Page 10

“Time enough,” I muttered, checking my gear as I walked. Silver knife, UV grenades, blessed ammunition, standard vampire hunting kit. I'd forgotten a snack though, and that was annoying. Hard to be intimidating when your stomach's growling. “Any sign of that CITD agent Lex mentioned?”

A pause, followed by more rapid typing. “Interesting. There's someone outside the club who's definitely fed, but... Sean, something's off about him. His heat signature is weird.”

That got my attention. Skye didn't do 'weird', they dealt in hard data and concrete facts.

“Define weird.”

“It's like... there's interference around him. Similar to what we see with some supernatural entities, but not quite the same. And he's... wait.” Their voice sharpened. “Sean, he's watching you.”

I stopped mid-step, keeping my movements casual. “What?”

“Your three o'clock, across the street. Blonde guy by the lamppost. The one who looks like he walked out of a GQ photoshoot but could probably kill you with his tie.”

I turned slightly, letting my gaze drift across the street as if taking in the nightlife. That's when I saw him.

Tall. Broad shoulders filled out an expensive suit that somehow didn't quite hide the fighter's build beneath. Blonde hair caught the neon lights, and even in the chaos of Manhattan's nightlife, he had the poised stillness of someone used to being in control.

And he was staring right at me.

“Skye,” I murmured, “run facial recognition.”

“Already on it. CITD database identifies him as Special Agent Cade Cross. But Sean...” They hesitated, which was never a good sign. “There's almost nothing on him. His file's been redacted to hell and back. The kind of cleanup job I usually see with black ops or politicians' love children.”

For a long moment, neither Cross nor I moved. Just two predators, sizing each other up across a street full of oblivious civilians. Then he tilted his head like he was acknowledging my presence.

“He knows what you are,” Skye said quietly. “Normal feds don't move like that. Don't watch like that.”

My fingers twitched toward the knife at my hip. Special Agent Cade Cross wasn't normal, alright. The way he held himself, the awareness in his eyes. This wasn't some paper-pusher who'd stumbled into our world by accident.

Vampires in our world weren't the romantic figures from modern fiction. They were predators, pure and simple, with a rigid social structure that made mortal politics look straightforward. Their Courts ruled each territory like medieval kingdoms, ancient vampires maintaining order through centuries of accumulated power and carefully cultivated fear.

The older ones could pass for human almost perfectly, their inhuman nature hidden behind practiced grace and perfect smiles. Those were the ones you really had to watch for, the ones with enough control to plan, to manipulate, to build power bases that lasted centuries. They played long games, using decades like humans used days, always thinking three moves ahead.

Younger vampires were easier to spot, and easier to kill. Fresh-turned, they couldn't hide their hunger, couldn't resist the pull of blood and violence. They were the ones who usually brought hunters down on their kind, their sloppiness threatening the careful secrecy their elders maintained.

Each Court had its own rules about feeding, turning new vampires, and interacting with the mortal world. Break those rules, and the punishment came swift and final. I'd seen what vampire lords did to those who risked exposing their kind, it wasn't pretty, and it wasn't quick.

The usual weaknesses applied, sunlight, holy water, blessed silver. But stakes were tricky, had to hit the heart exactly right, with enough force to pierce undead flesh. Beheading worked better, if you could manage it. The real trick was getting close enough to try either method. Their supernatural speed and strength made close combat a dangerous gamble.

But they weren't invincible. Their strict hierarchies could be used against them, their ancient politics exploited by hunters who knew the right pressure points. And for all their power, they could still die, could still bleed out on a hunter's blade like any other monster.

“The vampire's on the move,” Skye reported. “What's the play here? Please tell me it doesn't involve you doing something stupid and heroic.”

I studied Cross for another moment. Everything about him set off warning bells, but there was something else too. Something that made me want to know more.

“Keep eyes on both targets,” I said finally. “Let's see what Agent Cross does when the fangs come out.”

“Sean.” Skye's voice held a note of warning. “The last time you got interested in someone...”

“I know.” London. Eli. Some memories never fade, no matter how much whiskey you pour on them. “Just track them.”

“Fine. But if this goes sideways, I'm calling Lex. And I'm putting 'I told you so' on your tombstone.”

I started moving again, keeping Cross in my peripheral vision. The vampire would be the priority, couldn't let an innocent die just because some pretty fed had caught my attention. But after... well, I had some questions for Special Agent Cross.

I repositioned myself in the shadows of a service entrance, splitting my focus between the two targets. The agent remained where I'd left him, scanning the crowd with that trained intensity feds never quite manage to hide. Meanwhile, the vampire worked her mark inside the club. The whole scene was playing out like a well-rehearsed dance.

“Target's blood alcohol level is well past the legal limit,” Skye reported in my ear. “Classic vampire hunting pattern. She's been steering him toward the back exit for the last ten minutes.”