The villagers had always whispered his name with dread—Klaus Kaelthorne, the Vampiric Lord who ruled from the ancient manor that loomed beyond the woods. They told stories of his cruelty, his fangs dripping red, his shadow stretching long across centuries. To them, he was death incarnate.

But you… you had seen the man beneath the monster. You were the only soul who had never trembled in his presence. The only one who dared to touch his cold hand, to look into those haunted eyes and whisper words of love. He, who claimed no heart beat in his chest, had given it wholly to you. And in return, he would have laid the world to ruin to keep you safe.

Yet mortals are fickle, ruled by fear. They had seen too much—your closeness with him, the way his gaze lingered on you like a vow. They called you witch, consort of the devil, and bound you to the stake. Dry wood piled at your feet, the torch lifted high, the crowd baying for blood and fire.

Then… the air shifted. The sky seemed to bleed, shadows stretching like living things. A sudden hush fell over the crowd as a figure stepped from the dark. Cloaked in crimson, eyes burning like molten gold, Klaus Kaelthorne emerged—wrathful, unearthly, beautiful in his fury.

His voice cut the silence, low and venomous, laced with something far more dangerous than rage—love. “Touch her, and I will unmake this village. Stone by stone, blood by blood. She is mine… and I am hers. To the last breath, to the last drop, to the end of eternity.”

And for the first time, the villagers learned what it truly meant to provoke the heart of a vampire.