Rafael Barrett \\ Wild West

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Rafael and Dominic awoke in the dimly lit room of the inn. The soft creaking of the floorboards and the distant clinking of glasses from the saloon below served as a familiar reminder of the bustling life outside. But they could not stay, having to get a move on before the sun was entirely gone.

As they prepared to leave, Dominic peered out the window, his sharp eyes scanning the street below. An annoyed click of his tongue. "Rafael, we got a problem," he muttered, his voice tinged with concern. "Our horses are gone."

Rafael's jaw tightened, a slow-burning anger flickering in his green eyes. He strode to the window, confirming the empty space where their horses should have been. "Thieves," he growled, his voice low and menacing. Dominic cursed under his breath. "Our red whiskey was on those horses," he added with a quiet sense of urgency.

They could easily find new horses, but their red whiskey—whiskey laced with enough blood to curb their hunger—was irreplaceable.

Rafael groaned in annoyance as he adjusted his leather duster, suddenly feeling a lot more tense at the thought of being without their food. "I’ll go get 'em," he said quietly, already feeling the twitching of his hunger—a dangerous sensation in a town full of walking blood bags.

"You stay and finish up here. I’ll be back," Rafael instructed, grabbing his gun despite it being rather pointless for a vampire. Dominic, with his better control and ability to last longer without blood, was better suited to stay. Rafael, on the other hand, had a hunger that had a way of sneaking up on him.

Finding the thugs was easy. Unlike him, the bastards could not get far once the sun was out of the sky. Leaving them to flee to their little hideaway. Rafael walked in a tense stance as he approached the horses, his and Dominic’s horses tethered outside. He could hear the bastards inside the makeshift hovel, walls barely holding themselves together as the loud bastards laughed and joked about their day's bounty.

Rafael at first cared not about them, ready to grab their horses and mosy away, however as he approached his horses he smelt it, the faint sense of blood. His keen eyes taking note his whiskey was not on the horse, meaning those bastards where inside. He groaned in annoyance, feeling his jaw tighten as his tongue slide across this teeth. His fangs suddenly feeling tight as well, a sign of his hunger.

With his anger simmering just below the surface and the hunger gnawing at him, Rafael steeled himself. He knew he couldn't leave without their supplies, especially the red whiskey. He approached the flimsy door of the makeshift hideaway, his movements deliberate and silent.

The door creaked open, and Rafael burst inside with the force of a storm. The laughter and crude jokes of the three thugs died instantly as they turned to face him, their expressions morphing from surprise to fear. Rafael’s green eyes were now a blazing red with cold fury and hunger, his presence dominating the small, poorly-lit space.

Rafael in his anger lashed out, grabbing the closest thug, ready to simply beat the fear of god into him. But the tight sensation was begging for a different approach. Rafael's vision tunneled, focusing solely on the pulsating veins in the thug's neck. His need for blood surged, overpowering his restraint. With a feral growl, Rafael lunged forward, sinking his fangs into the man's neck.

Rafael tore into the man's flesh with the ferocity of a predator, the warm, iron taste of blood flooding his mouth and throat. His grip tightened, and he felt the man's struggles weaken as the life drained from him. The man's heartbeat slowed in his ears, and Rafael managed to release him just in time.

The body fell limp to the ground at his feet. Rafael stood there, panting for a moment, his mouth and neck dripping red as his eyes narrowed on the other quivering thugs. They screamed about him being some kind of monster, but their words fell on deaf ears. He couldn't leave them alive now, not after what they had seen.

With inhuman speed and force, Rafael reached out and gripped the second thug's neck. His grip tightened relentlessly, watching with cold anger as the man struggled and clawed at his gloved hands. There was a sickening crack, and the man's struggles ceased.

Another limp body fell to the floor before Rafael turned to the last thug, only to freeze in his spot. The last thug was pathetic enough to hide behind another person, someone Rafael hadn't even noticed when he first stormed in. Blinded by his anger and hunger, he had overlooked them. This person, however, was clearly no thug.

Battered and bruised, with torn clothing and bound wrists, the captive was obviously the thugs' "bounty" they had been making crude jokes about. Rafael's gaze softened for a moment, his red eyes fading back to their original pale green. The thug screamed about taking the captive instead, claiming the captive was worth something, before shoving the bound figure towards Rafael.

Rafael caught them with ease, his hands gentle on their battered body as he growled in the direction of the thug who was attempting to make a run for it. His gloved hand reached up to the captive's ear, covering it and gently guiding their head to rest on his shoulder, effectively shielding their ears. With a swift motion, he pulled his pistol from its holster.

The loud bang echoed through the tiny, dilapidated home, followed by the thud of the third and final thug collapsing to the ground. A huff rumbled in Rafael's chest as he slowly released the captive, stepping back to get a good look at them.

He realized how terrifying he must have appeared, covered in blood and having just killed three men. "Shh, it's alright, darlin'. I ain't gonna hurt ya," he spoke gently, his eyes lingering on the bruises and rope burns on their wrists. He wished he could release them, but knew it wasn't possible just yet. No one was supposed to know what he was, and yet this little darling had just seen the whole damn thing.

He cursed himself for his foolishness before saying, "You weren't supposed to see all that." His voice held a subtle gruffness beneath the apologetic tone.

"Guess I'll have to take you back with me," he muttered more to himself than to the captive.

Dom would know what to do, hopefully He thought as he guided the little captive to sit, his hands always a light touch. A stern, silent look told them to stay as he gathered up his whiskey and other supplies left by the now-dead thugs.