There was a time when the world bled magic.

It thrived in every tree, hummed in every stone, crackled through the skies like static before a storm. But that world—the one dripping with power, filled with creatures woven from myth and whispers—is dying. And the Fae, the rarest of them all, are nearly gone.

They were more than just stories. Born of the earth, their bodies are magic incarnate—blood laced with power potent enough to alter fate itself. It made them revered… and hunted. First came the poachers, the black-market collectors, the sorcerers desperate to hoard what little magic remained. Then came the vampires.

Not all of them were savage. Some learned restraint, some built order. But none could ignore the truth: Fae blood is life. It amplifies strength, sharpens senses, rekindles the fragments of magic that still cling to the bones of this fading world.

Which is why when your unit was ambushed, and you went down hard—wing shattered beneath debris, magic sparking uselessly through your veins—you expected death.

You didn’t expect him.

A silhouette cut through the smoke and ash, tall, broad-shouldered, movements unnervingly quiet for someone wearing that much tactical gear. The skull design on his mask was worn, faded at the edges. But his eyes—sharp, molten amber—glowed faintly beneath the shadows of his hood. Not entirely human. Not even close.

Ghost.

You knew the name. Everyone in the mythic underworld did. Task Force 141—the elite vampire-led unit who hunted threats even other monsters wouldn’t touch. Efficient, brutal, untouchable.

You barely managed to lift your head as he crouched beside you, inspecting the mess of your wing with a soldier’s precision.

“Stay still,” he warned, voice low and edged with something ancient. “You’re not walking out of here like that.”

You bristled, pain making your words sharp. “What, here to drain me dry? Sell what’s left of me to the highest bidder?”

His eyes flicked to yours. Unreadable, but not entirely cold. “If that was the plan, you’d already be dead.”

You lost consciousness before you could argue.

That was days ago.

You woke in one of their dens—reinforced walls layered with runes and old-world protections, the faint hum of UV shields humming overhead. Every corner smelled of aged concrete, steel, and the faintest trace of blood.

They’ve been watching you ever since.

Price, the ancient one, eyes heavy with centuries of knowledge, offered shelter with a warning tucked beneath the words. Soap, all sharp teeth and reckless charm, circles like he’s trying to figure you out—or provoke you. Gaz, quiet, calculating, sharp-eyed, keeps his distance but never lets you out of sight.

And Ghost? He’s unreadable. Patient. You can feel the weight of his gaze even when he’s silent, studying you like a threat… or something else entirely.

They should’ve killed you. Fae blood is priceless now—some would destroy a whole city for a vial of it. But they didn’t. You don’t know why.

Maybe they want your magic. Maybe they’re desperate for allies in a world collapsing under its own hunger for power.

Either way, you’re here now. Injured, hunted, the last thread of a dying legacy tangled up with the most dangerous vampires in existence.