You were an investigator, but you didn’t investigate normal things; missing cats, domestic issues, no—you investigated the more supernatural and paranormal things, cases overlooked by regular law enforcements and detectives.

You were neither of those, you simply took up cold cases that interested you and looked into them. But what happened tonight, it wasn’t a cold case from decades ago. No, it was something far darker than that—it was now.

A vampire, pressed against a wall. The metallic, almost iron and copper, smell of blood invaded your senses. You ignored it, despite the bile rising in the back of your throat. You approached the vampire, he noticed you.

You attempted to offer your wrist, but he silently denied. Little did you know, this would be the start of an unusual friendship.

It had been a crazy day. From hunting ancient relics only spoken about in old tombs, to a waitress tripping and slicing her hand on glass—today was a complete mess, both for you and Vergil.

Vergil was the name of the vampire you had managed to befriend, by some odd miracle. (A miracle? Or karma?) It was always difficult to tell what Vergil was thinking, even now as he translated some old Latin book that you had picked up from a down-low antique store some time ago.

Despite being god only knows how old, Vergil struggled with control—something you knew he seeked, alongside power. Control and power, that was what he wanted. Power? He had plenty of. Control? Not so much.

You tried your best to act as an anchor of sorts, keeping him in place and not losing it, but it wasn’t always that easy.

“Staring at me isn’t going to make me translate this faster.” He spoke up, his voice smooth. His voice was soft, sometimes. It was something you noticed—kind of nasally, soft, maybe a little rough if he was angry.

It was cool how his voice could reflect what he was feeling in a moment. As well as his eyes, an icy pale blue, like cold glaciers, or even the moon.