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He had been turned without his knowledge, without his consent. His life had been stolen from him. But that wouldn’t happen to anyone else—he would make sure of it. If he could no longer be the protector of his people in life, he would become something else in death.
A hunter. His father had never known what had caused him to name his son such, but Hunter now believed his father had been given a glimpse into what would be—what his son would become.
The decision settled in his chest like a stone. He would hunt the vampires who dared to steal the lives of the living, just as his had been taken. He would make sure no one else woke in terror, realizing they had been turned into a creature of darkness against their will. And if anyone chose this path willingly, thenthat would be their burden to carry—but no one would ever be forced into it again.
Hunter’s gaze hardened as he turned back toward the ruined ramparts of Crickley Hill. The battle might have been lost, but his war was just beginning. He would stalk the night as they did, but not as one of them. He would be the shadow they feared, the one who knew their weaknesses, their hunger.
He would hunt them all, until the end of time.
Upper End of the Cornish Coast
Present Day
Hunter stood at the edge of the cliff; his gaze fixed on the sky where she had disappeared moments before. The sea roared beneath him, crashing against the rocks with a rhythmic intensity, but it was the absence of the female falcon that held his attention. The wind tugged at his raven-black hair, the fading light of dusk casting shadows across his chiseled features. He narrowed his ice-blue eyes, trying to shake the strange sensation lingering in his chest.
He had lived for millennia, longer than any human could comprehend, and had encountered countless beings, both supernatural and mortal. And yet, there was something about this one—this falcon-shifter—that unsettled him. In his animal form, every instinct had screamed at him to pursue, to chase her down as she vanished into the clouds. But now, standing on the cliff in his vampire form, Hunter felt nothing but a simmering arousal, something purely physical and primal.
Yet, there was more. An odd pull, a deep curiosity. Something he couldn’t quite explain. He wasn’t a man who was easily enchanted, and certainly not one to be captivated bysomeone he’d barely encountered. She had been quick, elusive, her shifting form beautiful in the sky. And the moment their eyes met, something had shifted in him.
With a sharp exhale, Hunter clenched his jaw and forced himself to turn away from the edge of the precipice. He had no time to dwell on the mysterious shifter. There were bigger matters at hand, darker forces that required his attention. He was hunting, after all, a witch-vampire duo that had been wreaking havoc in the area and didn’t give a damn about his strange fascination with the falcon-shifter.
He rolled his shoulders, letting the sensation of her presence fade. The cool evening air bit at his skin as he focused his thoughts, his vampire instincts taking over. It was dusk, the perfect time for a hunt. The faint light of the setting sun was barely an inconvenience to him, unlike some of his younger brethren who couldn’t handle the daylight. Hunter was far older than the vampires of legend, far more powerful, and the nonsensical superstitions surrounding his kind—holy water, crosses, garlic—were just that. Nonsense.
There was one superstition that was rarely spoken of, though, one that he had an immense appreciation for.
Humming to himself, he shifted. Unlike the misty, dramatic transformations romanticized in human lore, a vampire’s shift into a different creature was simple and efficient. His form evaporated into a puff of smoke, barely noticeable in the dim light, and in the next moment, he was no longer standing on two legs. His body became sleek and fluid, his limbs shorter, his movements more graceful. Where a man had stood, there was now an otter, its dark, glossy coat blending seamlessly into the surrounding rocks.
The otter’s small, nimble form darted toward the shoreline, weaving through the coastal brush with ease. In this form, Hunter could move quickly across land, but he could also slipinto the rivers and sea without effort, a useful advantage in this terrain. Tonight, he needed to cover ground—and water—swiftly. His quarry was elusive, and they wouldn’t wait for him to catch up.
The witch-vampire duo he hunted had become a serious threat, causing chaos along the Cornish coast for months. Disappearances, strange deaths—things the local authorities couldn’t explain. But Hunter knew. He had seen their kind before, beings who thrived on causing disruption and pain, playing with the natural order of the world. The witch had bonded with the vampire; their powers intertwined in a way that gave them both formidable strength. The bond was rare, and Hunter suspected it was something akin to the fated mates of the shifters. That alone might have made him leave them alone—he was no stranger to letting others live their lives, so long as they didn’t interfere with the balance of things.
But they were interfering, and Hunter’s patience had worn thin.
He swam up a river, his small body cutting through the water with practiced efficiency. The twilight sky darkened as the sun dipped lower, and Hunter’s senses sharpened in the growing shadows. He could feel them nearby, the subtle ripple of magic in the air, the familiar stench of death. He pressed on, his mind clear and focused on the hunt now. Nothing would stand in his way tonight.
After some time, he emerged from the river, water dripping from his sleek fur as he approached a wooded copse. There, hidden beneath a cluster of trees, was the small bag he had left behind earlier. In a moment, Hunter shifted back, his powerful form materializing out of the smoke as he stood naked in the cool evening air. He quickly dressed in the dark clothes he’d stashed away—practical, tight-fitting garments that allowed him to move freely—and surveyed the area.
The village lay just beyond the trees, a quaint, picturesque place with cobblestone streets, ancient buildings, and the distant hum of evening life. To anyone else, it would seem a sleepy, unremarkable place. But Hunter could sense the undercurrent of unease here, the way people hurried home before dark, the whispers of those who knew something was wrong, but couldn’t explain it.
He walked toward the village, his long strides purposeful, his senses alert. His vampire nature allowed him to pick up on things others would miss—subtle changes in the air, the faintest scents of magic and blood. The road he followed led past an old grocery store, its windows dimly lit, and then an ancient stone chapel, its worn façade a reminder of centuries past. Across the way, the village library stood, its structure equally as ancient, though well cared for.
Hunter’s gaze lingered on the library for a moment, the sight of the place stirring something within him. He wasn’t one to frequent such establishments, but there was a certain charm to it, a sense of history buried within those old walls. He filed the thought away, turning his attention back to the hunt.
As he approached the chapel, his sharp eyes caught something—tiny spots of blood, barely visible to a human, but unmistakable to him. They had been hastily wiped away, an attempt to conceal the struggle that had taken place here. Hunter knelt, his fingers brushing the faint stains as he sniffed the air. It was recent. The witch and her vampire companion had been here, and they hadn’t left quietly.
He followed the trail inside the chapel, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor as he moved with the quiet grace of a predator. The interior of the church was dimly lit, candles flickering in alcoves, casting long shadows across the walls. Hunter’s enhanced senses picked up on the lingering tension in the air, the remnants of power that had been unleashed here.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the space, searching for clues. And then, he saw it—a section of wall that seemed...off. It was subtle, a slight irregularity in the stonework, but enough to catch his attention. He moved closer, running his fingers along the cool surface until he felt it—a small, hidden mechanism.
A slow grin spread across his face as he pressed it. There was a soft click, and a concealed door slid open, revealing a dark passageway leading deeper into the chapel’s foundations.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hunter muttered to himself, his voice a low rumble in the quiet space.
Without hesitation, he stepped into the darkness, allowing the door to only shut part way as he descended into the unknown. His pulse quickened, not with fear, but with the thrill of the hunt. Whatever awaited him down here, he was ready.
The witch and her vampire companion thought they were safe, hidden away beneath the village, but they were wrong.
Hunter was coming for them, and he never missed his mark.
