"The sharpest wound is often made by the hand that is meant to protect you."
I closed my eyes, letting my powers expand like ripples in a pond. The night was silent except for the rhythmic breathing of my prey, vampires, about fifty of them. Their presence pulsed against my senses, chaotic and restless.
A smirk tugged at my lips. Fools.
Shifting effortlessly into my vampire form, I let the shadows drape over me like a second skin, pulling on my invisibility. They wouldn't see me coming. With a silent exhale, I launched forward. The wind barely stirred as I moved, weaving through the trees, closing the distance between us in seconds. The first one never even knew he was dead. My blade kissed his throat, and he crumbled soundlessly. Then the next. And the next. A swift dance of death.