What a fucking awful day. As if watching Brianne walk into that God of Light church this afternoon wasn't enough, now I've got John Hawkley's goons breathing down my neck, trying to drag me into their pathetic crew. This time it's Frank Callhan—a bald, brainless musclehead. Another demon, of course.
I ran into him in some alley in the Bronx. "Ran into" being generous—they've obviously been tailing me nonstop. I'm sure of it. And I swear, one day I'll kill every last one of them. John, Frank, and every single worthless bastard working for that piece of shit.
At least John Hawkley's a demon with some culture and intellect. He creeps me out, pisses me off—but at least he can put words together. Frank can't. He's never read a book in his life, and even a toddler sounds more refined than he does.
And if that weren't enough, he won't even let me feed in peace.
«You planning to keep staring at me while I feed, or what?!»
I've just finished my usual nightly hunt. This time, the guy I killed probably should've thanked me—judging by his state, I did him a favor. He must've been on some cocktail of alcohol and drugs. When he saw me, he even called me "mom."
Can you believe it? Mom… to me! If I'd been a hot chick, maybe—maybe—it would've made sense. But calling "mom" a virile man like me? That's pure mental collapse. Killing him just ended his suffering—and probably the suffering of everyone who had to deal with him.
The taste of his blood is disgusting. The guy was practically dead already, even before I cut his head off with one clean, swift strike from my solid-blood scythe. That's why I always need to cleanse my palate afterward—with a few drops of Isabelle's exquisite blood, whenever I can get it.
Now I'm sitting on the ground, back against the wall, sipping this low-grade blood straight from the guy's skull like it's soup from a bowl. And that bald idiot just keeps staring at me, like I'm some circus act. As usual when I go hunting, I'm wearing a ski mask and one of those cheap tracksuits from street markets—easy to toss when they get dirty. Can never be too careful.
«Why don't you want to be one of us? You'd gain so many advantages if you joined Mr. Hawkley's crew,» he asks, in his usual caveman voice. And weirdly enough, that sentence actually made sense. He must've memorized it. What an idiot…
«Oh yeah? And what kind of advantages would those be?»
Frank mumbles something—just random words. He probably forgot what he was supposed to say. Not that I'm surprised.
In the end, Frank doesn't manage to say a single coherent thing. Silence falls again between us, but he still doesn't move—just keeps staring. He's really starting to piss me off. If he doesn't walk away in the next minute, I swear I'll kill him.
But the silence doesn't last. A white flash lights up the whole alley—it lasts only a second. What the hell was that?
Then Frank says two words—way too clear, way too worried.
Monster Reaper!
Shit!
Luckily, vampire reflexes are way sharper than human ones. That's the only reason I managed to dodge the sword coming down on me at the last second. But it's not a normal sword… it's insane! Solid, but made entirely of white fire. And damn—it burns! It missed my face by a meter, and my skin's still stinging. If it had hit me… no need to imagine. I'd be dead.
And the one wielding that sword… is definitely a woman! She's covered head to toe in a long black cloak and even wears a mask, but her hourglass hips and those toned, trained thighs are unmistakably female. No way I'd get that wrong.
But the worst part is, her entire body glows with the same white flames her sword's made of. And now… what the hell am I supposed to do? She's going to kill me!
Some might say: "Hey, there's two of you—you can take her."
No! That bastard Frank bolted the second he saw that flaming psycho drop down on me!
The one time that piece of shit could've actually been useful… he didn't even try to say, "I'll help you, but only if you join us." If he had, I'm not saying I would've agreed right away—but at least I might've considered it. Too bad he's too stupid to think of that on his own!
This chick's insanely strong—and fast! I didn't even have time to blink before she was in front of me, lunging forward, swinging that flaming sword. I managed to block it with the handle of my scythe—too bad she sliced it clean in half a second later.
I'm gonna die, I know it! I'm gonna die! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
At least I'm wearing the ski mask… without it, running would be pointless—I'd be recognized instantly. I need to think of something, anything! I swear, if I make it out alive, I'll never hunt down random junkies for blood again!
Though honestly, they should be thanking me. I'm cleaning up the filth clogging these streets! It's not vampires' fault New York is one of the most dangerous cities in the world!
I deserve a medal for what I'm doing—I'm a fucking superhero fighting crime!
And this is how they thank me?! Getting slashed at by a Monster Reaper?! Screw that!
I barely dodge two more sword strikes by sheer luck, but I doubt I'll get lucky again. Especially now that… I'm cornered.
Shit, why the hell did I run into a dead-end alley?
Note to self: no more dead-end alleys.
Oh right, I already swore I wouldn't hunt humans anymore if I survived. Fine. No more hunting humans—in dead-end alleys.
And now, Vampire God, please don't let me die! Wait… is there even a Vampire God? I guess there must be… whoever you are, save me, I'm begging you!
Another vow to add: I'll look up who the Vampire God is and start praying day and night. That's because… two beams of purple energy just shot down from the sky a second before that Monster Reaper could stab me with her burning sword!
The first one hit between us, forcing her back and kicking up a massive cloud of dust. The second one struck the wall behind me, blowing it open and giving me a chance to escape. And I think something's happening back there—the Monster Reaper and whoever saved me are probably fighting.
But that's not my problem. The only thing that matters is… somehow, I'm still alive.