Almost a whole day had passed. A whole day of humiliating inaction and deafening silence. There was still no information about the thief. With each passing hour, Likkus Haskiel's fury grew colder, harder, and sharper. For him, who had lived on this planet for over two hundred years, this annoying nuisance was not just a failed operation—it was a personal blow to his reputation, to his very essence.
Unlike most of his brethren, reveling in eternity and sliding into a morass of vices, Likkus valued time. He was a predator, and his main trait was concentration. As soon as a problem arose in his life—a threat to his power, his ambitions, his impeccable order—he mobilized all resources for its immediate and irreversible destruction. Usually, it was quick. Almost always bloody. And invariably effective. It was this ruthless efficiency that allowed him, the seventh son of the clan's patriarch, to take the post of governor of New York. This city was too valuable a prize to give it away "through connections" rather than for real merit.
"Lord Likkus, the target has been found!"
The office door burst open without a knock. When Likkus was on the hunt, all ephemeral rituals were discarded in favor of speed.
"Moreover... the boy is in Bowling Green. He's driving around the area in his Honda, not hiding at all."
Likkus froze. Even his surprised subordinate could not compare to the amazement that momentarily reflected on the Vampire's face. What the hell? Does this petty thief not take them seriously at all? Is he mocking them? Surprise was replaced by cold anger, followed by a primal desire to tear this bastard apart with his own hands. To steal the sacred flower, and now to openly defy them?!
"We're gathering," Likkus growled, rising from his chair. His eyes burned with otherworldly fire. "I'm going with you. Personally."
The gathering did not take long. The night was their time. Ten minutes later, several black sedans without license plates were already speeding through the streets of the Financial District. Likkus sat in the back seat, receiving reports over the radio. Each message only intensified his anticipation. And then, finally: the boy was cornered, the exits were blocked. He was trapped. A bloodthirsty grin touched Likkus's lips.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, an intuition honed by centuries of intrigue whispered that this was all... too easy.
"Wait for my signal. I'll personally get acquainted with this bastard," he commanded as his car stopped at the beginning of the alley.
Why was his intuition screaming about danger? He dismissed these thoughts. Unnecessary reflections. He got out of the car.
The alley was flooded with the headlights of his people. In the center, like a trapped animal, stood an old, cheap Honda. Likkus walked slowly, savoring the moment of triumph. Two loyal bodyguards followed him. He peered at the bastard's face through the windshield. The boy looked away, not daring to look him in the eye. But... there was no fear in him. No panic. And now... now he was even... smiling.
It's a trap!
The thought seared Likkus's mind a split second before the back door of the Honda smoothly opened.
It wasn't just a person who came out of the car. The very darkness inside the car seemed to condense, take shape, and step out. A figure that was used to scare newly turned Vampires. A name that was synonymous with the word "genocide" in their community. A man in full battle gear: tight-fitting plate armor, a long leather coat fluttering in the night wind. And a katana on his left hip. The very katana that inspired more terror in Vampires than any holy artifact. A sword that, according to rumors, destroyed any evil spirit with a single touch.
At that moment, Likkus understood everything. The boy's smile. His ostentatious courage. The ease with which they had been lured here. They were not hunters. They were bait.
And the Daywalker had come at their call.
The silence in the alley was thick and heavy. It was broken only by the quiet hum of the engines of the black sedans that had surrounded the old Honda.
"So, Haskiel, is it," Blade drawled lazily, breaking the silence. He leaned casually against the roof of the car, as if he were not surrounded by deadly predators, but on a picnic with friends. "Hey, why are you so pale at the sight of me? Oh, right... you're already pale!"
He chuckled hoarsely. This laughter, devoid of mirth, echoed off the walls, making the Vampires nervously shift from foot to foot.
"Blade..." Likkus hissed, barely restrained with fury. Fear fought in him with offended pride. He was instantly reworking the plan. There could be no more talk of harming the boy. Now the task was to get out of here alive and save face. "You know our clan. You know how we do business. We honor the order."
"It's one thing to know, another to see you all hunting my pal," Blade thumbed towards the car. "He's just a regular guy, you know. Not as tough as me. And he can't fight back. Why are you picking on the weak and infirm? That's not very aristocratic."
"He's a thief!" Metal rang in Likkus's voice. "He stole what belongs to our clan by right of blood! Something that a mere mortal can't even know about! So your words about him being a 'regular guy' are a lie!"
"To steal something, you need to know that it belongs to someone!" the "regular guy" himself intervened in their conversation. He got out of the car and stood next to Blade, feeling surprisingly calm under his protection. "Your Ghost Orchid didn't have a sign saying 'Property of the Haskiel Clan. Death for pilfering!'"
"Ignorance is no excuse!" Likkus growled.
"Alright, both of you shut up and listen to me!" Blade bellowed, and his voice instantly shut down the argument. The relaxation disappeared, replaced by an icy menace. "Here's the simple breakdown. Either I carve you all up, pale faces, and send you to your forefathers. Or you swear that you'll leave my pal alone. Forever. Forget about his existence."
"What about compensation for damages?" Likkus could not lose face. Even before Blade, he had to maintain the dignity of the clan.
"Your life is the best compensation," Blade cut off.
Silence returned to the street. Blade, as if from nowhere, produced a silver kunai and began to toss it relaxedly in his hand. The whistle of the blade cutting through the air grated on the Vampires' nerves more than any torture.
"If you kill us... the Patriarch won't let this go!" Likkus made a last attempt.
"Pfft, I've already danced with old man Alexander. I've grown a lot in skill since then," Blade grinned predatorily, showing his dhampir fangs. "So I'm ready for a rematch."
"The other clans won't stand for this!"
"And you think I flew to America for what? A vacation? It'll be better for me if all you bastards come running to me. Saves me time searching," he smirked again.
Likkus was in no mood for jokes. He was trapped. Blade was right. Either humiliation and life, or death and dishonor. Being young by pureblood standards, he was too weak to resist this death machine.
"Fine," he spat through his teeth. "I agree. We'll leave the boy alone. I swear by the name of the Haskiel clan..."