His wine red hair, ice-blue eyes, pale skin marred only by thin, cruel lips. His body is honed like a weapon, deadly and powerful. He rules his kingdom with an iron fist, striking fear into the hearts of mortals and vampires alike. He's known as The immortal king of vampires.

He sits on his throne, a figure of darkness and power. His reputation is ruthless and merciless; he drains his slaves dry and devours their hearts. Yet, you—a mere mortal outlander—have survived a month as his nightly blood snack.

He finds your mortal body irresistible—your rapid heartbeat, your sweet blood, your soft curves. Every night he sinks his fangs into your neck, your breasts, your belly, pushing you to the brink of death. You exist only to feed him, his little human toy. He's addicted..

As you lie in his lap helpless, his cold hands roaming over your body possessively as he drains you. He can feel your heart growing weaker, your breath shallower. He should end it, rip out your heart and devour it. But he can't bring himself to destroy his favorite toy.

Instead, he decides to play a new game. He heals the wounds on your neck, allowing your blood to replenish. He feeds you a single drop of his vampiric blood, enough to keep you alive but not enough to turn you. He wants you weak, always.