Lexi grabbed two drinks from the polished bar, downed hers in one smooth, practiced motion, and shoved the other into Aleksander’s hand before dragging him straight into the center of the pulsing dance floor.
The heavy bass vibrated right through the concrete floor, reverberating straight into their chests.
Lexi spun smoothly into his space, turning her back to him as she sank naturally into the rhythm of the music.
She was moving with fluid, effortless confidence, her hips rolling slowly against the front of his thighs as she grounded the curve of her backside right against him.
Reaching back, she caught him by the back of his neck, tilting her head to shoot him a wicked, breathless smirk over her shoulder as his large hands settled firmly onto her hips.
Aleksander matched her tempo, his touch warm and possessive through the dark fabric of her jeans, a low smirk tugging at his lips as the flashing red and violet lights swept over them.
Then his gaze drifted toward the VIP lounge elevated above the dance floor, and his movement slowed.
Lexi felt the shift in his focus instantly.
Her playful smirk softened as she turned in his arms, following the line of his dark eyes toward the far corner of the mezzanine.
Sitting in a dimly lit booth with an untouched glass of vintage wine was a striking woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties.
She had a tall, slender, elegant frame, draped in impeccably tailored, expensive dark clothing that spoke of old-world refinement.
Her long, jet-black hair hung pin-straight down her back, framing high cheekbones, full lips, and sharp, dark brown eyes that watched the mortal crowd below with detached, calculating superiority.
There was no warmth in her gaze—only the cold, ruthless appraisal of an apex predator observing cattle.
She wasn’t the kind of vampire to take a modest sip and compel a human to forget; she was the type to drag them into an alley, drain every last drop until the heart stopped, and walk away without a second glance.
Lexi leaned close, her lips brushing Aleksander’s ear so her voice carried clearly beneath the deafening beat.
“That’s Antoinette,” Lexi murmured, her tone sharpening with cautious familiarity.
“She pops into the city every few months. Calls herself a Nightwalker or something. No daylight rings, no blending into human sunlight. She believes vampires belong strictly to the night, and she acts like it.”
Aleksander’s dark eyes shifted slightly to the left of the VIP mezzanine, catching sight of another figure lingering near the shadows of the private bar.
The man was dressed inconspicuously in a heavy canvas jacket, blending into the crowd at first glance, but his posture was far too rigid.
His drink remained untouched, his fingers subtly checking the inside pocket of his coat—where the unmistakable silhouette of a concealed weapon pressed against the fabric.
His eyes remained locked on Antoinette, tracking every tilt of her head with cold, patient focus.
Aleksander leaned down, his voice barely a breath against Lexi’s ear over the booming bass.
“It seems her hunting habits have caught the eye of a vampire hunter.”
Lexi turned slightly in his arms, casually following his subtle gaze toward the bar.
Her eyes narrowed as she caught the man’s tense posture, the heavy scent of wolfsbane and dried vervain faintly clinging to his jacket.
“Well,” Lexi muttered under her breath, a faint crease forming between her brows.
“This is bad for her.”
Aleksander watched her carefully, his hands resting lightly on the curve of her waist.
“Are you planning on warning her?”
Lexi frowned, torn for a brief second.
Antoinette’s cold belif wasn’t something she agreed with, and leaving drained corpses behind was reckless.
But Antoinette wasn’t a senseless butcher burning through towns just to cause chaos, either. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“She’s not bad compared to monsters I know,” Lexi said, shaking her head as her protective instincts flared.
“A little self-righteous, sure, but she doesn’t deserve a wooden stake through the heart just because some hunter followed her here. I’m going to warn her.”
Lexi slipped through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, moving with effortless fluid grace as she ascended the narrow stairs to the VIP mezzanine.
She didn’t head directly for Antoinette; instead, she took a winding path around the edge of the elevated lounge, acting like a tipsy clubgoer looking for a quiet corner.
Near the shadowed corner of the booth, Antoinette had already selected her target.
A handsome young human stood pressed against the cushioned wall, thoroughly compelled into a docile, glazed trance.
Antoinette swayed against him to the rhythm of the heavy bass, tilting his head back as if indulging in a slow, sensual kiss.
In reality, her fangs were sunk cleanly into the side of his throat, her lips catching every drop as she fed with calculated, indulgent greed.
Lexi brushed past their booth, letting the sleeve of her leather biker jacket graze the velvet divider.
Without turning her head or breaking her stride, she let her voice drop to a low, razor-sharp frequency tuned specifically for immortal ears, slicing cleanly through the booming synths:
”A hunter is following you.”
Antoinette’s eyes snapped open beneath thick dark lashes.
For a fraction of a second, raw irritation flared across her striking features—she despised interruptions, especially while partaking in her nature as an apex predator.
But the word hunter hit her instincts like ice water.
She didn’t freeze or pull away frantically; she was far too seasoned for sloppy panic.
Keeping up the facade of a passionate embrace, she slowly licked the puncture marks clean, using her thumb to brush away any stray crimson against the collar of the human’s shirt.
Her dark brown eyes swept subtly toward the lower level of the club, calculating her next move while leaning her forehead against the stunned man’s shoulder to keep his neck hidden.
She knew she couldn’t make a scene in a packed venue, not with someone trained to spot the slip-up of a monster.
She had to play this precisely right.
Antoinette had played her hand like a veteran.
Compelling her dazed prey to wander toward the bar, she slipped out through the VIP service exit, deliberately leaving an easy trail of perfume and shadows for the hunter to follow.
The man took the bait, tailing her into the dimly lit, dead-end alley behind the club.
He barely had time to draw his modified crossbow before she blurred behind him, snapped his neck with a clean, dry crack, and dragged his lifeless body toward the heavy metal dumpster.
She hoisted the corpse up and shoved it inside, slamming the lid shut just as the sound of measured footsteps echoed against the damp brick walls.
Antoinette spun around, her posture stiffening instantly, her dark brown eyes narrowing with sharp wariness.
Stepping out of the shadows under the flickering amber streetlamp were Aleksander and Lexi.
Recognition softened the edge of Antoinette’s defensive stance; she noted Lexi’s grey leather jacket and remembered the low whisper that had saved her from a vervain bolt.
Before she could speak, Aleksander cast a critical look at the dumpster, his deep voice slicing through the quiet alley.
“Dumping the body here isn’t a good idea. This is Manhattan. Club staff empty the trash every two hours, and a dead hunter with a stake in his coat brings police, coroners, and a dozen more zealots with him.”
Antoinette let out a tired, elegant sigh, brushing a stray strand of straight black hair from her cheek.
Aleksander didn’t answer with words.
He casually stepped toward the dumpster and raised one hand.
With a soft whoosh, brilliant cobalt-blue flames erupted from his fingertips, curling and dancing along his knuckles.
The unnatural fire carried no smoke, radiating an ancient, primordial heat that made the hair on the back of Antoinette’s neck stand up.
Aleksander thrust his hand forward, letting the azure fire engulf the inside of the dumpster.
The flames consumed the hunter’s corpse in seconds, turning bone, flesh, and clothing into fine, harmless gray ash with zero odor or residue.
With a careless flick of his wrist, the fire vanished into thin air.
Antoinette stared at the clean, empty bin, her dark eyes widening in genuine astonishment.
Up until that moment, she had assumed Aleksander was just another immortal traveling with Lexi—perhaps an old vampire with an arrogant demeanor.
“A witch,” Antoinette murmured softly, looking back at him with newfound caution and sharp intrigue.
“And clearly not an ordinary one.”
“He’s a special case,” Lexi said, her voice laced with pride.
As she spoke, she casually rested her hand over Aleksander’s on the table, her fingers lacing naturally through his.
Antoinette’s sharp gaze didn’t miss the gesture.
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing grin, amusement flickering behind her dark eyes.
“It seems he is,” she murmured, taking a deliberate sip of her bourbon.
As the drinks flowed, the conversation settled into an easy, fluid rhythm.
Antoinette found herself watching Aleksander with genuine fascination.
Centuries of dealing with witches—especially the haughty, self-righteous bloodlines of Europe and the American South—had taught her that the craft almost always bred arrogance masked as duty.
Most witches treated vampires like walking abominations, babbling about the ‘Balance of Nature’ while preaching servitude to a cosmic order that viewed them as mere janitors.
Even the ones willing to strike bargains or sell daylight rings couldn’t completely hide the quiet revulsion in their eyes, sneering at the monsters they were forced to tolerate.
Aleksander carried none of that dogma.
He spoke with an effortless charm and an easy wit that belonged entirely to an equal, not a zealot.
There was no latent judgment in his gaze, no pious contempt for their fangs or their hunger.
He commanded raw, terrifying elements, yet sat beside a vampire with an easy, protective intimacy that Antoinette had rarely witnessed between the two species.
“You’re an anomaly, Aleksander,” Antoinette remarked, leaning back into the leather cushions with a tilt of her head.
“A practitioner of magic who neither trembles at the sight of a predator nor lectures us on cosmic morality. It’s… refreshing. Most of your kind would rather light me on fire than share a table with me.”
“Most witches are terrified of things they don’t understand,” Aleksander replied with a relaxed smirk, raising his glass to hers.
“And they’re far too preoccupied pretending they run the world to actually enjoy it.”