The moonlight light in requiem

Noah still had sand in his hands.

It clung to his palms and curled under his fingernails from when he and the other boys had been warriors again, crawling through the dry grass and dirt like spies in enemy territory. He'd rolled and ducked and laughed until his ribs hurt, even though his mother had told him not to get dirty today. He forgot. He always forgot when they played like that.

The sun had slipped away while he wasn't looking. The sky was already purple and bruising at the edges when he finally started walking home. Usually by now, his mom or his sister would've come to drag him back, scolding the whole way, flicking mud from his ears. But no one came today.

The streetlights were on. That was how he knew he'd played too long.

He tried to wipe his face with the edge of his shirt as he walked up the hill. His hands were still gritty, and the mud just smeared more. He figured maybe if he looked clean enough, she wouldn't be too mad.

Then he saw her.

There was a woman on the porch.

She wasn't moving, just standing in front of the open door, staring inside like she'd forgotten how to knock. Her hair was long—white, like the soft part of dandelions—and her skin was too pale, like the dolls in the attic. She wore black from her neck to her shoes, not like anyone he'd seen around town.

Noah stopped walking.

He didn't know why. Something about her made his stomach go strange, like when he'd eaten too much candy. She hadn't seen him yet. She didn't move at all.

The door was open behind her.

He didn't know why that scared him more.

When she turned and their eyes met, Noah nearly cried.

Her eyes were glowing—really glowing, like someone had turned little blue lights on behind them. They were the brightest thing on the street, brighter than the porch light. She stared at him without blinking, and the longer she looked, the more his knees started to shake. He felt cold, like winter wind had snuck under his skin.

Then she smiled.

It was a big, warm smile that made her eyes squint and her cheeks lift. It almost made him feel better.

Then she started walking toward him.

"Hey," she said, her voice light and friendly. "Is this your house?"

Noah nodded, too scared to say anything. His mother had always told him not to talk to strangers. Especially not ones standing outside with the door wide open.

She stopped right in front of him and bent down so their eyes were level. Her breath smelled like something sweet and old.

"Wow, how lucky," she said. "We came to see your parents, but you weren't with them. You're a pretty lucky boy, you know that? What's your name?"

"Noah," he said softly.

"Noah," she repeated, like she was tasting it. "Are you a good boy?"

He nodded again.

"Do you know how to play hide and seek?"

Another nod.

"Would you like to play hide and seek with me?"

Her smile was really nice. She didn't seem scary anymore, not really—not when she looked at him like that. And he liked hide and seek. It was his favorite.

"Yeah," he said, then glanced toward the house. Something tugged at him from the doorway, quiet and wrong.

"We can't play inside," she said quickly, her voice sing-song and sweet. "So let's play outside, okay?"

She tilted her head, thinking, then added, "Hmm… Aside from me, don't come out to see anybody, okay?"

"Why?" he asked, frowning a little.

Her smile stayed. But this time, she didn't answer right away.

"'Cause only I can find you," she said, tapping the tip of his nose with a finger that was too cold. "If you get caught by other people… they might take you away. Do you want to be taken away?"

"No."

He shook his head hard. A little fear trickled in now, like cold water down his back.

"Good," she said, all bright again. "Then I'm going to count to one hundred. Make sure you hide far away… or I'll find you."

He nodded. His legs already wanted to run. He turned and started looking for a place—somewhere deep, somewhere good. Every few steps he looked back. She was still on the porch, smiling, waving him on.

She started counting once he was farther away.

He ran.

He searched behind the church, past the mailboxes, down to where the bushes grew wild along the fence line. They scratched at his arms and face as he crawled in, but he didn't stop. He wanted to hide in a place no one would think to look.

The branches dug into his skin, but he endured.

Her counting had faded now. The world was too quiet. Not even crickets.

Then he saw them.

Figures, moving up the street—not walking, not exactly. They glided, like shadows unhooked from the ground. He couldn't see their faces, only the black of their clothes, long like coats, trailing behind them like smoke.

He held his breath without meaning to. His heart beat so loud he was sure they'd hear.

One of them stopped.

"What was that sound?" it said, voice strange and empty, like someone speaking through water.

"I don't hear anything," said the girl—the girl from before, the one he was playing with. "People are coming. Let's get going."

Then silence.

Time passed. A lot of it. He didn't know how much. Long enough that the cold made his toes curl, long enough that his body got heavy. He must've fallen asleep.

When he woke, arms were lifting him out of the branches.

It was her.

She cradled him like he was light as a feather, and her voice was soft against his ear.

"You did good," she whispered. "Now, don't be scared."

And strangely, he wasn't.

Not even a little.

"When you get home," she said gently, brushing leaves from his hair, "something bad will have happened. So don't go inside, okay? Just go to your neighbors instead. Stay with them. Got it?"

He nodded.

He didn't really understand why. He wanted to ask—but something in her voice made him stop. She hadn't lied before. And she looked at him like it was very, very important.

He wouldn't disobey.

"Good boy."

She let him go, and he started walking. The road felt longer now, darker somehow, but he walked it anyway. Just before he reached the top of the hill, he looked back.

She was still there, waving.

The moonlight made her hair glow silver and her eyes looked bright again, too bright. She didn't look scary, not exactly—but something about her didn't feel like it belonged to this world.

He turned away.

When he reached his neighbor's porch, he stopped. His hand hovered near the doorbell.

Why wasn't he going home?

He wanted to see his mom. He wanted to complain about the scratches and show her how fast he ran. But then—

Then something flickered through him. Not like a memory, not yet—but like something leaking through a crack. Blood. The smell of it. Sticky on his hands. The silence of it.

Bodies.

He didn't know how he saw them, only that he did.

His sister on the living room floor, her throat torn from her neck and tossed aside like a broken toy. His mother, her belly split open, everything that was supposed to be inside lying outside now. His father—his mouth wide open, no tongue, only blood pooling in a red lake beneath him.

Noah froze. His stomach flipped.

His hand dropped from the doorbell.

And he stood there, quiet as a ghost, not knowing he had started crying.

Noah woke up drenched in sweat, breath caught in his throat like he'd surfaced from drowning. For a few seconds, his limbs felt too long, too heavy—then he realized it wasn't just him.

There was something on him.

"Shh, it's okay," came a whisper, close to his ear. Fingers ran through his hair in soft, slow strokes. It should've been calming. It wasn't. Panic surged instead.

He jerked up, shoulders tense, muscles coiled and ready. His eyes locked on her.

Seraphine.

Curled up beside him on the bed, half-asleep, her mouth still moving—murmuring something he couldn't make out. Nonsense. Dreams.

Noah didn't think. He raised his hand and smacked her thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

She yelped, bolting upright, both hands flying to the spot. "What the heck, Noah?"

"That's my line," he snapped, voice low and clipped. "I told you to stop sneaking into my bed."

"You were having a nightmare," she shot back, loud now, indignant, kneeling on the mattress with all the offense of someone who thought she was doing him a favor.

They stared at each other, both breathing too hard. Noah's jaw ticked. He stood, backing away from the bed like it might catch fire, eyes scanning the room. It looked exactly the same as it had before he fell asleep—except she wasn't in the bed he gave her.

She was in his.

Again.

"What were you dreaming about anyway?" Seraphine asked, head tilted, still rubbing her leg. "It must've been scary."

He didn't answer.

Because it was. And it wasn't her business.

Because the blood never fades. Not in dreams. Not in memory. Not in him.

Noah didn't respond. He moved in silence, feet brushing against the floorboards, the sound barely registering over the thudding in his ears. He opened the mini fridge, grabbed a beer, and cracked it open with a practiced flick. The first swallow burned in a way that didn't satisfy, but he kept drinking anyway.

When he finally turned, she was still watching him from the bed, one hand still resting on her thigh where he'd struck her.

"You keep getting into my space, Seraphine," he said, voice low, the words weighed down with something heavier than irritation. "We're going to have to talk about this. Sooner or later."

Her eyes narrowed, defiant. "What are you talking about? I was comforting you. Is that a crime now?"

He didn't answer her. Not directly.

How many times did he have to say it? That he didn't want comfort from her—the vampire who stole everything. Who stood on his porch like a shadow pretending to be light. Who saved his life only after ruining it.

"I know you hate me, Noah," she said, voice quieter now, almost tender. She stood up from the bed, arms folding across her chest. "But I can't watch you suffer and do nothing. You're just going to have to deal with that."

That night came back to him like it always did, memories stitched with blood and confusion. The way she smiled. The way she told him to hide. The way he obeyed.

Now that he was older, sharper, and everything in him had hardened—he could finally name what she did.

Seraphine had compelled him.

And maybe he hated her for that most of all.

At the door of his house, the sounds had been too clear—his parents begging, crying. He had stood there, a silent witness, feeling the weight of everything he couldn't understand. His sister's body on the ground, her lifeless eyes staring at nothing. The dream didn't come close to doing justice to that night. And Seraphine's compulsion had stripped away some of the tension he could never get back—the panic, the helplessness.

"Why did you come find me tonight?" His voice was sharp, the words cutting through the quiet room as he sank into the chair by the window. The streetlights outside flickered, casting long shadows across the floor. It was just past nine, the time when the world felt like it belonged to creatures that moved under the veil of darkness. Seraphine, though she could walk in daylight, was always more awake at night.

Last night, her presence had been just another interference, another annoyance to deal with. But then the vampire lord showed up out of nowhere. And Noah knew—no vampire lord just showed up, like it was some random coincidence waiting to be discovered.

"I told you," she said, her voice sharp, "it was to help you." Her lips pressed into that stubborn line, the one that always made her look like she was certain she was right and everyone else was just too blind to see it.

"No," he replied, leaning back in the chair, eyes locked on her. "How did you know I needed help? What do you know?"

If it had just been a bunch of Savants nesting somewhere, he would've handled it. He always did. So why the hell was she so sure he needed her?

Seraphine turned away from him, folding her arms tighter across her chest. Her posture, stiff and rigid, told him everything she wasn't saying. "I'm not talking." Her voice softened, like a reluctant child who had been told no too many times. "I'm hungry and bored. I want to go out."

Her appetite for distraction, for something to fill the void she never seemed to acknowledge, irritated him more than anything. He didn't have time for her whims. But of course, she wouldn't stop. She never did.

"Seraphine..." Noah's voice was a low warning, his patience wearing thin. She was playing games, pushing him just a little too far.

"I'm not telling you a thing till I'm satisfied," she stressed, her tone deliberate. Noah could feel his veins practically pulse with frustration. His hands clenched, the familiar ache for his sword gnawing at him. But the weapon was useless to him now, not in the way he needed. What he needed were new weapons, tools, gadgets for the hunts to come.

But with Seraphine, threats meant nothing. He knew that. She always pushed back, always demanded more, and he'd have to give it to her if he wanted answers. He could feel the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, but he swallowed it down.

He finished his beer in a long gulp, feeling the cold burn slide down his throat. He stood and walked toward her, the movement swift, purposeful. He pointed at her, his jaw clenched tight. "If you don't start talking after you eat, you won't like what I do."

She smiled, a smile that only seemed to widen his irritation. "I want to stretch my legs too. And can we get new clothes? My dress is torn to bits and covered in blood."

He always traveled light, never carrying extra anything—especially not clothes for someone like her. They'd have to stop by a store.

"Fine," he muttered, walking over to grab his jacket. He'd bathed earlier, changed out of his soiled clothes into something simpler—a plain T-shirt and jeans. He threw on his jacket, grabbed the keys to his bike, and headed for the door, not sparing a second glance at Seraphine. She was going to be a pain, but there was no way around it now.

Seraphine danced happily around him, her energy radiating off her in sharp, chaotic bursts as they left the motel behind. It was a stark contrast to Noah's brooding silence, his mind still tangled in the knot of questions and frustrations she never seemed to answer.

He had his helmet on, but Seraphine climbed onto the back of his bike without one. He could already feel the weight of her body against his, but a thought crossed his mind: Even if she fell off and hit her head against the asphalt, it wouldn't matter. She wouldn't die.

She settled behind him, her arms slipping around his waist. Noah revved the engine and the bike roared to life, pulling them both forward into the night.

"Get off me," he muttered, though he already knew the response. She wouldn't listen. She never did. It would be easier to leave her behind, but he knew better than to think he could ever escape her for long. No matter how far he went, Seraphine would find him, and the weight of her existence would make his life unbearable.

The city blurred around them, the sounds of honking horns and screeching tires mixing with the roar of the engine. Noah's hands gripped the handlebars as they shot through traffic, but Seraphine's laughter reached his ears—loud, free, and a little too carefree for his liking.

He glanced behind him briefly, catching sight of her hand raised high into the air, the wind making her long hair stream out behind her like a banner. She was waving it through the sky as if the world belonged to her and her alone.

They arrived at a store that seemed out of place for the area—a shop that stayed open late, but the clothes on display were barely more than scraps of fabric, barely holding together. The kind of place where the desperate or the reckless came to indulge. It wasn't the type of place Noah ever visited, but he was here now, following Seraphine into the dim-lit interior. His eyes narrowed instinctively as he surveyed the racks, but it didn't matter. Watching her shop for clothes felt like torturing himself. A hot poker to the eyes would be more enjoyable than standing here and enduring this.

Of course, they had no money. But Seraphine didn't need it. She just needed to look at the shop clerk and with one simple word, one flash of her eyes, the girl would let her have whatever she wanted. No questions asked.

Noah pretended not to notice when the transaction unfold. In exchange for turning a blind eye to this—this petty theft—he convinced himself he was keeping people safe. After all, they had to survive somehow. There were worse things out there than a shopkeeper's lost income.

There was a hunter association that paid for jobs, funded by government agencies who were aware of the vampire plague, but Noah wasn't an official hunter. He couldn't take advantage of those benefits when he was walking around with a known vampire.

While Seraphine shopped for something to wear, Noah felt the familiar prickling sensation—the feeling of eyes on him. Looked like they'd gotten some gum stuck to their shoes.

He couldn't decide if it was human or vampire. He'd ask Seraphine, but she was completely oblivious to the crowd around her, the way they watched. She wouldn't notice even if she was being followed.

Noah sat back in the chair, flipping through a magazine about lingerie, though it barely held his attention. His eyes weren't on the pages; they were scanning the room, watching everyone else.

A blonde woman, browsing to his left, stood too close, her eyes lingering just a bit too long. Another woman was further down the aisle, near Seraphine, just a shadow against the white of her hair. Beyond the glass wall, Noah spotted a man standing by a light pole, smoking, his eyes fixed on the shop entrance. And another man, just as poised, hands in his pockets, shoulder squared, but not coming inside.

Hunters.

Great. The worst kind of human attention he could get. They knew exactly what they were looking for.

"Noah, Noah—look!"

Seraphine was twirling in a long white dress, the hem flaring around her like a sheet caught in the wind. She lifted the fabric with both hands and spun again, hair flying, face lit with something too bright to be called innocent.

Noah raised an eyebrow. For someone who drank blood for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she had a disturbing love for white.

"Not practical," he said, "but it works all the same."

She froze mid-turn, scowling. "What does that even mean? Can't you just say it's pretty?"

"Let's just get out of here already, okay?"

He scanned the store again. The hunters were still outside. Hopefully they were just watching—taking notes, planning their next move. If they attacked now, in a crowd like this, it would be chaos. And trouble. So much trouble.

Having a known vampire strutting around like she didn't have a price on her head was just asking for it. Most hunters didn't know what kind of vampire Seraphine was—they thought she was just another leech. They didn't realize they were digging their own graves.

He needed to shake them off before anyone got bold. A chase in the city, he could handle. A bloodbath in a lingerie store? Not ideal.

Seraphine had made her way to the counter, clearly about to compel the clerk when Noah spotted it—too late.

One of the supposed shoppers, the brunette woman near the register, had shifted position. The second he saw her hand move, Noah's instincts screamed.

"Seraphine!" he shouted.

She turned instantly, and with vampiric speed, caught the wrist behind her—just before a syringe could jab into her neck.

The crack of breaking bone echoed sharply. Seraphine's expression didn't flicker. She even smiled.

"What's this?" she asked sweetly, twisting the attacker's arm with lazy cruelty. "You guys again? Ugh. Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Noah caught the woman by the arm before Seraphine could send her flying into a shelf. "Let's just go," he said, voice tight with urgency.

Seraphine huffed, clearly displeased. "If you people could actually kill me, I might take you seriously. But all you're doing is annoying me."

She turned to the shop clerk, who stood frozen behind the counter with wide eyes but no real alarm. Probably used to the late-night madness this part of town attracted. Noah wondered what kind of mental gymnastics she'd do to explain this away.

"Let me have this," Seraphine said sweetly, smoothing the front of her dress. "And forget you ever saw me, okay?"

The clerk nodded, her eyes glossing over as the compulsion settled in. Noah dropped the groaning woman against the base of a nearby chair and stepped over her without a second glance.

"There are more of them outside," he said quietly to Seraphine. "Let me deal with it."

She shrugged like they were talking about mild weather. "Just don't get yourself hurt."

Noah made for the bike, already straddling it when Seraphine tried to climb on behind him—only to get stuck. Her new white dress was too tight around the knees to lift her leg over.

"I see what you meant about the dress," she said, pausing to inspect the fit thoughtfully.

"Come on," Noah snapped, knowing full well she was thinking about going back inside for something else.

She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the store again.

"Get over here," he said. He reached out, yanked her toward him by the wrist, and drew his dagger in one clean motion. The blade sliced through the fabric, leaving a long slit up to her thigh.

"Better?"

Seraphine gasped, then beamed. "Wow. I love it." She twirled once, holding the fabric like a model on a runway. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to stab you for real if you don't get on."

She groaned, "Why are we in such a hurry?"

He didn't answer. Just grabbed her arm, hauled her onto the back of the bike, and gunned the engine. The roar cut through the night as they sped off, tires shrieking as they hit the road.

Noah shifted gears hard. The only way this wasn't ending in blood was if he could outrun the hunters now on their tail.

His bike began to sputter a few minutes down the road, the engine coughing like a dying animal. Noah frowned, eyes flicking down to the gauge. The fuel needle dipped dangerously low.

"That's impossible."

He didn't want to believe it. But moments later, the bike shuddered to a halt. The engine gave one last groan before dying completely. They both climbed off, and Noah dropped to one knee beside it, checking the undercarriage.

A second later, his voice tore through the silence. "They cut my fucking pipes!"

"Language, Noah." Seraphine scolded, folding her arms, her tone more offended than concerned.

He shot her a sharp glare. For someone who fed on blood, she was surprisingly uptight about cursing. But Noah didn't mess around when it came to his bike. It was the one thing in the world he could truly call his own—paid for with sweat, bruises, and the blood of more than a few monsters.

The hunters crossed a line. And for a brief moment, he considered just stepping aside and letting Seraphine off her leash. They didn't deserve his restraint.

He stood and took in their surroundings. A long stretch of nothing. Empty lots, shadows too deep for comfort, and that awful stillness that screamed trouble.

"Find somewhere to hide."

"Hide? Why?" Her nose wrinkled, lips jutted into a pout as annoyance radiated off her. "Just let me kill them."

"And then what?" he snapped. "They'll keep coming. You know that. So shut your mouth and hide."

"Don't tell your master to shut up. Fine!" she snapped back, tossing her hair and stomping a few steps away.

"Don't let them find you," he said, quieter now, his tone laced with something darker. The night pressed in around him, bringing back too many memories—dreams twisted by trauma, flickering images from fourteen years ago. This all felt too familiar.

"Okay. Call my name when it's over. No—no, call me Sera," she said, almost teasing.

"Not a chance," Noah muttered under his breath, already shifting his mind to strategy—cover, movement, escape routes. He didn't look at her again, but he knew the moment she left. Her light, that strange ever-present bubble of warmth, vanished from his side like a candle snuffed out.

He darted across the road, his boots thudding softly against the pavement, and slipped into what looked like an abandoned warehouse. The metal door hung crooked on its hinges, already half-destroyed by time or something worse. Noah pushed it open wider—wider than necessary, deliberately careless. A breadcrumb trail. An obvious sign: I'm in here. Come get me.

Inside, the place smelled of dust and rusted metal. He crouched behind a stack of crates, the wood brittle and splintered, and waited.

They came exactly when he expected—three shadows slipping into the warehouse, boots silent, breath low. They fanned out, circling his bike outside first, then stepping into the trap he'd laid. No chatter, no hesitation. Professionals. He respected that. Hated it, but respected it.

He knew their type—hunter-trained to the teeth. Some learned to mask their heartbeats, their presence practically undetectable to vampires. Not many could pull it off, but these ones were disciplined. Dangerous.

He'd have to drop them fast, quiet, and if he was lucky, get one to talk before letting them go. Maybe even score some new gear in the process. Robbing fellow hunters might be frowned upon, but he'd consider it payment. Hazard compensation. Thank you for not dying tonight, here's your sword in return.

One of them came close, moving with the careful grace of someone who'd done this a hundred times. A pro. But Noah was faster.

He lunged, grabbing the hunter by the collar, yanking him into a hammerlock before the man could breathe a sound. Noah's hand came down sharp and clean—chop to the neck. The hunter sagged instantly, and Noah lowered him gently behind the crates.

"Anything?" a voice whispered from the shadows.

They'd notice the absence soon. Noah shifted, slipping around the stack and vaulting over a crate of old cables. He landed silent. The second and third hunters moved cautiously, whispering now.

"Hey," Noah called lightly, and as one turned, he met a hard punch to the jaw. The man staggered. Noah grabbed his sword before it could hit the ground and spun, blade raised at the last hunter.

"Hi," Noah said, grinning. "I'm not your enemy. I'm actually saving your life."

"Bullshit," the man growled.

Noah heard it—felt it—before he saw it. The subtle whistle of something cutting the air.

He dodged low.

An arrow zipped past his shoulder, embedding itself in the crate behind him with a heavy thunk. He cursed, pulled back, freeing the hunter to run away.

He'd miscalculated.

There were more than three.

"Shit," Noah hissed, the word punching out of him with the weight of realization. Second time tonight.

He slipped around the crates on his hands and knees, moving low and silent. The shadows were thick here, perfect for someone like him.

"Who is it?" came a gruff voice, older, from deeper in the warehouse.

"It's the human pet," replied the other hunter, scorn heavy in his voice. "He got Ryan and Victor good."

"Where's the vampire?"

Noah grinned to himself, the edges of his mouth twitching up. So it was just him, and they were already relaxing. Rookie mistake.

He scaled one of the support beams quietly, fingers gripping rusted metal, and pulled himself onto it with a soft grunt. From above, their positions were clear—too close together. Perfect.

"Didn't see her. Where's Destiny and Christian?"

"Destiny thought they went the other way."

Destiny? Noah froze. His body tensed, the name slicing through his mind like a cold wind. No. Can't be that Destiny. He shoved the thought aside.

"Where did he go?"

"Up here," Noah answered casually, dropping down between them in one smooth motion. Before the older man could react, Noah drove a kick into his chest, sending him skidding across the floor.

He turned, caught the throat of the remaining hunter, and dragged him back against his chest—shielded. His eyes flicked to the older one, who had rolled to his knees, bow up and aimed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Noah said calmly.

"Well, he's not," the hunter in his grip snapped, elbowing backward.

Noah's knee shot out, slamming into the man's legs, and he shoved him forward—directly into the line of fire. The man's head jerked toward the drawn arrow.

"I'm really fast," Noah said coolly. "Me, you'll miss. Him? You won't. What do you bet?"

"Why the fuck is a guy like you with that vampire?" the hunter choked, squirming in his grip.

"What's your name?" Noah asked, tightening his hold.

"Greg," the man croaked.

"Well, Greg," Noah said, loosening his grip just enough to let him breathe, "listen up. You tell your party this: that vampire? She can't be killed. She's one of those so-called Bloodthorn vampires."

Greg's eyes widened.

"Yeah. That kind," Noah confirmed. "So stop sending dumbasses like you after her. You're not just wasting your time—you're pissing me off."

He turned to the older hunter, lifting an eyebrow.

"This is the part where you throw that bow away."

He pulled out his dagger and pressed it to Greg's throat, not deep enough to cut, but enough to make him feel the threat. The older hunter understood instantly. With a scowl and a muttered curse, he tossed his bow far off to the side. The clatter echoed across the warehouse.

Noah smiled. "Thanks. I'll be collecting money for the repairs on my bike, by the way. But hey—nice meeting you lot."

Without hesitation, he smacked the hilt of his dagger against the side of Greg's neck. The hunter went limp in his arms. He dropped him gently, and when he looked up, the older man had drawn his sword.

"I've been a hunter for seventeen years," the man said with calm defiance. "I haven't seen a vampire I couldn't kill."

"Doesn't matter," Noah replied, stepping closer, "this time it's not about what you've seen. It's the truth. I'd let you test your luck, but I've got bigger idiots to worry about—so save me the hassle."

Before the man could blink, Noah closed the distance. A sharp jab to the gut knocked the air from his lungs, and a clean leg sweep took him off his feet. In the same motion, Noah caught him midair by the throat and slammed him flat against the concrete.

The man groaned, dazed. "What the hell… you're fast."

"Thanks." Noah's fist came down hard, and everything went still.

He stood, shaking out the tension in his knuckles, and crouched to search the man's coat. A few gadgets, a small comms device, a throwing knife hidden in his boot. Useful. He pocketed what he liked and finally turned to the man's sword, clean and straight—pristine, unlike his bloodstained one.

"Upgrade," he muttered, taking it and slinging the bow over his shoulder.

Then, without another glance, he headed for the side entrance. Time to find the others. Or Seraphine. Whichever came first.

Noah ran out of the warehouse. He knew Seraphine's tendencies—she would choose the brightest place.

He spotted a house with its lights on. Vampires couldn't enter a home unless invited, unless the owner was dead. This house appeared lived-in, but it was better to check.

He ran up and knocked, expecting a confused human to answer, reluctant to let a stranger in at this hour. Instead, Seraphine opened the door. She smiled and pulled it wide open. That was immediately concerning.

"What happened? How are you inside?"

"I was invited in, but this house doesn't belong to anyone."

"I told you to hide. Does this look like hiding? I hope you didn't hurt them."

She was close to starving. Noah knew how dangerous she became in that state—someone would likely die soon. Earlier, he had given her a few drops of his blood while she slept, but that wouldn't keep her sated for long.

"I didn't kill them. Just come in already—they have food. Let's eat here, Noah." She rolled her eyes and started pulling him inside.

Then Noah heard the arrow. He reacted instantly, pushing her aside. The arrow sailed past them, straight into the house—straight into the young woman Noah hadn't realized was standing there.

The young woman's panic arrived in slow motion, her face twisting as if she were trying to bargain withing to it. Then, she slid to the ground.

"Damn it, Seraphine, help her!"

Seraphine didn't so much as glance at the bleeding human. Instead, she was snarling at the hunter lurking in the shadows—the one who had fired the arrow.

"I've got it. Just help her," Noah snapped.

Seraphine looked him over, clearly ready to argue.

"Noah—"

"I know," he cut in, already moving. "It's okay."

Was it? He was leaving a bleeding human with a starving vampire. That sounded like a bad idea but he couldn't focus on that right now

"Destiny?!" Noah called out, uninterested in stealth. "Do you even realize what you've done?"

Sure, there were probably other hunters named Destiny, but Noah knew better. No one else was this obsessed with chasing them down.

"Come out! I'm not in the mood for games!"

He scanned the area and caught movement. He didn't flinch, didn't bother defending himself. He waited. Let her step into the open.

Short brown hair. Gray eyes. Hoodie and skinny jeans.

It was her.

"You shot that human. You realize that, right?"

"For a just cause."

Noah sighed. "You can't kill her. You, of all people, should know that."

Destiny's expression darkened, her chin lifting in stubborn defiance. "But I can put her down."

"Not for long."

"I can lock her away. Like before." Her voice was tight with frustration. "Do you know my family barely trusts me now? Ever since she escaped under my watch—"

"That wasn't on you. I released her."

Her glare could've burned through steel. "So many of us died just to capture her, Noah."

"And there's no need for more to die." He met her gaze, steady. "Let it go."

She recoiled as if he'd suggested adopting a pet vampire instead. "Let it go? You're telling me to let it go?"

"Yes."

"She murdered your entire family, and my whole clan was nearly wiped out because of her!"

"She had help," Noah admitted, voice level. "But yes, I know. I hate her just as much as you do, Destiny."

Her scoff was sharp enough to cut. "Do you? You let her follow you around like some tragic shadow, clinging to you at every turn. You hate her?"

"Yes." His tone didn't waver. "I want to kill her just as badly—maybe even more than you do. I want to kill every last one of them." A pause. "But I don't know how to do it permanently. And fighting something you can't kill? That's suicide, Destiny."

"Maybe," she said, gaze flickering. "But I'd rather have her locked down in a box than roaming free." Her voice softened just a fraction. "Noah. Help me. She trusts you. Let's keep her down."

Noah shook his head, his voice steady despite the chaos. "I know what I'm doing, Destiny. Let this go."

Her laugh was bitter, sharp enough to cut. "I knew you'd say that."

Before he could respond, an arrow shot out from the bush, grazing his thigh. He leaped aside, but not fast enough to avoid the sting. Blood hit the air, and Noah's stomach sank.

This was about to go very, very wrong.

Seraphine burst out of the house like a predator unleashed, her focus locked on the hunter in the shadows. She moved with terrifying speed, catching him like a rat in a trap. Her mouth found his jugular, and with a sickening pull, his throat was free.

When she turned back, her glowing blue eyes were feral.

"Seraphine!" Noah's voice was sharp, desperate. But she was already on Destiny, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

Destiny swung her sword, but Seraphine caught it mid-strike and tossed it aside like it was nothing more than a toy.

Destiny turned to run, but Seraphine was faster. She grabbed her, teeth sinking blindly into her throat.

"Sera!" Noah shouted, the name tearing from his throat. It was the only thing he could think to do.

Miraculously, she stopped. Her blood-covered mouth turned toward him, her glowing eyes narrowing.

Noah didn't hesitate. He brought his dagger to his own throat, cutting a line deep enough to bleed.

"Come here," he said, his voice low but commanding.

Noah couldn't let Destiny die. He owed her too much to let Seraphine tear her apart. If he let her blood spill—there would be no coming back from it.

Seraphine stalked toward him, a strange smile curling her lips, eyes locked on his throat like it held all the answers. Noah didn't blink. One hand pulled a syringe from his pocket, hidden in his grip.

She reached him, wrapping her arms around him, pressing close. She inhaled deeply—savoring—and then she bit down.

Pain seared through him, clearing his thoughts with brutal efficiency. He met Destiny's eyes through the haze and gave her a silent command: Go.

For once, she listened. Clutching her bleeding neck, she crept away.

Noah swayed. Seraphine was drinking greedily, without restraint. If he hesitated even a second more, he'd be nothing but a corpse in her hands.

He drove the syringe into her neck.

She stiffened, then pulled away, her gaze glassy, unfocused. For a long, quiet beat, she stared at him—then slowly collapsed into his chest.

Noah staggered, barely keeping them both upright. He scanned the area, breath shallow. If the hunters attacked now, he wouldn't be able to stop them. And Seraphine? She wouldn't be fighting tonight—or tomorrow night, for that matter.

She needed to be stashed somewhere safe.

He hoisted her over his shoulder and headed up the hills, toward that house with the lights still burning.