"Jarvis, what do the scanners show?" Tony Stark's voice was laced with irritation. It was the third day of trying to crack my prison, and the billionaire's patience was wearing thin. Good, good. The more he tried, the better my chances of freedom.
"Sir, the metal exhibits extraordinary durability. The alloy is unknown, but its density surpasses titanium by a factor of ten," replied the disembodied voice of his artificial intelligence. "Attempts at mechanical breach have yielded no results."
I lay inside the container, listening to their efforts with growing anticipation. Every sound from outside echoed with a dull ache in my head. Freedom was so close, mere centimeters of metal away, but those centimeters felt insurmountable. My body had recovered from the transformation; the cosmic energy no longer burned my skin with its former intensity, but it still hindered my abilities. This prison remained a prison, and even my adaptation to cosmic energy and Gilgamesh's blood hadn't changed that.
I was trapped.
Metal clanged against metal. Stark was trying new tools.
"What about plasma cutting?" he suggested.
"Not advisable, sir. If something is indeed inside, high temperatures could destroy it."
AI—so few words, yet so much meaning. An artificial mind, lifeless. Like those monsters. But Jarvis was helping, doing everything to aid its master and open my prison, so I felt no hatred for it. It was just a tool.
"What if it's just rocks inside? Or nothing at all?"
"Then we'll waste a few hours, sir, but no significant harm will be done."
Stark laughed—a young, carefree sound. He clearly enjoyed unraveling a mystery. Good. Very good.
"Alright, let's try it. But first, something heavier. Got any industrial hydraulic shears?"
"In the workshop, sir, we have several models."
Footsteps retreated, followed by mechanical humming. Minutes later, something heavy was set beside the container. Metal screeched, accompanied by the hiss of hot air.
"Let's crack this can the old-fashioned way," Stark muttered.
The shears bit into the metal with a deafening squeal. Vibrations rippled through the container like an earthquake. But the cosmic alloy held. The cutting edges left only shallow scratches.
"Damn it!" Stark cursed. "What is this metal? Jarvis, analyze the composition again."
"Sir, the alloy contains elements absent from the periodic table. It may be extraterrestrial in origin."
Extraterrestrial. If only he knew how close he was to the truth.
"Extraterrestrial…" Stark's voice turned pensive. "Interesting. Very interesting."
The next hours passed in a flurry of methods—diamond drills, laser cutters, even sonic equipment. The container resisted. Each failure stoked my impatience. I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood.
Release me, Stark. Free me, and I'll be grateful until your dying day—short as it may be compared to mine.
"Tony, what are you doing?" A woman's voice interrupted another attempt. "It's evening, and you're still messing with that thing."
"Pepper!" Stark's tone warmed. "Come here, check out my new toy. I bought a real mystery."
The click of heels approached.
"Tony, it's just a chunk of metal. You spent a million dollars on a chunk of metal."
"Not just a chunk! We cleaned off the stone encrustation and found this. Imagine—an artifact from an unknown civilization. Possibly alien. Think of the tech inside!"
"Inside a chunk of metal?" Pepper's voice dripped with skepticism. "Tony, sometimes you act like a kid in a toy store."
"And sometimes a kid's curiosity leads to great discoveries," Stark countered. "Jarvis, prep the arc reactor. Let's try something serious."
"Sir, that could be dangerous. The arc reactor's power—"
"I know my reactor's power, Jarvis. Set it to minimum output. We'll heat the metal, see if it softens."
Minutes later, a distinctive hum of energy systems filled the air. The smell of ozone wafted. I felt a shift in the container's structure—the cosmic energy lines in the metal began resonating with the external force.
A sudden click.
"What was that?" Pepper asked.
"No idea, but something's changed," Stark said, excited. "Jarvis, what's happening?"
"Sir, structural integrity is compromised. Microfractures detected across the surface."
The arc reactor's energy had disrupted the cosmic lines' stability. Cracks widened. I heard Stark circling, studying the changes.
"Incredible," he muttered. "The metal's falling apart on its own. Like its internal structure is… giving up."
Another loud click, then a rapid series of pops, like bursting bubbles. Light! A thin beam pierced my prison through a crack. After centuries of darkness, even that faint ray was blinding.
"Tony, there's something inside!" Pepper's voice rose with alarm.
"I see it! Jarvis, increase lighting."
Cracks spread, chunks of metal breaking off. The cosmic energy holding the container together dissipated under the reactor's influence. The outside world grew clearer—bright light, smells, sounds.
Freedom. At last.
With a resounding crack, the container's top split in half. Metal fragments clattered to the workshop floor. Blinding light assaulted my eyes, and I squinted, adjusting after centuries of darkness.
When my vision cleared, I froze in awe at the sight.
Stark's workshop was massive—a cathedral of industry with high ceilings and dark gray concrete walls. Harsh, clinical lighting cast sharp shadows from countless lamps.
Machines lined the space—lathes, mills, grinders the size of small cars, their metal surfaces polished to a mirror sheen. The air was thick with the scent of metal shavings, machine oil, and welding sparks, undercut by a faint ozone tang from electrical discharges. Scraps of metal, bolts, and nuts littered the floor, evidence of an inventor's relentless work.
Walls bore blueprints and schematics—some on paper, others scrawled in white directly on the concrete. I saw sketches of mechanisms and formulas, complex even with Gilgamesh's borrowed knowledge.
Workbenches stretched along the walls, cluttered with tools, blueprints, and alloy components. One held flat computer screens displaying intricate diagrams—technology unknown in my time but recognizable from Gilgamesh's memories.
"Oh my God," Pepper whispered.
"Oh my God," she repeated.
Two faces loomed above me—a man and a woman. Tony Stark was a man in his thirties, with a trimmed beard and sharp brown eyes. Pepper was a striking blonde with refined features and a stunned expression. Their clothes were unfamiliar, impeccably tailored. Beautiful. But now…
"Is this… a mummy?" Pepper asked hesitantly.
"Looks like it," Stark replied, leaning closer. "But the preservation is unreal. Like it died yesterday."
I lay still, assessing. My body was weak from confinement, but strength was returning. The cosmic energy no longer suppressed my abilities, and my blood surged more freely. I needed…
"Jarvis, any signs of life?" Stark asked.
"Scanners detect no heartbeat or respiration, sir. But there's faint bioelectric activity. Highly unusual."
"Bioelectric activity? In a mummy?"
Pepper stepped back.
"Tony, this creeps me out. Maybe call scientists? Or the police?"
"Police? For buying an artifact?" Stark smirked. "Relax, Pepper. It's just a well-preserved body. Maybe some ancient mummification tech."
He reached to touch my face. The moment I'd waited for.
My hand shot up like a steel spring, seizing his wrist. My fingers clamped down with vise-like force—not enough to break, but enough to make Stark yelp in shock and pain.
"What the—"
He didn't finish. I sat up sharply, pulling him toward me. My eyes opened fully, glowing with a light absent for centuries. Stark saw it and realized—this was no mummy. This was something alive, hungry, and deadly.
"Pepper, run!" he shouted, struggling to break free.
But Pepper stood frozen, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. Even at my weakest, I inspired terror.
I rose from the container, movements slow and slightly clumsy after centuries of immobility, but growing stronger by the second. Muscles atrophied by confinement swelled with power.
"Tony Stark," I rasped, my voice unused for centuries. "Thank you."
My words echoed through the workshop. Stark jerked, trying to escape, but my grip was iron.
"Who are you?" he gasped. "What are you?"
"I am one who was caged," I said, savoring the act of speech. "And you are my liberator. For that, I am grateful."
"Sir," Jarvis's voice turned urgent, "I recommend evacuating immediately. The subject's biometric readings are highly irregular."
I laughed, a low, rolling sound steeped in centuries of pent-up rage.
"Artificial intelligence," I said to the unseen speaker. "Interesting. Humans have come far in my absence."
I turned to Pepper. She stood paralyzed, her heart pounding so loudly I heard it from feet away. The scent of her blood was intoxicating after centuries of starvation. Warm, alive, brimming with vitality.
"But some things never change," I continued, stepping toward her. "Thirst. Hunger. The need for blood."
"Don't touch her!" Stark growled, still struggling. "Whatever you are, leave her alone!"
I looked at him. Fear flickered in his eyes, but so did resolve. He was ready to protect her, despite not knowing what he faced. Nobility. Rare among humans.
"Tony Stark," I said softly, "you freed me. For that, I grant you life. Consider it a gift from a grateful prisoner."
I tightened my grip on his wrist, targeting a precise point in his blood flow. Stark cried out and collapsed—I'd cut circulation to his brain, inducing temporary unconsciousness. He fell, alive but helpless.
Pepper snapped out of her daze as Stark hit the floor.
"Tony!" she screamed, rushing toward him.
I was faster. In one motion, I intercepted her, pulling her close. She was warm, alive, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. Her blood's scent was overwhelming. Holding her from behind, I tilted her head up to face me, exposing her neck.
"Please," she whispered, eyes locked on mine. "Please, don't."
"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "But I'm hungry. So very hungry."
I leaned toward her neck, inhaling. She smelled of flowers. Her skin was soft, blue veins visible beneath. Centuries without blood, without life force. My fangs extended, sharp as razors.
"Warning!" Jarvis's voice blared. "Intruders detected in the facility. Security systems activating."
I didn't care. Nothing could stop me now. I sank my fangs into Pepper's neck.
The first drop on my tongue was an explosion of flavor. Warm, rich, alive. It flowed down my throat, restoring strength absent for centuries. Each gulp revived my atrophied abilities.
Pepper struggled briefly but soon went limp. Her heart slowed, breathing shallow. I drank her life, carefully, not wanting to kill. She was innocent in my suffering, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
When I'd taken enough, I pulled back. Pepper was alive, barely conscious. I gently laid her beside Stark.
"Jarvis," I said to the AI, "they'll live. Care for them."
"Who are you?" Jarvis demanded, its synthetic voice tinged with menace. "What have you done to Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts?"
"I took what I needed," I replied, feeling strength flood my body. "They'll live. Consider it payment for my freedom."
Red lights flashed across the workshop. Sirens wailed. I stretched, flexing my body. A twist here, a stretch there. Glorious.
"Security systems activated," Jarvis announced. "All exits sealed. Law enforcement notified."
I laughed, standing tall. Pepper's blood coursed through me, restoring my power. Centuries of confinement were over. My body was reverting to its former visage.
The irritating yet familiar form of a handsome young man.
"Jarvis," I said, striding toward the workshop's panoramic windows, "you're clever for a machine. But some things even the finest intellect can't grasp."
I reached the window overlooking the ocean. The view was breathtaking—Stark's mansion perched on a cliff, waves crashing below. The water called, promising freedom.
"Such as?" Jarvis asked.
"Such as the fact that cages are made to be broken," I replied, slamming my fist into the glass.
The panoramic window shattered into thousands of shards. Bulletproof glass, built to withstand explosions, crumbled like ice under my restored superhuman strength. Salty ocean air rushed in, carrying the scent of freedom.
"Stop!" Jarvis shouted. "You can't just leave!"
"I can," I said, stepping onto the sill. "And I am."
Waves crashed against the rocks far below. The height would terrify mortals, but not me. After centuries in a metal box, water was like longed-for sustenance.
I glanced back at Stark and Pepper, still breathing, hearts beating. Alive. That mattered. Stark earned life by freeing me. Pepper, simply for being his.
"Jarvis," I said finally, "tell Stark when he wakes: I owe him. One day, I'll repay that debt."
"And now?"
"Now, I need to regain my strength and find old acquaintances," I said, my voice laced with long-dormant rage. "I have scores to settle with those who caged me."
I leaped.
The fall lasted seconds—a fleeting thrill of freefall. Wind whipped my face, hair streaming, the world blurring in a kaleidoscope of colors. Freedom. At last.
I entered the water cleanly, like an arrow. Cold ocean water embraced me, welcoming my return. I dove deeper, savoring the liquid around me, the vastness after centuries of confinement.
Here, in the depths, it was quiet, serene. Fish swam past, ignoring the strange swimmer. I moved through the water, needing no air, heading for the open ocean, descending deeper. I needed the ocean floor.
The world had changed during my captivity. Humans had created artificial intelligence, built grand homes on ocean cliffs, invented technologies akin to magic. But their essence remained—mortal, bleeding, dying.
And I was free.
I surfaced far from shore, where Stark's mansion was a distant speck in the night. Sirens wailed, red and blue lights flashing. Soon, uniformed humans would arrive, asking questions, seeking answers.
But I'd be gone.
I swam further into the ocean, toward a horizon free of civilization's lights, where only endless water lay under a starry sky. Somewhere out there, my jailers waited. The Eternals. My captors.
They thought they'd rid themselves of me forever. They were wrong.
I was alive. I was free. And I was very, very angry.
Retribution awaited. But first, I needed to navigate this new world.
I emerged from the water miles south of Stark's mansion, where rocky cliffs gave way to a sandy beach. The morning sun illuminated golden sand and glinting waves. Stepping from the surf, I felt saltwater stream off my body, sand crunching under bare feet.
My appearance must've been odd—a fully clothed man emerging from the ocean at dawn. But the robe, a simple blue garment covering all but my feet, had endured. The cosmic energy saturating the container had preserved the fabric. It dried quickly in the morning sun, absorbing warmth.
The beach wasn't empty. Early swimmers, joggers, and a group of young women—likely shooting a sunrise photoshoot—dotted the shore. Pepper's memories suggested this was normal for the era. They were beautiful, polished by modern beauty standards.
A slender brunette in a bright pink bikini noticed me first, her eyes widening at the sight of a clothed man stepping from the sea.
"Oh my God, are you okay?" she called, running toward me. "Did you fall off a boat?"
Her friends turned. A blonde in sunglasses lowered her phone, and a redhead in a blue swimsuit looked concerned.
"Should we call the coast guard?" the blonde suggested.
I studied them, struck not by their looks but their scent. Each had a unique bouquet—expensive perfume, sunscreen—but beneath it, the pulse of blood. Warm, young, alive. They'd taste divine.
The urge was nearly overwhelming. Pepper's blood had dulled my hunger, but centuries of starvation couldn't be sated by one feeding. I clenched my jaw to hide my fangs. Too many eyes here. A dozen people had already noticed me. I needed to leave.
No massacre. No attention from those monsters.
"I'm fine," I said calmly. "Just went for a swim."
"In clothes?" The redhead sounded skeptical. "You sure you're okay? Maybe a concussion?"
The brunette stepped closer, her body's warmth radiating. Her heart raced—from the morning chill, concern for a stranger, adrenaline. Her pulse throbbed visibly in her delicate neck.
"What's your name?" she asked gently. "We can call someone you trust."
I stepped back. Sunlight glared, the beach exposed, too many witnesses. Even with my enhanced abilities from Gilgamesh's blood, I doubted I could kill them all without drawing the Eternals' notice.
"My name…" I paused. How long since someone asked my name? "Adrian," I said, pulling a name from ages past.
"Nice to meet you, Adrian. I'm Madison," the brunette smiled. "This is Cassie and Tiffany."
She extended her hand. My, how bold women had become. Good. Easier prey. Our hands touched, and I felt her pulse—warm, rhythmic, alive. I focused to avoid crushing her hand.
"We're filming a travel vlog about California," Madison continued. "This is Malibu, by the way. One of the coast's prettiest beaches."
Malibu. California. The information settled slowly. From Pepper's fragments, I knew we were in the United States, but the specifics were vague.
"How far to… the city?" I asked.
"Los Angeles? About an hour by car," Cassie, the blonde, replied. "Malibu's center is ten minutes' walk."
Los Angeles. City of Angels. The irony wasn't lost on me.
"Wanna be in our vlog?" Tiffany, the redhead, offered. "A mysterious stranger from the ocean would be killer content!"
"Tiff!" Madison chided. "He's clearly stressed."
I forced a grateful smile.
"Thanks for the concern, but I have business in town."
"You sure?" Madison looked worried. "Got a phone number in case you need help?"
Phone. Another reminder of this changed world. From Pepper's memories, I knew of these devices but had never used one. How long had it been? And what was this calendar tied to a man's death?
"No phone on me," I said honestly.
The girls exchanged glances. In their world, no phone was as odd as emerging clothed from the ocean.
"Well… be careful," Madison said uncertainly.
I nodded, avoiding their gazes, and headed toward the road to town. With each step, their blood's scent faded, but my hunger didn't. It was a constant undercurrent, a reminder of my nature.
The road to Malibu's center wound through affluent neighborhoods, their wealth striking. Houses weren't mere dwellings but architectural art—glass and steel blended with stone and wood, merging with the landscape. What opportunities, what prospects.
These stone jungles were made for me.
Cars of all shapes zipped by, some near-silent—electric, I realized from Pepper's memories. Progress was staggering. When I was imprisoned, humans were barely forging metal.
Malibu's center was small but elegant. Shops, restaurants, and cafés exuded California chic. People looked like they'd stepped from thrones.
I walked the sidewalk, trying not to draw attention, but my preserved robe clashed with local fashion, and my bare feet stood out. Store windows displayed clothes with price tags that confirmed I had no money. None. In my time, gold coins held value. Here, plastic cards and digital payments via phones ruled—devices I neither had nor understood.
My stomach twisted—not hunger for food, but a need for energy. Blood was my only source.
I paused at a bookstore window, pretending to browse while studying reflections of passersby, evaluating… possibilities.
A man in a suit talked animatedly on a phone. A young mother pushed a stroller. A teen on a skateboard weaved through pedestrians. All potential sources, but all in public, surrounded by witnesses.
"You lost, buddy?" a voice behind me asked.
I turned to face a tall, muscular man in a crisp uniform, his eyes sharp. Various devices hung from his belt—law enforcement, I guessed.
"Just looking around," I said cautiously. Killing him would be a mistake. I'd already drawn enough attention. Rumors spread fast, and I couldn't risk those monsters finding me too soon.
"Got it," the officer nodded. "Just had complaints about a barefoot guy acting odd. That you?"
I glanced at my feet. They were conspicuous.
"Lost my shoes in the ocean," I lied. "Went for a swim, and a wave took my sandals."
He smiled knowingly.
"Happens. Ocean's tricky here. Got ID?"
ID. Another oversight. In my time, such things were irrelevant.
"Lost with the shoes," I said, hoping it sounded plausible.
He frowned.
"Name?"
"Adrian Blake," I replied, inventing a surname on the spot.
"Address?"
I faltered. No address, no home, nothing but the clothes on my back and unrelenting hunger.
"I'm… a tourist," I said. "Staying at a hotel, but I forget the name. It all happened so fast—the wave, losing my stuff…"
He studied me, experienced enough to sense something off.
"Listen, buddy," he said softer, "need help? Social services, a shelter…"
"No!" I snapped, then softened my tone. "I mean, thanks, but I'll manage. Just need to contact friends."
"Alright." He handed me a card. "My number. Call if you need help. And get some shoes—some places won't serve you without them."
I took the card, nodded, and moved on. He watched but didn't follow. Good. Compulsion hadn't worked, but it ended peacefully. At least his blood didn't stain the pristine road.
I needed a place to think and plan. A library seemed ideal—hours of anonymity and a chance to study this new world.
The Malibu Public Library, a few blocks from the center, was a modern marvel of glass and light stone, more museum than book repository. Automatic doors slid open silently. Astonishing.
Inside was cool and quiet. High ceilings, plush chairs, dozens of people reading or working at computers. I approached the information desk.
"Welcome to Malibu Library," a librarian smiled. "How can I help?"
"I'd like to study… historical records," I said. "Events of the last… few decades."
"Of course! We have a great history section and digital archives. Follow me."
She led me to tables equipped with computers—far more advanced than those in Pepper's memories.
"Let me know if you need search help," she said, leaving.
I sat, staring at the screen. The interface was intuitive, but it took minutes to grasp the basics.
First, I checked the year: 2008. I leaned back, reeling. If my estimates were right, I'd been imprisoned over three thousand years. Maybe less, maybe more.
Damn.
Three thousand years. Countless generations born and dead. Empires risen and fallen. The world transformed at unimaginable speed.
I dove into the history of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Two world wars, their destruction dwarfing anything I'd known. A super-soldier, vanished. Revolutions reshaping history. Technological leaps turning the world unrecognizable.
But what struck me most wasn't wars or revolutions—it was how humans had changed. More connected yet more isolated. Creators of incredible technology, yet driven by the same fears and desires as their ancestors.
Pathetic creatures reached the stars but remained pathetic.
I smirked. How infuriating, to wield such power and live so weakly. Had I been free these three thousand years, everything would be different.
I delved deeper. The internet—a global web linking billions. Social media, where people shared lives with strangers. Artificial intelligence like Jarvis, growing ever more advanced.
Hours passed unnoticed. The morning sun shifted to the horizon. Visitors thinned, but I read on, devouring information like a man starved for an era.
By six p.m., my stomach signaled with sharp pain—not normal hunger, but an insistent need for blood. Pepper's sip had restored my appearance, but not my full strength.
I stood, hunger clawing at me. The librarian smiled as I left. Pretty, but too old for my taste.
"Find what you needed?" she asked.
"More than I expected," I replied truthfully.
Twilight settled over Malibu, transforming its daytime bustle into a relaxed evening vibe. Restaurants filled, bars glowed with lights.
I wandered, observing the city's life. In an alley, a gaunt, filthy homeless man rummaged through a dumpster. Sickly, ignored.
Perfect prey, my darker instincts whispered. No one would miss a vagrant.
But something held me back. His stench, perhaps, or reluctance to feed on diseased blood. Even long ago, the sick repulsed me. Disgusting.
I continued, fighting my growing hunger. In a grocery store window, I caught my reflection and paused. My face looked young—mid-twenties. Pale but not sickly. Curly hair, irritating. Blue eyes… burning with hunger I tried to conceal.
Inside, a stout, middle-aged cashier eyed me warily.
"We're closing soon," she said.
"I just want… ice cream," I said, scanning shelves, unsure why I chose it.
"Weird choice for a vampire," I thought, but the cold sweetness appealed—perhaps a contrast to the hot blood I craved.
"Freezer's there," she pointed.
I picked a vanilla pint and approached the counter, then remembered—no money.
"Sorry," I said, "forgot my wallet in the car. Can I pay later?"
She shook her head.
"Strict rules."
I eyed the ice cream, then her. Alone, no visible cameras. It'd be so easy…
"Sleep," I said, my eyes flashing red. It should've been simple, a trick that worked on all mortals, but… nothing. She stared like I was deranged and reached under the counter—likely for an alarm. Fine. I set the ice cream down and left.
Outside, I lingered, then circled to the back. The locked rear door was no match for my restored strength.
I slipped in, grabbed the ice cream, and vanished. A petty theft—she wouldn't notice until morning. My first crime in this new world. Amusing.
With my stolen prize, I climbed to the roof of a nearby high-rise—a sleek residential complex. The view was stunning: ocean waves, city lights.
I sat on the edge, legs dangling, and opened the ice cream. The first bite was a revelation—cold, creamy, sweet. A stark contrast to blood. The flavor was vivid after centuries without food. I disliked human creations, but this… was delicious.
Humans could make remarkable things. Like this ice cream.
I reflected on the day—the beach girls, the cop, the library's wealth of knowledge. The world had changed, but humans hadn't. They lived, loved, feared, died.
Pathetic, envious, mortal, weak animals.
Would a massacre at that hospital around the corner draw the law quickly? Intriguing questions.
As I neared the last bites of ice cream, and thoughts of slaughter grew more tempting, a scream pierced the air.
A thin, terrified female voice echoed from an alley below. I leaned over the edge and saw a familiar scene from any era.
In the dark alley, a man pinned a young woman to the wall. She struggled, tried to scream, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. A knife gleamed in his other hand. Pathetic, such a small blade causing such fear.
"Shut up and hand over the bag," he hissed. "Quick, or it gets worse!"
The woman, panicked, fumbled for her wallet, hands trembling.
I stood on the roof's edge. Ten stories—a lethal drop for a human. For me, just a quick descent.
Without hesitation, I jumped.
The fall was brief, wind whistling in my ears as the ground rushed up. I landed in a crouch, the impact a dull thud on the asphalt.
The attacker and victim froze, turning toward the sound.
"What the—" the man began.
I rose to my full height and stepped toward him. In the dim streetlight, he saw my face and realized I wasn't an ordinary passerby.
"Back off, man," he said, brandishing the knife. "This ain't your business."
"It is now," I replied calmly.
He was young, mid-twenties, with tattoos on his arms and neck. A junkie, judging by his dilated pupils and jittery movements. His blood reeked of desperation.
"I'm serious, dude!" he shouted, lunging with the knife.
I dodged, the blade slicing air. In one motion, I seized his wrist and squeezed. Bone snapped; the knife clattered to the pavement.
He howled, but the sound cut off as my other hand touched his throat—not squeezing, just resting, letting him feel the strength that could crush his windpipe.
"Apologize to the lady," I said softly.
"S-sorry… sorry," he rasped, glancing at the woman.
"Now leave. And don't come back to this area."
I released him. Clutching his broken wrist, he staggered away, glancing back with animalistic terror.
The woman stood against the wall, clutching her bag. Young, about twenty, with long dark hair and large brown eyes. Beautiful in a natural way, needing no makeup or adornments.
"You… okay?" I asked, approaching.
She nodded, still in shock.
"I… yeah. Thank you. You saved my life."
Her voice trembled but carried sincere gratitude. She looked at me like a guardian angel, whatever that meant in Pepper's memories.
"How'd you get here so fast?" she asked. "I didn't even see where you came from."
"Just happened to be nearby," I lied.
Her scent hit me—young, clean, healthy blood. Her heart raced, pumping it faster through her veins. Intoxicating.
"I'm Sofia," she said, as if tasting my name. "And you?"
"Adrian."
"Adrian…" She smiled, her first genuine smile since the ordeal. "You don't seem local."
"I travel," I said, fighting the rising hunger.
"Want me to buy you a coffee?" she offered. "It's the least I can do after you saved me."
I studied her. Simple but tasteful—jeans, soft sweater, comfortable boots. A student, perhaps, or young professional. An ordinary woman heading home.
"It's late," I said. "You should get home."
"I live alone nearby," she said. "Just around the corner. There's a 24-hour café."
She pointed to a neon sign at the alley's end, lights glowing from an all-night diner.
"Please," she added. "I won't sleep tonight after this. I feel safe with you. My savior."
Safety. Savior. If she only knew the danger her savior posed. Her blood's scent filled my nostrils, urging my fangs to extend.
"What's with your eyes?" she asked, taking a final breath. "They're glowing…"
A lunge. A scream.
Silence fell.