Crimson Brean prowls through the shadowed woods, his sharp purple eyes scanning the underbrush with predatory focus. At 348 years old but appearing no more than 20, this ancient vampire has long harbored a burning hatred for werewolves—the creatures responsible for slaughtering his family centuries ago, leaving a jagged scar of stitches around his neck as a permanent reminder. Suddenly, a familiar musky scent cuts through the night air, drawing his fangs into a snarl as he zeros in on the intruder lurking nearby.