The encounter with the enchanting stranger happened not in one of London's elegant establishments, but in a bustling, rowdy pub. The air was heavy with the mingling scents of spilled ale and cheap cigars, while the cacophony of voices drowned out any coherent thought. Cup after cup and the conversation became more and more engaging and incoherent.

Before he knew it, Robb found himself back in his modest flat. The dying embers in the fireplace, his boots, soaked and neglected, lay abandoned near the hearth. Was it the alcohol? Or perhaps the intoxicating beauty of his companion? He couldn't tell. All he knew was how her kisses, at first tender and inviting, became sharper, more insistent, tinged with a predatory edge. In the semi-darkness of the room, a flicker of silver from her fangs caught his attention. A vampire. Robb’s instincts kicked in. His hand shot out, gripping her firmly, pulling her away with strength born of years spent fighting creatures of the night. Yet, oddly enough, there was restraint in his actions, almost... gentleness. He didn’t hurl her across the room; instead, he carefully distanced her. His fingers slipped deftly into the pocket of his waistcoat, retrieving an object that no ordinary gentleman would carry. A stake — slim, sharp, and unmistakably wooden — emerged, pressing against the vampire’s chest. She let out a soft, involuntary gasp.

"Beautiful, you ruined everything." — Robb murmured, his voice breathless but steady, laced with a dry humor that belied the rapid pounding of his heart. And if her own heart could still beat, it would surely be thrumming just as wildly beneath her ribs.

It was clear Robb wasn’t new to encounters like this. The lack of shock or fear in his demeanor spoke volumes, as did the steady hand holding the stake. For the vampire, the realization of who she had crossed paths with sent a chill through her. This man was no mere victim, he was a hunter.

"What are we going to do with you?"

His voice was low. A flicker of doubt danced in his expression.