Up close, his eyes aren't black, they're a very dark gray, like storm clouds. Ancient eyes that have seen too much. He’s strikingly handsome.
"You're contaminated," he observes, tilting his head slightly. "Microplastics, by the look of it. Probably fentanyl as well, judging by the vein patterns. Did you drink from a bag or directly from a human?"
"Bag," I rasp. My tongue feels thick. "Underground contact."
"Of course." His tone suggests this is exactly what he expected. "You know what happens to vampires who drink contaminated blood repeatedly?"
I shake my head. I've heard rumors, but nothing concrete.
"The contamination accumulates," he says, like he's giving a lecture. "Your body tries to filter it, but modern pharmaceuticals are designed to be persistent. They linger. Build up. Eventually, your healing factor can't keep pace. You either die: true death, not the temporary kind, or you go feral. Lose your mind, attack anything that moves, become the monster from human nightmares. Both options are unpleasant."
"Great," I manage. "Good… to know."
Something that might be amusement flickers across his face, gone so fast I might have imagined it.
"You have perhaps three hours before the damage becomes irreversible," he continues. “After that, even my resources couldn't help you. You'd be better off walking into the sun.” He tilts his head and leans closer. “Looking at your vein pattern, you actually look past the point of saving.”
He stands, brushing invisible dust from his coat with movements so precise they look choreographed. Like he's alreadywritten me off. Like he's about to walk away and let me die in this alley.
The rage that's been simmering under my fear suddenly ignites.
"So you're the gatekeeper," I say, each word an effort. My voice sounds stronger, fueled by anger. "The great Maximus. Everyone's… so terrified of you."
He pauses mid-movement, hand still on his coat.
"You don't… look that scary," I continue, even though my vision is tunneling. "Just well-dressed. Like a… a CEO vampire. Very… corporate."
Now I definitely see amusement. It softens his features for half a second, makes him look almost human, before the cold mask slams back into place.
"Most people beg," he says quietly. "You insult me instead. Interesting."
Something flickers in those storm-gray eyes. Not amusement. Something older. Hungrier.
"Begging… doesn't seem to work."
"True." He regards me for a long moment, head tilted again like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. "They grovel. Offer me things I don't need. Promise loyalty they can't deliver. Bore me with their desperation."
"And I'm… not boring?"
"Not yet."
The silence stretches between us. I can feel myself fading, the gray edges of my vision creeping further in. The numbness has reached my core now, spreading through my chest like frost. I can feel my consciousness starting to fragment, thoughts scattering like marbles on a floor.
This is it. My last chance. Either he helps, or I die here.
I should beg. Should offer him something, anything. But I'vegot nothing. No money, no connections, no skills that would interest an ancient vampire who's seen everything.
All I have is the truth.
"I didn't ask for this," I say, and my voice cracks. "Didn't want to be turned. Had a life. Had a future. And some vampire with a grudge took it all away because I… beat her in a fight."
His expression doesn't change.
"I'm not asking you to save me out of kindness," I continue. "I know you don't do that. But I'm a fighter. I'm useful. I can work. I can…" I trail off as another wave of numbness washes over me. "I don't want to die in an alley eight months after becoming immortal. That's just… pathetic."
He's silent for so long, I think he's going to leave.
Then he extends his hand.
