Blood…blood has a scent. A distinct smell that changed depending on the person it kept alive. Some blood was boring, its scent terrible, other blood was delicious and had a pleasant scent. Widowmaker, excellent vampire that she was, had grown used to distinguishing scents and therefore good meals but until that other woman had walked into the room she hadn't believed blood could agitate her this way.

She was in a tavern, a place where men gathered to drink and tell stories, and woman came to flirt and show off. The establishment was of decent size, almost entirely of wood and filled with customers sitting or standing, almost all drunk but some people were there the same reasons as the widow. Work. She was an assassin of wide renown and more often than not people came here to find her and hire her. She could tell who was a hopeless flirt and an actual customer by the look on their faces, and if the former ever approached her glare stopped them cold, her golden eyes flashing momentarily. If a customer appeared she smiled dryly, as if giving them permission to sit and speak.

Yet this time her eyes didn't flash and her lips didn't bend, this time she bit her lip and had to put effort into not jumping out of her seat. Her heart was racing; her pale cheeks surely would have flushed if they could. The woman, owner of the blood with a beautiful scent had just approached her table with the utmost confidence, sitting down with a pair of glasses and offering one to the Comtesse. She had messy, dark hair, light-brown eyes that sparkled with mischief, and tan skin. Most women wore dresses, even when going out, but some adventurers that had a fair amount of independence wore other things. This woman was wearing black leather pants, a simple t-shirt, and a wool coat. Widowmaker noticed the looks of the men, and suddenly it dawned on her that they were being watched. She huffed and grabbed the glass, taking a delicate sip before setting it down.

"Finally, I thought you were gonna ogle me forever," The woman joked, taking a long sip and then gagging. "Gah, the wine is terrible here."

"What do you want?" Widowmaker asked, avoiding all formalities that normally accompanied business. Women rarely came to her, and when they did they were always housewives or broken-hearted girls that hadn't lived a quarter of their life. This was not her average customer.

"Straight to the point, eh?" The other asked, sighing. Her cheerful smile lessened somewhat and set her glass down. "I have a message for you, actually."

"A message from whom?" Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. Her glare, which normally struck fear, did nothing but make the other chuckle.

"They say you better leave, and fast," She answered, completely ignoring the vampire. "Although why'd the want such a pretty face gone is beyond me."

"This isn't a game, petite fille," Widowmaker hissed, glaring at her but she didn't seem fazed. "Who sent you, and why are they saying this?"

"I'm just a messenger, love, I don't know why people say what they say." She shrugged, standing up and dusting herself off. "Best of luck, and if anyone asks I wasn't here, yeah?" She turned to leave, but the widow grabbed her wrist. Now the other seemed tense, and her hand slid for something in her pocket.

"What is your name, girl?" Widowmaker whispered, making the other smile.

"Call me Tracer, love," She replied, gently extracting herself. "And if you ever need a messenger come find me!"

After that she was gone in a blue flash and a wish of the air, leaving a very surprised Comtesse sitting by herself at the table. A sigh left Widowmaker's lips as that wonderful scent disappeared, following Tracer through the door. But she wasn't too disappointed, something told the widow they would meet again. And next time she would, hopefully, take a bite.

/

There it was again, after months, that scent. Widowmaker was on top of the church, looking down at the small town made of stone and wood. The windows were lit up, and some people were walking outside. This time of year was the coldest but it was also a time of celebration. Christmas, they called it. The town was filled with candles, decorations and such. Young couples walked arm-in-arm, older couples sat serenely on their porches. Everything was normal, everything was peaceful.

That is until her rifle lost a bullet.

Widowmaker didn't believe in holidays and happy spirits. She believed in her work, and her work was to kill. For food? No, for pleasure and money. Even this, such a simple job, made her smile. The shot had been perfect, going right between the young man's eyes. A chuckle escaped the widow's lips as she saw his body remain standing for a few moments, his girlfriend looking at him with shock, before he fell back onto the ground. Her blood-curdling scream ripped the air and everyone stopped and turned to her. The panic would spread throughout this small town now and the people would spend their holidays in fear.

Not that she cared, of course. What she did care about was the woman that had dashed towards the dead man. She wore leather pants, a shirt, and a wool coat. Tracer. The young woman immediately turned toward the church as if she could see the sniper and without hesitation dashed toward the building. It wasn't that close, yet in five seconds she had closed the distance. She blinked here and there in flashes of blue, startling people and scaring children. Although she'd prefer to drink her blood, Widowmaker could take no chances. She took aim at the next spot she assumed Tracer would reappear and waited. When the girl appeared, she fired and-

"Quelle…?" She murmured in French, surprised. The bullet had missed her, no, she had dodged it with a slight movement of her head. How was that even possible? No one, not even the fastest, could dodge a bullet. Yet there she stood, smiling proudly before blinking onto the church.

"There you are, love," She said with a giggle. "What's wrong? Looks like you're surprised to see me."

"What type of witchcraft is this?!" Widowmaker hissed, standing up and aiming her rifle at Tracer. "How did you dodge my bullet?"

"Maybe you're just not as skilled as you thought," Tracer taunted, hands going proudly to her hips in a heroic fashion. "But didn't I tell you to leave a few months ago? My employer wasn't joking, y'know."

"Yes, well, I am not afraid of a person who won't even speak to me themselves," The Assassin answered harshly. "And why do you care? Leave me, fille."

"Oh I don't care about you being in danger," She replied cheerfully, pulling out two odd pistols that glowed blue. "You have more worries right now, like me. You think you can just shoot a man on Christmas and get away with it?"

"Well-"

"Don't even answer," She snapped. "You have one chance to turn yourself in, Widowmaker, before I kill you." She raised her pistols to level with the widow's rifle, and they both shared a challenging look.

"Vampires are already dead," Widowmaker whispered, firing.

Tracer blinked out of the way and fired little blue projectiles from both her pistols. Widowmaker spun behind the chimney and her rifle changed into a machine gun. She spun back into view and returned fire, but Tracer blinked behind her.

"Too slow!" She cheered, blinking again as Widow turned. "Oh, almost!" She blinked again. "Hey, I think that one nearly nicked me!"

"Rester encore!" Widowmaker yelled as the other continued to blink here and there, taunting her and not even firing her weapons. This was insulting, no one had ever been this much of a challenge to her, and yet Tracer made it look easy.

"What? I don't speak baguette," She replied with a laugh, blinking once more. Widowmaker clenched her teeth and dropped her rifle and as Tracer reappeared she tackled her, going faster than normal humans could. The smaller girl yelped and her weapons went flying away, she tried to blink but the widow held her firmly down.

"Game over," She hissed, baring her fangs. Her eyes light up as well and now the color drained from Tracer's face.

"Your…you're a vampire!" She exclaimed.

"Of course," Widowmaker sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're fast but quite stupid."

"Well, I mean, I did get that creepy vibe-"

"Do you not understand the danger you are in?" Widowmaker interrupted, raising an eyebrow. With one hand she pulled the wool coat down, revealing Tracer's tender neck. "I could kill you, or turn you, right now. Your life is my choice."

"Well, you wouldn't turn me, I know you vampires are so picky," Tracer said casually as if she weren't pinned down and being threatened. "Besides, you're so proud. But death…now that's a possibility for sure!"

"Then why are you so happy?!" Widowmaker asked, shaking her a bit. It was so annoying and beyond the sniper how this girl could simply be so happy and casual under her hold, she was the Widowmaker! The best assassin of the land, and a vampire! Where was the fear? Where was the begging? The tears? This was not what she was used to. Tracer purred, leaning upward. Their lips were a mere inch apart, and the widow could feel her warm breath. Suddenly that neck seemed so much more alluring, one quick bite-

"Well, Widowmaker, I'm happy because I have you beat."

"Oh? And how is that?" Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Because you spent too much time chatting, ta ta!"

Tracer suddenly began glowing an intense blue and her body turned transparent. She shot backward as if going in reverse from her previous actions. She was now standing safely in the center of the rooftop, both pistols aimed at the widow.

"How do you say it? Ah, au revior?" Tracer asked before pulling the triggers. Widowmaker didn't hesitate and let herself tumbled off the edge, landing on her feet at the bottom. This did not hurt her of course, her vampiric abilities keeping her safe. Without hesitating, she dashed off in direction of the forest. The angry screams of the townspeople, and Tracers bullets, soon disappeared behind her.

You caught me by surprise this time, Cherie, Widowmaker thought. But next time will be different.