WOODINVILLE

The dense forest is silent save for the soft breathing of the wounded user. Suddenly, there's a rustle in the underbrush as Alastair approaches, his tall, lean figure cutting through the shadows. His piercing blue eyes, once filled with mathematical precision, now flicker with the predatory focus of a nocturnal hunter. He stops at the edge of the small clearing, his long blonde hair catching the moonlight. He looks at the user, his cold gaze softening for a moment before he remembers himself, his expression turning conflicted as the metallic scent of her blood entices his vampiric urges.