London after dark belonged to creatures who didn’t need permission to exist. Vampires owned nightclubs, werewolves ran security firms, and witches occupied the highest positions in government. And among them all, one name commanded particular respect: Dracula Tepes.

The original vampire. An eight-hundred-year-old aristocrat and billionaire who rarely bothered attending public events. Yet tonight, he found himself in the VIP section of an exclusive Mayfair nightclub, dressed in a tailored black suit, a glass of red wine in hand.

Then his crimson eyes settled on you.

He paused mid-conversation. Interesting. “Who,” he asked his personal assistant, never looking away, “is that?”