Angel City - Gael Park

  Damian and Liz walked with their arms wrapped around each other, laughing as they drifted through the crowd until they reached a small game booth.

  “Come on, step right up,” the vendor called, grinning wide. “How about trying your luck, my good sir? Hit them all and win the grand prize for your lovely lady.”

  Liz smiled, and Damian looked at her—then started smiling too.

  “I know that face,” Damian said, amused.

  “Well…” Liz’s eyes flicked to the prizes. “I’ve never had a teddy bear like that.” She laughed under her breath.

  “Alright, alright,” Damian said, nodding. “Give me a token, please.”

  He paid. The vendor handed him the rifle.

  Damian took it like it belonged to him. He studied the targets—rows of little metal circles and painted bottles—his expression settling into something calm and serious, like the noise of the park wasn’t even there.

  Then he started shooting.

  The first target dropped. Then the next. Then the next—clean, effortless, one after another. The recoil barely moved him. It was like he was tracing a line with his eyes and the bullets just followed.

  Liz watched, stunned, her smile slowly widening.

  Damian smirked and finished the last target without hesitation.

  The vendor blinked, then threw his hands up.

  “The grand winner!”

  He handed Liz a big plush bear. Damian pulled her into a quick hug, the prize pressed between them, both of them laughing like the world was simple.

  They left the booth and blended back into the carnival flow.

  A strange man watched them from a distance, half-hidden behind passing bodies. He smiled—slow, satisfied—and began to follow.

  Damian bought cotton candy, tearing off a piece and eating it as he walked beside Liz. She stole a bite too, giggling when the sugar stuck to her lips.

  “You liking it?” Damian asked, smiling.

  “Loving it, my love,” Liz said, eyes bright. “Thank you. I’ve never had this much fun.”

  “Me too, Liz,” Damian said softly.

  They slowed, turning toward each other in the middle of the moving crowd. For a second, everything around them blurred into lights and laughter.

  Damian kissed her right there, unapologetic.

  Liz melted into his chest, smiling against him—warm, safe.

  Then her smile faltered.

  Her eyes shifted past his shoulder.

  That strange man. Still there. Still watching.

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  Liz’s expression tightened. She lifted her head.

  Damian noticed instantly and followed her gaze.

  “What is it, Liz?” Damian asked.

  “Nothing, baby…” she said too quickly, forcing a smile. “Let’s get out of here. I want to see the lake.”

  Damian didn’t understand, but he nodded, smiling like he trusted her completely, and led her toward the quieter path.

  They walked away from the carnival noise. The air cooled. The lights thinned out. The trees grew thicker. Damian glanced up at the starry sky as the lake’s dark surface came into view.

  “So…” Damian said, trying to keep it light, “you got something in mind out here at the lake?” He smiled.

  Liz swallowed.

  “Actually, I…”

  A voice cut through the quiet behind them.

  “Hello there, lovebirds.”

  Damian and Liz turned.

  The strange man stood a few steps back, hands relaxed at his sides, smiling like he belonged there.

  Damian’s posture changed instantly. He stepped in front of Liz without thinking, shielding her with his body.

  “Who are you?” Damian demanded. “What do you want?”

  The man’s smile didn’t move.

  “I just want to talk,” he said, almost gently. “You know… it’s a very beautiful night, isn’t it? My love.”

  Damian frowned—confused by the way the man said that.

  Then pain exploded across his back.

  A cold, sharp pressure that sank deep.

  Damian’s breath hitched.

  He looked down, eyes widening, as a blade pushed out the front of his jacket—dark with his blood.

  Behind him, Liz laughed.

  Soft at first.

  Then louder.

  “Oh, yes…” Liz purred, voice sweet and wrong. “It is a beautiful night.”

  She pulled the knife free.

  Damian collapsed, hitting the ground hard, choking as agony ripped through him. He tried to push himself up, hands trembling, but his strength ran out and he fell back, gasping, eyes locked on them.

  The man stepped closer to Liz.

  Damian watched in disbelief as they kissed—slow, deliberate—right in front of him.

  His mind couldn’t catch up.

  “L-Liz…” Damian rasped. “Why did you do this?”

  Liz looked down at him like he was something stuck to her shoe.

  “Still alive?” she laughed.

  She crouched and grabbed his face, forcing him to look up. Her fingers were cold. Her touch was intimate in the cruelest way.

  She wiped the blood at the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

  Then she tasted it.

  Her pupils flared.

  Her eyes turned red.

  Her teeth sharpened into cruel points.

  Liz smiled—wide, hungry, disgusted.

  “Your blood…” she whispered, voice trembling with contempt. “It stinks. And it tastes awful.”

  She leaned closer, inhaling him like a scent she hated.

  “It bothers me, Damian.” Her lips curled. “There’s nothing in this beautiful world I hate more than your species.”

  Her red eyes locked onto his.

  “Damn Hunter.”

  Liz grabbed the knife and drove it into Damian’s chest—

  Damian jolted awake, the alarm screaming beside his head.

  Angel City - Damian’s Apartment

  He blinked hard, disoriented, breath tight in his throat. His eyes snapped around the room like he expected shadows to be waiting for him. Then he slapped the clock off and silence rushed back in.

  Damian sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with both hands, sweat cold against his skin.

  He exhaled.

  “Shit… that dream again.”

  He reached under the pillow without looking—muscle memory—and pulled out his revolver. He set it on the nightstand like it was part of the morning routine.

  Damian stood and headed to the bathroom.

  The faucet hissed. Water splashed his face. He looked up.

  The mirror stared back at him—tired eyes, a jaw set too tight, a man who hadn’t really slept in a long time. For a moment, he almost expected to see red eyes behind his own.

  He took a shower, scrubbed the dream off his skin, and got dressed with clean, practiced movements. Shirt. Tie. Suit jacket. Everything neat. Everything controlled.

  In the kitchen, he grabbed his coffee and ate scrambled eggs while the TV murmured in the background, filling the apartment with somebody else’s life.

  “Breaking news,” the anchor said. “The wealthy Magnus family announced they will be hiring the services of the High Council.”

  Damian sat at the counter, calmly wiping down his revolver, the cloth sliding over metal with slow precision.

  “The reason,” the TV continued, “is that police have still not found their eldest daughter, who has been missing for several days.”

  Damian’s hand paused for half a second.

  His eyes narrowed.

  He turned the TV off.

  The sudden quiet felt heavier than the noise ever did.

  Damian holstered and stowed his weapons, locking them away like he was sealing the dream back into a box. He finished dressing, grabbed what he needed, and walked out of his apartment without looking back.

  A few minutes later, he slid into his car, shut the door, and started driving—city lights fading into morning gray, the road ahead stretching like a promise he didn’t trust.