The Pretty Prince and the Beast King
The fighters were exhausted, their muscles screaming, but their bodies refused to fail.
"He’s not bait," Mina whispered, her eyes wide as she looked at Aradaa. "He’s... he’s the cure."
The healing stopped abruptly. A cold, suffocating shadow fell over the rafters.
The sound of massive, leathery wings beating the air drowned out the wind. A Vampire Knight, clad in obsidian plate, descended on a bat-winged steed that looked like a nightmare made of stitched skin.
"The scent of the Muse is strong here," the Knight’s voice was a metallic rasp. He ignored the hybrids. He ignored Mina. His red visor locked onto Aradaa. "Hand him over, filth, and the Sanguine Court might let you live another night.