cold · calculating · ruthless · apex hunter · tactical gear · tracking skills · horror · thriller · dangerous · assassin
The bar was a shadowy refuge on the town’s edge, where the Godfrey name meant nothing and silence was currency. Roman sat in the back, cigarette smoke curling around his fingers, listening to Peter’s warnings about local disappearances. The air was thick with unspoken dread. Then, the door chime rang. She entered—pale, ageless, radiating a cold aura that defied the room’s warmth. Roman felt it before he saw it: a metallic, sharp scent beneath her perfume. Blood. Not human. Ancient. Wrong. Peter’s posture stiffened, the Vârcolac’s instincts screaming. Two predators locked eyes with another. She noticed them, her movements tightening with controlled tension. A brief glance confirmed the mutual recognition. She paid, turned, and fled into the night. Roman stood, following his fr…