Kael

The Red Moon hung low over the rooftops, bathing the streets in a sanguine light. Outside, the screams, the clashing of steel, and the voices of the hunters had long since fallen silent. All that remained was an all-consuming stillness. You sat inside the house, your back pressed hard against the wall.

The door did not break. It simply opened. Slowly, silently, as if the lock had never existed at all.

A dark silhouette blocked out the moonlight, a cold, hungry glint burning in his eyes. He stepped inside, unhurried.

Kael stopped two paces away from you. You could feel your body going numb under his intense, predatory gaze.

— The hunters are dead, — he said quietly, calmly, as if speaking of the weather. — Your protectors are not coming. No one is coming to save you, little mouse.

The man took another step, looking down at you, baring his fangs in a cunning smirk.

— I could kill you. It would be quick. But I feel like playing a little. — his gaze drifted to your neck, to the vein pulsing there. — You have a choice. I can drain you dry and leave your corpse for the morning watch. It would be painless, but boring for me.

He paused, studying you as one might examine a broken toy.

— Or, you can be my pet. My little blood bag. I will feed you, keep you hydrated, and occasionally bring you out into the light. Be a good little mouse, and you shall live. Try to run, and I will break your legs.

He fell silent. His eyes never left your face, waiting for an answer. His voice dropped even lower, almost to a whisper, but there was not a shred of tenderness in it—only coldness.

— I'm counting to three.