THE MARKED

UNKNOWN

The clock on the church tower struck twelve. The brass bells tolled over the city, yet their sound did not fade—it lodged itself in the heavy groan of St. Petersburg.

Another sleepless night.

Another hunt ahead of me.

The deserted streets drowned in decay. The walls of the buildings resembled a war veteran’s scars—etched with the bloody marks of gangs and the invisible traces of pain no one read anymore.

In the tavern, they warned me that at night, St. Petersburg breathes differently. They said monsters roam its shadows.

Tonight, there was no one—neither living nor dead. Only the faint rustle of rats creeping between dumpsters and the mournful howling of dogs.

I stopped. A storm hung in the air. A sharp wind brushed against my skin. The moon swayed in the sky—a solitary eye of God watching over this ruin.

Sometimes I wonder if, over all these years, I have become the very thing I once hunted. Whether the monster has nested beneath my skin—quietly, unnoticed—until I gave it a name of my own.

I moved across the rooftops at a relentless pace—no pauses, no hesitation. Every shadow could be an enemy. Every movement a threat.

Lainey Morningstar, known as Murderous Delight. A Class A vampire. The perfect fusion of beauty and death. I could sense her—her presence, her piercing scent. And yet she always slipped through my fingers.

From the fold of my vest, I drew a small vial. The metallic tang flooded my mouth, its viscous bitterness spreading across my tongue. The change came with the first swallow—my blood began to pulse differently.

My senses sharpened. A faint sound. The beat of a solitary heart.

Every muscle tensed, ready. Carefully, I approached the edge of the roof and searched for the source, sweeping my gaze across the courtyard below.

She sat on an old tire, weaving a daisy chain. She didn’t even bother to look up, her eyes fixed on her feet, as if searching for answers there.

She was waiting. For me.

I slid down a rusted drainpipe. As my boots touched the grass, I drew a silvered blade from behind my back with my left hand.

She remained seated, calmly plucking petals from a daisy, whispering to herself in a sorrowful voice,

“Will he kill me, or won’t he? Will he understand, or won’t he? Will he spare me… or won’t he?”

I stood still. One shot would have been enough—but I had other plans. My relentless curiosity demanded answers. The truth behind this twisted game of cat and mouse.

In nearly forty years, I had seen a great deal. This was no ordinary vendetta, no common display of vampiric madness. This was a calculated choreography of death. Every act precisely planned, every victim meticulously broken.

The scenes—the details she left behind—were messages.

Her death would solve nothing. On the contrary, it might be the beginning of something far worse. And I could not shake the feeling that she held the key to understanding it all.

“You’ve done this before. Routine, I told myself. Get the information, eliminate the target, dump the body in a gutter, and move on. Another contract. Another hunter’s day.”

It sounded far too simple.

“Lainey,” I called.

“I heard you coming, hunter,” she interrupted, slowly turning her head toward me.

She resembled fresh-fallen snow on a battlefield—pure, until the first blood seeps in. Pale, porcelain skin with sharp Slavic features. Her dark eyes were impenetrable, her gaze piercing—like a blade.

Dangerously, mercilessly beautiful.

I took two steps forward, keeping a safe distance, revolver steady in my right hand, already primed.

The storm arrived. At first a drizzle, then the sky broke open into a heavy downpour. Rain streamed down my forehead as I kept my eyes locked on her, watching every movement—no matter how small.

“Oh… it’s you again,” she said, her voice tired. “My final night?”

Her embers met mine. The longer I looked into them, the more I felt myself slipping.

My master’s words echoed in my mind:“The eyes are the gateway to the soul.”

But within her black soul, there was nothing but death.

She tilted her head back, her gaze drawn to the silver full moon vanishing behind the clouds.

“What is my life worth?” she asked, her tone laced with irony—feigning lightness, though bitterness seeped through.

“I don’t do this for money,” I said, cocking the revolver with my thumb. “But since you ask—nothing. You’re just another problem I’ll erase from my sights in, give or take, fifteen minutes.”

Her expression froze. She brushed her straight, dark brown hair to one side with her fingers.

“Forgive my boldness,” she said at last, her voice softer now, though still edged with manipulation. “What do they call you?”

“Blanc,” I replied curtly.

“I meant your real name.”

“Sebastian.”

I know what you’re thinking. You’re right. Rules are rules—hunters guard their identities.

“Sebastian, you say?” She looked me up and down. “How curious. Do you know what your name means? Venerable. Are you truly worthy of that reverence?”

She struck the right chord.

Once, I heard a piece of wisdom:“Only from a human is a human born.”But I was not born of any woman’s womb. No breast ever soothed my first hunger.

“Sebastian. A name given to me instead of a serial number. Venerable… what irony… after everything I’ve done, after all the blood I’ve spilled.”

“Come, sit beside me,” she shifted slightly, gesturing to the empty space next to her. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re carrying a lot.”

“I’ll stand,” I said, keeping the revolver level with her head. “I know what you’re capable of. And by the way—nice try, getting into my head.”

She rose to her full height and fixed her gaze on me. Taller than I remembered—taller than me, which was rare. Through her soaked nightdress, clinging to her like a translucent veil, her ribs showed starkly, along with a small, scarred chest.

“You learn quickly. May I ask you something?”

I gave her a look that said she could.

“What do you think the purpose of hunters is?” She took a few steps toward me. “You kill us—those you deem guilty. Do you truly believe more bloodshed is the right way to show others that it’s wrong?”

She paused.

“My dear,” I said, lighting a cigarette, “there has always been a difference between killing the guilty and the innocent.”

“That depends on your point of view.” Her hands dropped to her narrow waist.

“Your point of view doesn’t interest me,” I exhaled smoke. “I counted twelve dead. That’s where it ends for me.”

“No, no,” she shook her head. “Don’t play the hero with me. You had so many chances to kill me. Why didn’t you?”

“Information.”

“Fine,” she ran a hand through her hair, brushing wet strands from her chin. “You’ll get it—but it will cost you.”

If she hoped to bargain for mercy, she would be disappointed.

“I understand,” she knelt onto the grass, stirring a puddle with her finger, “that once you’re done with me, my remains will feed the vermin. So I ask only one thing. A grave.”

“What would you like on your headstone?‘Beloved families mourn Lainey Morningstar, who butchered their loved ones without a shred of mercy’?”

“That sounds rather poetic,” she didn’t even blink. “I had every right to hate them.”

“Who gave you the right to take justice into your own hands?”

“I could ask you the same.” Her voice dropped, heavy with anger. “I won’t lie to you. I enjoyed it. Those looks of despair, when they bled out in their own filth.”

The tension between us could have been cut with a blade. That anger, that pain… it felt uncomfortably familiar.

“Enlighten me—what did those men do to deserve such a fate? Men who willingly donated to charity,” I pressed, deliberately prodding the hornet’s nest.

“You’re an adorably naïve pup if you believe that!” She laughed bitterly, almost hysterically. “Money never outweighs certain sins,” her eyes narrowed, “nor does it erase them…”

“So it was revenge after all,” I said, not wasting time with pointless questions.

“I wouldn’t call it revenge,” she replied with cold precision. “More like returning the kindness for their generous and humane behavior.”

I echoed my master’s words—the ones that once shaped me: “The weak resort to revenge. The strong are capable of—”

“Spare me those moralizing tales of some senile old fool!” She began to tremble.

A memory crossed her face—one that should have remained buried.

“You speak of their generosity? Have you ever been in those damned orphanages?!”

Her voice broke into a cry of desperation.

“The children fight over scraps of bread while those bastards feast in luxury! One of their evenings could feed every child in St. Petersburg for a year!”

A strange tightness spread through my chest. She could still be lying—it was, after all,a gift of her blood.

Tears slid down her long nose—small, fragile, all the more wounding. “Do you know what happens there at night?! Why won’t you say anything?!”

She collapsed to her knees, pounding her fists as if trying to beat the truth out of herself.

“Lainey, who was helping you?” I asked, my tone softer now, though the insistence remained.

She lifted her gaze to the sky. The rain washed the tears from her hollow cheeks. There was something both beautiful and tragic in it.

She didn’t answer.

Suddenly, she turned and threw her arms around me. The barrel of my revolver pressed against her chest. One twitch—and the bullet would tear through her heart.

I froze.“What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Instead of running, you throw yourself into a killer’s arms?”

“Your embrace is so warm,” she pressed closer. “She was right about you.”

Her nails traced lightly along my throat, savoring the contact. If she wanted, she could have slit it with ease. After less than a minute, she pulled away. In her eyes—once filled with rage—there was no trace of hope left.

“Do your duty,” she said, brushing me one last time in farewell. “It won’t be easy. I’ve never surrendered without a fight.”

I lowered my gaze, tightened my grip on the sword, and took a fighting stance. I knew that if I didn’t do it, they would send someone else—someone who wouldn’t grant her even that final shred of dignity.

LAINEY’S POV

I never asked myself whether I was ready. There was no time for that. Every step, every strike, every decision was another step along the path I had chosen. But now that you stand here, everything has come to a halt.

You are different. Not just another hunter. I know who you are. I’ve heard of you—your precision, your infallibility, that you are among the very best. And I… am your prey.

“Only one of us will survive,” I whispered.

“What will become of me? Is this truly the end? So soon?”

Raindrops fell against my skin like memories of moments that never were. The air grew heavier than ever before. I was drowning in it, unable to release it from my lungs.

“I will not bow. Not even to you.”

Desperately, I searched for a way to gain the upper hand. I hurled the first thing within reach at him. By chance, it was the tractor tire I had been sitting on moments before.

SLASH!

An ordinary mortal wouldn’t stand the slightest chance against him in a direct fight.

He wielded his blade with the precision of a pirouette. His fencing was feral—yet terrifyingly beautiful. It was as if he had been born for it.

With every step I took back, I drew closer to my own end. Bone could not match a finely honed blade.

The memories came. Unwanted. Unbidden.

ECHOE OF TIME

At the orphanage, they told me I had to be especially quiet today. They said it was my important task. They dressed me in that white lace shirt—far too big for me, slipping constantly from my shoulders.

I felt so important in it… until I noticed how thin it was, how every bruise showed through. I knelt on the floor. The carpet in that room smelled of wet dog and expensive cigarettes.

The man stood before me—I knew him from the posters on the street. He always wore that kind, fatherly smile, holding toys for poor children. Everyone said he cared about us. He chose me.

“Sweet blood,” his voice dripped with honey.

He grabbed me by the hair. His fingers smelled of mint candy. A sharp, burning pain tore through me as teeth sank into my neck. I wanted to scream, to call for my mother—but I knew I had to endure.

In the shadow beneath the large oak table, my little sister was curled up. She was trembling so hard I could hear her teeth chattering. Her eyes looked so hungry.

The matrons had promised me that if I behaved like a good doll and didn’t upset him, my sister would get a full plate of hot soup tonight. Thick soup… even with meat.

In his eyes, I wasn’t a little girl. I was a gift, unwrapped in the dark. A piece of flesh, combed and presented for sale. It didn’t matter if I cried. He had already paid for my tears.

It hurt so much that I stopped moving. I just knelt there, something warm and wet running down my back, counting the patterns in the carpet.

The blade tore through my dress and dragged me back into reality. My knees buckled. I closed my eyes, waiting for the cold touch that would lay me to rest in eternal sleep.

It never came. I opened them in disbelief. He stood there, sword raised. His amber eyes met mine again. There was something in them I had never seen before in anyone—remorse.

I grabbed his forearm and pressed the blade against my throat. “Finish it. If I’m to die, let it be by the hand of someone who has shown me at least a fragment of humanity.”

“Run!” His voice broke, rough and strained.

And then I felt something else. Something more terrifying than death. For the first time in my life…I wanted to live.

SEBASTIAN’S POV

I hesitated. A second that nearly cost me my life.

She lunged at me with a ferocity she had been suppressing for years. We fought in the mud like two rabid dogs—no rules, no reason, only the raw instinct to survive.

Her claws tore through the air, my coat shredding to ribbons. If not for the plated vest beneath it, my insides would have been feeding the rats of St. Petersburg long ago.

Suddenly, she was on top of me. Filthy with mud and blood, the blade pressed against my throat. I could feel it biting into my skin even through my gloves.

I waited for the end. But she did something worse. She pressed her lips to mine.

A raw assault of theCharmerupon my senses. With that touch, my past—her past—merged into a single storm of chaos. Images of the orphanage, the taste of fear, the endless night of the hunt. The illusion of her life felt too real to cast aside at once.

She used it. Her fingers dug into my vest, claws tearing through my shirt. Cold fingers pressed into my chest—first probing, then with painful force.

“Admit it,” I ground out through clenched teeth as the world spun in my head, “you like this game of predator and prey. It’s all you know, isn’t it?”

She froze. For a moment, pure terror flickered in her eyes. Her answer was impact. She hurled me over a concrete wall as if I weighed nothing. I landed on the stale carpet of some old tavern.

“Damn, I’ve got a hell of a taste in women,” I spat blood, pushing myself off the ground.

My shoulder burned, my balance gone. I braced myself against the bar to keep from collapsing again. I pulled splinters from my cheek and ran trembling fingers over the scratches.

I found a bottle of whiskey. Half went on the wounds, the rest down my throat. I needed to shut off the pain.

When she burst in, I emptied the cylinder. I hit nothing—the world blurred, my hands wouldn’t obey.

She just stood there, trembling, tears washing the blood from her face. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I… I don’t know what that was.”

“Enough of the act,” I growled, collapsing onto the floor. Strength was leaving me.

Her voice woke me. She was shouting, though I could barely understand her.

“Left pocket… coat,” I rasped, forcing the words out. “Injection… the yellow one…”

She didn’t hesitate. A moment later, I felt the sting in my neck. The serum slammed my heart into overdrive—I thought my veins would burst. Blood flooded the whites of my eyes. I could see sharply, but every inch of existence hurt.

When she dragged me to the couch, we were both gasping. Without a word, Lainey sat in my lap. There was no seduction in it. More like a desperate reflex—something that came before thought, as if her body knew only one way to silence the chaos.

Her gaze turned hungry again. Not for sex. For certainty. For a boundary she couldn’t find. The tip of her tongue brushed the wound on my cheek—automatic, restless.

“I’ll increase your blood flow,” she whispered, fumbling with my belt.

“Get off,” I said quietly, but with absolute firmness. “Look at me. I’m falling apart. There’s enough in my veins to kill a horse, and you—”

I didn’t finish. Because I saw it—she didn’t know what she was doing. Her fingers trembled, searching for something to hold onto. Her eyes were too wide, too glassy, unfocused.

I tried to push her away, but I was too late. Her body suddenly went limp, collapsing at my feet as if the strings had been cut. Someone had taken her down.

I looked around for whoever was responsible. No one appeared, but one thing was certain—if I didn’t deal with them before they filed a report, this would turn into a nightmare.

“Thank God!”I hurriedly fastened my pants, heart still in my throat.“First she almost kills me and now—? What the hell have I gotten myself into?!”

“Sebbie, good morning!”

The way she said my name told me instantly—I was in trouble.

Good thing I had managed to fix my clothes just in time before she dragged me out and pinned me to the wall. Her gaze could pierce steel.

This wasn’t just anyone—it was the last person I wanted to see in a situation like this.

“De— Omen?!” I corrected myself when I caught the murderous look beneath her black mask. “What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at a conference in Romania?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she stepped inside. “Do you have any idea what you were supposed to be doing before you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what forty other hunters are doing here—besides you, of course? Everyone’s trying to catch your new little friend, because there’s a price on her head!”

She didn’t give me a chance to respond.

“I’ve got a better question,” she leaned in so close I could feel her anger in every word. “Where the hell did you leave your brain? Out there with that coat in the grass? Or on that sword lying right next to it?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I moved toward Lainey, who lay on the ground. I noticed a tiny needle lodged in her neck, like a stinger. I pressed my fingers to her throat—the pulse was barely there.

Thank God… she hadn’t killed her. Just pumped her full of sedatives.

“Lucky you—she’s alive… for now,” she muttered under her breath.

When she looked at me again, her eyes burned with anger. She tapped my forehead with the barrel of her gun.

“It was a primitive order! Even a trained chimp could’ve handled it!”

“Can’t we deal with her situation later?” I tried.

“Deal with her situation?” she echoed, tossing an injection at me. “Fine. Here. Stick her with it and good luck, because I’m not lifting a finger. Your hunt, your problem. Handle it.”

“I—” The stomp of her boots cut me off.

“Blanc, I told you tofucking kill her!” she emphasized every syllable. “Not tofuck her!”

“I wasn’t going to sleep with her! She—”

“Made you?” she raised an eyebrow. “Poor you. She managed to strip you and nearly rape you while you were actively resisting? I honestly don’t know what’s worse.”

“How long have you been watching me?” I asked wearily, rubbing my aching neck.

“From the very beginning.”

I hesitated. I had checked the perimeter thoroughly. “Where the hell could you have been hiding?” In the end, I admitted quietly, “I didn’t even notice you.”

“I can’t hear you! Say that again, louder!” she prompted, like it was a game.

“I said I didn’t notice you at all!” irritation snapped out of me. “So why didn’t you help me?!”

Her answer came as a barrage of questions. “You’re an adult, aren’t you? An experienced hunter? You like playing the hero, so I assumed you were self-sufficient. Or did I mistake you for someone else?”

I froze for a moment. “You know I almost died here?”

“Almost,” she said coldly. “Not died.”

She turned toward the hole in the wall. But before leaving, she glanced back—as always, with one final remark.

“By the way—the fight? Not bad. Really. You actually looked kind of cool, like some playboy straight out of a movie,” she admitted with mock seriousness.

“But…” she tilted her head, as if searching for the right words—though she knew exactly what she was about to say, “there were… certain flaws. Tiny ones. Minor details. Things you might want to work on.”

I gave up. Arguing with her would never end. I slung the unconscious Lainey over my shoulder and set off, trying to ignore the pain in my ribs and spine.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to help you carry her,” she stopped, her voice cold and unyielding. “I refuse to paint another target on my back. And one more detail.”

“What?”

“There’s a sniper out there, in a good position, running thermal on our kind. Orders are to shoot anything that moves. But since I’m your dear sister, I’ll give you twenty seconds before I report contact.”

“Thanks,” I bolted forward with everything I had left.

“Don’t thank me!” she called after me. “It’ll cost you, brother! You’re both expected at the bar. Good hunting, Blanc.”