New York, wrapped in the bnket of night, felt like an endless, living creature. The city buzzed, breathed, and shimmered with lights, as if trying to outshine the stars above. Johnny sat on his bike, watching this restless giant from a nearby hill. His fingers tapped lightly on the throttle, but he didn’t move.

  Finding a vampire in this multi-million-person anthill wasn’t an easy task. If it were that simple, vampires would be in biology textbooks, not the fantasy section. He needed something more than just instinct.

  A memory flickered—Melissa’s grimoire. Once an ancient demonic book, it had become her personal tool, but now it was part of the Bze family legacy. Even Melissa herself, albeit reluctantly, had started to accept that her knowledge was being used not for power but for justice. Her sarcastic comments scribbled in the margins about handling ancient spells and curses had irritated Johnny at first, but he’d grown accustomed to her peculiar style.

  While studying the grimoire, he’d come across a mention of a Rider’s ability: the power to track sin. Johnny had used this power before, but never on such a scale. He pced his fingers to his temples, mimicking the technique of his ancestor, the Ghost Shaman, and focused. The fmes surrounding his body fred brighter, as if fueling his concentration.

  Suddenly, an invisible map of sins unfolded before him, as if the world itself had bared its darkest secrets. Johnny saw greedy threads stretching toward the city’s financial district, where deals were sometimes sealed with blood. Envy coiled around clubs and apartments in thick green fog. Lust bloomed in crimson patches around nightlife hotspots. But none of that interested him.

  His goal was different. He was searching for a sin rarer than the rest—exsanguination.

  At first, there was nothing, and Johnny thought he’d made a mistake. But after a moment, thin white fiery threads fred to life—delicate, almost invisible, stretching through the streets. There were few of them. In the vast city of New York, filled with sins and secrets, only a dozen such threads existed.

  Exsanguination. A rare and horrifying sin. Every time Johnny sensed its trail, he felt a cold rage mixed with contempt. Those who took lives to satisfy their insatiable thirst deserved nothing but fire.

  For mere survival, one could buy blood from a hospital instead of killing the innocent.

  Johnny grabbed all the threads at once, letting them guide him through the city’s chaos. His bike roared like a wounded beast and surged forward. Fmes from under the tires left a bzing trail behind him, as if the city’s night itself had caught fire.

  “Vampires must be punished,” Johnny muttered, gazing at the city lights. “Maybe one of them will have the information I need.”

  ///

  Edgar walked through the nighttime streets of New York, savoring every step. His polished leather shoes clicked softly against the pavement, his expensive suit fit perfectly, and the faint scent of cologne—worth more than the average passerby’s smartphone—captivated random girls in the crowd. He was used to admiring gnces and hushed whispers behind his back.

  “I don’t feel right about this, Edgar,” muttered Alex, trailing behind him. “Are you sure this is how ‘real’ vampires hunt?”

  Edgar sighed loudly, casting an annoyed gnce at his companion.

  “Please, just shut up, Alex. If you keep feeding on hobos, no one will ever take you seriously.”

  “Then what do vampires in high society feed on?”

  A condescending smile tugged at Edgar’s lips.

  “Oh, it’s an art form. For example, blood soup with embryos. They have such a delightful crunch.”

  Alex grimaced, gncing around nervously.

  “Are you seriously talking about this in the middle of the street?”

  “Rex,” Edgar waved dismissively. “No one will believe us anyway. It’s too… phantasmagorical for their feeble minds. They’ll think we’re discussing some horror movie.”

  Alex nodded, though the worry in his eyes didn’t fade.

  Ahead, the lights of a nightclub flickered, and the thump of music filled the street. Edgar ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, as if preparing to step onto a stage.

  “I’ve never fed on someone awake before,” Alex admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “Only sleeping drunks or homeless people.”

  Edgar stopped, sighed heavily, and looked back at him with open disdain.

  “Please, never mention that again. Just listen to me and do as I say.”

  “But how do you even hunt?” Alex persisted.

  “About fifteen years ago, when Twilight was all the rage,” Edgar’s voice took on a nostalgic tone, “girls would throw themselves at us. Fsh a fang, whisper something about eternal love—that’s all it took. They were ready for anything. Ah, those were the days... Now, they’d rather run after a guy in an Iron Man suit. But we’ve got other methods.”

  He motioned for Alex to follow. They bypassed a long line outside the club, drawing irritated gnces. Suddenly, Edgar stopped, spun around sharply, and his eyes fshed crimson for a brief second. One of the girls in line parted her lips like a fish and froze, mesmerized.

  “Hypnosis,” he chuckled, waving his fingers in front of her face. “One look—and they’re yours.”

  She nodded, utterly entranced, and stepped forward, awaiting his command.

  The people in line gnced at the “lovestruck couple” and quickly lost interest, oblivious to what was really happening. The vampires had no intention of expining.

  Alex eyed him skeptically.

  “Maybe we should just take her and go? Why bother with this stuffy club?”

  “Maybe,” Edgar mused, studying the girl’s vacant gaze. “Pick any pretty loner, and let’s go. I know a perfect warehouse.”

  A motorcycle pulled up beside them.

  Matte bck, as if exuding darkness itself, the bike looked like the embodiment of something sinister. The rider sat motionless, cd entirely in bck. His helmet, with its tinted visor, completely concealed his face, but there was an aura of coldness about him that even Edgar couldn’t expin.

  “He’s… strange,” Alex whispered. “I can’t feel any blood in him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Edgar snapped, annoyed at being pulled from the trance of his hypnotized girl.

  Edgar barely registered the rider reaching into his leather jacket. A fsh of metal, a swift motion—and the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun pressed against the back of Alex’s head.

  Bang.

  The fsh ripped through the night. In Alex’s pce, only a pile of settling ash remained.

  Screams erupted. People scattered in all directions, voices overpping:

  “He burned up in a second!”

  “Was that a fmethrower?!”

  “Johnny Storm’s lost it!”

  Edgar froze, but quickly regained his composure. He was a vampire of the upper circle. He’d killed hunters, wiped out entire families. Some biker in bck wasn’t going to scare him.

  “I’ll kill you, you bastard!” he roared, drawing a pistol from his bzer, aiming—

  Fmes.

  They erupted right in front of him. A chain, wreathed in fire, whipped through the air. Edgar heard a dull thud, but it wasn’t until the gun slipped from his fingers that he realized—it had been his hand.

  Agonizing, searing pain shot through him. He colpsed to his knees, clutching the charred stump.

  “No…” he rasped, gasping. “This… no!”

  A gloved hand grabbed him by the jacket, yanking him upright. He managed only a strangled cry before the motorcycle roared forward, dragging him along. This wasn’t the speed of a bike. It was the speed of a missile.

  The world blurred.

  /////

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