Looking down at the coin that refused to land on either face, Asher thought, Maybe this means the statement isn't false or true, but something in between?
Could it be that some vampires are here while others are away?
Asher and Henry navigated the crumbling street, the early morning light barely cutting through the dense shadows that clung to the surroundings.
The air was crisp, a stark contrast to the heaviness of the task ahead. The apartment building they approached stood out, newly constructed amid the decay, its clean lines and fresh paint a stark beacon of hope.
Yet, Asher knew better than to be fooled by appearances.
"Stay sharp," Henry muttered, scanning the area with a practiced eye.
Asher nodded, a knot of anticipation tightening in his gut. They were certain about the couple they were after—Bloodfiends posing as ordinary citizens
. In this city, lesser vampires had become adept at blending in, but their disguise was wearing thin.
The hallway inside was dimly lit, the smell of damp wood mixing with stale air as they climbed the creaking staircase. Each step echoed ominously, heightening the sense of dread that surrounded them.
Asher's mind raced, aware of the danger they faced. Bloodfiends were cunning creatures, often using charm to lure their prey.
On reaching the second floor, they paused before the door leading to the Bloodfiends' lair.
A glance exchanged between them solidified their resolve—there was no need for further proof. Asher's gut feeling was enough.
Henry knocked sharply on the door, the sound reverberating through the stillness, thick with tension.
"Who is it?" a woman's voice called from within, suspicious and sharp.
"Delivery from the market," Henry replied, his voice calm and steady.
A tense silence followed as the Bloodfiends likely debated their next move.
"Go away!" the woman snapped.
Without hesitation, Henry kicked the door open, revealing a dimly lit interior.
"We know what you did," he said coldly. "You can't exist in the shadows anymore."
Asher's heart raced as adrenaline surged through him.
The woman stood in the middle of the room, her almond-blue eyes wide with a mix of surprise and hostility.
"What do you want?" she hissed, her voice sharp and dangerous.
Henry smirked, stepping forward confidently.
"You know why we're here. Your kind has plagued this city long enough."
Asher gripped his silver stiletto tightly, its blade gleaming faintly in the low light.
"We're not here to negotiate," he said, his voice firm.
The tension between them thickened, the air growing heavy as they prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Asher knew this was a dance with darkness, one that would not end without blood.
Henry moved forward, his hand reaching into his pocket, while Asher, stiletto already drawn, was ready to back him up.
Suddenly, a gruff voice from the door shouted,
"EMILY!"
Before Asher could react, a heavy body crashed into him, sending him tumbling through the air.
The man who tackled him showed no hesitation, unleashing a flurry of blows as they fell.
Asher shielded his face, twisting his body to land on top of the attacker.
Before they hit the ground, he got a clear look at the man—blue eyes, short blond hair, a jaw like stone. It's him, Asher thought darkly.
He drove his stiletto into the man's side, aiming for the kidney, but the Bloodfiend didn't flinch, likely numbed by adrenaline.
Asher prepared for another strike, but the ground rudely interrupted as they hit it hard. Rain poured down, soaking them both in a torrential downpour.
Luckily, Asher had landed on top, allowing the man to absorb most of the impact. Even for a Bloodfiend, the man must have felt it—Asher certainly had.
Scrambling to his feet, Asher created some distance and drew his revolver. Aiming at the Bloodfiend, he didn't hesitate.
It's either me or you, bastard.
BANG BANG
The gunshots cracked through the rain, but luck was not on Asher's side paired with his questionable aim. The Bloodfiend shifted just enough to avoid a headshot. One bullet hit his shoulder, the other his abdomen.
Blood bloomed in the rain like macabre roses.
The impact forced the Bloodfiend to stagger back, coughing blood. But the fire in his eyes burned brighter—feral, driven by instinct.
With a sudden burst of speed, the Bloodfiend lunged at Asher, knocking the revolver from his hand and slamming his shoulder into Asher's chest.
The force knocked the wind from him, his ribs cracking under the impact. The vampire pivoted, moving with unnatural grace, and delivered a brutal kick to Asher's face.
WHACK
Asher's vision flickered, his mind whirling between consciousness and the pain of hitting the ground. Dirt filled his mouth as he crashed down.
Without waiting for his vision to clear, Asher relied on his instincts. He knew he had precious little time.
Asher thrust his stiletto blindly forward.