PROLOGUE #2
Helene weaves through traffic at dangerous speeds. “I need to know what we’re dealing with, General. This feels coordinated.”
“It is.” His reply is immediate. “We got word a couple of days ago suggesting a dangerous group of vampires intends to make a move on Penn City. I’ve placed my people on high alert, but they breached our outer sensors without triggering alarms.”
That explains a lot. Some vampires out there are real radical purists who believe humans exist solely as food sources or henchmen.
The problem is, they’ve got little to no eyes past their borders. For all they know, every village miles out has already been bled dry, making those bloodsuckers desperate enough to push into new ground.
Penn City might just be their first stop.
“Why wasn’t I informed?” Helene asks, anger rising in her throat.
“Because we weren’t certain.” His voice remains maddeningly calm. “And the council insisted that sensitive intel regarding vampires should be verified first through various sources to prevent unnecessary panic.”
The bitterness in his words is barely perceptible, but Helene catches it.
Rong has lost his entire family to vampires.
His parents and siblings were drained and discarded like empty containers.
He’s spent the following thirty years building a military career hunting the creatures, perfecting tactics that make him both feared and respected.
“The council’s protocols don’t matter now,” Helene urges. “What is your assessment?”
“This is a targeted strike, not a feeding frenzy,” he answers. “They’re after something specific in Penn City.”
Helene feels her stomach drop. “Send a team to secure the blood bank and prison wards. Whatever they want, we can’t let them have it.”
“Way ahead of you. There have been no signs of them so far,” says Rong, an unsettling silence lingering when he pauses. Helene can tell he is carefully selecting his next words. “Whatever they want might not be a thing, Chief.”
A chill runs up her spine. “A person?”
“There’s a dhampir in your city,” he says.
“One who’s been hunting them with uncanny efficacy ever since she left Redmoore.
Looking at our most recent records of her, she’s captured and turned in over two hundred almost every month, and who knows how many she’s killed on top of that.
Those aren’t normal bounty hunting stats, I can tell you that much. ”
Any veteran can take down a handful of vampires without breaking a sweat.
To them, they’re like punching bags with fangs.
But over two hundred almost every month?
That is not just skill. That’s something else entirely.
Those with decades of experience typically manage eighty, maybe one hundred in a good month.
And that’s with full Redmoore backing—weapon loadouts, transport, intelligence networks feeding them target locations.
Being half-vampire means she doesn’t have to rely on those methods, needing to simply follow scents of blood trails and striking targets with speed that leaves even the most alert vampire caught off-guard, moving like smoke through the dense woodlands.
Even when hurt, she recovers more quickly than others.
Her hybrid nature makes her the perfect weapon against her own kind, but it also makes her unpredictable and dangerous to humans.
What will happen if the hunt becomes personal? When she decides the city’s rules do not apply anymore? It’s only their right to view her with suspicion at best, and extermination orders at worst.
Helene speeds through a red light, the gas pedal pressed firmly to the floor. “And now the hunters have come for the hunter.”
“I’d conclude that too, but they wouldn’t have to infiltrate the city for that,” Rong says, audibly racking his brain.
“I’m thinking there’s something blocking them from getting to her outside our borders.
Not a thing, even, but a person. Multiple people.
A group of vampires that goes by the name of Ravens. ”
“The group that was responsible for the Redmoore Massacre?” She swallows hard, fighting the burning sensation behind her eyes.
A decade has passed, but the wound remains raw, festering beneath her professional veneer. No one truly heals from the loss of their child.
The radio crackles with static, and for a short moment, the general remains silent. Even he, with all his tactical detachment, knows better than to offer empty platitudes.
“Yes,” he answers. “The dhampir’s father, Roman Rosen, used to be among my special forces. He was killed that night too. She quit and went back to Penn City not long after that.”
“Right.” Helene puts the pieces together. “I always wondered what would make a slayer step down only to go bounty hunting instead. The trauma must have hit hard. Poor child.”
“Not just that.” The faintest respect creeps into his words.
“Freedom. To hunt without restriction. Redmoore has rules: protocols designed to prevent civilian casualties, required check-ins, paperwork justifying lethal force, et cetera. When tracking mass murderers, who appear to also have spent centuries perfecting the art of staying hidden, those rules can become shackles. As a venator, it’s just her, her weapons, and her revenge mission.
I’m surprised she’s still standing in one piece, to be honest. You don’t just threaten organized crime groups like them and not face any sort of retaliation. ”
“She’s not just any venator,” Helene realizes, her curiosity piqued. “She’s a walking annihilator with a personal vendetta.”
The dhampir always kept to herself, but not without leaving ripples in her wake.
When she moved back to Penn City, Helene flagged her file right away—a former Redmoore slayer with a complicated history and identity, now supposedly retired from vampire slaying, only to go bounty hunting instead.
People like her never truly retire. Helene just couldn’t figure out what it is that she’s after, until now.
Revenge.
“Why would the Ravens protect someone who wants them dead?” Helene asks, trying to connect the dots.
“Think about it. She must have been spared back then for a reason. Everyone was slaughtered, but she lived. It may not be that they haven’t been able to kill her…” The implication hangs in the air like a blade.
“They don’t want to,” Helene says, understanding dawning on her.
Rong makes a noise of approval, signaling his assent.
“From what I have gathered about the Ravens, they tend to play the long game, leave no witnesses, and are very meticulous with their crimes—so much so that some even think they’re a myth, operating in shadows so deep that even Redmoore has trouble finding them. ”
Helene takes a sharp turn, her tires screeching against the pavement.
“Why would they want her alive, despite her wanting them dead?” she thinks out loud, her mind racing with the possibilities.
“Could they be trying to recruit her? Planning their next massacre? Someone with her combat skills and physiology would be quite the asset.”
“That,” Rong says, “is the million-credit question. Recruitment is a feasible explanation. After all, there’s no better weapon against us than one of our own. Someone who knows our protocols, our weaknesses, and our blind spots. They’ve already managed to reel in her brother.”
“She wouldn’t willingly join them. She’s dedicated her entire life to hunting them,” Helene asserts, but doubt kicks in her stomach.
“Willing is relative when you’ve been psychologically primed,” he remarks.
“Tonight’s attack might just be a distraction while the Ravens make their real move.
They could’ve even been the ones tipping us off.
It could be an attempt to win her loyalty by posing as her saviors, or offer power, purpose, belonging—all the things that she might crave after everything she’s lost. If they succeed and she flips, Penn City becomes exponentially more vulnerable. ”
Helene goes silent, absorbing the urgency of the situation. If Rong is right, they’re caught in the middle of a vampire clan power struggle, with Penn City as their battleground.
“Do we have a location?” she asks, scanning the streets ahead.
“Last intel put on her was at some underground bar in the entertainment district. I’m heading there now.”
“Great. Understood. I’m approaching the attack site. Keep me updated on the dhampir situation.”
“Yes, Chief.”
Helene kills the engine, the radio cutting with it, and reaches for her revolver from the glove compartment. Its tungsten rounds are able to tear through vampire flesh like paper—overkill for Pennian vampires, but standard issue for wild ones.
She steps out of her car onto the abandoned sidewalk, the night sky seeming darker somehow, the stars dimmer. From the corner of her eye, she spots a puddle of black, viscous mud. No, not mud.
Vitae—vampire blood, black as night—unlike anything human.
Her thumb presses the safety latch on her handgun, disengaging it with a sharp click as she steps forward.
Then she sees them, figures moving too fast for human eyes to track, darting between buildings with preternatural speed.
This city prides itself on being different, a place where humans and vampires coexist through mutual respect and strict regulations. The council chambers are filled with debates about symbiotic rights and responsibilities, about how their city will lead the world into a new era of peace.
But peace is always fragile.
And tonight, it might just shatter completely.