Dark Night.
Scattered Rain.
A Deep, Shadowed Alley.
She was dragged across the ground by her ankles, inch by inch, moving with great difficulty.
The woman wore a black gown.
Her long golden hair, wet and matted with mud, clung to her blood-soaked body, obscuring her eyes.
Her eyes—silver-gray, glowing with a cold, merciless gleam—held a chilling, brutal, and bloodthirsty gaze.
Where… is this?
In her fading memory, the sky was as dark as the end of days.
The storm raged on, wind howling, rain pouring relentlessly.
She had fallen to earth in a flash of lightning, like plummeting into endless darkness.
Hungry.
Thirsty.
Blood!
She dragged her broken body forward, her fading thoughts clinging to a fragile thread of will, stumbling into the dazzling lights of the modern city.
For the first time, she felt an overwhelming, insatiable desire for warm blood.
Would you like to drink blood?
From the shadows, a man extended a pale, slender finger toward her.
Her silver-gray pupils contracted sharply. Even in the dark, she could see everything clearly.
She could see the veins on his wrist, and without hesitation, without a second thought, she lunged forward to bite.
Bang!
A frying pan struck the back of her head.
She couldn't see the man's face, but in the moment before she lost consciousness, she caught a glimpse of him—dressed in a pure white shirt, his lips curving into a fleeting, eerie smile.
He was probably a beautiful man.
He radiated a powerful, deathly aura. His presence was not benign.
Damn it!
This man's appearance reminded her of someone. The fleeting shock caused her heart to race, blood flooding back into her veins.
...
Late at night, the rain still drizzled softly outside.
Inside the room, under the dim light, the woman was soaked to the bone.
She had long hair and stunning, cold beauty. Her facial features were so exquisitely sculpted, she seemed like a painting brought to life, bathed in a shadowy, hazy hue.
Her long, wet lashes fluttered slightly.
Her narrow, ancient phoenix-like eyes narrowed, their silver glow flickering like moonlight.
Her lips were blood-red, her straight nose lifeless.
Vampire Clans do not need to breathe, nor do they have heartbeats.
To him, that was the color of blood...
Damon, 24 years old, was a history lecturer at Windy City University.
His true profession: Vampire Hunter.
He was born with the ability to hear the voices of vampires, and so he walked the night, dancing with demons.
Last night, he picked up a woman.
No.
She should be called an ugly woman!
This woman was severely undernourished.
Her golden hair was slowly turning to dust.
Her face had become pale and gaunt, her fingers losing their flesh.
According to rumors, vampires have no souls, no reincarnation.
They are cursed by the sun. Once they vanish, they turn to dust, scattering into nothing.
Hence, all pure-blooded Vampire Clans are born as vampires and possess a unique Dark Gift.
All vampires have self-healing abilities. But if their necks are broken, their hearts pierced by silver, or if they are exposed to sunlight, they will turn to ash.
The woman he found appeared to be a pure-blood vampire, judging by her appearance and abilities. She should be Elena.
It is said that Elena has an incredibly strong healing ability.
She is immune to silver, immune to sunlight, and can regrow bones, flesh, and skin in a very short time.
Clang!
Clang!
The clock struck midnight.
The woman's body, riddled with over two hundred cuts, gunshot wounds, and bloodstains, was healing at a visible rate.
Unfortunately, her hair had not regrown.
She must be the so-called blessed pure-blood vampire, the kind mentioned by the professor.
Pure-blood vampires are incredibly rare, as it is extremely difficult for them to reproduce. For thousands of years, pure-blood vampires have remained an incredibly rare breed.
If one could harvest her heart, perhaps it could save Zia.
But that would break the hunting rules—the agreement between humans and vampires.
...
Thirsty... Thirsty...
Fragmented thoughts, broken whispers. Her long eyelashes fluttered.
Elena opened her eyes, and a blinding sunlight poured in.
Snow-white walls, the pungent smell of medicine, and a middle-aged, overweight man in a beige suit with a half-short ponytail stood before her.
Elena's face changed. Her dark pupils contracted suddenly!
Damn!
This ugly, fat man couldn't possibly be the same one who made her heart race yesterday?
Elena tried to get up, only to realize she was hooked to an IV drip.
What use was an IV drip?
She touched her head and instantly turned pale. Her hair must have fallen out.
Though she possessed a strong healing ability, she couldn't regrow her hair instantly—it was her weakness.
The fat man noticed Elena had woken up and nervously asked, "Miss Elena, you're awake? Would you like some water?"
"How do you know my name?" Elena's sharp gaze fixed on him.
The fat man shivered and cautiously replied, "Mr. Gilbert said so."
Elena's gaze darkened. Mr. Gilbert?
The fat man held out an apple and said, "Miss Elena, would you like an apple?"
"No."
She refused everything.
Apples, water, and the man—all rejected.
Will, the fat man, instinctively avoided Elena's gaze. He fumbled in a drawer and pulled out a bag of hospital blood, stuttering, "W-Would you like some blood?"
A strange gleam flashed in Elena's eyes.
She spoke slowly, "That... I can accept."
With that, Elena took the blood bag and brought it to her nose, sniffing it.
Damn it!
It was expired?
But... it was better than nothing.
Will watched, wide-eyed, as Elena drained the entire blood bag in one go, his heart pounding in his chest.
In a hurry, he retrieved two more blood bags, holding them high above his head with both hands and presenting them respectfully. "P-Please! Just don't drink from me!"
"Hah!"
Elena glanced up at Will as she sucked the blood from the bag. Her black pupils flashed with a hint of disdain.
This kind of "blood" was something she wouldn't even take if it were given for free.
After a while, Will cautiously asked, "Miss Elena, are you finished drinking?"
"Not bad. What's your name?"
Elena lazily leaned against the bed, her gaze distant. She held an unopened blood bag in her hand, her posture eerie, like a bloodthirsty demon.
Will pulled a business card from his pocket and said, "My last name is Zhang, Will. I'm Mr. Gilbert's assistant."
"Mr. Gilbert? Is he handsome?" Elena asked.
Perhaps Mr. Gilbert was the man from last night—the one who made her heart flutter, even if only for a moment.
"Y-Yes! He's handsome!" Will nodded repeatedly.
Sure enough, women of different kinds sure know how to speak so passionately!
A gentle breeze blew in from behind Will, and the door to the room creaked open.
A pale hand landed on Will's shoulder, with long, slender fingers and distinct knuckles.
The man's voice was cold, yet smooth and melodious, like silk:
"Who are you saying is handsome?"