Raymond Cruz: Blood Moon

BLOOD MOON 

Chapter 34

March 14. 3am. The clock strikes three. The devil’s hour. The moon hangs low, swollen and blood-red, casting its sickly glow over the empty streets. Raymond Cruz walks, his boots crunching on the frost-kissed pavement. The air is sharp, biting, but he doesn’t feel it. He feels only the weight of the holy dagger in his hand, the cold cross pressing against his chest. The streets are silent, scarred, pockmarked like the face of a soldier who’s seen too much. The snow has melted, but the frost remains, clinging to the edges of the world like a ghost.

He sees it then—the vampire wolf. It stands at the corner, its fur black as the void, eyes glowing like embers in the dark. Its fangs glint, sharp and wet, and its breath comes in ragged, hungry bursts. Raymond doesn’t hesitate. He never hesitates. He lunges, the dagger slicing through the air, but the beast is fast, too fast. It dodges, and his blade strikes the red brick wall of an old 19th century pub, now a 21st century convenience store with flickering neon lights. The impact jars his arm, sends a shock through his bones. He grits his teeth, curses under his breath.

The vampire wolf snarls, lunges. They collide in a tangle of claws and fists, rolling into the street corner. Raymond’s coat tears, the fabric ripping like paper. The beast’s claws rake across his chest, hot and searing, but he doesn’t cry out. He can’t. He drives the dagger upward, aiming for the heart, but the wolf twists, its jaws snapping inches from his throat. He smells its breath—rotten meat and copper, the stench of death.

They struggle, their movements frantic, desperate. Raymond’s muscles burn, his breath comes in ragged gasps. The wolf’s eyes bore into his, filled with a hunger that’s more than physical. It wants his soul. It wants everything. But Raymond Cruz has nothing left to give. He’s tired, so tired, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop.

With a roar, he shoves the beast back, slams it against the brick wall. The dagger finds its mark this time, plunging into the wolf’s chest. The creature howls, a sound that echoes through the empty streets, through the very fabric of the night. Its body convulses, then stills. The glow fades from its eyes, leaving only darkness.

Raymond pulls the dagger free, wipes the blade on his torn coat. He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, his body trembling with exhaustion. The moon watches, silent and red, as he turns away.

Raymond turns, his back to the corpse, the dagger heavy in his hand. The night is quiet now, too quiet, like the world itself is holding its breath. He takes a step, then another, his boots scraping against the cracked pavement. His chest burns where the claws tore through him, but he ignores it. He’s used to pain. Used to the scars.

But then he hears it—a low, guttural growl, wet and ragged, like a death rattle that won’t end. His body tenses before his mind can catch up. He knows that sound. He’s heard it before, in the dark corners of his nightmares, in the alleys where the shadows move on their own. He spins, the dagger flashing in the blood-red moonlight, but he’s too slow.

The vampire wolf is on him, its jaws wide, its teeth like shards of broken glass. Its eyes are wild, feral, filled with a hatred that’s centuries old. Raymond sees it all in an instant—the way its fur bristles, the way its muscles coil, the way its claws dig into the ground as it lunges. He remembers the first time he saw it, years ago, in a village swallowed by fog. It had killed everyone—men, women, children—and left their bodies hanging from the trees like macabre ornaments. He had tracked it then, fought it, thought he’d killed it. But it had escaped, slipping into the night like smoke.

Now it’s back, and it’s faster, angrier, hungrier. Its claws rake across his shoulder, tearing through flesh and fabric. The pain is sharp, immediate, but Raymond doesn’t falter. He can’t. He drives the dagger upward, aiming for the beast’s throat, but it twists, its jaws snapping shut inches from his face. He feels its breath, hot and rancid, and for a moment, he’s back in that village, surrounded by death, by the stench of blood and decay.

The wolf’s claws dig into his chest, pinning him to the ground. Its weight is crushing, its eyes burning with a malice that’s almost human. Raymond struggles, his muscles straining against the beast’s strength, but it’s no use. The wolf leans in, its fangs glinting in the moonlight, and for the first time in years, Raymond feels fear. Real fear.

But then he remembers the dagger, still clutched in his hand. With a roar, he drives it upward, into the wolf’s side. The beast howls, its body convulsing, but it doesn’t let go. Its jaws snap shut, inches from his throat, and Raymond can feel the heat of its breath, the sharpness of its teeth. He twists the dagger, pushes it deeper, and the wolf’s howl turns into a gurgle, its body shuddering as the life drains from it.

Raymond stumbles backward, his boots slipping on the frost-slick pavement. The vampire wolf snarls, its eyes burning like twin hellfires, its claws scraping against the ground as it lunges. He can feel its hunger, its rage, its ancient, unrelenting hatred. His chest heaves, his body battered and bleeding, but his grip on the dagger remains firm. He knows he can’t outrun it. Not this time. Not again.

His eyes dart to the side, catching the rusted metal door of a garbage compactor, half-open, its interior dark and reeking of decay. He moves without thinking, his body driven by instinct, by desperation. He feints left, the dagger flashing in the blood-red moonlight, and the wolf snaps at the blade, its jaws closing on empty air. Raymond pivots, driving his shoulder into the beast’s side, forcing it toward the compactor. The wolf snarls, claws raking at his arms, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

With a grunt, he shoves the beast through the doorway, its body slamming against the metal walls. The wolf twists, its jaws snapping, but Raymond slams the door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty street. He braces his weight against the door, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as the wolf throws itself against the metal, the impact rattling his bones.

“For God is not a God of confusion,” Raymond rasps, his voice low and steady, “but of peace.” The words are a lifeline, a prayer, a weapon. He recites them like a mantra, each syllable a shield against the chaos, against the fear clawing at the edges of his mind. The wolf howls, its voice muffled but no less terrifying, and Raymond presses harder against the door, his muscles screaming in protest.

“He will keep in perfect peace,” he continues, his voice rising, “those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in Him.” The door shakes, the metal groaning under the force of the wolf’s fury, but Raymond doesn’t let go. He can’t. He won’t. The dagger is still in his hand, the cross cold against his chest, and he clings to them both, to the faith that has carried him through countless nights like this one.

The wolf’s snarls grow louder, more desperate, and Raymond feels the door begin to give. He tightens his grip, his voice rising to a shout. “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, for they trust in You!” The words are a command, a plea, a declaration of war. The door shudders, the wolf’s claws scraping against the metal, but Raymond holds firm.

And then, silence. The wolf’s snarls fade, replaced by the sound of grinding metal, of machinery coming to life. The compactor activates, its gears turning, its walls closing in. Raymond steps back, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion. He watches as the door rattles, as the wolf’s howls turn to screams, to silence. The compactor jams, accompanied by the sounds of gears whirring and metal clanking, refusing to crush the demonic wolf.

Raymond stands there for a moment, his breath fogging in the cold air, the dagger still clutched in his hand. 

The door rattles violently, the metal groaning under the force of the vampire wolf’s fury. Raymond leans his full weight against it, his boots sliding on the frost-covered pavement. Each impact sends a shock through his body, his arms trembling as he presses harder, his muscles screaming in protest. The wolf’s snarls are deafening, its claws scraping against the metal, leaving deep gouges. Raymond can feel its rage, its hunger, its ancient, unrelenting hatred. He grits his teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and fumbles for the Bluetooth earbud in his ear.

“Al,” he barks, his voice hoarse, “I’ve got it trapped. For now.”

The earbud crackles, and Al’s voice comes through—raspy, thick with the grit of a thousand cigarettes and a lifetime of Jersey diner coffee. “Good, good. Now kill it, Cruz. Don’t screw around. You know how these things go.”

The wolf slams into the door again, and Raymond staggers, his shoulder screaming in pain. “I’m trying, Al. But something’s… off. My head’s all messed up. I feel… I don’t know. Like I’m turning into one of them.”

Al coughs, a wet, hacking sound, and Raymond can practically hear him spitting into a trash can. “What? No. No way. You got the antidote last week. You’re clean. Stop screwing around and finish the job.”

Raymond’s grip on the door slips for a moment, and the wolf’s claws tear through the gap, narrowly missing his face. He shoves back, his voice rising. “What if it’s resistant, Al? What if the vampire in me is fighting the antidote?”

“Resistant? Jesus, Cruz, you’ve been watching too many damn movies. There’s no such thing. You’re fine. Now kill that thing and get your three grand. I got other hunters to manage, you know.”

The wolf howls, the sound echoing through the empty streets, and Raymond feels a cold sweat break out on his forehead. His vision blurs for a moment, and he shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Al, I’m telling you, something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

“Cruz,” Al snaps, his voice sharp, “you’re not turning into a vampire. You’re just tired. You’re always tired. Now kill the damn thing and call me when it’s done. And don’t forget to take pictures for the client.”

The line goes dead, and Raymond curses under his breath. The wolf slams into the door again, and this time, Raymond feels it give, just a little. He tightens his grip on the dagger, his knuckles white, and takes a deep breath. 

“If I just hold out til sunrise… til the end of the blood moon… the sun will fry him.”

Raymond sits slumped against the rusted metal door of the garbage compactor, his body heavy with exhaustion. The frost-covered pavement bites through his slacks, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. The vampire wolf’s snarls have faded to low, guttural growls, but he knows it’s still there, waiting, biding its time. The moon hangs low, its blood-red glow dimming as the night stretches on. Raymond checks his watch. Four hours until sunrise. Four hours until the beast might finally burn.

He keeps the dagger in his hand, the cold cross pressing against his chest, and recites passages from the Bible under his breath. The words are a lifeline, a way to keep the confusion at bay, to keep the creeping fear from taking hold. He feels it still—the strange, gnawing sensation in his gut, the way his vision blurs at the edges, the way his thoughts twist and turn like smoke. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and focuses on the horizon, where the first faint hints of dawn are beginning to bleed into the sky.

The hours crawl by, each minute stretching into an eternity. The streets remain empty, silent, but Raymond knows that won’t last. Soon, the city will wake up, and the world will start moving again. 

7:02am. He checks his watch. Five minutes to sunrise. He stands, his body stiff and aching, and presses his ear to the door. Silence. He waits, counting the seconds, until the first rays of sunlight break over the rooftops, casting long shadows across the pavement.

He opens the door slowly, the hinges creaking in protest. The compactor is dark, the air thick with the stench of decay. The vampire wolf lies in a heap, its fur matted with blood and filth, its body still. Raymond steps inside, the dagger raised, ready to strike. But then the wolf’s eyes snap open, glowing like embers in the dark, and it lunges.

Raymond barely has time to react. The wolf slams into him, its claws raking across his chest, and they tumble out of the compactor, into the alley. Raymond struggles, his muscles screaming in protest, but the wolf is relentless, its jaws snapping inches from his face. They roll into the street, the pavement scraping against Raymond’s back, and he hears the sound of footsteps, of voices.

Two pedestrians are making their way down the sidewalk, their faces pale with shock as they see the tangle of man and beast in the middle of the street. The woman screams, the man shouts, and Raymond feels a surge of panic. He can’t let them see. He can’t let them know.

With a roar, he shoves the wolf off him, the dagger flashing in the sunlight. The wolf snarls, its eyes burning with hatred, and lunges again. Raymond sidesteps, driving the dagger into its side, but the beast twists, its claws tearing through his coat. They struggle, their movements frantic, desperate, as the pedestrians scatter, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear and confusion.

Raymond grits his teeth, his body trembling with exhaustion, and drives the dagger upward, into the wolf’s chest. The beast howls, its body convulsing, but Raymond doesn’t stop. He twists the blade, pushes it deeper, until the wolf’s howl turns into a gurgle, its body shuddering as the life drains from it.

Finally, it collapses, its weight pressing down on him. Raymond lies there for a moment, breathing hard, his body trembling with exhaustion. The sun watches, silent and bright, as he pushes the beast off him and staggers to his feet. The streets are alive now, filled with the early morning sounds of the city.

Raymond wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers coming away smeared with blood. It’s his own—warm, metallic, leaking from a split lip where the vampire wolf’s claws caught him. He stares at it for a moment, the crimson stain glistening in the pale morning light. His tongue flicks out instinctively, tasting it, and something inside him shifts.

The taste is sharp, electric, and it sends a jolt through his body. His vision blurs, the edges of the world twisting and warping, and he feels a strange, gnawing hunger rise in his gut. It’s not the hunger for food, for rest, for anything human. It’s deeper, darker, more primal. His chest tightens, his breath coming in shallow gasps, and he clutches at the cross around his neck, but it feels cold, lifeless, like a piece of dead metal.

“No,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, desperate. “No, no, no.”

But the hunger grows, spreading through him like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. His thoughts twist and turn, his mind a storm of confusion and rage. He feels it then—the presence, the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows of his soul, waiting for this moment. It’s a demon, ancient and malevolent, and it’s awake now, its voice a low, guttural growl in the back of his mind.

*Feed,* it whispers, the word echoing through his skull. *Feed.*

Raymond stumbles, his body trembling with the effort to resist, but it’s no use. The hunger is too strong, the demon’s grip too tight. He turns, his eyes scanning the street, and sees them—innocent bystanders, their faces pale with shock, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear and confusion. A woman clutches her child’s hand, a man fumbles for his phone, and Raymond feels the hunger surge, overwhelming him.

He takes a step toward them, his movements jerky, unnatural. His vision narrows, the world reduced to the pulse of their veins, the warmth of their blood. The demon’s voice grows louder, more insistent, and Raymond feels his humanity slipping away, replaced by something darker, something monstrous.

The woman sees him coming, her eyes wide with terror, and she pulls her child closer, backing away. Raymond’s lips curl into a snarl, his fangs glinting in the sunlight, and he lunges.

Chapter 35

The sound of boots slamming against pavement cuts through the chaos. Raymond’s head snaps up, his vision still blurred, his fangs bared. Two figures emerge from the shadows, their movements swift and deliberate. Vampire hunters. He recognizes them instantly—their black coats, their holy weapons glinting in the dim light. One is tall and wiry, a silver-tipped stake in his hand. The other is shorter, stockier, wielding a crossbow loaded with wooden bolts. Their faces are grim, their eyes locked on him.

“Cruz!” the taller one shouts, his voice sharp, accusing. “What the hell happened to you?”

Raymond doesn’t answer. He can’t. The hunger is still there, gnawing at him, the demon’s voice a constant growl in his mind. He snarls, his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike. The hunters exchange a glance, then move in unison, their weapons raised.

The first bolt flies, and Raymond ducks, his movements unnaturally fast. The wooden shaft grazes his shoulder, and he hisses, the pain sharp and searing. The taller hunter lunges, the stake aimed at his heart, but Raymond sidesteps, his claws raking across the man’s arm. The hunter grunts, stumbling back, but the shorter one is already there, firing another bolt.

This one hits its mark, piercing Raymond’s side. He roars, the sound inhuman, and tears the bolt free, the wound already healing. The hunters press their advantage, their movements coordinated, relentless. Raymond fights back, his claws slashing, his fangs snapping, but they’re good. Too good. He can feel the demon’s grip weakening, his body faltering under the onslaught.

He needs the antidote. It’s in his car, just a few feet away. A black sedan with tinted windows, parked at the curb. He can see it, but the hunters are in his way, their weapons flashing in the dim light. With a roar, he charges, his body slamming into the taller hunter, sending him sprawling. The shorter one fires again, but Raymond dodges, his movements frantic, desperate.

He reaches the car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the door.

“You’re infected, Cruz,” the shorter one says, his voice calmer but no less urgent. “You know the rules. We can’t let you walk away like this.”

Raymond’s voice comes out as a guttural growl, barely recognizable. “I’m… still me. I can fight it.”

“Bullshit,” the taller hunter snaps, his grip tightening on the stake. “You’re already gone. Look at you! You’re one of them now. And you know what we do to them.”

The shorter hunter adjusts his aim, his finger hovering over the trigger. “We don’t want to do this, Cruz. But we don’t have a choice. You’d do the same if it were us.”

Raymond’s eyes dart between them, his vision blurred, his thoughts a storm of confusion and rage. The hunger is still there, gnawing at him, but he clings to the last shreds of his humanity. “I just… need the antidote,” he rasps. “It’s in my car. Let me get it.”

The taller hunter shakes his head. “You’re not going anywhere. Not like this.”

The shorter hunter fires first, the wooden bolt slicing through the air. Raymond ducks, his movements unnaturally fast, but the bolt grazes his shoulder, the pain sharp and searing. He hisses, his claws slashing out, but the taller hunter is already there, the stake aimed at his heart.

Raymond sidesteps, the stake grazing his side, and counters with a brutal swipe of his claws. The taller hunter grunts, stumbling back, his arm bleeding from the deep gashes. “Damn it, Cruz!” he shouts. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be!”

The shorter hunter reloads quickly, his movements smooth and practiced. “We’re trying to help you, Cruz,” he says, his voice steady. “But you’re not giving us a choice.”

Raymond snarls, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “I don’t need your help. I just need the antidote.”

The taller hunter lunges again, the stake aimed at Raymond’s chest. Raymond grabs his wrist, twisting it until the stake clatters to the ground. The hunter curses, throwing a punch that connects with Raymond’s jaw, but Raymond barely feels it. He shoves the hunter back, his claws raking across the man’s chest, and turns just in time to dodge another bolt from the crossbow.

The shorter hunter fires again, the bolt embedding itself in the car door behind Raymond. “Stand down, Cruz!” he shouts. “This doesn’t have to end like this!”

Raymond’s vision narrows, the world reduced to the pulse of their veins, the warmth of their blood. The demon’s voice grows louder, more insistent, and he feels his humanity slipping away. “I… can’t,” he growls, his voice barely human. “I can’t stop it.”

The taller hunter picks up the stake, his face pale but determined. “Then we’ll stop it for you.”

Raymond charges, his movements frantic, desperate. He slams into the taller hunter, sending him sprawling, but the shorter one is already there, firing another bolt. This one hits its mark, piercing Raymond’s side. He roars, the sound inhuman, and tears the bolt free, the wound already healing.

The hunters are on him in an instant, their weapons raised, but Raymond kicks out, his boot connecting with the shorter one’s chest, sending him stumbling back. He yanks the door open, his fingers closing around the vial in the glove compartment. The antidote. His last hope.

The taller hunter lunges, the stake aimed at his heart, but Raymond twists, the weapon grazing his side. He uncorks the vial with his teeth, the liquid inside glowing faintly in the dim light. The hunter’s eyes widen, and he reaches for it, but Raymond is faster. He drinks it in one gulp, the liquid burning as it slides down his throat.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the pain hits, sharp and searing, like fire coursing through his veins. He collapses against the car, his body convulsing, the demon’s voice a deafening roar in his mind. The hunters watch, their weapons raised, their faces pale with shock.

And then, silence. The pain fades, the hunger recedes, and Raymond feels the demon’s grip loosen, its voice fading to a whisper, then to nothing. He takes a deep breath, his body trembling with exhaustion, and looks up at the hunters.

“It’s me,” he rasps, his voice hoarse but human. “It’s me.”

The taller hunter lowers his stake, his face a mix of relief and disbelief. “Jesus, Cruz. You scared the hell out of us.”

The shorter hunter holsters his crossbow, shaking his head. “You’re lucky we didn’t put you down for good.”

Raymond slumps against the car, the vial still clutched in his hand, the world spinning around him. The streets are empty again, scarred and silent, waiting for the next fight, the next hour, the next breath.

The taller hunter, still clutching his silver-tipped stake, steps closer to Raymond, his face a mix of anger and disbelief. “You’re telling me you let your injection lapse? Are you out of your damn mind, Cruz? You know what happens when you skip it. You think all you need is God inside you? God won’t save you. Not if you don’t take your antidote.”

Raymond leans heavily against the car, his body still trembling from the aftermath of the transformation. He wipes the blood from his lip, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s not about the antidote. I took it. I’m not an idiot. But it’s not working like it used to. The demons… they’re getting stronger. It’s something about the blood moon. You’ve seen it—vampires breaking out in the day, wolves howling at noon. This isn’t normal. Something’s changing.”

The shorter hunter, his crossbow now slung over his shoulder, steps forward, his brow furrowed. “You’re saying the rules don’t apply anymore? That’s a hell of a theory, Cruz. But it doesn’t explain why you’re out here, half-turned, risking your life and everyone else’s.”

Raymond’s eyes narrow, his voice rising with frustration. “I’m not making this up. You think I don’t know the risks? You think I don’t feel it every damn day? The blood moon’s messing with everything. The vampires, the wolves, the demons—they’re not following the old patterns. They’re adapting. Evolving. And if we don’t figure out why, we’re all dead.”

The taller hunter scoffs, shaking his head. “You sound like one of those conspiracy nuts. ‘The blood moon’s changing everything!’ Give me a break. You skipped your shot, Cruz. Admit it. You got sloppy.”

Raymond slams his fist against the car door, the sound echoing down the empty street. “I didn’t skip it! I took it on time, just like always. But it’s not enough anymore. The demons… they’re fighting back. They’re resistant. I felt it in there—” He taps his temple, his voice dropping to a growl. “—like they’ve been waiting for this. Waiting for the blood moon to tip the scales.”

The shorter hunter exchanges a glance with his partner, his expression uneasy. “If what you’re saying is true… if the demons are getting stronger… we’re in deeper trouble than we thought.”

The taller hunter hesitates, his grip on the stake loosening slightly. “Even if you’re right, Cruz, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a liability right now. You’re dangerous. You almost killed those people back there. What if we hadn’t shown up? What then?”

Raymond looks away, his jaw tightening. “I know. I screwed up. But I’m telling you, this isn’t just about me. It’s bigger than that. The blood moon’s changing the game. And if we don’t figure out how to fight back, none of us are going to make it.”

The shorter hunter sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, Cruz. Say we believe you. What do we do about it? How do we fight something that’s stronger than the rules we’ve been living by?”

Raymond straightens, his eyes blazing with determination. “We adapt. We find new rules. And we do it fast. Because if we don’t, the next blood moon won’t just be a warning. It’ll be the end.”

The taller hunter shakes his head, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “You better be right about this, Cruz. Because if you’re not, you’re not just risking your life. You’re risking all of ours.”

Raymond nods, his expression grim. “I know. And if I’m wrong, you can put a stake through my heart yourself.”

The hunters exchange another glance, their silence heavy with unspoken tension. “Maybe if the price is right.”

“Are you here to hunt me or something?”

The heavier hunter threw his hands in the air. “We were sent by dispatch! The sun was rising and you still didn’t send a picture of the dead wolf!”

“Yeah, so we were here to pick up your contract,” the taller one added.

“Well, I killed the vampire wolf, so y’all can go home.”

Raymond slides into the driver’s seat of his black sedan, the engine growling to life as he grips the wheel with trembling hands. The sun hangs high in the sky, its light harsh and unrelenting, but it does little to dispel the storm raging in his mind. The confrontation with the hunters replays in his head like a broken record—their accusations, their disbelief, their warnings. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog, but the dizziness lingers, a heavy weight pressing against his skull. The blood moon may be gone, but its shadow still clings to him, dark and unshakable.

The city blurs past as he drives, the streets alive with the usual chaos of midday. Pedestrians cross without looking, cars honk impatiently, and the world moves on, oblivious to the battle he’s just fought. Raymond barely registers it. His hands tighten on the wheel, his knuckles white, as he navigates the familiar route home. His apartment building looms ahead, its brick facade weathered and unremarkable. He parks haphazardly, not bothering to straighten the car, and stumbles out, his legs unsteady beneath him. The sunlight feels wrong on his skin, too bright, too sharp, like it’s cutting through him.

He fumbles with his keys at the front door, his hands shaking so badly he drops them twice. The lock finally clicks, and he pushes the door open, stepping into the dim hallway. The elevator ride feels like an eternity, the hum of machinery grating against his frayed nerves. When the doors open on his floor, he walks down the hall, his boots echoing against the linoleum. The sunlight streams through the windows at the end of the hallway, but it feels distant, unreal.

He reaches his apartment, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open. The darkness inside is absolute. No light spills from the windows, no glow from the kitchen or living room. He frowns, his hand instinctively reaching for the light switch. He flips it, but nothing happens. The room remains shrouded in shadow.

“What the hell?” he mutters, his voice hoarse. He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and fumbles for his phone, using its dim screen to illuminate the space. The furniture is where he left it—the couch, the table, the TV. But something feels off. The air is heavy, oppressive, like the apartment itself is holding its breath.

He moves to the window, pulling back the curtain to let in the daylight. The sun’s rays spill across the floor, casting sharp, angular shadows. He stares out at the city, his reflection faint in the glass. His face is pale, his eyes hollow, his lips still smeared with dried blood. He wipes at them with the back of his hand, his mind racing.

“Why are the lights off?” he whispers to himself, his voice barely audible. He checks the breaker box in the hallway, but everything is in place. The power should be on. He returns to the living room, his unease growing. The silence is deafening, broken only by the sound of his own breathing.

He sits on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands. The dizziness returns, stronger now, and he feels the weight of the night pressing down on him, even in the daylight. The sunlight streaming through the window feels wrong, too bright, too harsh, like it’s exposing something he’d rather keep hidden. He closes his eyes, trying to steady himself, but the darkness behind his eyelids feels alive, shifting, writhing.

When he opens his eyes again, he freezes. The shadows in the corner of the room seem to move, twisting and coiling like smoke. He stares, his heart pounding, as the darkness takes shape. A figure emerges, tall and gaunt, its eyes glowing like embers even in the daylight.

Raymond’s breath catches in his throat. The figure steps forward, its movements slow and deliberate, and he feels the cold grip of fear tightening around his chest. The sunlight flickers, and the room seems to tilt, the walls closing in.

The figure speaks, its voice a low, guttural growl. “You thought you could escape, Raymond. But the blood moon’s shadow is long, and it reaches even into the day.”

Raymond’s vision blurs, the room spinning around him. He tries to stand, to fight, but his body betrays him, collapsing back onto the couch. The last thing he sees before the darkness takes him is the figure’s glowing eyes, burning like twin hellfires in the light of day.

Chapter 36

Time??? Raymond’s eyes flutter open, his head pounding like a drum. The room is dim, the curtains drawn, but a sliver of daylight cuts through, illuminating the figure standing over him. His heart skips a beat when he sees her—Karina, his wife, her dark hair disheveled, her face pale with fear. Her hands grip his gun, the black steel engraved with a cross, the barrel trembling as it points directly at him. The holy silver bullets inside gleam faintly in the dim light, a cruel reminder of the weapon’s purpose.

“Karina,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. He tries to sit up, but the dizziness hits him like a wave, forcing him back down. “What are you doing? Put the gun down.”

Her eyes are wide, filled with a terror he’s never seen before. She takes a step back, her grip tightening on the gun. “Don’t move, Raymond. Don’t you dare move.”

He freezes, his hands slowly rising in surrender. “Karina, it’s me. It’s Raymond. Please, put the gun down. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring *you*?” Her voice cracks, a mix of anger and fear. “You’re the one who came home last night, covered in blood, talking to yourself like a madman. You didn’t even look at me, Raymond. You didn’t even look at us.” Her free hand moves to her stomach, cradling the small bump where their child grows. “You scared me. You still scare me.”

Raymond’s chest tightens, guilt and fear twisting together in a knot. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve been… I’ve been fighting something. Something bad. But I’m still me, Karina. I’m still your husband.”

Her eyes narrow, the gun steadying slightly. “Are you? Because the man who came home last night wasn’t you. He was… something else. Something cold. Something dangerous.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Tell me the truth, Raymond. Are you a vampire? Are you possessed by a demon?”

The question hits him like a punch to the gut. He wants to lie, to tell her everything’s fine, but he can’t. Not to her. Not when she’s looking at him like that, her eyes searching his for any sign of the man she married.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been fighting it. I took the antidote. I thought it was enough. But something’s wrong, Karina. The blood moon… it’s changing things. The demons, the vampires—they’re getting stronger. And I… I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight it.”

Tears well in her eyes, but she doesn’t lower the gun. “You should have told me,” she says, her voice trembling. “You should have let me help you. Instead, you shut me out. You shut *us* out.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he says, his voice desperate. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

“Well, I am afraid,” she snaps, her voice rising. “I’m afraid of you, Raymond. I’m afraid of what you’ve become. And I’m afraid for our baby. What if you… what if you hurt us?”

The words cut deeper than any blade. He feels the weight of them, the truth in them, and it nearly breaks him. “I would never hurt you,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. “Never. You have to believe me.”

She hesitates, the gun wavering slightly. For a moment, he thinks she might lower it. But then her eyes harden, and she takes another step back. “Prove it,” she says. “Prove you’re still you.”

He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know if he can. But he has to try. Slowly, carefully, he sits up, his hands still raised. “Karina,” he says, his voice soft, pleading. “Look at me. Really look at me. I’m still here. I’m still your husband. And I’m still the man who loves you more than anything in this world.”

Her breath hitches, a tear slipping down her cheek. The gun trembles in her hands, but she doesn’t lower it. Not yet. “I want to believe you,” she whispers. “But I’m so scared, Raymond. I’m so scared of losing you.”

“You won’t,” he says, his voice firm now. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll fight this. For you. For our baby. For us.”

The room falls silent, the tension thick enough to cut. Karina stares at him, her eyes searching his for any sign of the truth. Finally, slowly, she lowers the gun, her hands trembling as she sets it on the table beside her. She collapses into a chair, her shoulders shaking as she buries her face in her hands.

Raymond moves to her side, his own hands trembling as he reaches for her. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She clings to him, her tears soaking into his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers. “Promise me you won’t leave me.”

He holds her tighter, his heart breaking at the fear in her voice. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “I promise.”

Raymond steps outside, the faint chill of early spring brushing against his skin. The air carries the faintest hint of blooming life, a promise of renewal, but it does nothing to ease the turmoil inside him. His soul feels like a shattered mirror, each piece reflecting a different version of himself—hunter, husband, father, monster. He walks to his car, the black sedan parked under the pale sunlight, its tinted windows hiding the chaos that had unfolded inside just hours ago.

He slides into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking beneath him. The keys dangle from his fingers as he stares at the dashboard, his mind racing. The faint hum of the city surrounds him, but it feels distant, like he’s watching the world through a fogged-up window. He grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But the unease lingers, a gnawing ache in his chest that he can’t shake.

Then it hits him—a flash of realization so sharp it feels like a knife to the gut. His breath catches, his body going rigid. The injection. He never took it. Al’s voice echoes in his head, gruff and impatient: “You got your shot last week. You’re clean.” But Raymond knows now, with a sickening certainty, that he didn’t. He had convinced himself he had, had let Al’s confidence in him override the truth. He had been so focused on the hunt, on the blood moon, on the demons growing stronger, that he had forgotten the one thing that kept him human.

“No,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “No, no, no.”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the glove compartment, pulling it open. The empty vial of antidote rolls out, clinking against the floor mat. He stares at it, his mind reeling. The vial he drank in desperation—it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t have been. Not without the injection. Not without the foundation.

He slams the glove compartment shut, the sound echoing in the quiet car. His chest heaves, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The weight of his mistake presses down on him, crushing him beneath its enormity. He had been so sure, so confident, and yet he had failed. Failed himself. Failed Karina. Failed their unborn child.

He starts the car’s engine, the low rumble filling the silence. The dashboard lights flicker to life, casting a faint glow over his hands as they grip the wheel. He closes his eyes, trying to steady his racing thoughts, and begins to recite, his voice low and steady.

“For God is not a God of confusion, but of peace,” he murmurs, the words a lifeline. “He will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in Him.”

The verses flow from him, each word a shield against the chaos threatening to consume him. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”

The car idles, the engine’s hum a steady counterpoint to his trembling voice. He opens his eyes, staring out at the street ahead. The sunlight filters through the trees, dappling the pavement with patches of light and shadow. The world moves on, oblivious to the storm raging inside him.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he continues, his voice growing stronger, “I will fear no evil, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”

He shifts the car into gear, his hands steady now. The verses anchor him, pulling him back from the edge of despair. He knows the road ahead will be hard, that the fight is far from over. But for now, he clings to the words, to the promise they hold.

As he pulls away from the curb, the faint scent of spring fills the car, a fragile reminder of hope. But Raymond’s soul remains heavy, scarred by the battles he’s fought and the mistakes he’s made. The blood moon’s shadow may have passed, but its mark lingers, a darkness he can’t outrun.

He drives on, the verses still on his lips, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. The world outside may be waking to a new season, but Raymond knows his fight is far from over. And as the car disappears into the distance, the faint hum of its engine fades, leaving only the echo of his whispered prayers.

Raymond pulls up to the drive-thru, the faint hum of the car’s engine blending with the static buzz of his thoughts. The scent of coffee wafts through the open window, a small comfort in the chaos of his mind. He glances at the menu, his eyes unfocused, and barely registers the cheerful voice crackling through the speaker.

“Good afternoon. What can I get started for you today?”

He opens his mouth to order, but before he can speak, his phone rings. The screen lights up with Al’s name. Raymond hesitates, then answers, his voice low. “Al. What’s up?”

Al’s voice is as gruff as ever, but there’s an edge to it that makes Raymond’s stomach twist. “Cruz. We need to talk about your payment.”

Raymond’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I was just about to ask you about that. When am I getting the three grand for the vampire wolf?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and Raymond’s unease grows. “About that,” Al says finally. “You’re not getting three grand. You’re getting two-fifty.”

The words hit Raymond like a punch to the gut. His vision narrows, the drive-thru menu blurring as his anger surges. “Two-fifty?” he snaps, his voice rising. “What the hell are you talking about, Al? I killed that thing. I did the job.”

The employee’s voice crackles through the speaker again, hesitant now. “Uh, sir? Your order?”

Raymond ignores them, his focus entirely on Al. “You said three grand, Al. That was the deal.”

Al’s voice hardens. “The deal was to kill the vampire wolf mbefore the blood moon hit at 3 a.m. You didn’t. You let it pass through the blood moon, Cruz. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Raymond’s blood runs cold, but his anger still simmers beneath the surface. “What are you talking about?”

Al’s tone is grim, each word heavy with implication. “That wolf wasn’t just any vampire. It was a gatekeeper. By letting it survive past the blood moon, you opened a direct link between Earth and the gates of hell. You think I’m paying you three grand for that? You’re lucky you’re getting anything at all.”

The words slam into Raymond like a freight train. His mind races, the implications sinking in. The blood moon, the wolf’s unnatural strength, the way it had seemed to defy every rule—it all makes sense now. And he had been too blind, too desperate, to see it.

The employee’s voice comes through the speaker again, nervous now. “Sir? Are you… okay?”

Raymond takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His hands are trembling, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Al,” he says, his voice low and strained, “you’re telling me I just… opened a door to hell?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Al says, his voice cold. “And now we’ve got a whole new mess to clean up. So yeah, Cruz, you’re getting two-fifty. Consider it a courtesy.”

Raymond’s anger flares again, but he forces it down, his voice tight. “You should’ve told me what I was up against. You should’ve warned me.”

“You should’ve done your job,” Al snaps back. “Now quit whining and figure out how to fix this. I’ll wire the two-fifty. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

The line goes dead, and Raymond sits there, the phone still pressed to his ear, his mind reeling. The employee’s voice comes through the speaker again, tentative. “Sir? Do you… still want to order?”

Raymond lowers the phone, his hands shaking. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “Black coffee. Large.”

“Okay,” the employee says, relief evident in their voice. “That’ll be at the window.”

Raymond pulls forward, his mind racing. The weight of his mistake presses down on him, heavier than ever. He had thought the blood moon was just a bad omen, a sign of stronger demons. But this… this was something else entirely. He had opened a door to hell, and now he had to find a way to close it.

As he reaches the window, he hands over a few crumpled bills, his movements automatic. The employee hands him the coffee, their eyes wide with concern. “You okay, man? You look… rough.”

Raymond forces a grim smile. “I’ve been better.”

He takes the coffee and drives off, the cup warming his hands but doing nothing to ease the cold dread in his chest. The faint scent of spring lingers in the air, a cruel contrast to the darkness he knows is coming. The blood moon’s shadow may have passed, but its consequences are just beginning. And Raymond knows, with a sinking certainty, that the fight ahead will be the hardest one yet.

Raymond’s phone buzzes on the dashboard, the screen lighting up with Karina’s name. He hesitates, his hand hovering over the device, before finally answering. Her voice comes through the car speakers, soft and trembling, and it stops him cold.

“Raymond,” she says, her voice breaking. “I… I need to talk to you.”

He pulls the car over to the side of the road, the engine idling as he leans back in his seat. “Karina,” he says, his voice rough. “What’s wrong?”

There’s a pause, and he can hear her breathing, shaky and uneven. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “For pointing the gun at you. For not trusting you. I was scared, Raymond. I’m still scared. But I… I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to push you away.”

His chest tightens, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “Karina,” he says, his voice softening. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who scared you. I’m the one who’s been… distant. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

She lets out a small, choked laugh. “You’re always trying to protect me. Even when it means keeping things from me. But I’m your wife, Raymond. I want to be there for you. Even when it’s hard. Even when it’s scary.”

He closes his eyes, his hand gripping the steering wheel. “I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t want you to see me like that. I don’t want you to see the darkness I carry.”

“Raymond,” she says, her voice firm now. “I love you. All of you. The good and the bad. The light and the dark. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he swipes at them roughly. “I don’t deserve you,” he says, his voice cracking. “You’re too good for me, Karina.”

“Stop it,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re my husband. The father of my child. And I’m not going anywhere. But you have to let me in, Raymond. You have to trust me.”

He takes a deep breath, the weight of her words settling over him. “I do trust you,” he says. “I just… I don’t want to drag you into this mess. It’s dangerous, Karina. More dangerous than you know.”

“I know,” she says softly. “But we’re in this together. For better or worse, remember?”

He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound mingling with the tears he can no longer hold back. “Yeah,” he says. “For better or worse.”

They sit in silence for a moment, the sound of each other’s breathing filling the space between them. Finally, Karina speaks again, her voice soft. “Come home, Raymond. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. “I will,” he says. “I promise.”

They say their goodbyes, the call ending with a soft click. Raymond sits there for a moment, the car idling, his hands resting on the wheel. The weight of the conversation lingers, but for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels a flicker of hope. Karina’s words echo in his mind, a lifeline in the darkness.

But as he pulls back onto the road, his eyes flick to the rearview mirror, and the flicker of hope dims. The black sedan is there, its headlights cutting through the twilight, and Raymond’s stomach drops. The chase is about to begin, and he knows, with a sinking certainty, that the darkness isn’t done with him yet.

Raymond’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. The black sedan has been tailing him for the last five blocks, its headlights cutting through the dim twilight like twin beams of judgment. He can’t make out the driver—the tinted windows hide everything but a shadowy silhouette. His instincts scream at him to lose it, but the streets are too crowded, the traffic too dense. He takes a sharp turn, the tires screeching, but the sedan follows, relentless.

“Damn it,” he mutters, his voice low and tense. He reaches for the glove compartment, pulling out his gun—the black, cross-engraved weapon loaded with holy silver bullets. He checks the magazine, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. Whoever’s following him, they’re not going to like what happens next.

He takes another turn, this time onto a quieter street, the buildings looming tall and dark on either side. The sedan stays on his tail, its engine growling like a predator closing in. Raymond’s jaw tightens. He’s not going to let this end in some back alley. If they want a fight, they’ll get one.

He rolls down the window, the cold air rushing in, and leans out, aiming the gun at the sedan’s front tires. He fires twice, the shots ringing out like thunder, but the sedan swerves, the bullets ricocheting off the pavement. The driver’s good—too good. Raymond curses, ducking back inside as the sedan speeds up, its bumper nearly kissing his rear fender.

The chase intensifies, the two cars weaving through the narrow streets, their engines roaring. Raymond takes another sharp turn, his tires skidding, but the sedan matches his move, its headlights glaring in his mirror. He can feel the pressure building, the walls of the city closing in around him. He needs to end this. Now.

He slams on the brakes, the car fishtailing, and spins the wheel, turning sharply into an alley. The sedan follows, its tires screeching as it takes the corner too fast. Raymond floors it, the alley narrowing as he speeds toward the other end. He can see the street ahead, the light at the end of the tunnel, but the sedan is gaining, its engine screaming.

He fires again, this time aiming for the driver’s side window, but the sedan swerves, the bullet grazing the roof. Raymond’s heart pounds, his hands slick with sweat. He’s running out of time.

The alley spits them out onto a busy street, the traffic thick and unforgiving. Raymond weaves through the cars, his horn blaring, but the sedan stays on him, its driver relentless. He takes a hard left, the tires losing traction for a split second, and that’s all it takes.

The sedan rams him from behind, the impact sending his car spinning out of control. Raymond fights the wheel, but it’s no use. The world tilts, the street blurring as his car slams into a lamppost, the sound of crunching metal filling the air. The airbag deploys, slamming into him with the force of a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes black.

When he comes to, his head is pounding, his vision blurred. The car is a wreck, steam rising from the crumpled hood. He fumbles for the gun, his fingers clumsy, but it’s gone, lost in the chaos. He looks up, his heart sinking as the sedan pulls up beside him, its engine idling.

The door opens, and a figure steps out, silhouetted against the streetlights. Raymond can’t make out their face, but he can feel their eyes on him, cold and unyielding. He reaches for the door handle, his body screaming in protest, but before he can move, the figure raises a hand, and everything goes dark again.

AtilAM