Suddenly, Cain picked up something. He could hear about ten people coming.
Immediately, his lips curved upward.
"The humans," he said softly, almost amused.
A short laugh escaped him as he glanced down at Cornelia's healed body resting below, peaceful now but still fragile in a way that made his chest tighten.
He had been searching for blood, weighing risks, calculating timing, and now they were delivering themselves straight to him.
"Just when I was wondering what to feed you next," he whispered. "Humans really have terrible timing."
Or perfect timing.
Cain leaned forward and then immediately vanished in a blur of red.
…
On the other side of the ruined plain, armored humans moved in a tight formation, boots crunching against broken ground, weapons drawn but held close as if sound itself might invite death.
