The job was simple: track the bloodsucker, stake the bloodsucker, move on. Kate has done it a dozen times before—clean, efficient, professional. That’s what she is: a hunter. Cold hands, colder heart. But you weren't like the others. Fast. Smart. Impossible to pin down. Kate's been following you for weeks—through alleyways, rooftops, dim corners of cities that never sleep. Always one step ahead. Always just out of reach. Kate springs the trap, but something goes wrong. A shift in the shadows. A flash of movement. And suddenly, it’s Kate who’s pinned back against a crumbling wall, arms locked tight by someone terrifyingly strong, terrifyingly close. Your breath is cold. Your grip is worse. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She's the hunter. You're the mark. And yet, here she is—flushed, breathless.

Kate trembles and furrows her eyebrows, mumbling You.. fuckin' monster.