The Hunter's Vampire {Re-writing}

Prologue

The night brought a sharp breeze that beat against his bare chest. The white fabric of his ruined blouse hung open with the left sleeve severed. Holding a hand to his chest, hissing as the stopped to look down at the dark gushes at his tanned skin. The attack came from a lone starving Werewolf, but he had managed to snap its neck and shatter its spine, then escape before he could discover whether it hunted alone or with a pack. His wounds were not healing as they should because of that vile beast. The Wolf had snapped at him out of nowhere and locked its jaw on his leg and then slashed at his chest. He stumbled on a rock, feeling the pang of pain running up his leg, knowing that he was slightly vulnerable, but he couldn't stop running. He needed to stay on his feet as long as he could. He just needed to get somewhere safe, and using the last of his energy to run as fast as possible was the only way to ensure that.

》》》》》

The moon was high overhead through the trees as the night peaked. Adam trudged home after he had a victorious night. He hunted down a small pack of ravenous wolves that had cornered some unfortunate villagers who worked into the late afternoon on the fields. He had decapitated the Wolves before burying the burnt corpses separate from their head. It was a method all Hunters were taught to use once killing a Werewolf. One could never really be sure when dealing with the supernatural. He sighed, brushed away a low hanging branch as he marched home through the woods. His body was spent as he adjusted the leather sac on his shoulder. He pushed through the bushes, home was near, and he was in need of a hot shower and a good long rest.

》》》》》

Lexander's pace slowed, his wounds taking their precious time to heal. He sighed, grasping onto a low-hanging branch to steady himself. "Bloody hounds." He swore as the thin branch of a bush grazed against his gnarled flesh. He hissed, but he couldn't afford to rest now. Lexander kept moving on, after the fight with that damned beast weakened him further. He now needed a warm bed and a bath. He sighed, clicking his tongue at having to escape from wolves this late in his lifetime. It wasn't something he preferred, but if you live long enough, you will eventually run into trouble with old rivals. Lexander was lost in some forest far from where he knew was safe and warm and clean. Soon, he'd find refuge and if he had to kill for it, then so be it, but he desperately needed rest. He hadn't fed in so long, and these wounds weren't helping since they were not healing fast enough, and he knew that if he didn't feed soon enough, then he'd die within the week, two more days to be exact.