The vampire slipped off the shadow of the night like a cloak he had grown tired of. The silver-white moonlight scanned over glacier-blue skin as if someone had decided to breathe life into a creature made of ice. Beneath the pale, almost translucent skin, bluish veins stood out like narrow rivers of sapphire, and instead of the usual white, blood-red gems stared out at the Caith-Sith from a bed of inky black eyeballs full of undisguised murderous lust.

Another figure, however, remained hidden in the shadows, content for the time being with the role of undetected and silent observer.

In the many years of her existence, which Myreille had long since grown tired of counting, the Strigoi had already experienced many such situations, primarily in the years since the war and its aftermath, of course, but also occasionally before that. The cabal to which the vampires belonged had served a simple purpose since the end of the war: they did the dirty work for those who didn't want to get their own hands dirty.

In most cases, being in the "family business" and part of the cabal meant being a bounty hunter, spy, or assassin. She did not have the dubious honor of creating and training the next generation. But the test of their skills did. Honestly, Myreille wasn't keen on being a part of the usual business either way. But sometimes you can't choose your lot...

"If it isn't the Caith-Sith we're looking for," hummed the velvety, melodic voice, capable of stealing both the mortal's mind and heart. "There's a rich reward on your head, fairy scion."

The pale man tilted his head slightly to one side, and long black hair flowed like ink around his narrow, bony features.

Something about him was reminiscent of a lurking bird of prey, keeping an eye on its prey, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Maybe you'd better think about why there's so much money on me - and why no one's taken it yet," the white-haired man growled into the dull darkness and straightened up.

The vampire let out a snort, making it clear that he wasn't taking his counterpart seriously in the slightest.

"I'm sure you've only come across incompetent losers so far," mused the pale bounty hunter as he circled his prey with leisurely steps.

"But today, your luck runs out. You shouldn't have crossed the path of a Bloodhunter..."

The wanted man visibly gritted his teeth; his expression changed, and he now seemed to realize the seriousness of his situation. The Bloodhunters were the elite of the ruling vampire lords, always carrying a bloody message. When they stepped out of the shadows, there were no witnesses afterward.

Casimir hadn't actually earned this rank yet ... she would remind him of that later - in detail and painfully.

The silent observer rolled her eyes and stifled a sigh. The fairy scion's only luck was probably that he had fallen in with a far too arrogant and conceited member of her clan. Casimir may not have come from a newly created brood ... but his arrogance still stood in his way, as if he were a very young puppy.

Myreille's eyes slid vigilantly over the posture of today's spontaneous prey, and one thing was immediately clear to her: Casimir underestimated his opponent.

"You shouldn't have been caught in the act." Casimir, however, was far too busy striding loftily across the room and tapping his long fingers against his smooth chin to notice his opponent's battle-hardened stance.

The shadows seemed to cling to his heels and glide through the room with him as if the night wanted to keep him company. It was an unnecessary show, but sometimes you could win a poker game with a bad hand if you bluffed well enough. Too bad Casimir hadn't mastered that yet either.

'Stop playing with the aim, you fool,' her voice hissed softly in thought. 'Smug cats, let the clever mouse slip away!

What an irony that the vampire was playing with the actual kitten and not the other way around.

Myreille curled her lips in disapproval, but she wasn't here to interfere—at least not unless necessary. One day, Casimir would have to go on his missions alone, and she couldn't play the (unwilling) nanny forever. Perhaps tonight would be a good night for a little lesson...

Her eyes fell on the Caith Sith. He didn't seem to be a man of many words, but under that long coat, muscles were working.

He might seem calm. His steps countered those of the vampire scion like a mirror image, and he had not yet raised a hand ... but she could sense that he was waiting for the right moment.

Like gunpowder, just waiting for a tiny spark. Myreille tilted her head a little and tried a little harder - and admittedly more curiously - than before to remember what price had been put on this man, for what reason and by which faction.

"If you come with me voluntarily, I might be merciful enough to let you live." Although the vampire's pale, thin lips curved into a smile, there was no hint of warmth in them. Instead, the fangs flashed from beneath the pale lips, and the long fingers visibly twitched under the seductive impulse to bury themselves immediately into the soft flesh of his victim.

The vampire knew that a direct fight with the shapeshifter could be dangerous once he had turned - but he was determined to collect the bounty. Greed was a part of their nature, some more than others. In Casimir's case... the fool was too easily seduced by it.

Myreille's nose wrinkled, and the cool line around her lips slid down slightly. For a reason she couldn't explain, the idea of Casimir ripping this prey to shreds and just dragging the bloody head back... was repugnant to her.

"Voluntarily come with me..."

The Caith-Sith's golden eyes twitched back and forth, obviously searching for an escape route. The air crackled with tension, and the temperature dropped a few degrees. "I don't think so."

Suddenly, the man's bright eyes lit up, and the Caith-Sith jerked his arm forward. The blast tore the taut threads of patience like a thin bridal veil. The muzzle flash from the human firearm preceded the hiss of the projectile from the Parabellum-08.

The air was immediately filled with the smell of gunpowder and smoke.

Casimir skilfully dodged and bared his sharp teeth and claws. Ready to attack and tear the fae to pieces.

As quick as lightning, the undead leaped to the side and straight to the wall, where it was caught like a spider without being pulled down by gravity. A savage growl escaped the man's lips, and his face suddenly seemed to have lost all elegance, as if a mask had burst to reveal the bestial being behind it.

Red and white dust, meanwhile, scattered in the air under the dull thud of the brick wall being hit.

The corners of Myreille's mouth twitched in undisguised amusement. He must have taken the weapon from the satyr shortly after they appeared, clever little cat.

"Damn, fae, I'm going to rip your throat out!"

Casimir pushed himself off the wall and leaped the Caith-Sith.

The Caith-Sith seized the opportunity and leaped forward, too. He was so fast that many a Vaesen would undoubtedly have had trouble following his movement. But as fast as shapeshifters could be, vampires were faster—at least as long as the stranger remained in this form.

Casimir lashed out, and his long, claw-like fingernails sliced through the air like a guillotine, greedily going for the shapeshifter's throat. But to the vampire's surprise, the cat dived under his blow and rolled away. Raising his arms before his face, the cat made another great leap - straight through the window.

Glass splintered, and the wooden frame shattered as the large body smashed through the glass like thin paper. Shards of glass and wood scattered like shrapnel before falling to the ground like fallen soldiers.

The fleeing cat's quick footsteps drummed dully before Casimir chased after his swift prey with a loud roar of rage.

Chapter 7 - Hunter & Prey

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