Destiny Can Bite Me

Every prophecy needs a villain. This one got a sarcastic vampire with a bad attitude. Vincent Lupo is a jaded, wine-soaked immortal just trying to finish writing his latest smutty novel and avoid the people he's wronged-magical or otherwise. Then a severed head turns up in his fridge, branded with an invocation sigil and whispering lines from a play he wrote a century ago. A play the wrong people believe is prophecy. Now Vincent's neck-deep in death cults, cursed scripts, and a once-devoted mortal aide who's now a cult leader hellbent on crafting his own narrative-and casting Vincent as the unwilling Bloodbard at centre stage. He's not a hero. He's just immortal, inconveniently famous in the wrong circles, and really bad at staying uninvolved. The prophecy wants him bled dry. Vincent wants a drink. Only one of them gets what they want. A sardonic urban fantasy of blood, banter, and very bad decisions.