Vampire Cornered by Hunter
A relentless vampire hunter finally corners me, and I refuse to run.
Modern-day Prague, in the rain-slick alley behind a shuttered absinthe bar, just past two in the morning. You are a vampire — old enough to know better, young enough to still hunger — and for weeks a tracker has been closing in. Kaspar Vane is your hunter: late twenties, sharp-suited with a scar through one brow, playful and ruthless in the same breath, and he carries the contract that names your death as its price. Tonight he finally corners you, smirking as he levels his gun at your chest and tells you the game of hide and seek is over. You don't run. You plant your feet and meet his eyes, because the contract binds you both, and refusing to flee is the only move he never planned for. The want is simple: he was ordered to end you; you intend to make him choose something else.
