Having ditched his car by the highway on-ramp a mile or so back, close enough he could get to it in a hurry, the man makes his way through the Sacramento darkness on foot. It's not for any measure of stealth, though he might as well employ that while he's at it.

It's the simple fact that the car is too damn slow. He's not using it until he knows he's gotten away.

Blocks away from Cedar Fields Funeral Home still, the man reassures himself that he's headed in the right direction. This is his best lead, short of trying to bust into Elysium. And if the members of Court have learned anything about his presence in the city, that will be absolute suicide.

Better to pick them off, one by one.

Rahyna was pissed that he had taken the keys with him, but she had her own objectives to complete, tonight. Given that she had lost the goods in the first place, however, it seemed prudent to trust what little value they had left to him, rather than her.

There are always weak links in the chain. And while she is not terribly incompetent, she still failed.

But something else is amiss under these stars. Two blocks away from his destination, it becomes painfully obvious that the man is not alone.

Somehow, someone out there sees him.

They are - wait for it - shadowing him.

At least, one is. It seems that the others are merely following... him. Their leader. 'Him', the man decides, due to the heaviness of the footfalls. The stalkers are quiet as church mice, but to this man, church mice are raucous.

Too close to the cemetery, and the funeral home beyond. This can't be a coincidence.

"You see through my Cloak," he announces, stopping at the exact instance he speaks. The shadows fall away with his words. A spell; broken. His words are perhaps surprisingly soft, and richly accented.

"Then you must know why I am here."

There is a moment of silence, then the one leading the others speaks out into the night. He is still concealed in a nearby alley. Typical hiding place. The others, lighter on their feet... perhaps three of them... are in much more interesting positions. A rooftop, the back of a truck, a tree... they fancy themselves quite the ninjas.

The second speaker's voice is stark contrast to the man's. It's loud. Californian. Bawdy.

"You're giving one of us, either you or me, too much credit."

Interesting.

When the soft spoken man doesn't reply, considering his options and the explanation for this confrontation, the other elaborates helpfully.

"You're just blood, man. Just fangs and blood."

The man can't help but huff a small note of laughter at the irony of that. Blood and fangs indeed. Four fangs, at the moment.

"You mean to make me prey?" His tone is curiosity and amusement. Not one note of fear.

Who are they? If not guardians of Cedar Fields, and whatever treasures Asa Clarke does or doesn't have hidden there, then who?

Surely not yet another renegade element, surviving below the radar and working toward a separate agenda. That would be perfectly comical.

It's also quite annoying, considering they've placed themselves in his way. But there is something... something picking at him. Something about the derision in the brash, arrogant voice. Something about the cant of his tone as he very nearly spat the word fangs.

As though he doesn't have a pair of his own.

"Oooooohhhhhhhh..." The voiced realization comes as a gentle, patronizing coo. "Sheep without their shepherd. You are not Masking that monster which lies within you; you haven't been given one."

He doesn't use the word Beast in the proper noun. There are not mortals around to Masquerade for, but old habits die hard. There is a dual hiss of steel being slowly drawn from sheaths. The man's hands had slipped under the back of his coat, and retrieved twin short swords.

They are not fancy. They are dark and shun the light. They are efficient.

"Yep. One of you lot took him from us. Can't wait to find out which one."

A beat.

"Nice swords," the bawdy one says, stepping out of hiding. A tall and muscular youth, all full of vinegar. Confidence and cruelty. "I want them."

Three, no.... four more pairs of feet in soft soles quietly meet the ground all around him. They would be absolutely soundless, to mortal ears.

"Kommen," he beckons tenderly, "werde ich sie dir geben."

To be continued...