Travis' POV
Finally, I can step out into the sunlight. Just look at that, the fresh air, the green trees, the warmth of the sun. It should feel amazing, right?
Well, actually, no. I don't like it at all. Even with the dhampir template kicking in and letting me walk around without turning into crispy bacon, the sun still doesn't sit right with me. I don't burn anymore, sure, but I feel lazy. Like the daylight is pressing down on me, telling me to crawl back into the shadows.
Maybe it's my affinity for darkness, or maybe it's because I didn't completely shake the vampire weaknesses. They're still there, just watered down until they barely matter. Negligible, really. But the feeling lingers.
Still, just because I don't like being out here doesn't mean I'm weak in the daytime. Far from it. I'm faster than normal humans and stronger too. Vampires and werewolves might usually be chained to the night, but I'm not bound by that leash anymore.
Before, the vampire side of me always sagged under the sun. But with Garek's template, that weakness is gone. I'm steady, day or night, though no surprise I feel sharper at night.
At least I don't have to drink blood to survive. That was my biggest worry at the start.
After getting transmigrated and realizing what I'd become, I did what I could to track down blood, just in case. Hospitals seemed like the safest bet. I hung around, scoped the place out, and found my target: a nurse desperate for cash. I cut a deal with her. She would slip me a few blood bags, and I would make sure she got the money she needed.
As for the werewolf side, according to Travis's memories, his first transformation hit during puberty, around fourteen. He could only shift under moonlight, went feral under a full moon, and without the moon he did not change at all. His dad always said it came down to experience. The more you wrestled with the animal, the better you learned to cage it.
I just hope my next spin gives me someone who can stay sane during a full moon. I don't want to spend the rest of my life locking myself up every month like I did last time.
"Let's go check in with the cops." I turn back, head for the garage, wheel the bike out and hit the road. The house Travis's family lived in sat right in the middle of their farmland. It had been his dad's property, and besides this he also rented out other farms, which brought in more than enough money for a comfortable life.
From Travis's memories, I knew his dad lived simply, or at least he wanted to look that way. Even after learning about his werewolf heritage, Travis never questioned it too much. Me, though, after getting Tim's template my instincts told me to dig deeper.
Yesterday, I searched the house again and found something I'd missed before: an underground room beneath the garage. Inside was a stockpile, cash stacked high, gold bars, guns, knives. I gave it a rough count, and the wealth alone had to be worth over seventy million.
I also found a diary. That's where things started to make more sense. His dad wrote about inheriting the werewolf abilities from his family, how he was the last of his bloodline, and how the rest of them had been wiped out by vampires. He came here afterward, tried to start over, and eventually got married.
Bad luck, though. He died at the hands of the very thing he'd been running from, a vampire.
The diary also explained that the world wasn't as simple as it looked. He never wanted his son to get dragged into it, but he admitted there was no choice in the matter. Eventually, Travis would be forced into it, whether he wanted to or not. He wrote about magicians, hunters who specialized in killing werewolves, and even government agencies keeping tabs on supernatural activity, most likely S.H.I.E.L.D. He warned Travis to stay quiet, never do anything unusual, and avoid landing on their radar.
A good father does not want his son repeating his mistakes.
As for the vampire that killed them both, I still don't know if it was pure chance or if they were targeted. Still, I remember his face. One way or another, I'll know the truth eventually.
I already consider them my enemy. Being a daywalker puts me squarely on their radar; once they know I exist, they'll want to study me, exploit whatever advantage I give them, or use me to get past their own weaknesses.
And it's not just them. Human agencies will want in too. Imagine S.H.I.E.L.D. with a dhampir operative on payroll or worse, deciding to make one of their own. The thought gives me chills. Daywalkers aren't unheard of—Blade wasn't the only one—but cases like mine are. S.H.I.E.L.D. won't let someone like me roam free. They'll try to control me, and I'm not about to hand myself over.
When I finally pull up, I kill the engine and park the bike outside the station. I take a breath and go in.
"Sir, did you find anything?" I ask the desk officer.
He looks at me, sorry written all over his face. "Sorry, son. We didn't find anything on your father."
I already knew he wouldn't. The bodies were dealt with the night I took Travis's place, so there's nothing for them to find. I filed a missing-person report anyway. Murder invites questions, and a missing-person case buys time and keeps attention from sticking where I don't want it.
Mostly, coming here is about appearances. I want them to think everything's normal. I can walk in daylight with no problem, and I need to access their database.
Garek was a dhampir, born to a vampire father and a powerful human psychic mother. The father killed the mother after she gave birth because he only wanted a weapon, not a family. Garek's template gave me more than just daylight tolerance. I've unlocked a bit of telepathy. It's tiny right now, the range is short and the signal is weak, so I've got to do this in person. No remote snooping for me, not yet.
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Other world for hunting