[color=#9BA7C3][b]“Oh-!”[/b][/color] She was quick to return the tight hug, but it caught her off guard, sporting a soft blush even from such an innocent act. A happy sigh passed her lips before she tucked her hair behind her ear and once again focused.

[i]“We’ll need weapons,”[/i] Ren spoke to her, smirking as her eyes lit with an urgent excitement. [i]“I don’t know exactly what we’ll be facing, but I’m certain our wits and magic won’t suffice.”[/i]

The huntress blinked once, watching the vampiress spin and march over to her cloak—a flash of when they met crossed her mind, bringing a light smile to her lips. Still, she watched Ren with no small level of amusement. For the past two decades at least, Lys had lived and breathed hunting and fighting, so she was already preparing before the vampiress even spoke. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was simply Ren’s way—after all, even a creature of the night must have lived a life utterly unlike her own.

Still, the offer of more weapons did not go unappreciated. She walked over, eyeing the unique armaments thoughtfully.

A mental inventory flickered through her mind of what she already carried: her silver shortsword, wolfsbane, silver dust, holy water, and her hallowed throwing knives. She’d have to restock those herself from now on… but now wasn’t the time to reflect on her future. She only needed to protect her companion.

Seeing as they weren’t sure what awaited them, she reached for another of Ren’s silver daggers—less ornate, but Lyselle didn’t care, so long as it worked. In the background, she heard the vampiress pacing, no doubt troubled for her wounded fledgling.

[i]“It’s a 20 minute flight away—roughly. We’ve got to fly, okay? You’ll have to either mount my back or let me carry you. Is that going to bother you? Now would be a fine time to grow a pair of wings from that human back of yours…”[/i]

A click of her tongue escaped her as she turned, offering Renaissance a lighthearted smile, brown orbs sparkling.

[color=#9BA7C3][b]“Oh, of course—you know us humans are famous for having wings,”[/b][/color] she joked, rolling her eyes playfully.
[color=#9BA7C3][b]“No—I have no problem being carried. Gives me time to place at least a temporary blessing on this dagger of yours. Pairs nicely with my sword.”[/b][/color]

As she slid the dagger into her belt, she considered putting both weapons to true, simultaneous use. She had never been known for dual-wielding among the Vigil—they insisted on mastering one weapon above all else. But that never stopped her from learning things in secret… just like her forbidden Scripts.

[hr]

On any normal day, a vampire outclassed a werewolf in a straight fight—if both were at their strongest. But today was far from normal for the young vampire. She was interrupted mid-feed, bleeding, disoriented, and had two werewolves driving her deeper into the woods. Without that desperate cry for help, she would already be dead… or at least, something very close to it.

At least she’d bought some distance—almost twenty minutes’ worth.

And it didn’t help that the pair chasing her were siblings—natural born werewolves trained since childhood to stalk prey with uncanny synergy. Natural borns had the unique advantage of controlling their monstrous form far better than the cursed. They were more wild than rabid, and infinitely more dangerous because of it.

Hunters theorized endlessly while werewolf tribes told their own myths, but no one truly knew why natural borns couldn’t pass their condition to others. The tribes claimed it was a sacred gift from the Great Mother. Hunters liked to believe that the human spirit diluted the curse.

Either way, natural borns were far more cunning.

[b]“Over here, sis,”[/b] growled the larger of the two, his voice an eerie mixture of human speech and lupine snarls. He would have towered over the young vampire earlier—nearly six feet even without standing fully upright, fur barely concealing the primal muscle layered beneath. Victor pointed to a tree with broken branches and the faintest smear of blood—easy enough to track, given that vampire blood smelled like rotting flowers.

And if werewolves hated anything more than hunters, it was vampires. On rare occasions, the two species even formed uneasy alliances to take down especially powerful undead.

Victor sniffed the air—once, twice, then several more times—before glancing toward his sister. Her lupine maw curved into something cruelly close to a grin as he nodded northward.

[b]“Probably got ahead,”[/b] he grunted.
[b]“But it won’t be long now…”[/b]