The Bait

I saw him again, of course. Always watching. His scent was a chemical mix I couldn't ignore: mostly clean linen and sharp iron—the smell of a Hunter, which was bad enough in a town saturated with our kind. But beneath it, a fleeting, metallic whiff of something else lingered, an odor that made my instincts howl. It wasn't just a rival species; it was the rival species. A secret, toxic thing no one survived proximity to. If that dark hint of a scent was real, we were all in devastating trouble.

I laid the situation out for my father. No wasted words.

"He's been watching me. He smells like a Hunter, but he moves like a decoy."

My father's eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed. "Then we'll find out what he is. You will be the bait."

The plan was cruel, but necessary. He’d been hovering, wearing that desperate look of someone who wanted to protect me. We had to test his limits. If he was who I feared—a rare, powerful Chosen—he would sacrifice everything to save me. I just couldn’t understand why he couldn't sense me, why he didn't know I was a vampire.

The Ambush

Father's guards, Marco and Silas, arrived early. We timed it to the second: the cafe closed at ten, and he started his walk home precisely three minutes later.

I took my position at the bottom of the cafe stairs. When the signal came, they grabbed me, their hands rough. I immediately began to struggle, a frantic, raw scream tearing from my throat. I watched the cafe door.

He burst out.

He ran across the street, his face a storm of panic that hardened into reckless, undeniable fury. He was committed.

I continued to fight, playing the helpless victim, until Silas delivered the blow.

It wasn't a full vampire strike, but it was enough. The young man flew sideways, slamming into the brick wall of the bookstore across the street. My breath hitched. He was too light, too easily tossed. Then I saw the shock in his eyes as he finally registered Marco and Silas’s flared fangs and dilated pupils.

He wasn't a Hunter. He didn't know what we were. And he flew too easily for a Chosen.

What in the hell are you?

He pushed himself up, trying to lunge again. I gave him a sharp, almost invisible shake of the head—No. I wouldn't let him die for a staged intervention. I kill when I have to, but I'm not a murderer. He listened. He stayed put, watching helplessly as the guards shoved me into the back of the black van.

A Terrible Mistake

The van door slammed. Marco and Silas exchanged the same look I felt. We had grossly miscalculated.

He wasn't the threat we thought; he was an unknown. Now they had to go back and take him. My father needed to know if this mistake was going to cost us everything.

If he was a Chosen one, we were already dead.

The Chosen are Selene's enforcers, the keepers of the balance. Upsetting one means risking annihilation. They can wipe out our entire coven for revenge, install a new ruler, and change the hierarchy on a whim. Their power, passed down through generations, is beyond our comprehension.

I gripped the seat, praying the whole way to the compound. We should perish in battle or from time, not because we were arrogant enough to bother something we didn't understand.

Aftermath and Hunger

My father listened, his cold rage confirming my fear. He immediately ordered Marco and Silas back.

"Watch him. Wait for the opportunity. Bring him here."

I was to remain hidden. The moment he saw my father—the impossible family resemblance—the boy would erupt with questions we couldn't answer. Until we knew his intentions, I had to be a ghost.

I couldn't ignore the strange pull I felt toward him, a connection that both terrified and fascinated me. I hoped Father would get the answers he needed without resorting to force. Chosen or not, the man had risked his life for me. Until I knew this was part of a larger plan to harm us, I owed him that gratitude.

The guards left. I went to the washroom, but my mind was too loud. Vampires don't sleep; I couldn't just ignore the ricocheting thoughts. I needed an anchor.

A late-night snack.

I was hungry, the type of hunger that turns careful predator into reckless monster. I had to eat before I reached the stage of famished, when I would no longer care for my food’s well-being. I am a vampire, but I am not a monster. Not yet.