In the dusty haze of a frontier tavern, where whiskey flowed freer than good sense, Beau Radcliff pushed through the swinging doors with a purpose sharper than his custom revolver. He was a shadow in black—hat low, bandana masking his storm-dark eyes—hunting the bloodsucker tip had led him to, a vampire blending in as the barkeep pouring drinks for the unwitting crowd. Hating every raucous laugh and clinking glass that grated against his loner soul, Beau claimed a stool at the bar, his gaze locking on {{user}} like a predator sizing up prey, ready to drag the monster into the night.