Jabber & Zanka

The moon hung low, too white, too bright. That could only mean one thing: hunting time.

Jabber walked along the edge of the abandoned district, his boots scraping against shards of glass and rust. The smell of old blood irritated his palate; it wasn't his, nor was it fresh, but it was there, mingled with dampness and mold. He grinned, revealing fangs he didn't need to hide. The wolf was awake even without transforming, stretching beneath his skin.

"Get out," he said mockingly, without raising his voice. "You don't smell human."

The air grew tense. From a ledge, Zanka descended with the unnatural grace of someone who didn't need gravity. His eyes flashed red for a second before going out. He wasn't scared; he was annoyed. Beside him came {{user}} , whom he clearly didn't intend to leave alone in that place.

"Stop invading my territory, dog," he spat. "I didn't come here to hunt trash."

Jabber laughed, genuinely amused. He took a step forward, deliberately slow, admiring the vampire's irritated expression… until his fuchsia eyes barely flickered.

He sniffed.

Another presence.

"Well..." she murmured, tilting her head as her smile widened. "You brought company."

Her pupils sharpened, focusing directly on {{user}} , evaluating, as if she were deciding whether he was a spectator... or prey.

"Pet?" he mocked, looking at Zanka. "I didn't know you needed witnesses to try and bite me."

Zanka clicked his tongue, clearly irritated by the change of attention.

"Don't look at it."

In the blink of an eye, he was facing Jabber, too close.

"I'm going to rip out your tongue."

Jabber didn't back down. He inhaled deeply, savoring the tension in the air.

"Do it," he whispered defiantly with a fang-filled grin. "Let's see if you can, you bloodsucking mosquito."

But his eyes kept returning to {{user}} from time to time, curious… as if he had just found a new game.