Musings of Blood Knights

Blood Knights: Archer



The hunter slowly walked down the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. Steam rose up from the subway entrance and he walked through it, his steps as silent as the grave. It was his night off, technically, but he could not rest. He had become as nocturnal as the things he hunted, due to the schedule he had to keep in order to stalk his prey.
He walked beneath a street light. His white hair almost seemed luminescent as the light touched it. His eyes, a piercing blue, gazed deeply into the night, penetrating the shadows with a keenness more acute than the average person, but not as keen as the creature that darted across his vision.
Its outward appearance was that of a man. The clothes he wore were torn and dirty. Shaggy brown hair hung over his head, tinged with a dark liquid at its tips. The same dark liquid dripped down his chin. In the instant of a blink, the man-creature had flitted from one alleyway, across the street, and down another alley.
The hunter ran, chasing after the drinker of death. De Rais, the hunter thought. New born.
It wasn’t hard to follow the De Rais. He was drunk with the blood he had consumed and knocked over trashcans and even shoved a dumpster askew. Glancing down every few steps the hunter could see the crimson droplets like bread crumbs leading him to his prey.
Rounding another corner, he saw the creature climbing up a fire escape. The light from the window across from him showed his horrid face, contorted with greed and cruelty. His eyes shone red, his hunger obviously not satisfied.
The hunter removed his hand from his pocket, withdrawing a gun seemingly made from silver with intricately carved markings on it. He pointed it expertly at the thing that then looked at him, hissing angrily. It leaped from the fire escape and landed on the concrete with a sound like a boulder, then continued down the alley, rounding a corner before the hunter could fire a shot.
Cursing, the hunter followed, always rounding the next corner just in time to see the De Rais round the next one. Then, he lost his prey. Coming to a dead end, the De Rais was no where in sight. Looking up, and all around him, the hunter could find no trace of the youngling whose lips dripped with someone’s life. Turning around, the hunter started back down the alleys the way he had come, constantly alert for any noise. If the bloody monster was smart it would be long gone by now, but usually they were not that smart and tried to attack when they thought their prey wasn’t paying attention.
The hunter slowly peeked around each corner before continuing on, cautious. The next time he looked he froze, spying a figure walking down the alley. It walked much faster than an average man could. Got you, the hunter thought to himself, stepping out from behind the corner and leveling his gun for a shot. Two explosions rang out down the alley. One bullet met its mark, a noticeable splash of blood resonating from the target, though it didn’t seem to affect him. Slowly the creature turned around, and the hunter realized he had made a deadly mistake.
The beast in man’s form that stared at him from the other end of the alley did not have blood dripping down its face, nor was its hair brown, nor was its clothes shabby. It was a distinguished looking figure, wearing a sort of suit, and over it a black coat that hung down to his knees. His eyes glowed like fire behind a crop of long, golden hair. The hunter could feel the power radiating off the beast. It was more than an aristocrat. It was an ancient.
Quite suddenly the hunter’s ribs felt like they had been caved in as he was slammed against the brick building behind him. Slumping down to the ground, he was quickly lifted up again by the neck, slammed again against the hard wall.
“A hunter,” the creature scoffed. “Such a young one. Did you really think I was that De Rais?” He smirked coldly. “You know the laws. I can kill you now if I wish, for I did not instigate a fight, nor committed any crime.”
The hunter gripped at the thing’s hands, trying to tear them from his throat, but to no avail. Even as his life was being choked out of him, he looked straight into the ancient’s face, not afraid.
The vampire laughed, his fangs clearly seen in his mouth. “Such defiance. You really hate me, don’t you? It would be a mercy to kill you. Let’s see you become a true hunter, and become the thing you hate most.”
Only then did the hunter’s eyes widen and he struggled even harder to get free, but the ancient held him against the wall as if he was as weak as a child. The vampire laughed again before lunging at the hunter.
It was like being stabbed with two branding irons, Archer thought. The vampire’s fangs dug into the corner made by his neck and shoulder. Archer had been bitten before on his hunts, but nothing like this. Instead of a defensive attack, this bite had an intention behind it that made his veins burn with fire. The ancient took deep draughts of his blood, and Archer could feel the blood getting pulled out of him as easily as he would drink soda through a straw. It deadened his limbs and stole his strength. His gun clattered to the ground, falling from his hand even as he had managed to hold onto it when he was attacked. Please let it kill me, he thought. I don’t care if it damns my soul to wander this world forever, don’t let me become like this monster…
Archer could no longer breathe as his vision started to cloud over. But even on the brink of death he knew what the vampire did. Having taken his fill, the ancient removed his mouth from the neck of the hunter, not spilling a drop of the precious blood. He bit into his own wrist, the dark, tainted liquid oozing from the wound. With his free hand he pried open the hunter’s mouth, then pressed the bleeding cut to his lips.
Don’t swallow, Archer begged himself. Don’t. He didn’t seem to have any say in the matter as the dark drink poured down his throat without him even having to swallow, like it had a mind of its own or that it was dense enough to force down his throat. The taste was just as he expected it to be – like too strong tea having rotted in the fridge for a few months. Don’t swallow. Closing his eyes, he fought with all his will as the blood turned from bitter to sweet as it poured down his unwilling throat. More, more! his body craved, but still, he did not swallow.
Dropping the hunter, the ancient disappeared. In the silent night he heard, You will be a grand hunter…
Archer lay there, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His vision slowly came back to him as he opened his eyes. It disorientated him at first, for everything was in such a sharp focus it almost seemed like the world was coming at him. He lifted his arms, shielding his face from the sudden light shining down on him from a window. Lifting himself up like rising from a grave, Archer stumbled to his feet. His whole body tingled as the vampire’s blood coursed through him, changing his very being. As soon as he stood he stumbled against the wall behind him, bending over as he wrapped his arms around himself, gasping as if he had been struck a blow. He knew he didn’t have long.
He looked down at the gun resting in the trash by his foot. He suddenly calmed, seeing his way out. Archer groaned as he reached down for the gun, his trembling fingers wrapping around it. He huffed, breathing hard as he raised the nose to his temple. The gun only worked on vampires, but surely it would work on him now that he was tainted. But even as he determined that he would end it, he could not bring himself to pull the trigger. He closed his eyes, his fingers shaking as he gripped the gun. “Damn it, just do it!” he cursed. Despite the growing hate for himself that increased along with the hunger building within him, he could not bring himself to end his life. I’m a coward….
Archer stumbled out of the alley, shying from the street lamps and headlights of cars. It seemed every light he looked at with his new eyes blotted out all darkness and blinded him until it went away. As he tried to make his way home, he tried to figure out what to do. He would be kicked out of the Association for sure, if not that, permanently executed. That thought stirred up anger inside him. If he were on the council he’d do the same thing to any hunter compromised, but now in that position he dared to defy the Association. My curse will become my blessing, he swore to himself. I will kill the monsters from the inside. I will match them strength for strength. I will live on until I destroy every last one…even me. He just had to make sure that he was not discovered.
But how? Hunters were not without their own abilities. A sense, he reminded himself, would give him away. Even now he could feel the vampire within him getting stronger with that hunter’s sense.
And the blood…The thought made his eyes glow red as he slipped in the back door to his apartment. He covered his eyes with his arm, to hide the fact, and to block the light from the hall as he raced up the flights of stairs. It was only a matter of time before the hunger would make him seek the nourishment to sate it. He ran over all the facts that were drilled into his head as he was growing up under the education of the Association. A human that dies from a vampire bite will never find rest for their soul. That didn’t help. A human that dies from a vampire bite but after dead ingested vampire blood will awake a vampire in three days. Still not right. A human that is transformed into a vampire whilst still alive completes transformation in 24 hours. Damn. Not enough time.
Archer fumbled with his keys to open his room, then slammed the door behind him. The first thing he did was make sure he couldn’t get out. While still able to hold a crucifix – it felt like a hot glass of tea but not enough to make him drop it yet – he tied it to the door knob. Going to the fridge he took a bottle of water he had written HW on. Holy water. He drenched it all over his windows then closed the curtains on every one. Wrinkling his nose already from the smell, he took his many bottles of garlic power – for a hunter always included garlic in their meals – and put them in a row in front of his door. There…to get out he’d have to tear through a wall.
Finally done with his preparations, Archer sat down on the bed, shaking from both disbelief and the change. He put his head in his hands, his mind a whirl. This can’t be…This isn’t really. It didn’t happen… Archer placed his hand over the bite, feeling the blood surrounding it, then brushing his fingers across the two punctures, still gently oozing, unable to scab over.
Sighing, Archer went into the bathroom, taking off his jacket and his shirt. The blood had run down his chest like lightning bolts. He wet a towel and wiped most of the blood off, using a smaller wet rag to clean around the wound. It kept trying to bleed, so he quickly put some alcohol on it, then taped the punctures up with skin colored band aids. By the time he had looked down at the trash can to throw the cotton balls away and looked back at the mirror, he jumped back against the wall, his heart pounding. He waved a hand in front of himself as his form shimmered back into the mirror. It flickered a few times like a bad film reel, then went out again. It was the last time he ever saw his reflection.
Distraught, Archer stumbled back into the bedroom and fell onto the bed, his hands gripping his white hair. He gritted his teeth, growling in frustration to keep himself from letting a tear fall. But even his manly pride could not stop the overwhelming emotion overtake him. As the remainder of the night passed he could not doubt what he was becoming. He wailed his misery, his mouth wide open as he did, unable to close it for the pain of the fangs pushing through his gums. He gripped the bed, his nails elongated and tearing holes into the mattress.
His neighbors heard him and knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”
“GO AWAY!” he yelled. His voice startled even him. It almost seemed to be a roar.
The sky started to glow with morning outside his window. Even with the curtain covering it the light made his skin tingle uncomfortably. The more the sun rose the more it hurt, until like a banished spirit he fled into the closet and shoved a sweater under the door to block all light from entering. And there he stayed until nightfall.

†

He was very tired. Something about the daylight hours…it numbed him.
Archer was leaning against the back of the closet, his head tilted back so his red eyes were gazing sightlessly at the coats hanging above him. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there. He could…feel it. Mouth still agape, not wanting to feel his own fangs, he sighed heavily.
A knock on his apartment door suddenly brought him to attention. The dullness faded from his conscious and his senses sharpened. A feeling grew inside him, more powerful than the hunger that suddenly flared up in him again. It was the same thing the De Rais had felt. Territorial.
“Archer?” he heard. The voice made him shut his mouth. Trey.
The knock became a pound. “Hey, get up, man! Don’t tell me you were up all night hunting on your day off.”
“Go away, please go away…” Archer murmured, the territorial feeling getting replaced by the hunger. God, what am I going to do about this…thirst. Acknowledging it seemed to intensify it. Get out of here, Trey!
He heard a thunk, a sound Archer was familiar with – Trey’s steel-toed boot hitting the door in irritation.
“Fine, Arch, I’ll go chase girls myself. They’re always frightened away from your serious face anyway.”
Archer could hear Trey’s footsteps get quieter as he walked away. Only for a second did he think that was incredible – how did he ever manage to sneak up on vampires? – before he lapsed into depression again as his senses dulled once more as the threat to his territory left.
Luckily Trey had not sensed his presence…but if he checked on him the next morning he probably would, and would waste no time barging into his room to help defend his best friend. What am I going to do?
Archer found that while his body seemed to slow down during the day even when not touched by light, his mind was as crisp and clear as if he was wide awake. He had no problem thinking, even as his body sometimes spasmed and shook from the change still taking place in him. He listened to his heart beat slowing down. He was dying. Soon, there would be no heartbeat, but he would continue living, living as the dead. There was no possible cure, no way to save him, no going back. Funny, he thought, what an impact a mistake can have on your entire life, and death.

†

The hunter felt the sun setting. The hair on the back of his neck rose in excitement as the hunger began to intensify. He shifted into a crouch, panting softly as he eagerly waited to be let loose on the night. The very instant that the first sliver of the moon crossed over the horizon into the sky, he bolted from the door, rushing for the exit.
He hissed and skidded to a halt, flinching away from the sight of the crucifix hanging from the doorknob. The hunter darted for the windows, but he drew back with a curse as his hands burned from touching the remnants of the holy water on them. He backed into the center of the room, gripping his head. “Get a hold of yourself!” he growled out loud.
Breathing heavily, he focused on the slow, quiet, and almost nonexistent beat of his heart, reminding him that for the next couple hours he would still be partly human. He backtracked in his mind about the time he probably got bitten. Ironically, he thought it was probably around midnight. Just to be safe, he gave himself one hour less to figure out what he had to do before he might lose complete control. Eleven o’clock. Three hours.
Somewhat calmed down – his hatred for the thing he was becoming gave him somewhat of a clarity in his mind – he settled down at his laptop. It was difficult to type because of the way his nails had grown into claws. He knew when the transformation was over he would be able to go back to an appearance of being human – but just an appearance. Until then, he was rather annoyed by the inconvenience of the nails and the fangs that prodded at his lips.
Once the computer had booted up, he opened up the specially designed browser of the Association. Only through the Fang Fox browser was one able to get to the Associations private website. Even then he had to enter his password to even log onto it. After several other little tests to make sure he was in the Association, the browser finally let him into its archives. Please have it on here… He remembered in an old book that they had read in hunters classes that there were certain charms that would hide a vampire from vampire hunters, and even suppress their powers. In theory, he hoped, if he could get a hold of a couple of these symbols, he would be able to disguise himself as a human well enough to continue to be a hunter, and, he prayed, perhaps slow down the complete transformation.
It took precious time to browse through the many archives that were recorded online, not only because the Association had the broadest possible filing system, but because the internet just didn’t seem to realize he was in a hurry. Hourglass, hourglass, give me a break and just load already!
Finally, he grinned, but he stopped when he could see the fangs reflecting in the computer screen. He printed the page, ten pages worth of scanned documents, old script-like drawings, and various notes and explanations of what was presented. He crossed his arms, glaring at the printer until it finally spit out the last page, then he sat on the floor and scatter the pages about him, reading rapidly through each one.
The Illumi charm stops younglings from drinking. Note: however, it does not stop them from killing. Definitely not what he wanted.
The Slavic charm gives a hunter limited control over a vampire. But would it work if he used the charm on himself? He doubted it.
Bingo. The Starr charm was discovered on an ancient vampire magician when captured during the Middle Ages. The ancient had been living as a successful merchant human, completely in sight of several hunters for years. The charm had hidden his vampire aura from the hunters, but the vampire was revealed after he had drained a customer over an apparent cheat in their bargain. The vampire escaped, but not before a hunter sketched the rare Starr charm.
And there was the sketch. It depicted it on a chain, like it had been a necklace. It looked like a cross, only upside down. Various rune-like symbols were placed strategically on it. In the center of the cross, there was a symbol he was somewhat familiar with. It almost looked like a flower getting stabbed by thorns, but in a tribal sort of design. He’d seen it once before on a vampire that had been awaiting trial in the Association dungeons. He looked through the other pages to try and find it.
The Undead Rose charm tames a vampire’s thirst. Note: however, this charm can be dangerous. The vampire that uses it will not have as large an appetite, leading to it possibly starving itself until a feeding frenzy forces it to hunt savagely.
I’ll take it. It was more than he could have hoped for, but he wasn’t going to take any chances by losing the Starr charm in a battle or by accident. It would have to be more permanent.
Gingerly dialing his cell phone – not wanting to break it in his earnest – he called up the first tattoo shop he could find in the yellow book. Trying to keep his voice from growling, he hung up as soon as he heard a message machine. Going through each one, he kept losing patience and hope as each one seemed to close before dark. Finally, the last one, a man answered the phone.
“Darkness Tattoos. Sorry, I’m closing up for the night. I can make you an appointment for tomorrow.”
“No, I need an appointment now,” Archer said forcefully.
“Sorry, man, no can do.”
“I’ll pay you three thousand dollars,” the hunter said.
There was a pause.
“Four thousand,” Archer insisted. That was all the money he had.
“Okay, man, you convinced me. But be quick about it, all right?”
“I’ll be right there.” Archer slammed down the phone, then started for the door. He cursed when he realized he was still trapped by his own making. But he could easily fix that.
Not wanting to waste time calling the landlord, he threw his head back and hollered as painfully as if he were being brutally murdered. It sounded more ferocious than he had meant it to be, but it gained a quick response. He recognized the voice of the woman that lived next to his apartment as she banged on the door. “Archer, you all right?”
He shouted again, this time louder. It felt good to let out his pains and frustrations, the anguish that was building inside him over his cursed fate.
Soon enough a jingle of keys signaled that someone was opening the door. As soon as it was open and knocked away the row of garlic bottles, Archer dashed through it and down the hall, covering his mouth to stop himself from breathing in the scent of his neighbors. He heard them calling his name still, but he ignored it, his destination the only thing he allowed his mind to think of.
He arrived there in little time. His movements were fast and almost graceful, carrying him quickly to the rinky dink tattoo shop. The exertion of his growing strength only intensified his hunger, and he wondered if he would be able to hold back long enough before he ate the tattoo artist. Even now his mind pictured the deed with relish until he reminded himself of his oath when he became a hunter.
“I will protect humans that cannot protect themselves. I will destroy evil in whatever form it takes.”
I’m not human…but I’m not evil!
Archer entered the shop in a rush, holding his breath to avoid breathing in the scent of the shop owner. The tattoo artist was a young man with many tattoos himself. His bare arms sported stylized roses, thorns, and daggers. As he turned around, it was revealed that an intricate, abstract design wove down from his cheek and disappearing under his shirt. “What was the rush, man?” he asked.
Archer replied by holding up the picture of the charm he printed out. “I need you to do this.” He then held up the Rose picture. “Start with this part.”
The man bit the inside of his cheek, and Archer narrowed his eyes, the thought of biting on his mind. “That? That will take awhile to do. You’ll probably want to outline it first and come back in a couple weeks when it’s healed to do the rest.”
“Two weeks is too long. It has to be done now,” Archer insisted, a slight growl in his voice.
The artist seemed unphased. Perhaps he saw his fair share of tough guys in his shop. “Man, I have regulations to follow-”
Archer slammed his fist against the wall, cracking the plaster. “It has to be done now! You have an hour and a half to brand this on my flesh. I don’t care how painful it is, it must be done now!”
The man shrank back a little from the fierceness of the customer. “Okay, okay, chill, man. Where do you want it?” He motioned Archer to a chair similar to a dentist’s.
“My chest.” He took his shirt off, and was surprised to catch a glance at his own paleness. He had always been pale, but now there was some sort of other tone to his skin – not necessarily much of a change of color, but almost texture. His skin seemed smoother, and somewhat marbled, the base color a pale white swirling with a faintly darker, almost gray color, barely perceptible in the change of hues. He had never noticed such colors on vampires before; all they seemed was exceptionally white.
While he was busy pondering his own skin tone, the tattoo artist had been looking at him as well like a sculptor looks at a block of stone. “Your chest, huh? What, over a pec, or on your stomach or what?”
Archer snatched a pen off the man’s shirt pocket and sketched a quick frontal figure of a man’s torso. “Like this. Start with the rose. And hurry.”
“Whatever you say, man.”
Archer thought he could feel time ticking away, getting closer and closer to his complete fall. The man moved so slowly, it seemed, setting up his equipment and getting Archer laid out on the chair. The only thing that moved fast was his blood, pumping away like the time was ticking, making him painfully aware of the life flowing through him. Life that should be Archer’s. He forced such ideas from his mind with a shake of his head.
Once the tattoo artist began it became impossible for Archer to contain his fangs. He felt like arching his back and letting out an animalistic howl before tearing out the man’s throat. But, somehow, he was able to bite his lip and keep his moth shut. Never had there been a changing vampire so in control of himself, but then again, there had never been another changing vampire that was also a vampire hunter fill of hatred for the thing he was becoming. He withstood that needle scratching at his skin and leaving behind its ink.
“Why you so tense, man?” the tattoo artist asked. “Does it hurt that bad?”
“You have no idea,” Archer growled, making the man pause and look at him.
“If it hurts so bad why are you doing it?”
Archer closed his eyes, concentrating on thoughts other than bathing in blood. “It will hurt less in the long run,” was all he said and he refused to say anything else.
The second the last piece of the tribal rose was filled in, Archer felt the difference. The pain of hunger was so reduced he could feel the pain of the tattoo, while before he could not feel the irritated skin. He gasped aloud at the relief. He could still feel the hunger – for after all, he was a maturing youngling and little could stop that fact – but it let him focus, for the time being.
“Keep going,” he sighed. “It needs to be done before midnight.”
The tattoo artist snickered. “Got an important date or something?”
“You could say that,” Archer whispered.
The Starr charm was complete merely ten minutes before the turn of the day. He had expected another feeling of relief when it was over, hoping the charm would turn off his own inherent sense of himself. But, much to his dismay, he could still use his hunter senses to sense himself. It was a disgusting feeling. When a hunter was near a vampire, a dirty feeling overcame them, like they could feel the vampire’s bloodstained sins being taken on upon themselves. And that is what he felt now. And he realized, he would always feel disgust for himself. Always.
He paid the artist and left with a grunted, “Thank you.” As he was walking back to his apartment, he was so captured by his own wallowing heart that he forgot for a moment that it was going to stop beating. The moment it did, he froze, stark still, with his head tilted back to the sky, mouth open slightly, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. He almost appeared star struck and child-like innocent, then his eyes’ pupils narrowed and his irises glowed hungry red. The whole world changed for him, his sight seeming like a sight on a gun, focusing and unfocusing with the speed of a camera. Everything was tinted red. There were brighter, glowing reds, amongst the red world that moved and changed shape. Prey.
He moved into action, the power of the Undead Rose unable to stop the youngling’s first meal, a desire so powerful, nothing could stop it but death, either the vampire’s, or someone else’s.
It was easy to find his prey. They were so vulnerable and easy to see. The closest one was a female walking up the steps to the lobby of a lesser-known hotel. Faster than a blur, the vampire snagged the girl and lodged its fangs into her neck as it carried her into the safety of the shadows of a nearby alley. It happened in a blink so fast that no one had seen it, none but the predator, for the prey’s neck had already been broken by the ferocity of the killer.
Only when the girl was completely drained of blood, her neck torn up from the repetitive bites of her murderer, did the vampire bring its mouth away, sanity returning in some small measure. Enough for the hunter to realize what the vampire had done, and the beast lamented for the man, letting out the howl he had been holding back since the twenty four hours before when his fate was cursed.

Archer lay on his bed. The time was somewhere around five in the morning, and yet he did not sleep. He tried to though he knew it was useless. Vampires did not sleep. It would be like the night before as he was changing, caught somewhere between dullness and sharpness, his mind keen to everything, though his senses dulled, ready to be heightened at the very second trouble would arise, if any. But he did not even feel that way now. His skin was crawling, as if knowing that in just an hour or two the sun would be up and he would have to hide in his closet again. He would have to fix that. Light-proof his room.
He rolled over at the troubling thoughts plaguing his mind. Everything would change. Everything would change, but he would still have to act like nothing had changed. Trey would probably show up again in the morning. But he wouldn’t be able to go outside in the light of day. How would he be able to keep a normal life when his skin was so frail in the rays of the sun? Perhaps more enchantments? He could feel the weight of the tattoo on him, like a large heavy hand pressing down on his chest. In the end, the tattoo had covered his entire torso. His belly button was centered in the bottom of the cross, half way between the cross section and the lowest point. The topmost part of the tattoo was centered two inches below his collar bone. Any irritation of the skin from the tattoo had already healed. The ink was jet black in comparison to his white skin.
His mind also drifted to a few hours before, after he had killed the girl.
He had dropped to his knees and began to cry. He hadn’t recalled ever crying in his life – aside from once when Trey’s sister had pulled a cruel prank on him when they were young, though he would never admit that. But, he supposed, he was no longer alive, so whether he had cried previously in life or after life it didn’t really matter. He was so distraught over all that had happened to him. He had handled it all with a logical mind, but he could not ignore the facts any longer. He was a killer now. A cold blooded vampire. He did not deserve to exist. If only he had had the heart to pull the trigger back in that alley! Then the dead girl in his arms would have seen another sunrise. Perhaps her life would have been filled with helping others, but now that he had taken her away from the world, all those she could have helped would be without her aid. What kind of monster could interfere so cruelly with fate?
His thoughts at that time had been interrupted by a voice behind him deeper in the alley. “Youngling,” he heard. The voice was quiet, and yet commanding. He had a sudden urge like that of a soldier inclined to stand at attention when his officer entered a room. But he stayed crouched by the girl as the man continued to speak. “You must be confused and upset, but I will explain everything to you. Come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, vampire,” he hissed. “I know what has happened. If you want to help me you can kill me.”
The voice was in front of him now, along with the dark figure of a man. He had long, black hair the touched his shoulders. His skin was ghostly pale and his intense green eyes stared down at the youngling with a mixture of disgust and sympathy. “Ah,” he said. “I recognize you now. The young white haired hunter. My, how the tables have turned.” A smirk came to his thin lips.
“Shut up, Vlad,” Archer hissed again. “I killed. You have the right to kill me now, so get it over with.”
The leader of the Tepes vampire clan chuckled. “I cannot blame the hunger of a youngling’s first night. You require discipline, not punishment.” He flicked his wrist and a white square of paper appeared in his hand. Even in the darkness Archer’s keen vampire eyes could read it:

Tepes Blood Bank
345 Alight Rd
Danube, <insert state/province/country>
(657) 405-3370

“I’m not going to rent one of your blood whores,” Archer growled.
“You prefer killing young girls instead?” Vlad Tepes inquired.
Archer was silenced.
Back in his room, Archer looked at that card now, clutched between his fingers, whose nails had not quite gone back to normal yet. He read it again and again as he felt the time ticking away. He could almost feel the sun rising and the time passing. Forty-seven minutes till sunrise, give or take, his body told him. Better hide.
With a sigh he lifted himself out of bed and strode to his closet, locking himself in for the day.