Mathius spat on the floor in front of him, giving the other Vampire a warning glare, "You should remember whose territory you're on, comrade."
Disoto gave Mathius a look of thinly veiled disgust, "I am not your comrade." He narrowed his eyes, lowering his stance, ready to fight. "This is not your territory."
Mathius didn't reply, this scumbag wasn't worth it. He launched himself off of the balls of his feet, flying through the air, to tackle the other Vampire to the ground. He held his neck in a viselike grip. "I don't know who you think you are buddy, but most know better than to hunt in my territory." Mathius punctuated the last word, by twisting the other Vampire's neck harshly, resulting in a resounding crack.
His neck was broken, but that would only keep him down for so long. Mathius would have to stake him for him to be truly dead. Problem in that is, most Vampires don't just carry stakes around. Mathius sighed, thinking to himself, Killed so many, I may as well get myself a stake.
Recently, a spate of new Vampires had been hunting on his patch. Vampires are possessive territorial bastards, and Mathius was no different. He couldn't let them get away with it. He grabbed a nearby chair, snapping the leg. It would suffice.
With one deathly plunge he ended Disoto's life. He'd never bothered to learn his name. He didn't care. He was dusting himself off, walking away with a whistle, when he smelt something strange.
A Shaman, not the one he knew, someone else. Not just that, but a mixed bundle of supernaturals, and even some humans. The scents were so muddled in, they had to be together. Just out of sheer curiosity, Mathius had to check it out. He moved along the back alleys, sticking to the shadows. With a little glamour, they would never even see him.
They were huddled together. One of them, a Shifter, Bloodhound, was sniffing a small rag. Looked like a torn piece of clothing. After a moment, the Hound shot off, the others followed after, in a formation, like soldiers. Unable to resist a good mystery, Mathius stepped out of the shadows, picked up the rag and put it to his nose.
He sniffed. It reeked of Cat, like a Big Cat. He sniffed again, trying to place it. Siberian Tiger. He looked around. Yes, his guess was right. He could see that, when he looked closer, saw the tufts of white fur and the shredded clothing. Sure signs of a quick change. He looked towards the alley the group had run down. Poachers.
He snarled soundlessly. Mathius hated Poachers. He wouldn't let them work in his town.