At first, I considered waiting until nightfall. That's when most hunts usually happen. But this vampire was young, freshly turned, and inexperienced. Daylight would give us the advantage, and I didn't want Caleb's first outing to be a suicide mission.
On the drive, Caleb leaned back in the passenger seat, arms crossed. "Do all vampires really need to be killed?" he asked. "I mean… can't we cure them? Give them blood some other way?"
I glanced at him, then pointed toward the back of the minivan, where the weapons case sat. "Vampires aren't just people with fangs, kid. It's corruption. The hunger twists the mind until nothing human is left. And worse—whoever sires you controls you completely. Your body stops being your own."
Caleb frowned. "Still… there's gotta be a way. Right?"
For a moment, I didn't answer. Memories I'd buried clawed their way back up, uninvited.
"I tried once," I said quietly. "With a friend. At first, it looked promising—we bought fresh blood from the black market, kept him fed, kept him stable. But the hunger… it doesn't stop. It grows. One night, he lost control. He killed an innocent girl. When he realized what he'd done…"
I paused, gripping the steering wheel tighter than I meant to. "He begged me to end it. So I did. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."
The van went silent. Caleb didn't ask again.
We reached the outskirts of the swamp by late afternoon. Damp air clung to my clothes, and the smell of stagnant water filled my lungs. If I were a fledgling vampire, this is exactly where I'd hole up—cold, wet, hidden.
It didn't take long to find the grave. Fresh earth, hastily dug, the kind of den only a newborn would make. With Caleb's help, I shoveled until pale, lifeless skin appeared beneath the dirt.
The vampire's eyes shot open just as I yanked him out by the collar and hurled him into the sunlight. His skin smoked, blistering immediately. Caleb flinched, stepping back.
I didn't savor it. Torture wasn't the goal. A single silver-etched bullet ended him, quick and final.
Sliding the gun back into my holster, I turned to Caleb. "That's a fledgling. Weakest of their kind. Easy prey in the sun."
Caleb still looked pale, his hand twitching near his revolver. "If they're that weak, then why bother?"
"Because weakness makes them reckless. Without control, without a sire watching them, they'll lash out at anything. If I left this one here, he'd have gone on a frenzy before the week was out. Better he's ash now than bodies later."
Caleb nodded slowly, though I could tell the lesson weighed heavier on him than he expected. That was good. Hunting vampires wasn't about glory—it was about grim necessity.