The industrial building loomed, a silent brick monolith under the indifferent grey sky. Dozens of dark SUVs were parked haphazardly near the main loading bay, doors slightly ajar on some, angled as if stopped in a hurry. The massive roll-up entrance door gaped open, revealing only deeper shadows within. It was too quiet. An unnatural stillness that screamed trap.
Aaah!
A choked cry, abruptly cut off. Then – Bang! Bang! – the flat, distinct reports of heavy-calibre handguns echoed from inside.
Damien didn't hesitate. Worry for Sarah surged, overriding caution. He moved. One moment he was outside in the relative quiet, the next, three seconds max, he was deep within the cavernous main floor. The air hung thick with the coppery tang of blood – vampire blood, distinct and sharp – mixed with the acrid scent of gunpowder and something else… something musky, primal. Canine.
The scene was carnage. Several vampires he vaguely recognized from Sarah's security detail were slumped against overturned metal shelves and crates, throats torn out, limbs bent at unnatural angles. And there, near the centre of the chaos, lay Sarah. Her usually impeccable business suit was ripped and stained dark. A wide, ragged gash stretched across her stomach, blood pooling beneath her on the grimy concrete floor.
"Damn it," Damien hissed, crossing the distance in an instant. He knelt beside her, fingers instantly finding the faint, thready pulse at her neck. Still alive. Barely. Her eyes were closed, her face pale and clammy. "Hold on, Sarah. Stay with me. I'll get you out."
Sarah's eyelids fluttered, cracking open just enough. Her lips moved, forming a single, urgent whisper. "Behind… you…"
Pure instinct took over. Damien launched himself sideways, rolling right as razor-sharp claws sliced through the air where his head had been a fraction of a second before. The whoosh was sickeningly close. He came up in a crouch, zigzagging briefly across the open space – a disorienting tactic – before planting himself protectively to Sarah's left.
His attacker solidified from the shadows. It was a werewolf, currently crouched low on all fours, its fur a matted grey-brown, teeth bared in a snarl. Slowly, unnervingly, it began to straighten up, its hind legs taking its massive weight, transforming into a towering, bipedal nightmare of muscle and fur. Its eyes, burning with an unnatural red glow, locked onto Damien from across the room.
"Damien, isn't it?" The voice that rumbled from its huge, canine maw was surprisingly coherent, though rough as gravel. It tilted its head, massive shoulders shifting. "You look… smaller than I envisioned."
Damien kept his stance low, balanced, his gaze flicking momentarily to Sarah, then back to the beast. "Can't say the same for you, dog," he retorted, his voice deceptively calm. "You're even uglier up close. Did you forget your flea collar?"
The werewolf let out a low growl. "We had a deal," Damien continued, his voice hardening. "Your kind and mine. The Arcadian Accord. A system to live alongside humans without this… this butchery. Peace, remember? Or was that too complex for your pack?"
As if summoned by his words, more figures emerged from the deeper recesses of the factory floor, stepping out from behind machinery and through internal doorways. Five more werewolves, these ones walking steadily on their hind legs. Some clutched the limp bodies of dead vampires like gruesome trophies. Others wiped gore from their long, wide muzzles with clawed paws. They fanned out behind the first werewolf, chests puffed, their red eyes burning with identical, old hatred. Clearly, the first one was their Alpha.
"Times have changed, little parasite," the Alpha growled, taking a step forward. The insult, deliberate and demeaning, made Damien's jaw tighten, a flicker of anger crossing his usually impassive features.
The Alpha seemed to relish the reaction. "Your kind," he sneered, gesturing dismissively with a clawed hand, "has skulked in the shadows for millennia, feeding on humans, undetected, like the ticks you are. That era? It's over. It's all about to change."
"What do you mean?" Damien demanded, his mind racing. This wasn't just a random attack. This was coordinated. Ideological.
The Alpha chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Do you not see the signs all around you, vampire?"
"Signs of what?" Damien pressed, keeping his eyes on the Alpha but peripherally aware of the others shifting, positioning themselves.
"Of the impending end of your kind," the Alpha declared, spreading his arms wide.
The other werewolves echoed him, not with laughter, but with a chorus of guttural huffs and dog-like yips that was somehow more menacing than human laughter.
Damien's mind flashed back to Cyrus's words. The blood supply cut off. The money laundering operation attacked. "You cut off our blood supply, attacked our finances," he stated, piecing it together. "What did you hope to achieve? Starve us out? Bankrupt us?" He shook his head. "We had a system! Blood freely donated from hospitals that knew, that agreed! A way to survive without harming anyone! And you destroyed that!"
"Oh, freely donated?" the Alpha mocked, throwing his head back in another rumbling chuckle. "Pathetic!" He turned his burning gaze to his pack. "Enough talk." His voice dropped to a lethal command. "Kill him. Make it slow." He then took a deliberate step back, arms crossed over his massive chest, clearly intending to watch the show.
As the five werewolves began to advance, spreading out to flank him, Damien moved. With fluid speed, his right hand drew the sleek, heavy-calibre handgun from its concealed holster at his back, loaded with custom silver-jacketed rounds. His left hand simultaneously produced a long, wickedly sharp dagger forged from silver-infused steel.
"Ladies first," he drawled, a predatory glint in his eyes, offering a mock bow as the first werewolf lunged.
The fight exploded.
Claws ripped through the air where Damien had stood nanoseconds before. He twisted, the movement impossibly fast, inhumanly graceful, the silver dagger flashing up to parry a snapping jaw aimed at his throat. Clang! Metal met unnaturally hard bone. He used the momentum to spin away, firing twice – Bang! Bang! – silver bullets slamming into the shoulder and thigh of another charging werewolf, eliciting howls of pain. Silver burned them, hindered their regeneration.
He didn't stay still. He was a blur, a deadly dance amidst the slower, more powerful brutes. He darted left, blocked a sweeping claw strike aimed at his legs with his forearm – feeling the sharp pain even through his coat – and countered with a vicious stab of the dagger into the attacker's side. Another howl. He flowed backwards, dodging another lunge, his feet finding purchase on a stack of metal drums. In a move that defied gravity, he ran horizontally along the curved surface for three steps before launching himself over the head of a surprised werewolf, firing downwards as he flew.
Thwack! A heavy paw connected with his side, sending him stumbling but not falling. He recovered instantly, punching the werewolf square in its muzzle with supernatural force, rewarded by a wet crunch and a spray of blood. Slash! Claws raked across his cheek, leaving burning trails of fire. Rip! Another set tore through the back of his coat and shirt, scoring deep gouges across his back. He ignored the pain, blocking another strike, the silver dagger finding a gap in a werewolf's defense, sinking deep into its chest. The beast staggered back, choking, before collapsing.
One down. Four to go.
But they were learning, adapting, pressing him harder. A glancing blow ripped open his forearm, blood – dark and sluggish compared to human blood – beginning to drip onto the concrete. Another swipe tore across his chest, staggering him. He shot one more, hitting it in the knee, crippling it momentarily. He stabbed another, wounding it badly, but took a brutal blow to the ribs in return that sent stars exploding behind his eyes.
He lashed out with a spinning kick, connecting with a werewolf's head, sending it crashing into a metal support beam with a sickening thud. Two seriously wounded, one down, two still coming, albeit more cautiously now. He was breathing hard, not from exertion in the human sense, but from the effort of pushing his damaged body, the rapid loss of blood making him feel sluggish, his movements a fraction slower. He assessed the situation – Sarah still bleeding out, the Alpha watching impassively, the remaining active werewolves circling, the wounded ones struggling to rise.
BANG!
A gunshot—different from his own, louder, closer—slammed into him, throwing him backward several feet. He landed hard, the impact jarring his bones. He looked down. A dark stain spread across his shirt, high on his left pectoral. His vampire resilience meant it wasn't instantly lethal, as it would have been for a human, but it hurt—and it was draining more of his already depleted strength. More blood loss he couldn't afford.
He looked up. Emerging from the same inner doorways the werewolves had used, came twelve figures. Humans. Dressed in tactical black suits, faces grim, professional, handguns held steady, all aimed directly at him.
The Alpha werewolf let out a low, satisfied rumble. "Ah, Damien. I suppose you haven't met my friends." He gestured towards the humans with a sweep of his massive arm. "A new alliance. Humans who finally see the true monsters." He grinned, showing rows of terrifying teeth. "Now... let's see. Five wounded wolves, one Alpha, twelve trained human operatives with silver rounds… against one bleeding vampire." He chuckled again. "What are the odds, huh?" He was clearly enjoying this.
Damien's gaze flickered to Sarah. She was so still. If he stayed and fought, even if he somehow won, she would die. He couldn't secure the building, not now. But he could still save her.
The decision was instant. Survival. Sarah's survival.
In the split second the Alpha paused to savour his perceived victory, Damien moved. Faster than their eyes could track, faster than thought, he became a blur. He scooped Sarah's limp form from the ground, cradling her against his uninjured side.
"Going somewhere?" the Alpha roared, lunging.
Damien was already turning, heading for the open loading bay door. Claws slashed viciously across his already wounded back as he burst out into the open air, but he didn't stop, didn't even flinch. Shots rang out behind him, bullets whining past, but he was already accelerating, a streak of motion against the grey backdrop of the industrial estate.
He hit the streets, a blur of impossible speed, weaving through alleys, vaulting fences, Sarah a dead weight in his arms. The wind screamed past him. He needed to get her help. A hospital? Too public. Too many questions. He needed somewhere secure, someone who understood… someone who could handle vampire physiology and massive trauma. Fast. Her life depended on it. His own wounds burned, blood flowed, but all that mattered was the fading pulse against his chest.