. . .
"Predators never expect to be hunted."
—Kit Rose
. . .
The light is fading.
Only a sliver of sun is left peering over the horizon, rapidly sinking... along with the rest of what little hope he has left with him.
On the other hand, maybe Jazz was right.
They had been way too cocky.
Too arrogant.
Buck spits out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth and gingerly wiped some of the specks away with the back of his hand in disgust.
A quick scan of his surroundings told him that yes, he was most likely the only one still conscious and standing up—if not the only one left alive. Though, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could still feel Luke's presence, even if it was fading in and out like a candlelight left to survive against the elements.
But somehow, in some way, Buck had a strange, sinking feeling in his unbeating heart that Luke's most likely not gonna last for the n–
...Oh.
He's gone. He's dead.
...so quickly.
Like a much-needed incentive (as if running for his life isn't enough motivation) Buck forced himself to keep going, completely uncaring about the noises he is making at this point.
The more distance he makes, the better.
The others had warned them.
They had told them again and again like broken records as soon as the King has finished making his decree last night all the way from his domain that the 'newborns' were still not ready to face a hunter of Artemis, let alone the likes that serves the goddess of shadows.
Even Jazz—ever the sensible, good for nothing coward—had whined and dragged his feet all day long, had annoyingly pestered the lot of them that they should wait for the time being or as he so eloquently said: 'leave Proserpina's hunters alone' and wait it out, just go find somewhere else to eat, had hesitated right up until the last minute before caving in to peer pressure (although that may be mostly because Buck had explicitly threatened to kick him outside their current shelter to face the midday sun), but now... now, Buck can feel the faintest flickers of regret coming out to life.
Regrets do come in the end.
Even though this was, after all, something they'd been preparing themselves for ever since they were turned... and while the King was someone Buck thinks he'd rather not meet again (thank you very much), even he couldn't deny that the King was prone to granting favors to anyone bringing in a live kill, especially if it's a follower of Proserpina at that.
At the thought, his hand clenched into a fist.
His friends just died.
...and he had nothing to show for it.
What's worse, there weren't even hunters of Artemis within the vicinity, let alone a single monster-mercenary (or whatever those idiots liked to call themselves) to be found in that dingy bar.
They'd been had.
Reports regarding the death of their kin had been popping up all over the country, mostly in London and Cambridge, overwhelming them to the point where they couldn't possibly look into each of them.
It was so sudden, so unexpected, that they hadn't even had the time to confirm what had been attacking the others... although there were rumors circulating that the hunters of Artemis are on a roll (but then again, those ladies don't just specifically attack vampires, they only go for monsters that were actively terrorizing those pathetic blood bags) or that Proserpina's mercenaries are sweeping in around the area.
Either way, both scenarios are just as worse.
No.
He was wrong.
Because being led into a wild goose chase only to be hunted down like a wild animal at the next second by an actual goddess was most definitely the worst-case scenario for someone like him.
On hindsight, it was suspicious.
Buck wonders to himself again—for what seemed to be the nth time—how all of them could have had missed it (sans Jazz, but then again, he doesn't count because that moron is such a skittish son of a b–), how they had fallen for it.
Hook, line, and sinker.
They believed themselves to be predators, planning to ambush what they believed to be followers of such self-righteous goddesses only for it to blow up right into their faces in the most awful way possible and oh, how the tides have turned so quickly.
It was humiliating.
Now, Buck dashed further into the woods.
Injured and alone.
It was eerily quiet, so quiet that he couldn't even hear the sound of crickets no matter how much he strained his hearing for any signs of life.
He wasn't sure if it's just a sudden case of paranoia, but his labored breath and careful steps are ringing loud and clear in his ears, almost too loud as he feels more than hears the rest of his friends' presence fade one by one to nothingness.
Until there was nothing left.
No one but him.
Fucking hell.
The truth is, Buck was fairly new to being a vampire compared to the lot of them. Just a few more months until he was even considered a year old, but he had heard the stories as soon as he was turned, no matter how meager or scarce there were about the deity their kind were supposedly to avoid at all costs.
'If the goddess of shadows is said to be in the area, it doesn't matter if it was true or not: the natural course of action is to move on another country and hope she doesn't notice you.'
