Chapter Ten: The Hunt

The night was silent. Too silent.

I crouched in the shadows of an alley, watching as the town slept. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of movement—too fast for mortal eyes to follow. But I saw it. I knew what it was.

The vampire moved like liquid shadow, shifting effortlessly between the gaps in torchlight. One moment, it was near the well, its form stretched unnaturally against the cobblestones. The next, it was at the door of a small home.

I held my breath.

No hesitation. No knocking. The creature walked through the door as if it didn't exist. No invitation needed. No barriers stopping it.

The old stories were lies.

Garlic wouldn't stop them. Crosses meant nothing. Wooden stakes? Pointless. Even the sun, the one thing that was supposed to keep them at bay, was nothing but a myth.

The only way to kill a vampire? A weapon soaked in the purest holiness… or the deepest evil.

I had neither.

But I had a blade.

And if nothing else, cutting off its head would have to do.

I moved fast, staying low, my heart pounding against my ribs. The home was dark, the family inside still trapped in their dreams. The vampire was already inside, slipping toward its prey like a whisper of death.

I wasn't going to let it take them.

I stepped through the doorway and saw it.

The vampire loomed over the bed, its fingers grazing the skin of a sleeping child. A woman—his mother—lay beside him, unaware of the monster inches from her son's throat.

I didn't think. I lunged.

The vampire saw me in an instant, moving so fast I barely registered it. One moment, I was striking—the next, I was slammed against the wall, my lungs emptying as the air was forced from them.

I gasped, bringing my dagger up just as the creature lunged again. It wasn't like fighting a man. It was worse. It didn't move with effort, only purpose—no wasted steps, no heavy breathing. Just death, wrapped in pale skin and dark hunger.

I barely dodged its next strike, rolling to the side and slashing wildly. The blade bit into its shoulder. Not deep. Not enough.

The vampire hissed, baring its teeth, but it bled.

That was all I needed to know.

I threw my weight forward, striking again, this time lower—across its legs. It staggered. I kicked it back. I had one chance.

With every ounce of strength I had, I brought my blade across its neck.

The head fell to the ground with a wet thud. The body collapsed right after, twitching once—then still.

For a long moment, the only sound in the house was my own ragged breathing.

Then, I heard something else.

Crying.

The other vampires—the slaves he had created—were waking up. Free.

Morning came, and with it, the town learned what had happened. The freed vampires—people who had been turned against their will—were returning to their families. Mothers sobbed as they held their children again. Husbands and wives clung to each other.

Some were too far gone, broken by the monster's control. But others? Others had a chance.

The people didn't know what to think of me.

Some feared me. Others whispered thanks.

One of the freed men—an older merchant—pressed a pouch of gold into my hands. A woman gave me a sack of food, her hands shaking as she met my eyes.

I didn't stay long enough to hear their praises or their questions.

I had what I needed.

It was time to keep moving.