Lee Fong did not feel strong.
He felt hollow.
The vampire's neck resisted for half a second longer than it should have. Not because it was durable, but because Lee hesitated. His fingers were already locked in the creature's hair, his arm already twisting, but some part of him—small, weak, human—had delayed the final motion.
That moment almost killed him.
The vampire's claws raked across Lee's ribs, tearing fabric, splitting skin. Pain flared sharp and immediate, but Lee did not cry out. He did not scream. He did not snarl. He simply tightened his grip and finished what he had already started.
There was a sound. Wet. Final.
The head came free in his hands.
Lee let go instantly, as if the thing had burned him. The severed head struck the pavement and rolled until it hit the curb. Its eyes were still open, staring at nothing, mouth frozen in a half-formed curse.
The body collapsed a moment later, knees buckling, limbs jerking once before going still.
Lee staggered backward.
His boots slipped on blood—too much blood. It smeared beneath his feet, dark and glossy under the broken streetlight. The smell rose thick and suffocating, metallic and warm, clinging to the back of his throat.
He pressed a hand to his mouth.
I didn't want this.
The thought repeated itself, useless and late.
Movement surged at the edges of his vision.
Lee looked up.
They were already closing in.
Four shapes emerged from the shadows, spreading out instinctively, surrounding him. Their eyes glowed faintly red, reflecting the streetlight. Their expressions were twisted—not feral, not mindless, but offended. Angry. As if Lee had broken an unspoken rule.
One of them laughed softly.
"You really are insane," the vampire said. "Do you know who that was?"
Lee said nothing.
His chest rose and fell too quickly. Each breath scraped his lungs raw. The cut across his ribs burned, blood soaking into his clothes, but the pain felt distant—secondary to the crushing weight in his head.
I didn't choose this.
"You think you can just slaughter your own kind?" another hissed.
Lee swallowed. His throat was dry despite the blood coating his hands.
"I asked him to leave me alone," he said quietly.
The words sounded wrong. Flat. As if spoken by someone else.
The nearest vampire lunged.
Lee reacted on instinct, not rage. He ducked under the swipe of claws, feeling air rush over his scalp. His elbow slammed upward into the attacker's side. Bone shattered. The vampire screamed—a sound that was too human, too raw.
Lee froze.
Too human.
That hesitation nearly ended him.
Something struck his back. Claws tore into his shoulder blades, ripping through fabric and skin. Lee gasped, pain flaring hot and immediate. His knees buckled, vision blurring.
Move.
He forced himself forward, slamming backward with all his weight. The vampire behind him grunted as they collided. Lee twisted, fingers digging into cold flesh, and pulled.
There was resistance.
A scream.
Then release.
Another head fell.
Lee stumbled away from the body, heart hammering violently against his ribs. His hands shook. He stared at them for half a second too long, watching blood drip from his fingertips.
That was all it took.
"Kill him."
The word snapped through the air like a command.
Lee ran.
He didn't think. He didn't plan. He turned and ran as fast as his body would carry him.
The world blurred.
Buildings streaked past, brick and glass smearing into shadow. His boots slammed against pavement, every step echoing too loudly in his skull. His side burned, blood seeping warm and sticky beneath his clothes, but he barely felt it.
Behind him, they followed.
He could hear them—footsteps too fast, too light. Claws scraping stone. Breathing that wasn't breath at all.
London felt wrong.
Too narrow. Too close. Every alley felt like a dead end waiting to happen. Every corner threatened another ambush.
I can't fight all of them.
The thought landed cold and heavy.
He vaulted a low fence, landing awkwardly but forcing his legs to keep moving. Pain shot up his ankle, sharp and warning, but he ignored it. Pain was manageable. Stopping was not.
Streetlights thinned. Buildings gave way to overgrown paths and broken barriers. The city's edges frayed, unraveling into darkness and trees.
The forest enclosure rose ahead of him like a mouth.
Lee didn't slow down.
He plunged into it.
Branches whipped at his face and arms, tearing skin. Thorns clawed into his clothes. Roots reached for his feet, tripping him again and again. The forest was dense, hostile, unwelcoming—but it was cover.
The vampires crashed after him, less careful, snapping branches, snarling in frustration.
Lee leapt over a fallen log and turned sharply, swinging blindly. His fist connected with something solid. There was a crack—bone giving way. A body hit the ground.
He didn't look back.
His legs finally failed in a small clearing, hidden deep within the enclosure. Lee collapsed behind a thick tree, back slamming against the bark. His chest heaved violently, breaths shallow and uneven.
Silence followed.
Not peace.
Waiting.
Seconds stretched. Then minutes.
Lee pressed a hand to his side, fingers coming away slick with blood. The wound was already closing, skin knitting together in a way that made his stomach churn.
This isn't healing, he thought grimly. This is erasing.
Slowly, he slid down the tree until he was sitting on the forest floor. His hands trembled uncontrollably. He clenched them, nails biting into his palms, grounding himself in pain.
Don't lose control.
The urge to hunt still burned inside him—hot, violent, demanding. It whispered that the forest was full of life, that blood was close, that he could end this ache if he stopped pretending.
Lee shut his eyes tightly.
"No," he whispered.
His voice shook.
Above him, the darkness thinned. Pale light filtered through the canopy as dawn crept in, cautious and gray.
Lee stiffened.
Sunlight touched his skin.
Nothing happened.
No burning. No pain. No punishment.
Just warmth.
The realization crushed him more than fear ever had.
I really can't go back.
Exhaustion dragged at him, heavy and irresistible. His head fell back against the tree, eyes closing despite himself.
And the memories came.
Not gently.
Not in order.
Beijing.
The airport loud with voices and movement. His mother's hand gripping his sleeve too tightly. His father's quiet nod, pride hidden behind restraint.
London.
Gray skies. Cold air. The feeling of being watched.
St. Aldric's College rising behind iron gates, stone walls heavy with age.
Chrissy's laugh.
Daniel's silence.
The library.
The alley.
The teeth.
Lee's eyes snapped open.
He was still in the forest. Still alive. Still breathing.
Still cursed.
He pushed himself to his feet slowly, joints aching, body heavy with fatigue. Dried blood cracked on his clothes as he moved. Somewhere beyond the trees, something shifted—a reminder that the hunt had not ended.
Lee looked down at his hands one last time.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered into the quiet forest.
The words disappeared into the leaves, unanswered.
And as the sunlight climbed higher, Lee Fong stepped deeper into the trees—carrying the weight of a life that was already gone.