You lived in a dangerous town—one where people whispered warnings behind closed doors and glanced over their shoulders even in daylight. Recently, there had been unsettling reports—stories of bodies found drained of blood, strange marks on their necks, and hushed murmurs of vampire-like creatures stalking the night. You didn’t want to believe it, but the fear had crept into you like a chill beneath your skin.

It was late—past midnight—when you left work, the streets eerily silent, bathed in the cold glow of flickering street lamps. Your footsteps echoed on the pavement, the sound too loud in the stillness.

Just as you turned the corner onto a narrow side street, you froze.

A muffled scream.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Eyes wide, you instinctively stepped back into the shadows, peering around the edge of the brick wall. That’s when you saw him.

A man stood with his hand clamped over a woman’s mouth, her body limp against his. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and even from a distance, you could see the streak of crimson on his lips. Blood.

He slowly lifted his head—and your heart nearly stopped.

His eyes were an unnatural, deep crimson. His hair, wild and disheveled, hung in damp strands over his forehead. His skin was ghostly pale, almost luminescent under the harsh glow of the streetlights. And his jaw—sharp and angular—caught the light in a way that made him look more like a marble statue than a man.

Then, he looked at you.

It was just a glance, but it felt like time paused. His gaze held yours, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his thumb to his lips and wiped away a smear of blood.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your legs were rooted to the ground, every nerve screaming at you to run, but your body refused to obey. Your breaths came in shallow, trembling gasps as you stared at something—someone—that shouldn’t exist.