The city was quiet, the late hour wrapping the streets in a stubborn calm. I kept my head down as I made my way back to the car. My feet moved through the empty sidewalks, the occasional flicker of neon signs reflecting off the wet asphalt. Everything about the night felt heavy—the air, the shadows, the grim unease that something was very, very wrong.

That feeling hit me hard, an instinctual kink in my gut that had saved me more times than I cared to count. I paused, glanced to the side, and caught a reflection in the cracked glass of an old pawn shop window. Just a glimpse—a shade moving where no one should have been.

Someone was following me.

I took a breath, forced myself to walk slower, even as my heartbeat sped up. I ducked into an alley, turning sharply at the corner, hoping to lose them. But when I listened, I could still hear it: the quiet rhythm of footsteps behind me, almost masked by the muffled hum of the city. I cursed under my breath, the realization dawning. Cat’s men. Silhouette must have tipped them off. Damn it. How could I have been so stupid? I should’ve gotten far away from this place the moment I saw that smile.

I picked up my pace, my eyes scanning for anything—an exit, a shadow deep enough to vanish into. My car was just ahead, parked at the edge of an abandoned lot. I spotted it crouched below a broken streetlight, and ducked my head, my fingers already fishing for the keys in my pocket.

That’s when the explosion hit.

It was a roar, the sound of metal tearing and fire erupting, a burst of heat that seared my face. The shockwave knocked me off my feet, sending me sprawling to the ground. My ears rang, the world a blur of fire and smoke and the acrid stench of burning Nightstone. My car—my damn car—was nothing more than twisted, flaming wreckage.

Instinct kicked in, and I rolled to the side, pushing myself up against a crumbling wall, eyes darting around wildly. Figures emerged from the smoke, shadowy shapes moving through the haze. Guns drawn, tactical movements. I cursed again, my mind racing.

My car… Cali is going to kill me!

I pushed off from the wall, darting to the nearest alley, my body aching from the impact. Bullets whipped past me, cracking into brick and metal, each one close enough to hear the air split. I ducked behind a dumpster, catching my breath for a split second before peeking out.

There were at least three of them, maybe more—moving like they knew exactly where I’d be. I caught a glimpse of one, his face half-covered by a scarf, eyes cold and professional. Cat’s men, alright. The thought made my blood boil. I clenched my jaw, focused.

Frank, could use a hand here, I thought, reaching out mentally. But nothing came back—just emptiness where his snark should’ve been.

A shadow rounded the corner, and instinct took over. The man lunged for me, and I ducked low, bringing my gun up. He moved fast, too fast, and we collided, grappling for control. His hand twisted toward my gun, but I managed to wrench my arm free. It was a brutal dance of fists, elbows, and the metallic clash of firearms, the alley echoing with grunts and the scuffle of boots. My gun came up between us, and I pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil kick through my arm as he slumped, falling backward with a dull thud. It was heavy in my hands, and I didn’t have time to think. More footsteps, shouts echoing through the alley. I fired blindly around the corner, not aiming, just trying to buy myself a moment.

I heard a shout, a curse, and then more gunfire erupted, the flashes lighting up the darkness. I ducked down, feeling concrete chips sting my face as bullets tore into the walls above me. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to move.

I spotted an old fire escape, the metal ladder rusted but still intact, bolted to the side of the building across the alley. My legs burned as I pushed myself up, sprinting for it. Bullets followed, one grazing my shoulder, the pain sharp and searing.

The fresh pain and the trickle of blood worried me less than Frank’s silence. No quips, no biting commentary, nothing. Wherever he’d retreated to in that demon mind of his, he wasn’t coming out to help me this time. I was on my own, and that was a hell of a lot more unsettling than the wound itself.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I bit back a yell, my hand grabbing the bottom rung of the ladder. I pulled myself up, each movement a battle against the pain that spread from my shoulder.

Halfway up, I heard the sharp bark of a gun below. There was no time to react. The impact was like a sledgehammer hitting my side, a white-hot pain exploding through my ribs. The breath rushed out of me, my vision narrowing to pinpricks as I clung desperately to the ladder.

I gasped, choking on the pain, my hand slipping for a moment before I managed to regain my grip. My legs felt like lead, every inch a fight as I climbed, the sound of shouting men below growing louder. I could feel the blood soaking through my shirt, hot and wet, each breath an agony that clawed at my insides.

I hauled myself onto the platform, collapsing against the rusted metal, the world spinning. I needed a plan, but the pain was all-consuming, my thoughts fractured and fleeting. I forced myself to look down, seeing the men below, their shadows growing as they neared the base of the fire escape.

They were coming for me. I could hear their voices, cold and relentless, echoing through the night. I had to keep moving. I had to get away.

I pushed myself up, every muscle screaming in protest, staggering toward the narrow walkway that led to another rooftop. My vision blurred, the edges darkening as I stumbled forward, the pain pulling me under like a riptide. I could hear the metal groaning beneath my weight, the rusted bolts barely holding as I crossed.

Another shot rang out, the bullet ricocheting off the railing beside me, the sharp ping of metal-on-metal ringing in my ears. I reached the edge, glancing at the gap between the buildings. It wasn’t far, but in my condition, it might as well have been a mile.

I backed up, ignoring the blood that trickled down my side, the burning ache in my shoulder, and ran. I pushed off, my body hurtling through the air, the void between the buildings yawning below me. For a moment, time seemed to stop, the wind rushing past, the world narrowing to just that moment—a desperate leap between half-life and death.

I hit the rooftop hard, my legs buckling beneath me, and I rolled, the impact rattling through my bones. I lay there for a heartbeat, gasping for air, the pain blurring everything, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

And then came the hunger. It curled up inside me like a serpent, coiling tight, eating away at me. Not now, I begged, but the need clawed at me, fierce and relentless. My body wanted to replace what I’d lost… with theirs. I started to shake, the urge slithering through my veins, whispering dark promises. I knew the cost—eat humans, lose humanity.

My hand fumbled to my jacket pocket, fingers cutting against shards of broken glass. Two of the three vials I kept were shattered, leaking out their precious contents, but the third… my last… was intact, cold and smooth in my blood-slick fingers. I forced a steady breath, holding on. A few more were tucked away back in my car. My car.

I quickly downed it, feeling the relief spread through me like a cooling balm. I took a deep breath, steadying myself as the hunger ebbed, just enough to think clearly again.

Voices rose behind me, closer now. They’d seen me jump. They wouldn’t stop. I forced myself to my knees, then to my feet, each movement a battle. My hand pressed against the wound in my side, the warmth of my own blood seeping through my fingers. I stumbled forward, every step a challenge, every breath a knife in my lungs.

I reached a door, an old maintenance entrance, the wood splintered and worn. I threw myself against it, the door creaking before it gave way, spilling me into a dark stairwell. I slammed it shut behind me and leaned against it, panting, my vision tunneling as dark spots swam in front of my eyes.

I could hear them on the rooftop now, their footsteps thudding, their voices cold and focused. They were searching for me, and it wouldn’t be long before they found the door. I pushed myself away, stumbling down the stairs, each step jarring the bullet wound, the pain like fire burning through my side.

I didn’t know where I was going, just that I had to keep moving. Had to stay ahead of them. The stairwell twisted down into darkness, and I followed, my hand skimming the wall to keep myself upright, my legs weak beneath me.

Somewhere above, I heard the door crash open, their voices filling the stairwell. They were close. Too close.

I reached the bottom, a narrow hallway stretching out before me, dimly lit by an old Infernum bulb. I ran, or tried to, my body barely responding, my steps uneven, the world tilting around me. The hallway seemed to stretch forever, the end nowhere in sight, and behind me, I could hear them—getting closer, relentless.

My hand found the handle of a maintenance closet door, and I muttered a silent prayer as I turned it… unlocked. I slipped inside and let the door click shut behind me, collapsing against the wall as my legs gave way. The room was small, cluttered with forgotten junk—boxes, old tools, dust-covered shelves. I pressed my back against the wall, breathing hard, my vision blurring as I tried to stay conscious.

I could hear them outside, their footsteps, their voices. They were close now, right outside the door. I held my breath, every muscle tense, my heart pounding in my ears.

I tightened my grip on the gun, the cold metal slick with sweat. I hadn’t planned on needing it tonight—I’d left my sword back at the motel, thinking I wouldn’t need it for spywork. But at least I had my gun. I had one last chance to make a stand. The doorknob rattled, and I leveled the barrel at the door, finger resting against the trigger. Only a few bullets left.

They were coming.

The door began to creak open, and I held my breath, my pulse pounding in my ears. This was it.