Jack woke up the next morning with the kind of hangover that could qualify as a war crime.
His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like expired battery acid, and his chest still burned like someone had installed a microwave in his ribcage.
Also, he wasn't in his apartment.
He wasn't even on the curb outside 7-Eleven anymore.
He was lying on black silk sheets in what looked like a gothic IKEA showroom.
Candles flickered in golden sconces. Red velvet curtains hung from the ceiling like vampire intestines. A chandelier big enough to bankrupt a small nation dangled overhead.
Jack groaned. "Either I got abducted by vampires, or I'm on the set of a really horny music video."
The door creaked open.
Lucian strolled in, immaculate as always—black suit, crimson tie, eyes glowing faintly red. He carried himself with the dignity of a man who'd never farted in his life.
"Awake at last," Lucian said smoothly. "Good. We have much to discuss."
Jack squinted at him. "Yeah, hi. Quick question—did you, like, kidnap me? Because normally when guys bring me home drunk, there's at least pizza involved."
Before Lucian could answer, another voice boomed through the room like a megaphone fueled by caffeine and spite.
"MINE!"
The double doors slammed open so hard one of the hinges gave up on life.
In stormed a six-foot goddess of muscle, leather, and unhinged confidence. Her hair was a wild mane of blond curls, her jacket had more spikes than common sense, and her jeans looked spray-painted onto her legs.
She pointed straight at Jack like she was declaring war.
"That man is my mate!"
Jack blinked. "…what?"
Lucian's face darkened. "Karen."
The woman grinned, flashing fangs that were definitely not human. "Alpha Karen Wolfowitz. Don't forget it, pretty boy. And don't get in my way."
Jack sat up, holding the silk blanket to his chest like a Victorian maiden. "Okay, timeout. Did you just say Karen? Like, the name moms scream at Starbucks when their latte has the wrong kind of oat milk?"
Karen threw back her head and howled. "Damn right! And just like every Karen, I always get what I want!"
She stomped across the room, heels clacking like war drums, and grabbed Jack by the wrist. "This loser is destined to be my mate. The moon told me. Also, my psychic yoga instructor. But mostly the moon."
Jack squeaked. "Lady, I just met you! I didn't even buy you dinner yet! Or, like… dog food?"
Lucian growled, stepping between them. "Back off. He belongs to me. Bound by blood."
Karen yanked Jack behind her, snarling. "Over my dead body, Dracula cosplay! He's marked. He's mine!"
Jack, trapped between two supernatural hotties, whimpered. "Uh, hey, I don't wanna nitpick destiny or anything, but shouldn't I, y'know, get a vote in who owns me? Because right now I feel like a Black Friday TV set."
Karen whipped around and, before Jack could escape, sank her sharp werewolf teeth into his hand. Not hard enough to kill—but definitely hard enough to leave a glowing bite mark that shimmered under the candlelight.
Jack screamed. "Ow! What the hell! I need that hand for video games!"
Karen smirked proudly. "There. Marked. He's mine now."
Lucian hissed like an angry teapot. "You dare!"
The two lunged at each other, claws and fangs flashing, the room instantly becoming a supernatural WWE smackdown.
Jack ducked under the bed, clutching his glowing hand. "Oh, great. Just what I needed. My very own Twilight fanfic, but I'm the love triangle's chew toy."
The chandelier shook. A table shattered. At one point, Karen hurled a chair at Lucian, who caught it mid-air and broke it over his knee like an angry dad.
Jack peeked out. "Hey, hey! Can you two not kill each other while I'm still sober? Or at least wait until I order a pizza? Fighting always makes me hungry."
Nobody listened.
Karen lunged again, pinning Lucian to the wall. "He's mine, bloodsucker!"
Lucian snarled, his voice dripping venom. "He is the Blood Moon Key. Chosen for me."
Karen licked her lips, flashing a grin so cocky it could start wars. "Chosen for whoever bites him first, sweetheart. And guess what? That was me."
Jack groaned from under the bed. "This is officially the worst threesome I've never agreed to."
Suddenly, the doors creaked again.
Love Dick waltzed in, sipping from a wine glass filled with something way too red to be merlot. She looked at the chaos, then at Jack's panicked face peeking out.
"Oh my God," she gasped dramatically. "It's a romantic comedy! Dracula, Karen, and the Loser. Coming soon to Netflix."
Jack crawled out, pointing at her. "Finally! Someone sane! Can you please—"
But Love Dick was already laughing, collapsing against the doorframe. "Oh, honey. No one in this room is sane. Least of all you."
Jack clutched his bitten hand, staring at all three supernatural disasters in front of him.
For the first time in his life, he realized something terrifying.
He wasn't just unlucky anymore.
He was the supernatural world's hottest commodity.
And God help him—
they weren't going to let him go.