Chapter 1
The moon shone brightly on the dilapidated building that sat alone at the edge of the path. The winding dirt path that stretched through the dense overgrowth of trees, vines and brush seemed to go on endlessly.
The two hunters crept silently through the rotting leaves, stopping just short of the clearing.
They had been hunting this particular nest for months. Always seeming to be just one step behind. Always just out of their reach.
With a stiff nod, weapons brandished, they entered the clearing, each approaching either side of the structure with the stealth and swiftness of a bird of prey.
Silence.
Too silent.
With his back against the rear wall, the younger hunter slid along the rotting siding, pistol held up to his chin. He quickly glanced into each darkened window as he advanced to the screen door at the end of the rotting porch, unable to decipher movement inside the house.
"Damn", he whispered to himself. Going into a nest blind was not on his list of favorite hunting techniques.
Apprehensively, he reached for the screen door and pulled slightly.
The biting, metallic sound was deafening against the cold stillness of the clearing, and he swore to himself just as the inside door was immediately swung open.
"Dude, what the fuck?! You trying to wake up the whole neighborhood?' The older hunter chastised him, an irritated scowl stretching across his face.
The younger hunter took on a scowl of his own.
"There's no one here, Sammy! Do not TELL ME that we missed these assholes AGAIN!?"
He stood with his back to Sam, rubbing his hands over his face in anger.
Vampires.
This group took pride in their sadistic cruelty with their prey. And they liked to play with their food.
Keeping their conquests alive for days, sometimes weeks, torturing, mutilating and "tasting" their bodies before extinguishing them in a bloody, glutenous frenzy. They were the kind of monsters that other monsters steered clear of.
Sam entered the putrid smelling room, slipping as he offhandedly flipped the light switch. The bulbs flickered momentarily before filling the room with light, and they both immediately wished that it hadn't.
Blood.
Blackened and coagulated.
It covered almost every surface of the tiny kitchen. The smear on the floor where Sam had slipped, held its shape as if it were some type of pudding. Sam's stomach lurched and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to escape from the vision before him.
Tools, knives, saws, all covered in blood, were strewn along the counters and table. You could hear the faint buzzing of flies between the trash, and empty liquor bottles that littered the floors and counters.
"Son of a bitch!" The older hunter yelled at the ceiling before storming from the kitchen to the rooms beyond.
As Sam surveyed the room, he noticed the small door in the corner and carefully made his way across the blood-soaked floor, lifting his pistol before turning the knob. Locked. He quickly picked the flimsy, deteriorated lock and opened the door.
Stairs.
Basement.
Holding his flashlight against his gun, he pointed them into the darkness as he slowly descended the stairs, noting the stale odor of mold and excrement, ripe in the musty, humid air. The scent grew stronger as he reached the bottom step. Searching the room, he found the string that hung from the ceiling fixture and pulled.
Once again, cursing the absence of the forgiving darkness, his eyes widened to the scene before him. Three bodies. Hanging by their wrists from chains that snaked down from the ceiling. The concrete room was damp, cold, water trickling down the walls and corners. His nostrils flared as they were filled with the putrid stench.
Death.
He smelled death.
"Dean!?" Sam yelled as he approached the broken, torn bodies. All naked. All covered head to toe in gashes, cuts and blood.
All dead.
Two women and a man. Sam closed his eyes again, shaking his head in sorrow and guilt. If they had caught these monsters sooner, this would never have happened.
As he slowly knelt in front of the first woman, he put two fingers to her neck in hopes of finding a pulse.
Nothing.
As he repeated this with the man hanging next to her, he let out an exasperated curse just before he heard the slightest sound coming from the woman to his right.
He quickly shifted in front of her and when he lifted his fingers to her throat, there was the slightest whisper of a pulse.
He immediately sprang to his feet, going to work on the chains above her head. He glanced down at her body below him. Her long black curls, matted with dirt and blood, sat atop a deep cut that ran from her right shoulder to her back, still seeping bright red blood. As he jerked on the chains to finally free her arms, her lifeless head bobbed to the right like a ragdoll, exposing her left shoulder. His blood turned icy cold when his eyes fell upon the familiar tattoo that peeked through the blood and grime.
A protection symbol. Surrounded by a pair of wings. Angel wings.
"Shit! Andi!" Sam caught her as her body slumped against his and he did his best to brush the matted hair from her face.
"Dean!! Get down here, NOW!"
He checked her pulse once more and searched over her torn body to assess her wounds. Three deep gashes ran from her right breast to her side. Seeping. He lay her on the concrete floor and ripped off his flannel, adrenaline assisting him in ripping shreds from the bottom hem and tearing off the arms. He pulled the fabric around her ribs and knotted it, attempting to staunch the life-giving fluid that was flowing freely from her.
Before Dean hit the bottom step, Sam called to him.
"I need your shirt! Give me your shirt!" The urgency in Sam's voice reverberating through Dean's head.
"What the…?" Dean exclaimed, taking in the horror in front of him.
"Dean, It's Andi!"
Dean Froze.