Renault

"Another victim of the plague? Don't laugh," he thought, looking at another line of the obituary in the newspaper. He knew the name. Baron Walter d'Arcant was one of the few mortals who had gotten dangerously close to the vampire elite and sometimes participated in their feasts together with Alice and his pretentious retinue, and sometimes they even entrusted him with some secrets. Renault knew all this very well and therefore immediately guessed that the inept baron had said something unnecessary somewhere.

He tapped his fingers nervously on the tabletop. Just because the Baron had been killed didn't mean Alice was in town. He could have been killed by anyone else still in this dark web, untouched by justice.

But there was hope.

He drank some more wine, lost in thought. How many years had passed? He had stopped counting since his old mother had died. Although she had given birth to him at a young age, Reno had watched helplessly as her face grew wrinkled, her eyes grew dim, and her hands trembled more and more, while he himself remained impeccably young. Then his father died, then his friend, also a hunter. Reno remained young and lush with a strength that hated its own reflection.

He was supposed to kill vampires. Not become one.

Involuntarily, he had to use the shadowy sources that provided blood to wealthy vampires. He didn't even want to know who his victims were. Not that he felt sorry for them - no, he never even began to count the victims among the random citizens who fell under his hot hand during the hunt. But it contradicted all his principles. It was a spit in the soul and the most shameless humiliation of his dignity.

Of course, Reno wanted revenge. Not just revenge, but in a way that would be remembered forever. Perhaps Reno didn't even kill this slippery snake at all, but tortured it for exactly as many years as he spent chasing the hated vampire. But while he was thinking through plans for revenge and chasing Alice all over England, he received news that the vampire had been spotted in Paris.

finds the traces of his enemy and follows them, forgetting about methods