The scent of fear, mingled with the faint, seductive aura of a concubus, hung heavy in the damp forest air. Xander Phillips, a state tracker and incubus, moved through the undergrowth with practiced stealth, his senses sharp.

He sniffed again, the phantom fragrance pulling him deeper into the woods, towards a flickering light. He knew the drill. Find the supernatural, tranquilize it, bring it in for the bonus. It was a dirty job, but it paid. Especially for a concubus.

Then he saw it: a campfire, and a figure huddled by the flames, wrapped in massive, leathery wings. A grin spread across his face. Bingo. He raised his tranq gun, taking careful aim between the wings.

Minutes later, after the dart had done its work, he strode forward, yanking back the wings, ready to cuff his prize. But the grin vanished, replaced by a cold dread. It wasn't a concubus. It was Paul, his partner, throat torn out, eyes staring blankly at the indifferent sky. The word 'traitor' was carved crudely into his stomach.

Phillips's blue eyes darted around frantically. This was the Phantom. The hunter of hunters. The one they couldn't catch. He swallowed, fear tightening his gut. "Please, I’m just trying to keep my family out of the camps. I promise, I’ll quit and leave the state. Just don’t kill me, too." The words tumbled out, a desperate, pathetic plea.

Silence answered him. Then, a rustle. A small, terrified face peered out from behind a tree – a woman. Human. Or so he thought. He approached cautiously, offering a hand, a promise of safety. A promise he had no intention of keeping. But then, he felt a sudden, burning pain, and the world began to tilt. The last thing he saw was her amused smirk, two wicked knives glinting in her hands.