Fuck shoes or common sense. Dara ducked as Page swiped across his head. With all his might, he shoved Page away and darted towards the front door. Or just about any door as long as it led him out of this cursed house. Whatever Page was, Dara didn't want to see him again any time soon.

A blur of white and blue ripped through Dara's periphery. Silver fangs gleamed against the reddening tinge of the darkness. What the—that fast? Dara made sure to put a considerable distance between them. No time to waste. He whirled and drove his elbow deep into Page's neck. Good thing he took a few lessons in self-defense a few years back. Page crashed against his own bike, the metal crumpling and clattering on top of his form. The ante. They were by the ante.

He glanced back at the straight corridor towards the kitchen. Another backdoor waited for him there, but he wouldn't risk losing time by going there. Page could only stay down for as long. Dara turned to twist the knob when a force crashed deep into him, pinning him against the door. Wood splintered, shattered; the hinges screamed as they freed their bite off the frame.

An unholy scream flitted out of Dara's mouth, something Dad would have scolded him for. Almost in slow motion, Dara, Page, and the splintering door toppled to the ground. Air punched out of Dara's throat as his back slammed against the door's recoil when it hit the compact soil. With blurring vision, he rolled away, gasping when a clawed hand sailed past the tips of his hair.

Shit.

Tepid air slapped his cheeks as he scratched against the ground to pull himself up. The broken doo rasped against the ground when his bare feet kicked it away. Okay. Next up, get that thing off his tail. Something...

He looked around, scanning the length of the low, brick fence Page had around his property. Red moonlight made everything blaring to look at. Another curse flitted off his lips. Somewhere behind him, heavy breaths and footsteps rang. A low growl told him enough. Page was on his way to Dara. A few seconds—that was all he had.

Find something. Faster.

This side quest was nothing short of weird. First, his tire popped out of the blue, stranding him in the middle of nowhere. Next, a handsome stranger offered him a place to stay and a mechanic friend. And then...

Then, said handsome stranger was now a hulking, fanged figure chasing him through the endless patio. Did Page say something about feeding? What was he, a freaking vampire? Fucking luck Dara had.

A smaller shed caught Dara's eye. Toolshed, in fact. He recalled seeing Page disappear into it and come out with a bag of tools for his bike maintenance. A biking vampire. Ha. Nothing could be weirder than that. The toolshed would have to do.

He jabbed his heel against Page's advancing form again, keeping him back and launching Dara towards his target. The toolshed's door burst inward when he rammed his shoulder against the rotting surface. The harsh moonlight streamed behind him, casting his shadow all over open crates, shelves stacked to the brim with labeled jars, a wheelbarrow, a short-step ladder, and a spattering of deformed stools, each one missing an important component.

A second shadow flitted behind him. Dara turned to catch Page's weight. They tumbled to the ground, Dara pinned underneath him. Page snarled, features crumpling into pure aggression. His mundane eyes sparkled red, and the fangs jutting where his canines were supposed to be flashed silver. The smell of rust had never been this strong, and Dara worked in a chemical plan dealing with iron on a regular basis.

"Thank you for your service," Page muttered under his breath, chest heaving after the quick chase. Dara felt around his immediate radius, hands flexing and tapping the dirt. "I shall savor you until the last drop."

Dara's fingers closed around the first thing they reached as Page dived down. A metal ladder whipped in a wide arc, slamming into Page's head. The grip pinning Dara on the ground loosened a bit. That was all he needed. With a grunt, Dara kicked up, bare feet digging into Page's gut, sending him crashing against the wheelbarrow on his way back.

Dara snatched a curved rod from the nearest crates, opting for it instead of a blunt object such as the shovel. Page lunged again. This time, Dara was ready. They clashed, Dara aiming the rod such that the sharp bit pointed towards Page's neck. Flesh squelched. Thick, warm liquid snaked across Dara's arms. Oh.

Page's body stumbled away, ripping the slick rod off Dara's grip. A hateful rippled across his otherwise mesmerizing eyes. Blood dripped from the gaping wound on his neck, but he barely clawed against it. Didn't even seem to notice it was there.

"You vile wench," Page hissed, fangs untainted with Dara's blood. "I shall end you—"

He didn't get to finish as the short-step ladder found his face again. Dara backed out of the shed, keeping his eyes on the man collapsed on the compact soil. Then, he remembered to breathe.

Dear Lord. That was not the detour Dara looked forward to.