The city breathed in whispers.
A thick red moon hung above the rooftops like an open wound in the sky, bathing the cobblestone streets in its bloody light. Fog curled through the alleyways, carrying the metallic scent of rain and something far darker — the faint, almost sweet trace of fresh blood.
She moved like a shadow within shadows.
Black leather hugged her body, straps tight against the curve of her hips, her boots soundless against the wet stone. A silver-edged dagger rested against her thigh, its handle worn smooth by years of use. Her coat shifted with every step, hiding the arsenal beneath — wooden stakes, throwing knives, vials of holy water.
Her name was Selena Veyra, and tonight she hunted.
Not for coin.
Not for glory.
For revenge.
Every drop of rain that kissed her cheek was a reminder — the world was cold, and so was her heart. The memory of her parents' bodies, drained pale and lifeless by a vampire's bite, had burned itself into her mind years ago. Two loves had come after, both ending in betrayal and loss. Love was a weakness she could no longer afford.
She paused at the mouth of an alley, pressing her back to the wall.
The sound came again — faint footsteps, too deliberate to be human. Her fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt.
A whisper of movement.
A flicker of shadow.
And then… he stepped into view.
The vampire.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. His black coat swept the ground like spilled ink, the fabric whispering with every step. Wet strands of dark hair clung to his pale face, framing eyes that were not simply red — they glowed faintly, as if lit from within by an ember that refused to die.
His gaze locked on hers instantly.
And he smiled.
"You've been following me," he said, voice low and smooth, carrying an almost lazy amusement.
Selena's lips curled into a snarl. "And you've been leaving a trail of corpses."
Lightning flashed somewhere above the rooftops, throwing the scene into stark relief.
Neither moved for a heartbeat.
Then both lunged at the same time.
The clash was silent at first — dagger meeting claw, movement too fast for human eyes to track. He moved like liquid shadow, every strike precise, almost playful, while her attacks were sharp and brutal, born of years of training and rage.
Steel scraped against steel as she swung for his throat; he caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it hard enough to make her grunt, then shoved her back against the wall. Her boot came up sharply, slamming into his knee, and she twisted free, slicing at his chest. The blade bit deep — and yet he only glanced down at the wound, smirking as the blood welled and closed before her eyes.
"You're fast," he murmured, stepping closer.
Selena's dagger pressed against his heart. "Fast enough to kill you."
Instead of retreating, he leaned in.
Close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips.
Close enough that the scent of him — a strange mix of rain, iron, and something warm, almost intoxicating — curled into her senses.
"You won't," he whispered.
And she hated that part of her knew he was right.
The moment shattered when she slashed upward, forcing him to leap back. They circled, eyes locked, the world narrowing to the space between them. His movements shifted — less aggressive now, more like a predator toying with prey.
She lunged again, aiming for his throat. He sidestepped, caught her around the waist, and spun her into the wall so hard the stones shuddered. His hand pinned her wrist above her head, the other pressing flat to her stomach.
The contact was electric.
Her pulse roared in her ears, and for the briefest second, his expression softened — not with pity, but something darker. Hunger. Possession.
He leaned in, lips grazing her ear. "You have no idea what you've started."
Then, just as suddenly, he released her and stepped back.
Selena didn't waste the chance. She hurled a stake at his heart — but he blurred, moving faster than her eyes could follow, and when she turned, he was gone.
Only his voice lingered in the fog:
"We'll meet again, hunter."