"Are you afraid, my wee human?"
"Will you hurt me?"
"No, Ailsa. I swear to you I will never harm you. I'd rather die than lay a hand on you."
"Then there's nothing more to discuss."
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In 18th century Scotland, a roman...
A slippery figure stalked slowly out into the night air. Moonlight shadows cast down on him from the white circle above, illuminating his angular face as he followed his victim expertly. He had done this many times before. He knew what to do without question, knew each step to take and which sticks to avoid. This was his craft, his livelihood.
No one would see him, he was too careful for that, but if they did somehow catch a rare glance at him, they would assume it was a man. They would see a man in the woods going for a stroll at an odd hour perhaps, nothing more. They would be wrong, that was simply not the case.
This shadow was no mere man, not a mere mix of mortal flesh and bone as they knew with such familiarity. No. This figure was more beast than man, a creature tied to the night, feeding from blood and moonlight alike, determined to make a meal out of any innocent human that stumbled unsuspectingly into his path.
It wasn't safe out in these woods for people anymore, not many dared enter the cover of it's looming trees. The rumors and stories of the monsters were enough to keep most of the locals inside their walls of safety when the sun set, but not everyone listened to reason, not everyone believed the tales that were meant to be a warning.
The figure crept into a tree, his lithe limbs muscular and well accustomed to the task of scaling branches in this forest, his forest. He was as silent as a cat, and equally as predatory. He sat still on a branch. The silhouette was practically a statue made of shadow and stealth and darkness.
His victim was completely unsuspecting, just the way he licked them. It made it easier for the creature to get his meal quickly and efficiently, and then return to his clan stronger than before.
His attack on the poor helpless human wouldn't be deadly. He may be dangerous, but he wasn't a killer. The mortal would stumble away a little weaker, but none the wiser. It wouldn't even remember what happened. Even the marks on it's neck would disappear within an hour.
The creature waited patiently, watching every little movement of the meal. The little mortal held a bow, grasping the weapon loosely. The human raised it, pulling an arrow back and letting it fly towards a tree trunk.
The arrow hit the wood with an unimpressive thud. The human sighed, throwing the weapon down and going to retrieve the arrow.
Though the night was cool and breezy, the mortal was sweating. Perhaps it somehow detected the danger hovering above.
The hidden shadow licked his lips in anticipation, gaze locked on the pale column of the man's neck as it was exposed.
The shadow crept forward, ready to jump on the back of the helpless thing. He prepared to strike, poised to leap, when something pricked his skin. The shadow reared back in shock, staring at the primitive dart sticking out of his arm. His skin was already dripping red.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as cold seeped deep within his flesh. It didn't make sense, what was this?
The creature pulled the foreign object from his body, staring at it as his vision began to blur.
The last thought before he fell was how odd it was when the predator became the prey.
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