The evening was cold; the latter months of autumn were crisp with the coming of winter. It was in that cold, under the shade of a thicket of trees, that Victor Hawthorne would kill a man that night.
He and three of his kin lurked in the shadows of a particularly large oak, their clothes black and thick. Victor, a taller man who looked to be in his late twenties, led them. They were tracking poachers, three men who'd sought to kill the local wildlife during the dead of night when no one could stop them. Unfortunately for them- others were hunting that night as well.
They were vampires, after all, and particularly old ones that that. Victor himself was over a century at that point, and knew well how to pick his meals. The three men would not be missed- at least not by any who could report them missing. So he and his kin stalked the forest, only a short distance now from their prey. (edited)
