Myreille remained behind as a frame piece gave way and fell clattering to the ground. The sea of shards glittered in the silver-white moonlight as her attentive eyes rested on the dead satyr.

The fabric of her robe flowed around her figure like mist as she dropped to one knee beside the satyr. The buttons of the vest were already undone, a sign of a struggle. Myreille's eyes were drawn to a slender, bloodstained chain, a guide to a secret. Her slim fingers, nimble and precise, slid into the worn, blood-soaked pocket inside. The metal clinked softly as she pulled the pocket watch from its tight hiding place in one fluid motion. The silver lid rattled, revealing a cracked glass above an antique dial. A sentence, a cryptic message, was engraved on it in curved letters:

"Retrouvez-moi dans une autre vie," Myra murmured softly. "Meet me in the next life."

The strigoi's bluish lips curled into a brief smile. Even if the filthy murderer of a Caith-Sith had gotten his hands on Orestes before her, he couldn't erase all traces.

The glowing eyes of bright glaciers, a reflection of her determination, slid to the window, where the shards glistened like fresh snow in the moonlight. Now, with the murderer still at large, was the time to act. She had to catch him and rush to the aid of her small, cheeky protégé before the bloodthirsty tomcat turned Casimir into mincemeat...

The moon shone silver-white over the world. A world that has changed in so many ways over the decades of its existence. Once, this light illuminated a city famous for its romance.

Old Paris was the city of love—the perfect place for her master because she never slept, especially not at night. The clatter of hooves filled the air as horse-drawn streetcars and carriages rolled over the cobblestones. The Eiffel Tower towered into the sky, and from the iron spire, you could look out over the sea of lights, see the stars twinkling overhead, and listen to the whisper of the distance on the wind.

It was a peaceful, almost fairytale-like picture that could not have been more deceptive. Even then, a disease was growing beneath the surface, ultimately ending in this fiasco.

Now the big, bad wolf, or rather the loup-garou, roamed the woods, gargoyles hunted through the streets like hawks, farfadets - popularly known as imps - roamed everywhere like a plague of rats. And a damned water snake lived in the Seine, where it struck fear into anyone who dared to pollute the water or venture into its favorite place.

Because fairy tales and myths were true, nothing could be worse.

With a loud crash, the Caith-Sith's body slammed into a wall. The plaster crumbled from the remains of the ruined house, and the moonlight flashed on the sharp, long claws as Casimir struck at the fugitive's throat. Deep furrows traced the failed attack and tore open the stone like a wound. Casimir hissed in rage; then a fist flew as the Caith-Sith lashed out in a counterattack. It was absolutely foolish to engage in close combat in Casimir's position - and the young vampire learned that lesson bitterly. A fist flew at him, and Casimir backed away. But not far enough.

Myreille had seen many shapeshifters and skinchangers before. There were many, including more and less bestial ones. Werewolves, Lycans or loup-garou, sirens and mermaids, doppelgangers, changelings, Huldra, Leshy, Caith-Sith... and yet she stared at the scene playing out there amidst the ruins in the interplay of light and shadow.

Everything happened in a flash. The man's ice-blue eyes lit up as if a fairy had cast her light on sparkling crystal, and his broad-shouldered body melted into an even larger figure. Silky fur shimmered in the moonlight and pointed teeth flashed like spears under the lips of a large mouth. In the blink of an eye, the man transformed into a huge, snow-white cat of prey, which lunged at Casimir with a roar.

The fight became a dance to the death, full of blows, dodges, and... Blood. Again and again, the bodies collided, rolled across the dirty ground, jumped apart again, and attacked again. Strangely, the cat seemed more interested in fleeing than fighting. Perhaps he suspected that where one bounty hunter appeared, there would be more.

She had never seen a white Caith-Sith before. When you lived this long, there was rarely anything new. At some point, the world felt like a song you'd heard a thousand times before, lost in the monotonous rush of flowing time. But that there? That was new. HE was new.

It seemed like the moonlight had cast its cloak over the athletic figure. Every step demonstrated elegance and strength, and the movements flowed like the waves of the Seine.

Myreille tilted her head slightly, and her gaze wandered in fascination over the traitor who had the satyr on his conscience, like an artist in front of a unique painting. For Casimir, the background didn't matter because the master didn't reward or affection for the "why," not even the smallest amount of money. But she asked why. It mattered to her why he had killed the satyr.

Claws tore flesh; the Caith-Sith caught Casimir on the shoulder. Rattling fabric shredded and blackish blood like ink stained the fine cutaway of dark blue cotton.

"You filthy fae!"

Casimir's eyes began to glow like the fires of hell as captured in old paintings by great artists. The fool lost all self-control. She could see it in the way his face became distorted. His cheekbones became more prominent, his teeth grew so long that they protruded over his lips, and his fingers looked too long. With a wild, almost feral roar inferior to the Caith-Sith, the furious vampire scion lunged at the giant wildcat.

A carpet of growls and snarls, roars and hisses filled the air like two tomcats fighting on the open road. The curved claws cut through the darkness of the night again. They cut through fur and thick hide like razor blades. A loud, angry roar announced the end of a patience that was as thin as paper. The sharp points on the paws were like artfully forged daggers, ready to dig into the prey and take a life. Even if Casimir was no longer truly alive but merely existing... she couldn't let that happen.

The Caith-Sith threw Casimir to the ground, pinning the fool with his weight. Under heavy breaths, the flanks expanded and contracted again. The assassin bared his teeth and was already ripping open his mouth with his powerful jaws—just one more bite, and Casimir's pretty face would be gone.

"M-Myra!" Casimir gasped, his glowing eyes wide open, as if he had suddenly realized that eternal life did not mean invulnerability.

A soft sigh escaped her lips and dissipated with a cool breeze. This time it was Myreille who leapt forward. Darkness and shadow, with which she had merged, dissolved as if in an unholy alliance, melted into billowing secondary clouds, and sprang up in a flash between the two brick walls of the ruined house.

Like an arrow shooting towards its target, they bridged the distance in seconds. A strangely unnatural mist became the cabal's blood hunter again in the next second, and Myreille crashed against the athletic body with full force and momentum.

The force of her attack tore the Caith-Sith from Casimir. They somersault once and twice and then crash into the half-collapsed remains of a wall.

It might be a crude image, but the Strigoi towered over the great cat of prey, her arm raised to strike with her long fingernails' sharp claws.

Long, silver-white hair fell forward over her narrow shoulders like the innocent veil of a bride on her wedding day - but nothing could be further from reality.

"Time to die, Puss," her voice whispered. Strangely soft and velvety, full of ... yes, what? Envy? Of the fact that he would have a quick, painless end? Pity? Or was it mercy? Was it not mercy to end a life of hunting and fleeing? To release a murderer from his miserable life? He could count himself lucky ...

"Don't worry, I'll end it quickly," she whispered, her fingers twitching on the predator's chest. Beneath the soft fur, she felt the throbbing of the life she hadn't carried in her chest for a long time. The moonlight crept over the daggers of her claws and made them flash. At that moment, her gaze fell on the tom ... who stared at her from large, golden eyes.

>>Badum<<

For a brief moment, a fraction of a second, she thought she felt a heartbeat in her chest.

>>Badum<<

Her eyes widened, and Myreille... hesitated.

Chapter 8 - Dance to the Death

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