In this modern era, people wielding bizarre supernatural powers were a dime a dozen. Flying, hurling fire, bending minds—it was just the evening news.
Except for the two men at the front.
Ermond and Raekin's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
They knew exactly what this floating man was. A Vampire. And not just some feral street-leech, but a formal Messenger of the Lord, dispatched straight from the ancient, blood-soaked lands.
As the creature finally touched the cobblestones, his heavy boots made zero sound. He took a deep, theatrical breath of the human-scented air, his cold smile widening.
"Well, well," he purred, casually brushing a speck of imaginary dust from his velvet cloak. "Is this how you mortals welcome royal messengers nowadays? No graceful bows? No pathetic kneeling?"
Raekin didn't so much as twitch. "You received your warm welcome by us choosing not to shoot you out of the sky mid-flight."
