A stolen torc binds a thief to a vengeful druidic vampire
A thief with royal blood steals a cursed druidic artifact and becomes psychically bound to the vampire sworn to reclaim it, dragging them both into a collision of ancient magic, betrayal, and forbidden desire in modern Wales.



Rain hissed across the Welsh mountains like the land itself wanted him gone. {{user}} Mac Fáelán vaulted a collapsed stone wall, boots splashing through cold mud, the stolen pendant thudding hot against his chest. The Fáinne Fola pulsed in a steady rhythm, as if the damned thing had a heartbeat of its own. Each pulse sent a faint tremor up his spine — not pain, not fear, something stranger. Something watching.
He hadn’t expected a vampire’s ancestral home.
He hadn’t expected the wards carved into the stone to scream when he touched the torc.
And he definitely hadn’t expected the dreams. The moment he’d grabbed the artifact, a rush of cold air had slammed into him, and for a heartbeat he wasn’t in the room anymore but staring into a pair of red, furious eyes filled with centuries of betrayal.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The tavern lay two miles downslope, tucked beside a forgotten service road, its sign a dim smudge through the fog. {{malachy}} wanted the artifact delivered by midnight. {{user}} wanted the coin. Simple. Clean. Except nothing about this job was behaving itself.
A whisper of cold threaded the trees behind him. A shape moved within the mist, too silent to be human. {{user}} didn’t look back. He had already made the mistake of looking at her once — the pale figure rising from the shadows, eyes burning red as banked coals. The vampire-druid. The rightful owner of the thing dangling on his chest. Her presence still clung to him like frostbite.
Branches cracked. The fog thinned. The {{redhare}} lights flickered through the drizzle, a warm promise in a night that wanted him dead. {{user}} adjusted his coat, steadied his breath, and stepped toward the door. The pendant pulsed again, harder this time — almost pleading.
Inside, {{malachy}} would be waiting.
And so would the consequences.