A change in energy, a ripple in the atmosphere. Like a magnetic current that pushes then pulls, Renaissance Le Sang’s receptors tingled with the warning that danger was approaching. The ancient vampire watched her Huntress instantly wield her weapons, on high alert. Ren looked to her, brows knitted together awaiting her words of warning. Her body instantly transformed into attack mode; Talon protruding from her index finger, pupils fully dilating which instantly improved her vision and her fangs showed themselves to anyone approaching. Vibrating like a coiled spring, Renaissance lowered to a half-crouch, her muscles straining with power as they readied to jump into action if required. Like a panther stalking prey, Ren’s form was arched into a prepared stance. Now, she blurred the lines between her human appearance and animalistic nature. Her aura thrummed with power and a deep, thunderous growl vibrated in her throat. 

Hunters were experts in hyper-awareness. Different to Vampires capabilities, their nervous system was specifically attuned to supernatural presence. It served them well when hunting, of course. Ren had no doubt Lyselle’s sensory skills would serve them well in this situation. 

[b]"Werewolves,"[/b] the Huntress said gravely but matter of factly.  [b]"Two of them... trying to flank us." [/b] The astuteness of Lyselle’s observations made Ren swell with pride. She was thankful for the Huntresses abilities, now more than ever. How useful it was to not only have her foresight as to when danger was approaching, but also the specifics of what that danger entailed. Still, as impressive as it was, Lyselle’s warning not only brought comfort in preparation but also a deeper concern for the fledglings well being. Two werewolves would be nearly impossible for a single, young vampire to fight off. Ren realised that the Huntress/Vampire duo may be stumbling across a fledgling wounded beyond repair. Which also meant, consequently, that this fledgling would be beyond desperate for blood. 

The damp, woodland air that filled Renaissance’s lungs was laced with undertones. The top notes remained expected; Wet leaves, disturbed dirt, damp wood… But there were two other scents that Ren could decipher. One of them, comparable to rotting flowers, had become increasingly prominent. She let out a serpentine hiss of warning, turning towards Lyselle to shoot her a glance that would put her quickly on the defence. 

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In a last bid attempt, using the remainder of her energy, Wysteria launched her body out of the thicket. She threw her mangled form at the armed human, snaking her bloodied arms around her neck and locking her weary legs around the humans waist. Mounting her, but her movements slow thanks to those hounds, Wysteria let out a frenzied cry. Her sire had arrived, ready to free her from her impending doom. And she’d brought food! A supply to restore her strength, enough to fight those bloodthirsty werewolves. Maybe her Maker wasn’t as evil as she’d thought for all these years. 

Just as Wysteria was about to plunge her fangs into the supple, tempting jugular it felt like mere milliseconds before an almighty force pried her from the humans back. She was ripped away like a ragdoll with just a single arm, minimal effort required to peel her from the humans back. Wysteria let out a desperate cry, dismayed that her food was being withheld from her. Like a stray street cat being picked up by its scruff, Wysteria writhed and kicked and screamed whilst her sire remained still as a stone cold statue. She watched her with those black, bottomless eyes that were so familiar, her luscious lips pulled into a disapproving sneer. 

[i]”Wysteria you will not, I repeat NOT, touch a single hair on that humans head,” [/i] her sire’s voice was more comparable with a snake-like hiss. It dripped with the repulsion of an uncontrolled fledgling, clearly disgusted by her inability to control the thirst that burnt through her every fibre. 

[i]“I’m going to very quickly disable you from doing so, for now, until I can trust you to control your urges…”[/i] the almighty Ancient used her seasoned talon to prick her own finger, tracing a line of her blood across Wysteria’s shaking head. A thin smear of blood spanned her forehead and her Mother hastily recited some kind of chant. As she repeated the verse, by the third repetition Wysteria felt her thirst dissipate to a dull roar in her stomach. Some kind of spell had been cast, and she was glad for the temporary relief from the urge to rip out the humans throat. 

[i]“Lyselle, my love”[/i] the Sire called, directing her call to the very human she’d been pried away from, [i]“How long do we have until the werewolves are upon us?”[/i]

Wysteria’s frantic eyes darted from her Maker to the human. Unable to fathom what she was seeing, it was her turn to pull an expression of disdain. “My love!?” Wysteria exclaimed in her mind, hesitant to say a word to either of her saviours. What was their relationship?! Why had a human been brought to her rescue if not for food and consequent strength? An ancient vampire protecting a human like this, least of all one dressed like a Huntress no less, was difficult to decipher. It was an impossible combination. So Wysteria stilled in her Maker’s grasp, still dangling from her vice-like grip above the ground, legs swinging. She flinched away from the Ancient’s scolding eyes, lowering her gaze to the floor. The wolves would be here soon, surely. And perhaps this human was being used as bait? A distraction? There had to be an explanation…

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Violet’s ears pricked with attentiveness at her brothers instructions. She obeyed willingly, nodding in acknowledgment, her looming body lowering to all fours as she skulked the opposite way to Victor. Moving clockwise, going wide, her brother moved anti clockwise in the opposite direction. 

Violet was careful to practice her skulking skills, padding her claws quietly on the soft woodland ground. She imagined herself walking on clouds, feather-like footwork making not a sound as they surrounded their vampire prey. Just like they’d practiced together hundreds of times before, Violet kept her wet nose low, sniffing softly at the scent of rotten flowers and vampire blood. Her fur had risen to stand on its end, causing her to look bigger in appearance. Heckles arched, lips pulled into a snarl, Violet waited for her brothers signal to advance. It was only when he emerged, calling for her to follow, that she would launch into attack. 

Victor would know the perfect time. Until then, she continued to circle their prey somewhere a little deeper into the woodland. They were so close, now, she could taste that vampire blood on her dripping tongue…