The streets were quiet as Mika walked home after her late shift. Rain slicked the pavement, and the orange hue of the streetlights cast long shadows that danced at the corners of her eyes. The metallic tang of iron hung in the air, growing stronger with every step. Her nose wrinkled, stomach twisting as the scent grew overpowering. Something was wrong.
She passed an alleyway—and froze.
Blood.
Everywhere.
Three bodies. A man, mid-30s, lay crumpled, his torso hollowed out like someone had dug through it with bare hands. A young woman, throat sliced clean, her abdomen slashed wide open. Another man, gunshot to the head, a blade still buried in his side.
Mika's knees buckled. Her breath caught in her throat. She stumbled back, then turned and ran, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the silence.
High above, perched on a rooftop like a shadow, Lex watched her flee. He wiped blood from his fingers, savoring the taste—not from tonight's victims. Their blood had already cooled. No, it was her he wanted. Her scent, the rush of her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin. His hunger flared.
But not yet.
Back home, Mika slammed the door shut and collapsed against it, her pulse racing. Logan padded over, ears back, sensing her distress. She hugged him, clinging to the comfort of something alive and familiar. She sat on the couch, flicked on the TV—some snake documentary murmuring in the background. Rain tapped at the windows like fingernails.
Outside, Lex stood beneath the branches of a tree, watching her silhouette move behind the curtains. She looked fragile. Beautiful. His.
But not yet.