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Adam did.
It was supposed to act as motivation. Look at the blade, remember that his only goal in life—well, death now—was to retaliate against the vamp who started the turning. Julian was already gone, but his right-hand vamp? Rafe Silverson might not have meant to finish what Julian began, but by tearing Adam’s throat out as he sneered, “A life for a life,” he assured that Adam would never be human again.
By stealing Julian’s knife from evidence before he quit his job as a Grayson PD corporal, Adam assured that, when he finally got his hands on Rafe again, he’d achieve his utmost revenge by at least getting one meaningful slice in before he switched over to his trusty machete.
Of course, when he accidentally discovered the true magic inherent to Julian’s knife, everything changed. He still wanted nothing more than to track down Rafe and make him pay for ruining his life. But with the enchanted dagger pointing out whether a person was a Para or not, as well as helping him gauge the danger level, a whole new world opened up to him while he continued his search for the bastard corpse.
He was forced into this new existence. For months now, he struggled with being a paranormal when, his whole life, he was convinced that being a human was way better. Deep down, Adam knew he couldn’t live like this forever; so long as they kept their heads and stayed out of the sunlight, Nightwalkers were basically immortal so when he said forever, he meant it. Nope. He refused to think he was stuck like this. As soon as he got his revenge on Rafe, he had every intention of strolling outside in the daylight and letting the sun take him.
Until then, he would take as many ferocious, cruel, man-eating vampires with him before he went.
Grayson was his territory. First, when he patrolled its streets as a beat cop, and now, as some kind of vamp vigilante. Unless the brutal Nightwalker had intel about where he could find the missing Rafe Silverson, Adam didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted them gone. And even if they did know? He’d let them talk—and then he’d let his sword sing.
It all came down to the red glow surrounding his blade. Even though he knew the cops he used to work alongside would hate to know he went rogue (in the human sense, not as a vamp), he did it anyway. He needed the purpose, and—as a fledgling Nightwalker who refused to act like a parasite who drank straight from the vein—he needed a way to temper his own bloodlust.
Adam would kill, but only those who deserved it. He had the right to do it, too, even if he had turned in his badge once he realized there was no going back to being human. The Claws Clause was clear. A vamp who drained its donors instead of just taking a sip needed to be put down. Point blank. And since the magic inherent to his sword was infallible, the second the blade glowed red, Adam knew he had a man-eater on his hands.
As soon as he caught up to them, he’d have blood on his blade.
That was his goal tonight.
He tore down the backstreets, every dip, every crack, every patch of uneven sidewalk familiar beneath his sneakers. As a human cop in the prime of his life—twenty-eight when he was pronounced dead and turned—Adam had always been fast. As a Nightwalker? He didn’t have wings, unlike some Othersiders, but it seemed like he was flying all the same.
The ruby-red glow brightened. Breathing deeply through his nose, he could scent a dark edge to the rancid meat and old carrion stink that signaled that he was locked on another Nightwalker. The more blood they spilled, the more bodies they were responsible for, the more the stench of death clung to the vicious vamps. The guy he was closing in on was an old pro at murder.
Stomach clenching, fury rising, Adam hated to think he might carry that same stink himself one d
ay.
He confessed that once to Shea Moonshadow, a friendly witch who tried healing the worst of his thirst shortly after he turned. She was the witch that Julian Koenig, the former king of the Nightwalkers, tried to claim. She was also the witch whose healing touch all but made it so that he would survive the turning and wake up again as a Para instead of going to the grave as a human.
In the months since his attack, Adam had forgiven Shea for that. He knew now it was a kindness, even if he would’ve chosen death time and time again over being turned. She didn’t know that, though, and he respected her talent and her heart. In this new existence, he actually thought of her as his friend.
Her mate? Colton Wolfe… that one was more complicated. They had a history between them, but a bond that was forged when they both took on Julian. Colt was actually the one who landed the killing strike on the former king, and he was the one who—using his enhanced shifter senses—assured Adam that, while his “spicy scent” wasn’t a favorite of his, he didn’t stink as bad as other corpses.
So long as he executed the threatening vamps with his enchanted sword or the machete he habitually kept strapped to his back, he was in the clear. The second he turned into a true parasite and started taking blood from a source instead of a blood bag, that would change.
Good thing that was never going to happen.
For now, Adam relied on his nose. His sight was crazy good now, too, even if he was too nearly turned to leave his mirrored sunglasses at home. It was a Nightwalker thing. Any light—and he meant any light—was too bright for his sensitive peepers. The only way to protect them was with sunglasses, and even if wearing them at night marked him as a Nightwalker, he wore them anyway.
Why not? One glimpse at his newly pale complexion, his strangely silver eyes, the inch-long fangs, and the tapered, thin, black claws that his normal human fingertips had become and anyone would know exactly what he was.
The hissing, slashing Nightwalker that he finally caught up to was proof of that. He had on the trademark shades, the unnaturally pale skin, fangs that protruded past his lips as he lunged, trying to dodge Adam’s blade while going for his throat.
Adam didn’t need to see the blood dripping down his chin to tell that he was a rogue vampire. That was just a bonus.
Thanks to another tip from Hudson Moonshadow, he knew that this joker was also newly turned, but that he didn’t seem to understand that while a Nightwalker needed blood to survive, even a pint was enough to quell the thirst.
Taking ten—draining a human donor to the quick—wasn’t just greedy. It was a death sentence.
Once he was sure that this corpse had it coming, Adam didn’t hesitate; based on Hudson’s tip, he knew it was pointless to mention Rafe since this vamp was just too new. At its full length, coupled with Adam’s power and strength, the enchanted sword made it easy to go for the Nightwalker’s neck.
The head landed with a thud.
The body—too stupid to know it was dead… again—stayed upright for a moment before collapsing on the asphalt.
Now that the threat was gone, the sword lost its red glow. Adam took the tip of his claw and stuck it in the dip along the hilt. With a soft woosh, the sword transformed back into the small dagger. He never bothered with a full sheath for the sword—he didn’t see why he should when the sword was only out when he was using it—but he knew better than to flash a blade in front of a human. Better safe than sorry. He tucked the dagger in the sheath he kept strapped above his shoe before covering it with the cuff of his jeans.
