Aleksander swung his leg over his Ducati Diavel 1260 S, feeling the familiar weight settle beneath him. He slipped the key into the ignition and turned it—engine roaring to life with a deep, throaty growl. The bike's power hummed under his fingertips as he revved it, preparing to follow Principal Larissa and Wednesday to her therapy session.Just then, his phone buzzed. A message from his father illuminated the screen: a detailed report about the hit put on Aleksander.
Aleksander's lips curled into a smirk. "Do they really think a couple of guns could take me out?" he muttered, the hint of amusement in his voice sharp but confident.
He adjusted his gloves and revved the Ducati once more, the engine's roar echoing down the street as he accelerated, blending speed and purpose. This was far from over.
Principal Larissa Weems drove Wednesday to her therapy session in Jericho. Thanks to a few discreet interventions from the Morozova family, Wednesday's record remained clean; therapy with Dr. Valerie Kinbott was the only condition. Principal Larissa had tried to connect during the ride, but Wednesday's silence and deadpan responses turned every attempt into dead air.
As Larissa's car pulled away, Aleksander rolled up on his motorcycle, the engine's growl fading as he parked beside the curb. At Nevermore, high grades and perfect assignments gave him the freedom to skip classes without consequence.
He took off his helmet, glancing at Wednesday. "So, do I need to come with you, or just wait?"
Wednesday adjusted the strap of her satchel and answered flatly, "Just wait for me. It won't take long."
Aleksander nodded, watching her disappear into the building. The sun glinted off his iron rings as he leaned against his bike, feeling eyes on him.He turned to see Yoko approaching, easily recognizable with her long black hair, blackout glasses, and tattoos snaking up her hands. Today, her glasses were on, shading her brown eyes even in daylight.
Yoko smiled. "So, how have you been?"
Aleksander returned a small grin. "Not bad."He added, "How are your parents? Your coven?"
Yoko gave a casual shrug. "It's okay. Small territory issues with Corvinus and Dagon. Old coven politics, you know—the 'ancient pact' and all that superiority nonsense."
Aleksander knew the story. Most covens had abandoned the old pacts in favor of influence through companies or pharma giants, but the Corvinus were traditionalists—descendants of Marcus Corvinus, obsessed with keeping their bloodline pure and powerful.
Dagon, by contrast, was seen as the weakest, more fragmented since the days of old, especially since he disappeared millennium ago.
He nodded, "I heard there was an attack on one of your elders."
Yoko's expression darkened. "Yeah, Corvinus. Their new Elder, Kraven, sent the message, though they deny it. It's pretty obvious it's them, after all my dad refused their offer to buy our territory —now it's escalated."
Aleksander nodded, weighing her words.
Yoko switched the subject, her tone lighter but her curiosity keen. "Last time, you said you were working on something to let vampires walk in the sun—no more special creams, right?"
Aleksander grinned a bit more. "You mean the daylight ring."
Yoko nodded with slight excitement.
Aleksander's expression shifted as an unmistakable wave of malice swept through the air—too sharp and sudden to ignore. He turned slightly, keeping his composure, but his tone was more urgent as he glanced at Yoko.
"I have the daylight rings ready. I'll get you set up with one tomorrow," he remarked, voice low and deliberate.
Yoko's eyes widened in pleased surprise behind her blackout glasses. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear—a subtle but telling gesture. "You're seriously a lifesaver, Aleksander. That'll freak out my roommates—in a good way."
She gave a crooked smile, careful not to show too much vulnerability. "Just make sure it doesn't, you know, explode when I step out at noon."
He smirked. "Guaranteed. No spontaneous combustion. You'll barely notice the sun anymore."
Yoko nodded in approval, her manner cool but genuinely thankful—never one for big displays of gratitude. "Cool. Just text me where."
Aleksander nodded sharply, his senses still tuned to the approaching hostility. "I will. Stay sharp, Yoko."
She flashed a fang-tipped grin and slipped away into the crowd, blending with the shadows as if she'd never been there at all.
Aleksander caught the unmistakable signs of a hostile group watching him from the shadows. A slow, confident smirk spread across his face. "So the hit group is here," he thought.
He was on his Ducati Diavel 1260 S, fired up the engine with a smooth rev, and eased into the street. Keeping his speed moderate, he glided through the city—fast enough to stay ahead but slow enough to make sure his pursuers wouldn't lose him.
Jan leaned back in the passenger seat of one of the black 2026 GMC Terrains, eyes locked on Aleksander's sleek Ducati as it cruised through the dimly lit street. His square jaw tightened, and through the comms, his voice cut sharp. "It's just some rich, spoiled kid. This one feels too easy."
Terry, seated beside him, shifted uncomfortably. His tone was more cautious, almost sympathetic. "You sure it's a good idea to take this hit? I mean, it's a kid, man."
Jan scoffed, voice low but edged with impatience. "Doesn't matter who he is. Orders are orders. If he's worth something to 'em, he's worth the job."
Inside the second Terrain, Sgt. Jackson Ainsley—known as Elvis—adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his clean-cut appearance belying the lethal skill behind his eyes. His voice was calm, clipped but carrying that cool precision. "No room for hesitation. We do this clean and quick."
Dave Hancock, nicknamed "Boy Sweat," fidgeted nervously in his seat, aura taut with anxious energy. His stubbled face creased with worry as he chimed in, voice jittery. "This feels wrong… I mean, I don't like going after someone like this. Too much heat, maybe."
Moggy sat silent, radiating low-key menace, while Carlos, sharp and focused, scanned the streets ahead with intensity. Sam and Tom whispered quietly, their expressions tense as they kept an eye on Jan.
Brad, towering and bald, exhaled slowly, weighing the tension but staying steady.
Jan's voice came over the comms again, sharper this time. "Look, we stick to the plan. No mistakes. If this kid's the target, we get him—no second guesses."
The crew fell into a cold, practiced silence as they followed Aleksander through the city.