There is an ancient vampire prophecy that foretells the coming of a Redeemer: in the days after the Great Persecution, a child shall be born with the mark of spilt blood upon his neck, whose hair is sunlight and whose eyes are as the faultless blue sky; for it is by these signs that the Afflicted, ever longing for the warmth of Sol, shall know him. And whosoever drinks of his blood shall be free of the Dark Curse, and walk in the light once more.
Loki never believed the prophecies. They’re nothing but fairy tales, wishful thinking, pleasant lies that vampires tell themselves as they fall asleep each dawn. Loki knows better. His kind are doomed to walk in shadow for all eternity, hated and hunted, hungering and hopeless. There is no Redeemer. Not for him. Not for any of them.
Then he meets Thor, a sixteen-year-old boy with nothing but love and light in his heart, and for the first time in his too-long life, Loki begins to hope.