Noon came, Dwayne Cunnington sat beneath a wide resort umbrella with a drink in his hand that looked like it had been designed to insult the concept of seriousness. Something pink. Something fruity. Something with a tiny paper parasol and a slice of citrus wedged on the rim like a lazy smile. He sipped it as he enjoyed the beach.
"Dad," one of his daughters said, squinting at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Why do you always get weird drinks?"
Dwayne leaned back in his chair, sunglasses reflecting the bright beach light, and answered without missing a beat: "Because they were made sweety, someone has to drink them."
His wife turned her head toward him: "If you always live by that rule, you're going to eat or drink something you'll regret."
Dwayne held up 2 fingers: "A man only needs 2 rules in life. One: look good. "Two: embarrass your children whenever possible."
His older daughter groaned: "I knew it."
His younger daughter burst into laughter, kicking her feet in the sand: "Where'd you learn that?"
Dwayne: "It's in the parent handbook. It's a scary book."
His wife had warm eyes and sun-kissed skin, with the kind of smile that made him believe he had won life. She reached over and adjusted his collar like she'd done it a thousand times: "Are you enjoying yourself?"
Dwayne: "Sure am. What about you?"
"Of course."
The daughters continued to play in the sand. Dwayne's wife watched them with that distant, gentle look people got when they were trying to memorize happiness. Dwayne reached down and picked up a seashell, turning it slowly in his fingers.
"Dad," the older daughter asked suddenly, "are you still famous?"
Dwayne snorted. "What kind of question is that?"
"Like… do people still know you? Or are you just… old now?"
His wife laughed into her drink.
Dwayne placed a hand over his heart dramatically: "I'm being attacked on my own vacation."
The younger daughter pointed accusingly. "Answer it!"
Dwayne lifted his sunglasses just enough to reveal one eye—sharp, playful, and far too aware: "People know me," he said. "Unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately?" the older one asked.
Dwayne: "Because it means I can't pretend I don't know what I'm doing when I mess up. Fame ruins the art of playing dumb. Well, not that I let it stop me here and there."
His wife leaned closer. "You are very good at playing dumb."
Dwayne looked at her with mock offense: "If you're thinking about that time at the bar, please stop."
She smiled sweetly: "It's evidence."
He laughed, the sound easy and bright, and pulled her closer with one arm, pressing a quick kiss to her temple like it was a habit he never wanted to lose.
The girls made dramatic gagging noises.
"Ewwww!"
"Gross!"
Dwayne waved them off. "Respect the romance. It's the foundation of civilization."
His wife rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed anyway.
The younger daughter ran up and slapped wet sand onto his shin like it was a badge of honor: "Dad! We need water for the moat!"
Dwayne stared at the sand on his leg: "Sure. I'll get your water. But when I return, I expect payment."
The younger daughter's eyes widened: "Like money?"
Dwayne: "No. A compliment."
Both girls froze like they'd been asked to solve an impossible problem.
His wife laughed: "Good luck."
Dwayne walked toward the shoreline, the sun glinting off the water. For a moment, he looked like any other father, tall, handsome, relaxed, moving with that easy confidence that made strangers assume his life must be simple.
But when he reached the waterline, his gaze shifted just slightly, scanning without him meaning to.
Old habits.
A Special-Rank Hunter's instincts didn't turn off just because he was on vacation.
He didn't see anything wrong.
Just families. Tourists. Laughing couples.
He crouched, filled a small bucket with seawater, and turned back.
And that's when he felt it.
Not danger.
Not yet.
Just… a sensation. Like someone's eyes had been locked on him.
He glanced toward the ocean.
Toward the umbrellas.
Toward the resort.
A woman on a surfboard cut through a wave, riding it cleanly toward shore. Purple hair. Sharp gaze. Controlled movement.
For a second, their eyes aligned across distance and sunlight.
Dwayne's brows lifted, faint curiosity crossing his face.
Then the wave broke.
She disappeared behind the spray.
Dwayne turned back to his daughters, smiling again as if nothing had happened, because vacations were fragile, and he intended to protect this one while he had it.
On the shore, Shiori stepped off the board, water dripping from her hair, and stared at the Cunnington family like she was memorizing the shape of their happiness. The only thought in her mind was that she definitely picked the right target.
***
The streets of the island's city curved gently along the west coastline, paved in pale stone worn smooth by decades of footsteps and salt air. Buildings leaned close together in warm shades, sun-bleached whites, terracotta reds, soft yellows, each one adorned with balconies draped in flowers or laundry fluttering like small flags of ordinary life. Music drifted out of open cafes. Laughter spilled from doorways. The entire place felt designed to convince you that nothing truly bad could happen here. Even vampire attacks were extremely low compared to everywhere else. That's how life was on islands, but not everyone can live on these small places.
Kylie walked beside Caesar, talking animatedly about nothing important at all: "…and then we got lost for like an hour, but honestly it was worth it because we found this tiny bakery that only sells one thing, and it's amazing—oh, you have to try it."
She grabbed his wrist before he could respond and pulled him toward a narrow side street. Caesar allowed it, letting his steps fall into sync with hers, letting the role settle over him like a well-tailored coat. He smiled. Laughed at the right moments. Asked questions that made her feel seen. They tried food skewered on sticks, dusted with sugar and citrus. They wandered into souvenir shops full of glass trinkets and shell jewelry. They leaned over a stone railing to watch boats bob lazily in the harbor, sails catching the late-afternoon sun.
Kylie kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.
Caesar noticed every single one.
At one point, she stopped suddenly in front of a street performer juggling fire, eyes wide with delight. Caesar stood just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence, close enough that she leaned back into him without realizing it.
"Isn't this amazing?" she said.
"Yeah," Caesar replied softly.
He wasn't watching the fire.
He was watching her pulse flutter at her throat.
They sat on the steps near the water as evening crept in, the sky slowly bleeding from blue into gold and pink.
Kylie kicked her feet idly, then glanced at him: "I don't know how, but you seem different."
Caesar tilted his head: "Is that good or bad?"
Kylie smiled: "Good. I think."
He returned the smile, gentle and reassuring: "Looks can be deceiving."
Kylie laughed: "You already said that."
Caesar: "And you didn't listen."
Night arrived. Streetlights flickered on. The town softened, shadows stretching long and cool between buildings. Somewhere nearby, music grew louder.
Kylie checked her phone reluctantly: "I should probably head back soon."
Caesar nodded: "Yeah. Same."
They walked together until the streets thinned and the sound of the sea grew louder again. At the edge of a well-lit square, Kylie stopped: "This was fun. We should… you know… hang out again."
Caesar's phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't check it yet: "I'd like that."
She waved goodbye, Caesar watched her walk away. Only when she was gone did he look at his phone.
Shiori: Come back to the beach.
No emojis. No elaboration.
Just a summons.
The beach at night was an entirely different creature. Moonlight stretched across the water in broken silver paths. Waves whispered against the shore, steady and patient. The resort lights glowed in the distance, bright but far enough away to feel irrelevant.
Shiori waited where the sand gave way to jagged rock formations, where the shoreline twisted into sharp, uneven shapes that discouraged wandering feet. The rocks rose like broken teeth, creating pockets of darkness where even moonlight struggled to reach.
Caesar approached without hesitation.
Shiori: "You took your time," she said, not looking at him.
Caesar: "I was enjoying myself."
Shiori turned, eyes reflecting pale light: "Did you have fun?"
Caesar: "Yes."
Shiori: "Good."
They moved deeper among the rocks, the sound of the resort fading until it was just wind, water, and the scrape of stone beneath their feet. Eventually, Shiori stopped in a hollow shielded on all sides.
Shiori turned to him fully: "Wanna become a vampire?"
Caesar's face lit up. Not with fear. Not with doubt. With genuine, unfiltered delight: "That would be a dream come true!" he said, almost laughing. "But how?"
Shiori watched him carefully now, studying the way his pupils dilated, the way his heartbeat picked up, not in panic, but anticipation: "To become a vampire, or rather a half-vampire… you have to be fatally wounded. Then vampire blood is poured into your body. But there's no guarantee it works."
Caesar: "Fifty-fifty."
Shiori: "Yes. You either survive the transformation… or you bleed out and die a sad death."
Caesar didn't even blink: "I'll take the chance."
Shiori smiled: "Good."
Her claws slid free with a sound like metal whispering against bone.
Caesar had just enough time to register the movement—
Then pain exploded.
Something tore through his stomach, hot and violent. Blood surged out in a sudden, overwhelming rush, soaking his clothes, splattering the stone beneath him. His breath punched out of his lungs as he staggered back, hands flying to the wound too late to stop the crimson spill. His mouth filled with iron. He choked, coughed, spat red onto the rocks. Shiori didn't give him time to fall. She stepped in close, fingers gripping his collar, and bit into his neck. The pain there was sharper, more focused, a burning puncture followed by a pulling sensation that made his knees buckle. He could feel it, feel her taking him apart from the inside, feel his strength draining away in warm, pulsing waves. His vision blurred and the world tilted. Shiori released him only when his body began to give in earnest. She laid him down on the cold stone with surprising care. Then she slit her own wrist. Dark blood welled instantly, thick and heavy with something that felt alive. She held it over the wound in his stomach, letting it pour into him, into torn flesh and failing veins. Caesar's consciousness flickered. The pain dulled, replaced by an overwhelming cold, then heat, then something else entirely. His heartbeat slowed. Stuttered. Threatened to stop. Darkness closed in. The last thing he registered was Shiori's silhouette against the night sky, watching him like a scientist observing an experiment she was confident would succeed.
The sun crested the horizon in silence.
Light spilled across the rocks, warm and golden, touching bloodstains that had already dried to rust. The sea continued its endless motion, indifferent to what had happened among the stone.
Caesar gasped.
Air tore into his lungs like fire.
He sat up violently, hands clutching his chest, senses screaming all at once—sound too loud, light too bright, smell too sharp. His heart pounded with unnatural strength, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum.
He looked down.
The wound was gone.
No scar. No pain. Only the faintest ache, like a memory of injury rather than the thing itself.
Shiori stood nearby, arms crossed, unimpressed: "Your blood tasted like shit."
Caesar didn't hear her. His gaze had locked onto the distant curve of the beach. Onto the spot where Kylie had approached him. His mouth felt dry. A hunger bloomed in him, sharp and immediate, drowning out every other thought. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't gentle. It was an animal certainty, screaming one simple truth into every nerve of his body.
Feed.
He stood slowly, the world tilting into terrifying clarity. Shiori watched him with a knowing smile. And Caesar smiled too, because all he could think about was how easy it would be to find her. Vampires who have a genuine thirst for blood just because of the sensation and the high they feel are the worst kind. It sat beneath Caesar's skin like a second heartbeat, steady, patient, yet unbearable. Every breath carried scents too vivid to ignore.
Caesar walked the island streets that afternoon with measured steps, hands tucked into his pockets, expression calm. Tourists passed him laughing, oblivious to how sharply he catalogued them.
He waited for Kylie.
Because the hunger wasn't just physical, it was curious. It wanted meaning. It wanted indulgence. It wanted the right moment, the right prey. Something more than a random, forgettable meal.
Shiori's words before he left after being born anew echoed in his mind as clearly as if she were beside him: "Devouring as many humans as you can after becoming a vampire increases the likelihood of awakening a curse. This is a trait unique to half-vampires."
A curse.
Power.
He smiled faintly as he watched the ocean stretch endlessly beyond the town's edge.
***
Caesar went out to dinner with Kylie and her mom. The restaurant overlooked the beach, lanterns casting soft light across white tables and polished wood. Waves whispered just beyond the open railing, the sound was soothing and designed to disarm. Kylie sat across from him, she couldn't stop smiling. Her mother sat beside her, elegant in a quiet, unassuming way, the kind of woman who smiled easily and trusted too readily.
They talked. Vacation stories. Childhood memories. Caesar listened with practiced attention, nodding at the right moments, smiling when expected. He laughed softly at Kylie's jokes. Complimented her mother's choice of jewelry.
All the while, his hunger pressed closer.
The scent of them, alive, warm, and close made his teeth ache. He could hear their hearts. He folded his hands together beneath the table to keep them from trembling.
Kylie leaned forward slightly: "I'm really glad we you came up to me."
Caesar: "So am I."
Dinner passed slowly. Too slow. It felt like like an eternity.
Caesar: "There's a bonfire spot down the beach," he said casually. "A bit secluded. I thought we could walk there."
Kylie's eyes lit up: "That sounds amazing!"
Her mother hesitated for only a second before smiling: "Why not?"
After finishing dinner, they left the restaurant together, footsteps sinking softly into cool sand as the night deepened around them. Caesar led them confidently. The rocks ahead rose like a natural barrier, blocking sightlines from the rest of the beach. They talked as they walked. Kylie spoke about the trip, about how she hadn't wanted to come at first, how she was glad she did now. Caesar listened, responding softly, guiding her closer without touching.
They reached the spot where there was an actual bonfire.
Kylie: "This is perfect."
Caesar pretended to search his pockets: "I forgot my lighter. I swear I had it with me."
Her mother laughed lightly: "I'll grab mine from the car."
Caesar: "Thank you!"
She turned and walked back toward the lights without suspicion.
Caesar sat beside Kylie, the sand cool beneath them. He looked at her fully then. Really looked: "You know," he said quietly, "you're the first person I've ever fallen for."
Kylie's breath caught. She flushed, smiling shyly: "Oh yeah? Prove it."
Caesar leaned in. Their lips met. Then he shifted, brushing his mouth against her neck. Her breath hitched. Something inside him broke. The hunger surged, overwhelming and uncontrollable. His fangs emerged without permission.
Kylie felt warmth against her skin. She pulled back slightly, confused: "Caesar…? You feel hot."
He raised his head. Moonlight caught his reflection in her eyes. Her expression shifted from confusion to horror in a heartbeat. She opened her mouth to scream, but it never came out. Caesar bit into her face and ripped it off. He began feasting on the contents inside before moving to her torso. This was a dream come true for him, he was able to easily tear apart his victims now and feast on them. He couldn't hold any part of himself back, the scene became a bloody mess. When her mother returned, lighter in hand, the bonfire remained unlit. What she saw instead froze her in place. Her scream tore through the beach, but only for a moment.
The rocks hid everything.
When he stepped away again, the hunger was quieter, but not yet satisfied. Blood stained the sand and rocks. The sea crept closer, erasing evidence bit by bit.
He turned away from the bodies without looking back.
The town awaited.
***
Caesar moved through the town unsuspecting, never where the light lingered too long, never where voices gathered in numbers that might slow him down. He learned the rhythm quickly. The lull between laughter and footsteps. The quiet after doors closed. The places people believed were safe because nothing had ever happened there before. Alleyways behind bars where music masked absence. Side streets where lanterns flickered but never fully illuminated faces. Boardwalk stairs leading down to empty sand, where couples drifted apart just long enough to matter. He did not rush. He did not linger. He selected his prey, just as he always did. The hunger had changed. It was no longer a screaming demand, it was a directive. It felt what he wanted. A curse, a chance for even more power. Each heartbeat he heard felt like a ticking clock that existed solely for him.
The first after the beach came easily. A man stumbling out of a late-night bar, breath heavy with alcohol, balance already gone. Caesar watched from across the street, counting steps, measuring sway. When the man veered toward a darker side road, Caesar followed. There was no struggle. No sound worth remembering. By the time Caesar stepped back into the street, the hunger had receded just enough to sharpen his focus instead of dull it.
Again.
A woman walking alone, heels clicking too loudly against stone. She glanced back once, sensing something, not enough. Caesar let her walk ahead, letting her fear ripen just enough to slow her, to make her hesitate near a stairwell that led down toward the water.
Again.
Two teenagers sneaking away from a bonfire, laughter hushed, hands intertwined. Caesar waited until one wandered off to relieve himself, until the other leaned against a railing, bored and scrolling through their phone.
Again.
Each time, it was faster.
Each time, it was quieter.
Each time, something inside him tightened.
The world felt different now. As if reality itself were beginning to peel back under his touch. Sounds arrived before their sources. Movements left afterimages. People glowed, not with light, but with intent, their emotions staining the air around them. Fear tasted different than surprise.
Loneliness lingered longer than confidence. Guilt was bitter. Desire was sweet. He devoured indiscriminately. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to.
Not even a few hours later, Caesar had killed 50 people. Sirens wailed in the distance now. Caesar stood on a rooftop overlooking the streets, chest rising steadily, hands stained not with blood but with certainty. Something answered him then. Not hunger. Recognition. It surged up from his core, coiling around his spine, spreading outward through his veins with a sensation like cold fire. His vision darkened at the edges, not fading, but deepening, colors saturating into something richer, heavier. He dropped to one knee, breath hard.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
Shiori: "Impressive."
Caesar turned. Moonlight caught his face and the black veins had bloomed. The mark of a curse.
Shiori smiled, satisfied, eyes gleaming as she took in the sight: "I'd say we're ready now."
They were ready to kill a Special-Rank Hunter.