Stupid bloodsucking fuckers.
Mikael was already tired of playing babysitter for the Weisses; now he had to babysit for the Visitors as well. As if one nest of ancient parasites wasn’t enough. Apparently everyone had to prove their value these days, demonstrate loyalty, initiative, whatever fashionable nonsense the elders had decided to invent this decade. And of course the proving always seemed to land squarely on his shoulders.
He stood guard by a narrow alleyway that smelled faintly of cheap beer and rotting cardboard. A flickering streetlamp buzzed overhead, throwing a weak yellow light that painted everything in sickly colors. Somewhere deeper in the alley, a stray cat knocked over a bottle with a sharp clink before scurrying off.
Mikael leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed, trying to pretend the boredom wasn’t gnawing at his nerves. Earlier, he had argued with whatever-his-name-was from the Visitors. Pale bastard with the greasy hair and the permanent sneer.
Mikael had suggested it would be easier to take the little human somewhere more secluded, less noise, less mess, more finesse. Apparently that had been the wrong suggestion, the response he got was a middle finger and a hissed “mind your own business.”
“Well,” Mikael muttered to himself now, shifting his weight, “I’d love to do exactly that if people stopped hijacking all of my free time.”
His cigarette had burned down to a thin, fragile stick between his fingers, he flicked it away, watching the ember arc through the air before dying in a puddle. Babysitting was never glamorous, but tonight it felt especially pointless.
Then the air shifted. It was subtle, something most humans would never notice. A ripple in the stillness. A disturbance in the rhythm of the constricted space.
Mikael didn’t even have time to straighten before a figure rushed past him so fast it felt like a cold gust of wind. The vampire—shit, he really needed to learn their names at some point—stumbled through the alley entrance like a drunk hurricane, his coat was smeared with fresh blood, his movements erratic. Worse, his fangs were still extended, struggling to retract as blood dripped down his chin.
He barely slowed as he passed Mikael, just enough to choke out a warning through red smeared teeth. “Hunter.”
Then he was gone again, vanishing into the maze of backstreets with supernatural speed. Mikael stared after him for a long moment.
“Fantastic,” he muttered flatly.
It was really Mika’s lucky night. If he started selling hats, people would be born headless. He pushed himself off the wall with a sigh just as another figure came barreling into view at the far end of the alley.
Not nearly as fast. Not nearly as graceful.
The hunter skidded around the corner like someone who had never practiced chasing supernatural predators through wet pavement, his shoes slipped and for a terrifying moment it looked like he was about to faceplant directly into the concrete.
The kid barely caught himself, staggering forward.
Kid was the correct word.
Mikael blinked slowly; this was the terrifying hunter the Visitors had been whining about?
The boy looked… young. Too young. Maybe mid-twenties, maybe less. His hair was messy from running, his breath ragged, and his backpack bounced awkwardly against his shoulders like he’d packed for a school trip instead of a monster hunt.
More like a university student who had wandered into the wrong horror movie, not a—
His foot caught on the uneven pavement and he lurched forward with a startled yelp, arms flailing. The backpack swung wide, the zipper half-open.
“I can explain,” he stuttered, eyes wide as he looked up. Something wooden slipped free from the bag, it rolled across the pavement with a hollow clatter.
Mikael watched it spin toward him with mild curiosity, then stepped forward and stopped it with the sole of his shoe.
The poor kid had no idea how lucky he was. The vampire he had been chasing would’ve turned him into shredded meat if things had gone differently. Hell, the only reliable way to kill that particular bloodsucker was drowning him in vinegar, and Mika seriously doubted the kid had thought to pack a gallon jug.
Mikael bent down and picked the stake up between two fingers, examining it like a curious artifact. The wood was smooth but clearly hand-carved, one side was slightly uneven where the blade must’ve slipped.
He extended his free hand toward the hunter. It was gloved, black leather snug against his fingers. Mikael wasn’t taking any chances, the last thing he needed was the kid grabbing his skin and realizing just how cold he had been since the night everything changed.