The night was damp, the cobblestones slick with rain. Edinburgh's alleys twisted like veins through the city, and the four men walked together, their footsteps echoing softly. They had gone out for bread and wine, but the city held more than markets tonight.
From the shadows, figures emerged — hostile vampires, their eyes gleaming, their movements sharp. They had caught the scent of Étienne, Lukas, and Adrian, and they were hungry.
Étienne stepped forward, his posture elegant, his smile faint. "Gentlemen," he said softly, "must we do this here?"
The answer came in a hiss, fangs bared.
The fight began suddenly.
Lukas shifted, his wolf side surging. His strength was raw, his movements powerful, claws flashing as he struck. He fought with endurance, his body absorbing blows that would have felled a human.
Étienne moved like a dancer, precise and elegant. His speed was unmatched, his strikes deliberate. He disarmed one vampire with a flick of his wrist, his centuries of refinement turned into lethal grace.
Callum, though human, was not helpless. He drew his baton, the polished wood gleaming under the streetlight. He swung with practiced force, striking one attacker across the jaw, then another across the ribs. His training as a policeman gave him discipline, his fear sharpened into courage.
Adrian carried something unexpected. From beneath his coat, he drew an American Civil War–era revolver, its steel worn but functional. The weapon had been passed down through his family, a relic of history, and now it became his secret defense. He fired once, the crack echoing through the alley. The bullet struck true, forcing one vampire back.
The battle raged. Lukas was cut across the arm, silver dust burning his skin. Étienne was struck with a UV torch, his face searing with pain. Adrian fired again, his revolver steady, covering Lukas as he staggered. Callum defended Adrian's flank, baton swinging with fierce precision.
They were injured, sobbing with pain, but they fought on. Étienne's elegance turned into fury, Lukas's wolf side snarled through the burn, Adrian's revolver barked in the night, and Callum stood tall, his baton a shield against chaos.
Finally, the attackers fled, retreating into the shadows. The alley fell silent, the rain pattering softly against stone.
The four regrouped, their breaths ragged, their bodies aching. Adrian wiped blood from his forehead, his revolver heavy in his hand. Lukas clutched his arm, silver dust still burning. Étienne pressed a cloth to his scorched face, his smile faint but defiant. Callum stood tall, baton at his side, his chest heaving.
For a moment, they were not vampire, werewolf, dhampir, and policeman. They were simply men who had fought together, who had survived.
Callum broke the silence, his voice steady despite the tremor in it. "This is why you haven't attacked me, isn't it? Because you're not monsters. You're just… trying to live."
Étienne nodded, his eyes soft. "Exactly."
Adrian holstered his revolver, his voice calm. "We fight because we must. Not because we wish to."
Lukas exhaled, his wolf side fading. "And we protect each other. That's what matters."
Callum looked at them all, his fear easing into understanding. He had seen their pain, their vulnerability, their humanity. And for the first time, he believed them.