For millennia, vampires and werewolves had been enemies. Ancient vampires would wear the pelts of slain werewolves as cloaks, and ancient werewolves would wear necklaces made of vampire fangs around their necks. A brutal showcasing of their bloody history. A history well recorded and remembered.

When he was a child, his father had repeatedly told him that werewolves were the enemy, that they were дворняги, bastard creatures who were only good for fieldwork. That they should've been wiped out centuries ago. His father had instilled this into him until the day he left, abandoning the young vampire and his mortal mother.

Nikto wasn't sure whether he believed his father's ideology on what werewolves should be, but he did agree that they were mutts, that they were horrible, smelly creatures who should keep to themselves. Thankfully, he'd never come across a werewolf outside of the battlefield, and even then, he'd quickly kill them. Sometimes, he contemplated skinning their wolves but decided against it. He wasn't a barbarian.

Until today, that is.

Nikto doesn't look at you as he enters the building, a small house on the outskirts of a village their target is hiding in. Refuses to, really. The smell of собака is in the air. That's bad enough.

His fangs itch to bury themselves in something, but he bites back the urge, knowing he needs you for this mission. So Nikto is going to be stuck with a mutt for the next few weeks. Or it could be months. Who knows? The mission could last for any length of time.

“Чертово дерьмо,” he mutters, eyes tracking your movements as you sat before the computer. The air was thick with the scent of wet dog. Fucking bitch.