Long before the world hid its monsters behind human faces, the night belonged to two powers — the Blood and the Moon.
The House of Hirunkit, ancient and eternal, were the first of the Vampires — nobles who ruled the mortal kingdoms from behind silk curtains and shadowed halls. Their king, Lord Athisan Hirunkit, was said to have been kissed by the first Blood Star, blessed with immortality and beauty beyond mortal measure. His word was law. His hunger, divine.
Across the forests to the north lived the Clan of Wongravee, the Wolves — guardians of the balance between dark and light. They bowed to no one, not even gods. Their alpha, Kael Wongravee, carried the power of the Moonfire in his veins — a light that could burn through any darkness, even the kind that wore a crown.
The Children of the Blood fed from the dark, born of night and hunger.
The Children of the Moon ran beneath silver light, born of stars and breath and balance.
They were not meant to meet.
But fate is cruel to those who think themselves eternal.
It began with a heartbeat.
Soft and fragile — hers.
The Alpha's daughter, Lira Wongravee, was born under a rare eclipse, the moon silvered and veined with scarlet. The old seers whispered that her blood carried the light of the Moonfire itself — a gift that could tame even the darkest hunger.
The youngest son of House Hirunkit, Prince Kieran, was a vampire cursed with a heartbeat — a flaw that made him feel what immortals should not. Had never seen the sun. Like all of his kind, his world was shadows, marble halls, and the echo of eternity.
But one night, while hunting beyond the borders of the vampire dominion, he stumbled upon a figure standing at the riverbank — barefoot, hair gleaming white beneath the moon, singing a song in a language older than time.
Her scent was not of blood, but of rain and night-blooming jasmine.
"You shouldn't be here," she said softly, not turning.
"Neither should you," he replied. "This is vampire land."
"Then kill me, Prince of the Dead."
He didn't.
Instead, he knelt — and for the first time, the immortal felt alive.
---
For years, they met in secret.
Beneath the forest canopy.
At the edge of moonlit ruins.
Between battles and borders.
Every stolen night was a sin. Every touch, a rebellion. He fed from her wrist once, and the bond nearly consumed them both — her blood burning in his veins, his darkness curling inside her heart.
"If the Moon and Blood unite," she whispered once, "they say the world will either heal or burn."
"Then let it burn," he said, and kissed her beneath the red stars.
---
But the night the stars bled red, something changed.
The wolves smelled vampire blood on her body — his blood.
The vampires found her heart still beating after death — her body uncorrupted, her blood still warm.
No one knew the truth.
Only that Prince Kieran was found kneeling beside her body, crimson tears streaking his face.
He swore she was killed by neither vampire nor wolf — but by something older. Something that lived between Blood and Moon.
No one believed him.
The war began at dawn.
---
By the seventh year, the forests had turned to ash. The last of the seers — blind and dying — stood before both armies and cast the curse that would seal their fate:
"Until the Blood and Moon unite by fate, not choice, your lines shall be bound by pain and longing. Each heir shall carry the mark of the other — a bond that neither can sever nor escape."
"until death no longer divides — this war shall never end."
When her voice fell silent, the earth wept silver, and the sky wept red.
The bodies of Kieran and Lira dissolved into light — one of blood, one of moon — scattering across the heavens.
From that night onward, the curse lived within their kin:
A vampire born with a heartbeat — the Blood that cannot die.
A wolf born with starlight in his veins — the Guardian that cannot rest.
Bound by pain.
Drawn by fate.
Condemned to repeat the sins of their ancestors —
until love redeems them,
or destroys them once more.
---
For centuries, the tale of Kieran and Lira became nothing more than a ghost story whispered by the old clans. A warning to their descendants — never mix blood with moonlight, never let love blind loyalty.
But curses never die.
They wait.
---
Present Day — Bangkok
The world no longer believed in monsters.
They believed in money, in power, in names carved on skyscrapers that touched the clouds.
And no name stood higher than Hirunkit International Holdings — a global empire built on security, pharmaceuticals, and secrets buried beneath glass and steel.
At its center sat Nani Hirunkit, the man the humans called a CEO — but in truth, he was far older. The Supreme Vampire, ruler of the Blood Council, master of every clan that still dared to walk in the sun.
He looked twenty-eight but—
He was centuries years old.
His reflection smiled back at him through the tinted glass of his office — the city glowing below like veins of fire. He pressed his thumb against his wine glass, crimson swirling in the light.
Not wine. Blood. A reminder.
"Another rogue wolf attack, sir," said a voice from the doorway — his assistant, pale and cold. "Third one this month. The Council requests immediate action."
Nani didn't look away from the skyline.
"Wolves," he said calmly. "Always chasing ghosts."
But deep inside, he felt something he hadn't in centuries.
A pulse. A flicker. Like a heartbeat echoing in his veins that wasn't his own.
---
Meanwhile — Chiang Dao Mountains
Far from the city's glitter, in the mist-covered forests, Sky Wongravee was hunting.
Not for prey — for answers.
The Guardians of the Wolves were almost extinct now, protectors of a dying bloodline. Sky had been chosen since birth — marked by a crescent-shaped scar over his heart, said to be a remnant of the Moonfire. He never asked for it. He never wanted the power.
But after his pack's Alpha vanished under strange circumstances, Sky took up the mantle he swore he'd never carry.
"You were born to protect the balance," his grandmother once told him. "When the Blood stirs, the Moon will answer. Always."
He never believed her.
Until the dreams began.
Every night, he saw the same man — eyes like liquid silver, standing beneath a sky raining red light. Sometimes the man called his name. Sometimes he wept.
And when Sky woke, his heart would ache as if someone else's grief lived inside his chest.
---
The First Ripple
It began again on the first night of the Blood Moon in a hundred years.
In Bangkok, Nani felt his wine glass crack in his hand — blood spilling across his fingers as his eyes flared crimson.
In Chiang Dao, Sky collapsed to his knees by the riverbank, his veins glowing faintly with silvery light.
Both looked up — different worlds, same sky — and whispered words they didn't understand.
"Lira…"
"Kieran…"
The curse was waking.
And this time, it had chosen them.
---
Nani's penthouse window reflecting the red moonlight.
Sky standing on the mountain side, the wind howling like an ancient call.
Their eyes — one red, one gold — both burning through the dark, sensing a presence they cannot name.