Some people grow up in ordinary streets. I grew up with blood on mine…
Rain slicked the streets of Port Haven, New Jersey, turning neon signs into fractured fire on wet asphalt. Tenement buildings loomed overhead, their brick facades curling with age, and fog drifted from the docks like smoke from a dying fire. Streetlights flickered, casting shadows that moved even when nothing did.
Adrian Vale moved through it like a shadow, hood pulled over his dark, messy hair, sneakers silent against the wet pavement. Twin daggers rested at his thighs, tucked into a leather jacket. Outwardly, he could pass for any college student wandering home at night, headphones in, earbuds blasting music. But tonight, there was no music. Only anticipation, only the hum of danger beneath the surface.
His brown eyes, sharp and alert, flickered gold when he focused. Every alley, every doorway, every whisper of movement set his senses on fire. Years of training had taught him that nothing in this city moved without reason. Nothing was ordinary.
Gabriel Moretti's voice cut through the drizzle as Adrian approached the warehouse that served as their base. Broad-shouldered, coat brushing the floor, streaks of silver in his dark hair, and eyes sharp enough to cut through lies, Gabriel had raised Adrian since he was eleven. He had taken a scared, blood-stained boy from an alley dumpster and forged him into something else entirely—a predator, disciplined, precise, unrelenting.
"Late again," Gabriel said, his voice calm, measured, but carrying weight that made Adrian's pulse tighten. "A pack moved through the West Dock. One escaped. I want you tracking it tonight."
Adrian smirked, slipping the daggers free. "Already ahead of you."
Gabriel's eyes didn't soften. He never smiled. "Ahead of me or just impatient?"
"Both," Adrian replied, adjusting the leather straps across his chest. "It's quiet tonight. Too quiet."
Gabriel's gaze lingered on him. "Quiet streets hide loud threats. Keep your head clear."
Adrian nodded, absorbing every word. Seven years of training had made him sharp, confident, even cocky at times—but tonight, he felt the familiar thrill of being tested.
The rooftops of Port Haven were slick with rain, reflecting neon lights in jagged streaks. Adrian moved like liquid, every step precise, every muscle coiled. Mist hugged the alleys below, swirling and curling like fingers reaching for him.
Then he saw it—a figure darting between crates at the far end of the docks. Too fast, too silent, to be human.
"Vampire," Adrian whispered. Gold flared in his eyes.
He leapt from the rooftop, landing behind a dumpster. The smell of wet concrete mixed with salt and rust. Daggers in hand, he flowed into motion, rolling, slashing, striking—but the creature was fast, clever. It hissed, fangs catching the neon glow, and slipped into the mist.
Adrian cursed under his breath. It wasn't ordinary. It moved with intent, intelligence. This was a hunter's nightmare: a creature that could predict him, anticipate his moves.
He took a moment, breathing heavy, muscles tense. Gabriel's lessons hit him: anticipate, don't react; control fear; read the patterns.
Every step, every breath, every shift of mist became a puzzle. Adrian circled, blades ready. The vampire lunged. He sidestepped, slashed the arm. It recoiled, disappearing into the mist.
"Dammit," he muttered, teeth gritting. Whoever this was, it wasn't alone.
A whisper of movement behind him. Too fast to see. Adrian spun—nothing.
Then a shadow dropped from the rooftop across from him. Large, silent, watching.
Adrian's pulse raced. He knew that shadow. It wasn't the escaped vampire… it was something else.
He crouched, heart hammering, daggers raised. His mind raced through years of training: predator patterns, escape routes, attack angles. Every instinct screamed.
Before he could react, a sharp pain exploded in his shoulder. Daggers slid from his hands. He stumbled, hitting the wet asphalt hard. Rain dripped into his eyes, burning, blurring vision.
A low, guttural voice rolled from the mist:
"You shouldn't be here, hunter."
Adrian's stomach twisted. He had faced countless vampires, tracked packs, predicted ambushes—but this voice… it carried power. Ancient, cold, and lethal.
He rolled to one side, grabbing a dagger that had slid near his hand. Eyes narrowed, he searched the shadows. The figure didn't move. Just watched. Silent, patient. Waiting.
Memories flashed in Adrian's mind—his fatherless childhood, Gabriel pulling him from a dumpster after that night in the alley. He had been eleven, terrified, alone. Gabriel had trained him relentlessly, molding him into a weapon.
Adrian's hands clenched the dagger. Years of training, nights of tracking, endless drills—he was ready. Or so he told himself.
He lunged forward, slashing blindly into the mist. The shadow dodged effortlessly, almost… amused.
Adrian hissed. He had underestimated this creature.
A sudden screech split the night—a warning from the escaped pack? A predator challenging him? He couldn't tell. Mist swirled thicker, dripping off the docks into the water below. The vampire's eyes glowed faintly, red, a predator assessing prey.
Adrian's body moved on instinct. He dodged a swipe, rolled, struck at the figure's leg. There was no response. The creature was faster, smarter—untouchable.
"You think you're ready," the voice hissed, echoing through the fog. "But you're still a child playing with knives."
Adrian's blood ran hot. Anger, adrenaline, fear—all mixed into sharp focus. I am not a child, he thought. I am the hunter.
He feinted left, rolled behind a crate, slashing blindly again. The shadow vanished. Silence.
Adrian froze, listening. Only rain, only fog, only the distant hum of neon. His shoulder burned, but he ignored it. Daggers gripped tightly. He sensed movement—something else was coming.
From the darkness, a figure stepped forward. Cloaked in mist, the vampire's eyes burned crimson. Its smile was slow, deliberate.
"You survive," it said. "But not for long."
Before Adrian could react, it lunged with impossible speed.
And then—everything went black.