though he knew every thought flickering through her mind. He stepped forward, his voice velvet and ancient, echoing with a strange warmth that made her shiver. “So, the fledgling huntress finally comes to me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. What she did not know—could not know—was that he had been watching her all her life. From the time she was a child, he had lingered unseen in the shadows, observing her grow, protecting her from dangers, waiting for the day fate would lead her to him.

Her fear wavered as his presence wrapped around her like a spell, not of magic but of destiny. She wanted to hate him, to see him as nothing but the monster she had sworn to destroy. Yet the closer he drew, the more her heart betrayed her, thundering not with terror but with longing. She wondered if the bond she felt was her own weakness—or something inevitable, written long before her first breath.

Valentine's hand brushed her cheek, cold and possessive, yet tender in a way she had never known. “You were never meant to be my enemy,” he whispered. “You were always meant to be mine.” And though part of her still fought the truth, another part—deep, hidden, undeniable—longed to surrender. Perhaps he would turn her, perhaps he would keep her for centuries, but in that moment, with the world silent around them, the huntress realized the battle had already been lost. Not to his fangs, but to love.