Page 4 of Nocturne
A chill runs down my spine, sharp and cold. “None of your damn business, asshole.”
He laughs—a rough, bitter sound that cuts through the heavy silence of the street. “You wanna die tonight? I’m chill, but I can call my boys and have this over quick. What you say?”
He doesn’t move, standing still like this narrow alley is his kingdom, and his alone. I pull the silver mask off my face, feeling the cold metal burn my skin for a second.
“Damon Reed. The new kid in Nocturne Pact.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth crooked, and there’s something in the way he looks at me that makes my skin crawl.
“How do you know who I am?”
“I know you better than you think, Damon. It ain’t just the fresh face in Nocturne. It’s everything you lost... and everything you’re desperate to get back.”
He steps toward the weak light, but the shadows still hide his face.
“But let me warn you: whoever steps into my turf doesn’t leave intact. Not in body, not in soul.”
“Stay the fuck away from me. I’m not here to play.”
“You think you can hide? I know all about you. Your story, your pain. And, man, that fascinates me... but don’t confuse fascination with weakness.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you are.”
He walks toward me slowly, that damn smile never leaving his face for a second. There’s something cruel in it—something that twists my gut like a knife. His hair’s cropped short, military style, dark blond. The night wind hits him and turns him into a damn shadow, something unreal, like he’s made of smoke and dried blood, a ghost straight outta some urban nightmare.
My body tenses without warning, like it wants to bolt but forgot how to move. Fear hits fast, sharp, likelightning cracking through my bones. I can’t think. Can’t breathe right. All I can do is watch him get closer, like he’s got control of everything—me, the street, the whole fucked-up world.
All my courage goes down the drain. Slips away like it was never there. His posture says he ain’t scared of shit. He commands respect without raising his voice, without taking a single wrong step. His eyes are hard, heavy, filled with bottled-up rage and a sadistic kind of mockery that makes me wanna back off—but I don’t. I stay. Frozen. Feeling in my skin that this guy ain’t just dangerous—he’s the kind of threat that leaves a mark. The kind that never walks away clean.
“I’m Hunter Wolfe.” He pulls something from his pocket, and for a second I can’t make out what it is. Only when he lifts his hand toward me, under the weak, trembling streetlight, do I see it. It’s a knife. The sharp blade catches a cold, merciless silver gleam, made to cut. No doubt about the meaning behind that move — even if he hasn’t done anything yet.
He drags the knife across my body, slow, no cut. Just the cold touch of metal on skin is enough to make my breath hitch. Maybe it’s just a warning. Maybe he wants to remind me where I am, who runs this shit, that I’m just a foreign body lost in enemy territory.
And maybe he’s right.
I’m alone. No backup. No protection. Easy prey.
Then he makes the cut. Fast. Precise. A dry slash across my cheek. Almost invisible. Almost — because the pain is sharp, burning, forcing me to grit my teeth not toreact. I feel the blood well up slow, hot against the night’s cold, dripping down my skin like it marks more than a wound. It’s a sentence.
Fear grabs me whole. My legs shake, heart beating off rhythm, like it wants to run before his next move turns fatal. But, in the middle of this terror, there’s something strange. Something is wrong. Something inside me watching this dude and… wanting to understand. Wanting to be like him. Wanting to cause the same terror he’s causing me right now.
Blood drips in silence.
He steps closer.
Eyes locked on me like a predator playing with its prey. And before I can even understand what’s happening, he leans in — and licks the cut he just made. His hot tongue slides over my torn skin with a sick, slow ritual, like my blood belongs to him now.
His gaze is fierce, animalistic, sadistic. And deep in his eyes, something that makes me forget to breathe.
There’s no room for mercy here. Only chaos.
“You’ll learn fast that around here, I’m the one calling the shots. You crossed into my territory, rookie. Here I decide who stands... and who falls. Now, my advice? Get the fuck out. Clear my path before I decide you don’t deserve to live anymore.”
There’s something in his eyes — a deep pain, raw and almost too much to hide — that cuts through the darkness and slices right through me.
I know. I know this dude’s as fucked up as I am. Just as broken and lost, no lie.
I turn my back to him, my eyes burning with blood, a bitter mix of rage and guilt eating me alive.
I’m a damn idiot for going in alone. For not doing shit to stop my brother from dying.
