1 Prologue

[Draco]

The full moon was at its highest peak. A glowing silver disk in the dark sky, gleaming hauntingly over the vast Mystic Woods.

The wind rustled the gangly, leafless trees that stood like ghosts. Their clawlike pointed branches positioned as if about to pounce any minute.

The night of the Winter Solstice. One of the rarest times where all the ghouls in the Woods would come together and set aside their differences.

To celebrate. To release primal desires. To bask in unearthly pleasures.

Regardless of race and beliefs.

The howling of werewolves, the hisses of vampires, the unearthly melodies of sirens, the seductive giggles of fox spirits, the sensual harmonies played by the elvin kind, the sweet tang of glamour from faeries—these were what filled a particular clearing in the Woods, located right in the middle of each realms.

As it was on equal distance from the kingdoms, this had become a place where every ghoul would come to gather.

Draco watched as ghoul after ghoul relished in pure ecstasy beneath the twinkling orange lanterns hanging from flimsy strings.

Tonight, he did not partake in the celebration.

Despite having a gorgeous fae girl dancing while basically waving her full breasts in front of him, he could not find enough interest to join her for the evening.

And despite already having his hundredth glass of wine.

Draco wondered whether this was due to his old age or if such feats just didn't allure him anymore.

Perhaps none of those.

Being a thousand-year-old vampire did not involve with his being bored. It was surely not the dryness of the party either. He could see every ghoul having fun. Except him.

He must only be feeling under the weather.

With a last sip of wine, he finally decided to stand up. With a bit of fresh air, he might actually find the motivation to have "fun".

After that, he supposed he could come back and feel just as wondrous as he had with these kinds of celebrations for the last centuries.

Before he could turn on his heels, sharp nails curled around his wrist.

"My King," Laura called out in between moans. The Vampire Duchess was perched on top of an elf woman's lap, nibbling on her lip. "Where are you going? The most lovely part of the night has only started."

The two had laid out a blanket beside him.

"Your King may not be feeling it." said the elf woman, her pointed ears twitching as the Vampire Duchess continued her work. "We best leave him alone. Or... he probably hasn't found something to stir him up, yes?"

The elf woman batted her eyelids up at Draco while intertwining her long fingers with Laura's curls. "Maybe you should join us?"

Laura gasped playfully and giggled. "Oh you wicked woman!" Then she crooned in her ear. "That is a good idea."

The elf woman tilted her head and nudged closer to Laura's mouth, gazing at Draco with eyes half shut. "Well, your highness?"

Draco sighed, yanking out of Laura's grasp. "I'm afraid I must reject the offer."

The vampire King straightened his collar. "Well then, I shall leave you two to your own... merriments."

The Vampire Duchess and the unnamed elf woman only laughed before proceeding to delve into each other's bodies.

Draco headed for the deeper part of the forest. Thinking how ghouls quickly forget their disputes and misunderstandings against one another once they were under the influence of wines and powders.

Tomorrow, they would come back to being the hate-fueled creatures they once were. Throwing taunts until they could almost bite each other's necks.

No. Draco shook his head. Their hate ran deeper that they would definitely be willing to gnaw off their throats.

It had been like this for millenias. Ghouls despising ghouls because of their differences. Be it appearances or beliefs. But mostly it was because of the blood. Their race.

Before a ghoul was even born, he had been taught to hate ghouls he has yet to even know.

Draco paused, realizing. Was this the reason why he felt gloomy earlier?

Seeing the temporary unity of the ghouls must have saddened him. As he knew that once the sun rises above the Mystic Woods, all of this would then disappear.

That the loathe and anger towards one another would return as quickly as it had vanished.

When Draco became the Vampire King a few centuries past, he had often worked toward the peace and unity between all races.

Unfortunately, it had all been for naught.

The ghouls' scorn between one another had dated way back until ancient times. No one knew why everyone hated everyone.

Just that they did.

A hate that ran deep like that would be hard to root out. Draco was aware of that.

He was immortal. He had all the time in the world. He thought that he could slowly crush out these roots of hatred one by one.

But with the ongoing war on the borders and the constant seizing of territories by ghoul royalties, these roots had seeped deeper into the hearts of the citizens of the Mystic Woods.

Draco hadn't felt like this before. As though he was running out of time.

Like a horde of centaurs was catching up to him. And no matter how fast he ran, it slowly reached him.

Nipping out all those he loved dear.

A metallic stench filled Draco's nose.

He froze. Sniffing, he recognized the scent. It smelled like rusted iron, lingering in the arid air of the forest.

Draco looked for its source.

He flinched. It was as if a bucket of ice cold water thrown over him. It came from the clearing.

Draco swiftly ran toward the place where he'd just been minutes ago.

How had he failed to notice?!

How could he have been absent-mindedly walking in the forest without paying attention to his surroundings?

Was it possible that he had gone too far without him knowing?

Or did it happen too fast that he'd become oblivious?

As the clearing came into view, the smell of blood became stronger. Heavier and more prominent.

There was no denying it anymore.

How many had died?

Supposing that there might still be a few people alive, could he still save anyone?

What kind of monster caused this bloodshed?

Within seconds, with the help of his vampire abilities, Draco was already in the clearing's opening.

A cloud of crimson hovered all around him.

Every ghoul he saw earlier was lying on the ground.

The earth was pooling with red liquid. So much that it had reflected the moon.

Draco waded through the tangle of corpses, all shredded to ribbons with empty eyes—that is, if they still had eyes. Some were barely recognizable.

The mangled bodies of the Vampire Duchess Laura and her elf lover lay a few feet over.

Draco couldn't bring himself to go near them.

What could have done this massacre?

Ghouls were the only ones who haunted the Mystic Woods. And any bigger monster couldn't even harm them.

But this couldn't be done only by a single ghoul.

If there was, that would be impossible.

"They" were the only ones who could do such an act. Besides, there were no sightings of those creatures for centuries.

In the fog of red, a silhouette emerged.

A survivor?

At last, Draco had found someone who could possibly know what happened.

Draco stilled. It was a child. Walking toward him, limping.

He couldn't see her face. She was drenched in blood.

Draco couldn't even tell her hair color. Couldn't see whether she was tan or pale.

The girl had worn the blood like a second skin.

"Did you do this?"

The girl nodded.

"Why?"

Her small body started to wobble. "Because she told me to."

Instead of killing the girl right on the spot, the Vampire King took in the child and raised her as if she was his own.