Dorian moved faster than Aria's eyes could follow. One heartbeat, he was crouched in the shadows—fangs exposed, eyes ablaze. The next, he was standing before her, human again. Almost.
The blood on his lips betrayed the illusion.
"He was dying," Dorian said quietly, his voice calm but strained. "I didn't kill him—I saved him. My venom slows the bleeding. He'll live."
Aria took a step back. Her flashlight slipped from her hand and hit the dirt. "Venom?" she echoed, numb.
She didn't scream. She didn't run.
But her heart thundered loud enough that Dorian winced.
"You're not human," she whispered.
He didn't deny it.
"I'm something else. Something old. Something cursed."
"A vampire."
The word felt absurd coming out of her mouth—but the look in Dorian's eyes confirmed it.
She turned toward the injured man, trying to steady her breath. "We need to get him to a hospital."
"I already called for help. He was attacked by a feral. I tracked the creature, but I was too late."
"Feral?"
Dorian hesitated. "A vampire without control. A blood-drunk savage. They don't care who they hurt."
"And you're not like that?"
"No."
Aria's gaze was sharp. "Then what are you?"
He looked at her for a long time before answering. "I'm what's left of a man who once had a soul."
Just then, headlights cut through the trees—a ranger's truck. Dorian stepped back, vanishing into shadow as Aria waved down the vehicle. She didn't mention him. Somehow, she knew not to.
But the memory of what she saw stayed with her.
❖
The next morning, Aria sat in the library, researching.
She searched for vampire folklore, historical records, anything with the name Dorian Blackthorn.
She found nothing.
No census. No obituary. No birth certificate.
It was like he'd never existed.
She did, however, find reports of strange deaths in Elmsvale dating back over a hundred years—neck wounds, missing blood, no suspects. And one line in a very old article from 1904 caught her eye:
"The stranger with silver eyes returned last night. The same man… and yet not a day older."
Her blood ran cold.
Before she could process it, the library door creaked open.
A tall man in a trench coat stepped inside. He looked like he belonged in a war movie—gray at the temples, one gloved hand resting near a silver-tipped cane.
He noticed Aria.
"You're new here," he said. "Seen anything… strange lately?"
She stiffened. "Why do you ask?"
"I'm just passing through. Looking for someone. A predator. Charming. Pale. Perfect."
A pause.
"They call him Mr. Perfect, don't they?"
Aria's blood turned to ice.
The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"Name's Elias Thorn," he said. "And I hunt vampires."