Tyr pacedthe perimeter of the clinic property, his boots crunching softly in the snow as he checked the security sensors along the tree line. The barn's dark shape loomed ahead, its weathered wood silvered by moonlight.
"So, how'd the introductions go?" Tobi's voice carried from around the corner of the barn.
Tyr glanced at his twin as Tobi fell into step beside him. "Beth was... a bit overwhelmed. You could see her trying not to show it, but Jochi and Sai's presence hit her hard."
"Really?" Tobi's eyebrows rose. "But she's met Antonio before. He's older than both of them."
"True." Tyr nodded, thinking of how their sire always kept his power carefully contained, wrapped in layers of courtly manners and aristocratic grace. "But Antonio pulls it back, keeps it controlled. You know how he is - all about proper etiquette and maintaining appearances."
"Whereas Jochi..."
"Exactly." A wry smile touched Tyr's lips. "Jochi fairly radiates power. He doesn't flaunt it, but he doesn't hide it either. And Sai isn't far behind him in that department."
"Well, they did spend years conquering half of Asia," Tobi mused. "Not much point in being subtle when you're leading armies."
"We could have used them back in Al Khair, in the 16th century," Tyr said, his voice tinged with wry amusement. "You know, when that barbarian horde would have invaded - if Jochi and Sai hadn't been off fighting with someone or other at the time. India, I think that was."
"Well, at least they weren't leading the army against us," Tobi replied.
Tyr snickered. "Truth."
The quiet night shattered as both their phones erupted in shrill alerts accompanied by urgent vibrations. Tyr yanked his phone from his pocket, his heart freezing as he read the message. Clinic. Possible intruder.
He and Tobi moved in perfect synchronization, centuries of fighting side by side making words unnecessary. They crossed the distance to the clinic in seconds, their enhanced speed eating up the ground.
Beth stood just inside the back door, her face drained of color. Her hands trembled as she gripped her phone, and he could smell the sharp scent of her fear. "I saw someone in the trees out front." Her voice quavered. "Just a shadow, but they were definitely watching the clinic."
"Are all the doors locked?" Tobi's voice carried quiet authority.
Beth nodded. "Yes. I double-checked everything as soon as I sent the alert."
"Good." Tobi's eyes scanned the tree line. "Stay inside, keep your phone in your hand. Keep away from the windows, and if you hear anything unusual… anything at all… text us immediately."
"I'll take the east side," Tyr said, already moving toward the shadowy trees.
"West is mine then." Tobi shifted his stance, ready to move. "Lock up behind us, Beth."
Beth slipped back inside. The lock clicked firmly into place as Tyr and Tobi split up, each heading to their designated search areas.
Outside, the night wrapped around them, familiar territory for creatures born to hunt in darkness. Tyr melted intothe shadows beneath the trees, letting his awareness expand outward. The night air carried a complex tapestry of scents - pine needles, decaying leaves, the lingering warmth of sun-baked earth now cooling under starlight. But no human scent stood out as fresh or unusual, at least in the immediate vicinity.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar tingle as his form shifted. His body compressed and reshaped itself, bones hollowing, skin sprouting feathers. Where the vampire had stood, a large Barred Owl now perched on a low branch. Dark eyes, adapted perfectly for night vision, scanned the forest floor below.
Tyr spread his wings, each feather precisely aligned to eliminate sound. He launched from the branch, gliding silently between the trees. His owl form moved like a ghost through the forest, commanding a predator's view of the territory below. Every movement, every slight disturbance in the undergrowth registered with crystal clarity.
The owl's keen hearing picked up the scurrying of small creatures in the leaf litter, the soft rustle of wind through pine needles, the distant call of another Barred Owl establishing its territory. But nothing human disrupted the natural rhythm of the forest night.
Banking around a massive oak, Tyr rode an updraft higher into the canopy. His wings caught the moonlight filtering through the leaves, casting fleeting shadows on the forest floor. From this vantage point, he could survey a wider area while remaining virtually invisible to anyone below.
The eastern approach to the clinic lay exposed beneath his silent patrol. If an intruder lurked in these woods, they couldn't hide from an owl's superior night vision. Every shadow, every hollow between roots or behind fallen logs revealed itself to his searching gaze.
Through the owl's enhanced vision, Tyr spotted movement near a fallen oak. A man's form huddled close to the massive trunk, his camouflage clothing blending with the undergrowth and shadows. The intruder held binoculars in his left hand and, most concerning, a scoped hunting rifle in his right. The binoculars were trained on the clinic's front windows, where anyone moving through the reception area would be silhouetted against the dim lobby lights.
Tyr banked silently, circling lower for a better look. His keen eyes picked out details - military-style boots, tactical vest with multiple pockets.
The owl's wings carried Tyr in a soundless glide directly over the intruder's position. From this angle, he could see the man was well-equipped for a night operation. The rifle appeared to be a high-powered hunting model, likely capable of accuracy at significant range. The scope suggested he was prepared for a precision shot rather than random violence.
The man remained focused on the clinic, completely unaware of the predator observing him from above. Despite his clumsy attempts at stealth, his breathing came in excited bursts, his body twitching with anticipation. This was no military professional—just a backwoods hunter who'd traded deer for more dangerous game. His ill-fitting camo jacket bore patches from local hunting clubs, and a Confederate flag decal adorned the rifle stock. A half-empty beer can lay discarded by his boot, explaining his occasional muttering and the sour smell of alcohol wafting upward. The way he gripped his weapon with his right hand—white-knuckled and too tight—revealed his inexperience with human targets, though his familiarity with the woods suggested years of stalking animals through woods.
