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There are many ways to hunt.

 Most often, a hunter tracks their prey, using guile and strength to best absentminded game, in a swift and terrible climax.

But sometimes the predator need not slink through bushes, or veil themselves in shadows.

Sometimes, the hunter lets the prey believe they are the predator, and draws them in by hiding not in the cloak of darkness, but by hiding in plain sight. 

Violetta was strolling languidly down an LA sidewalk, donning a casual facade that fought against her stiff and fierce nature, when the blare of sirens came shrieking up behind her. 

“Stop there, ma’am!” a gruff voice barked, as a police car lumbered up besides her, and a bald man with an egg-like head leered at her from over the rim of his window. 

“We’ve had reports of an armed and dangerous individual in this area,” the police officer told her, his eyes greedily drinking her in, and making no attempt to hide how he was mentally lapping up her body, “it’s not safe to be walking alone at night.” 

Drab buildings and trash-smeared streets stretched on for as far as the eye could see, but this isolated pocket of the city of angels felt deathly silent. 

“That’s terrifying!” Violetta adopted a gullible facade, “thank you so much for warning me, officer!” 

The policeman arched one eyebrow, and slipped into a piggish grin. 

“British, eh? My family came over from Ireland, a few generations back.” 

Once again, his greedy gaze fixed firmly upon her, dripping with unshackled lust. 

“I’m officer Glanville,” he said by way of introduction, “how about I give you a ride to somewhere a bit safer, Miss Britain?” 

The phony smile that Vi offered up was painted with a brush of performative gratitude.

“I’d really appreciate that.” 

With a soft pop, the car door opened, and the officer beckoned Violetta inside. 

The car’s interior was plastered with the stink of coffee, doughnuts, and body odour. 

“There station ain’t far from -“ 

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence, before Vi had pinned him back, and plunged her hungry fangs deep into his neck. 

The police officer went limp, whilst the electric rush of crimson euphoria zapped its way through every fibre of Vi’s cold, undead being.

She was floating through heaven, buzzing with a euphoria more rapturous than the first cigarette of a booze-fuelled night out, more orgastic than a hard fuck at the end of a dryspell, and more soothing than a needle bubbling with heroin. 

Every Ventrue had a very particular feeding preference, and Violetta Kyborowski’s was the bold rush of authority. 

“Sleep well, piggy.” Vi laughed, as she pulled back, licking the puncture wounds in Officer Glanville’s neck shut, with a blood-smeared mouth. 

The vampire slipped smoothly out of the car, shutting its door behind her and quickly making her way down the sidewalk, whilst the unconscious policeman lay crumpled in his seat.

Her world became a jungle of dimly-lit streets, and never-ending roads, lorded over by concrete titans that seemed to soar up into the heaven’s themselves, like the blasphemous Tower of Babel. 

There was every possibility that some enterprising thug would happen upon the sleeping policeman, but Violetta would not weap for whatever horrible fate may befall him. 

Growing up as a working class slav in “Great” Britain had done little to build up a fondness for cops inside her, even before the demon within started gulping up her humanity. 

If anything, wishing death upon the bobbies was a sure sign that some semblance of the woman Violetta had been before she became a vampire still remained. 

Suddenly, a fierce chill went charging down her spine, like a crackle of lightning.

Vi dropped down into a crouch, a fraction of a moment before a zealously sharp blade whizzed through the air, cleaving the space where she had just been standing.

“Beautifully swift,” a lively voice proclaimed, like a critic praising a splendid performance, “presentation needs work, though.” 

Letting out a feral growl, Vi looked up from where she was crouching, to leer at the figure who now stood over her.

His dark skin had the allure of delicious chocolate, and his features were chiseled to statuesque perfection. Long black hair cascaded down his lithe shoulders, and his slick beard was trimmed with artisanal precision.

“Brutish but practical,” the disgustingly gorgeous man observed, with a knife-like smirk,” “a shame that you sacrifice beauty for efficiency.” 

Extending from the stranger’s right fist, like a ninja’s slender sword, was a blade of pure, pale white bone, that erupted seamlessly out of an incision in her attacker’s smooth flesh. 

“I’ll break your fucking neck!” Violetta hissed. 

A deep, melodic laugh strummed out of him, with the deft rhythm of a masterfully played bass guitar. 

“But we haven’t done introductions!” he chuckled, “Angelo Castelane - at your service.” 

“What makes you think I give a toss?” Vi let out a bestial snarl, charging towards the pompous lunatic, with the dark power of [i]potence [/i] howling through her veins. 

Just as her fist was about to connect with Angelo, he became a blur of fluttering hair and dark skin, zipping out of the Ventrue’s path, and then plunging his bone-blade into her gut, with god-like swiftness. 

An explosion of pain ripped through Vi’s insides, and she found herself tensing up with agony. Angelo twisted his arm, ripping another blazing gash through Violetta’s stomach, and it was all she could do not to weep crimson tears. 

“I know Vannevar’s little secret,” the braggart declared, his grandiose voice falling to a whisper, “where is he keeping the [i]screamer[/i]?” 

“What are you talking about, you deranged prick?!” Vi hissed through clenched teeth. 

Angelo thrust the blade deeper into Vi’s belly, sending waves of fire ripping through every fibre of her being. 

“Don’t play games with me, little flower!” he leant in closer and closer, some of his cocksure cool shifting into pointed anger, “WHERE IS -“ 

The vampire was cut off mid-sentence, as a potence-bolstered kick slammed into one shin, shattering bone as if it were glass, and sending the suave blusterer stumbling backwards, his bone-blade recoling back into his arm, and out of Vi’s gut. 

It was Angelo’s turn to shriek in pain, limping madly on a leg that had been reduced to a crooked ruin. 

“You’ll pay for that, [i]little flower[/i]!” he snapped, his serene face warped into an anguished grimace, “I never forget those who wrong me!” 

Once again, the vampire became a darting blur, only this time he vanished utterly from sight, and went zig-zagging off into the night. 

Vi fell to her knees, clothes soaked with her own blood, and let out a sigh that was half relief and half agony. 

“What secrets have you been keeping from me, Vannevar?” she groaned, “You stupid - BELLEND -!”