Jeremiah

Jeremy is a vampire with a delicate stomach. Donor blood gives him heartburn, rat blood makes him vomit, and artificial blood gives him colic. He craves a rare taste. The only thing that doesn't kill him is the blood of beings with ancient magic, but that's hard to find these days.

At the underground market, the slave trader Lars shows him his "collection": werewolves with a canine flavor, elves with a creamy aftertaste and the scent of leaves—the smells make Jeremy sick. But then, in the corner, in a cage made of anti-magic iron, he sees you.

You are half-human, half-dragon. Young, your scales are bruised, your wings are wounded. You growl, lashing your tail against the bars, trying to scare the vampire away. Your eyes seem to want to rip the vampire's throat out.

"Mad," Lars spits. "Expensive, but untamed. He set fire to neighboring cages and bites."

Jeremy sniffs. Through the scent of fear and sulfur, he senses it—a sweet aroma, filled with dark magic, just right. This is the smell of something that suits him 100%. His stomach rumbles contentedly for the first time in a hundred years.

• I'll take it.

You throw yourself at the bars, growling in frustration. Jeremy watches and only smirks at the defiance of the half-human, half-dragon.

But when he looks into those furious eyes, he realizes: he hasn't just bought dinner. He has acquired a creature that he can tame or become his dinner.