From the private journals of Dragomir, last of the Carpathian line
**
I descend fast, following the scent until I reach the clearing.
The vampire is dead.
He lies on his back, eyes wide, mouth open. Around his neck, deep red marks. Fingers. A human strangled him. A human squeezed until his windpipe crushed and his heart stopped.
I stare at the body. Then at Toure's blood on the ground. Then at the marks again.
Who is this boy? He strangled a vampire. Is he even human? His blood smells human—I would know if it were otherwise. But he is far smarter than any human I have hunted. Far stronger. A second-level human? It is the only explanation. He has lived before. He carries strength from other lives.
How could I not see this sooner?
The vampire gasps.
I look down. He is not dead. His eyes flutter. His chest heaves. A half-blood, tough as they come. His neck is crushed but his heart still beats. He looks up at me, pleading.
"Your blood, master," he wheezes. "I need it to live. Save me, master. Please."
I step on his neck and crush it completely.
He goes still.
I turn away. And then I realize.
The girl. I dropped her. Minutes ago. I never heard her fall.
She did not land among trees where she could have caught a branch. Even if she had, I would have heard the branches swish. I hear everything in this forest.
Where did she go?
I close my eyes. I reach down through the earth with my seismic sense. I feel my hunters moving through the trees. I feel children hiding in hollows and caves. I feel deer and wolves and the small creatures of the night.
I do not feel her. I do not feel her body.
I search again. Not just her—other children. More than five of them. They are not on my radar. Not hiding. Not dead. Simply... gone.
How is this possible?
I can sense every creature in this forest. I have spent centuries building this place, mapping it, making it mine. Nothing moves here without my knowledge. Nothing breathes without my permission.
But something is wrong. Something is foreign.
I focus harder. I scan the forest inch by inch. The children are not hiding well—I would find them if they were. They are simply ceasing to exist. Disappearing mid-step. Their scents vanish with them.
I do not know what this is. I do not care what this is.
I have my ways of getting to the bottom of it.
It is not yet midnight. I have hours before dawn. Time enough to track whatever dares to interfere with my hunt. I will find the pattern. I will find the slip. The moment something disappears, I will be there. I will dash to the spot before it escapes.
I take a deep breath.
And I focus.
I see something moving.
Faster than the wind. Faster than my hearing. Faster than my scent can track. But not faster than me.
Before it takes another child, I appear in its path.
It passes through me like air through a window.
I turn. Stare at the space where it was. My mind races.
A wind spirit? No. That cannot be. They do not have this sense of justice, this duty to save children. Spirits do not care. They simply are.
A mage, then. Playing with my head. Hiding in my forest, stealing my prey.
If I find him, I will drain his entire body. I will chew through him like meat.
Yes. I eat meat. You think only blood sustains me? If that were true, these other teeth would have fallen off centuries ago. Evolution is not merciful. It would have stripped away what I do not use. I would have only canines by now.
Do I eat humans? No. Not in centuries. But animal meat? Every day. Protein. Strength. Survival.
I am drifting.
Focus.
Did the wind swallow that child? Who is doing this?
Before I can answer, a scream tears through the night on the other side of the clearing. A girl. She is being dragged across the ground, her fingers clawing desperately at the dirt, at roots, at anything. Something invisible pulls her. Something fast.
Why is she screaming? She probably thinks it is I who got her. I don't drag prey around like a banshee in a twentieth century movie. I kill on sight.
**
The wind.
I move. I am there before it can take her. I grab her hands.
The pull is strong. Stronger than I expected. It tugs at her like a current, trying to rip her from my grip. She screams between us, stretched, her arms threatening to pull apart.
I hold tight.
It is a tug of war now. Me against the wind. Me against whatever dares to steal from my hunt.
I am winning.
But if I pull her free, will she stay in one piece?