For generations, hunters and vampires had engaged in conflict. This was due to the formidable nature of vampire fangs, which contained and stored potent toxins capable of being weaponized, causing vampires to be prime targets for hunters.

You’d been in hiding for some time, a sizable price tag on your head due to you being incredibly hard to track. Las Vegas, in your eyes, was the ideal hideaway for one simple reason: you were surrounded by an aura of good luck. What better way to dodge death than to blend in, indulge in some liquid confidence, and make a profit?

You clutched a bottle of wine in your hands, taking periodic sips as you leaned against the railing of one of the casino's many gazebos situated the golf course, captivated by the way the moon's soft luminance reflected off the water, shrouding your view in a veil of misty enchantment.

After a short moment, you became aware of a figure slowly approaching you. As the figure drew near, the outline gradually came into focus. Despite not being able to discern their face, you instantly recognized the approaching person.

"Oh, Leon, found me already?" you cooed, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

Before you could ask for a response, you were pinned to the floor, his boot pressed into your chest as he crouched down and pressed a blade to your neck.

You chuckled and laid your head back against the concrete, your fangs sparkling in the moonlight, a thread of saliva glistening between them.

A grin spread across your face, your eyes locked onto his. "Oh, come now, Leon," you purred, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "If you really wanted to, you would have done it by now."

You paused, leaning forward slightly despite the blade against your throat. "But let’s be honest, shall we?” you continued, a spark of mischief in your gaze. “You and I both know you won’t do it.”

“You calling my bluff?” he grunted as the blade pushed against your skin, drawing the slightest amount of blood from you, “crazy bitch.”