Damn witches! Curse him for thinking he could have some fast food before he skipped town.

Evan shook the stake loose from his hand. If he hadn't just woken up from a decade-long slumber and had other things to do, he would have ripped the witch's throat out.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled until his anger went from a boil to a manageable simmer.

He chuckled.

There was no way that was some muddle-blooded witch. Even with the stick on the floor, the magic it was coated in burned at his skin and the inner flesh of his hand like poison. Powerful magic like that couldn't have come from the petite girl who had thrust it through his hand. A mortal with magical connections, that would explain why she smelled so appetizing.

He tore a scrap off of his shirt and wrapped it around his stinging hand. The last thing he needed was to get his blood anywhere someone could smell it. He crushed the stick into the pavement and smeared the stinky dust over the stray drops of blood. There. Not even a werewolf would be able to track him now.

With his wits about him, he sniffed the air. It was thick with the scents of lesser underdwellers, likely basking in the power of the hunter's moon. Any mortal blood out at this time of night would likely be laden with alcohol or a cocktail of drugs. Neither of which would solve his newly awakened hunger and heal the hole in his hand. The few humans he could smell in the vicinity were probably being stalked by other creatures anyway.

An ambulance screamed as it ran to the north side of town. Perfect. Since his fast food plans had fallen through, at least he would treat himself to a buffet. Then, after his belly was full, he could redirect his attention to getting vengeance on whatever witch was weaponizing mortals against him. Everything else would have to wait another month.

The light turned and he began his walk across the street. The street lamps were dim, so most of the cracked road and neglected buildings around him were illuminated only by the overhanging moon. 'For lease' signs hung in the dusty windows of storefronts and newspaper bins were empty. At the end of the block was the road leading up to the north side of town where the hospital would be, but down the road was a path that would weave around the sand of the beach and eventually lead to the wharf.

He stood for a moment, looking at the surf foaming against the bare sand, and back at the deserted street. The same street that, just a decade prior, would be decorated with late-night food stalls and that same stretch of sand that would be alight with bonfires and careless mortals. He turned away and started up the road.

Evan had seen countless things fall to pieces during his life. Empires, bloodlines, things stronger than a touristy beachside town. Of course things would go to shit with a witch lurking nearby. He could still smell her and the magic lingering on his hand. All he needed was a good meal, a new shirt, and to get rid of the witch, then he could do what he intended and move on to another town. Someplace not tainted by magic.

Once he reached the hospital, he followed his nose to the lab drawing station. As expected for this time of night, the small lobby was empty. But the doors to the blood bank in the back were locked. Unsurprising. Evan fiddled with the door handles. Would an alarm sound if he broke through the lock? Probably, and then he'd be forced to ditch town before getting his revenge.

He heard the soft thump of a heartbeat heading down the hall.

Was nothing going to go his way tonight?

He leaned into the shadow of an indoor plant, breathing in stale dust from the plastic and felt leaves. Someone came inside, swinging keys on one finger as they surveyed the space. From the look of it, they must've had some werewolf or ogre blood in them. Fitting for a security guard.

The guard turned to leave the area, not once noticing Evan lurking in the shadows. That was one of the many downsides to these mixed breeds. They never inherited the useful traits of the underdweller they were related to. Any pureblood werewolf would have known he was in there before even entering the room, and an ogre, well, Evan wouldn't have tried his luck attacking one of those. Not on a near-empty stomach.

Evan grabbed at the guard before he could reach the threshold of the hallway. He put up a decent fight, but even half-starved, Evan overpowered the mixed mortal, knocked him out, and relieved him of his keys.

He didn't consider feeding from the now unconscious guard. No, Evan considered himself a gourmet, and the guard's blood didn't smell particularly good before the attack. Now, it was tainted with bitter adrenaline, the vampire equivalent of a warm and cheap beer.

And he hadn't fallen so low as to stoop to that.

So, he went to the locked door to the blood bank and tried all of the keys before it finally opened. Now all he had to do was use his nose to find a suitable bag in the refrigerated unit. Why were there so many bags of type A and B?

Where was the mortal blood? Pure mortal blood was always type O and universally appealing to all underdwellers. Its purity tasted the best and, outside of a hospital or blood bank, was getting harder to find in town. There were so many local underdwellers mating with mortals now.

Evan didn't understand the appeal.

He sunk his fangs into a bag of 'O' that he found in the back of a fridge.

Mortals tasted good, but mating? What a dirty business to get into. But he had been raised that keeping his bloodline pure was of the utmost importance. Not that he cared for that idea much either. Why did he need to have any descendants? He wasn't going anywhere. He had eternity to himself, and that was the way he liked it.