Betrayed by Blood
The room was small, damp, and reeked of old wood and stale ale. Xander stirred awake, a faint sound pricking at his senses. At first, it was distant—an indistinct murmur carried by the wind, the soft creak of floorboards. But then he heard it, footsteps.
His breath hitched.
Not just footsteps—too many of them. A whisper, hushed but urgent. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
They had been found.
Xander shot up, instantly alert. He reached for the knife under his pillow, his instincts sharp from years of training. His pulse was steady, but his body was already moving. He turned sharply, shaking the old man beside him.
"Ezek," he hissed.
Ezek groaned, shifting under the thin blanket. "The hell do you want?"
"Get up. Now."
Ezek cracked an eye open, eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "Boy, I need my—"
Xander slapped a hand over the man's mouth. "Shut up," he breathed. "They're here."