The Art Of Dying
I could hear them, circling, searching for us.
"We need to move," Walter said, appearing with Willow. Both were bloodied. "Before they find us."
We were lifting Erina when the shadows appeared.
Not normal shadows. These were alive, writhing, spreading across the sand like ink in water. The enforcers roared—not in aggression, but in fear. They retreated, backing away from the darkness.
And from those shadows stepped Dracula.
He looked exactly as I remembered—tall, elegant, dressed in that crimson suit. His eyes swept over the carnage, then landed on us.
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