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HER MIDNIGHT STALKER

DESTINY DRACO

DRACOVERSE PRESS
 Copyright © 2024 by Dracoverse Press
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The Dracoverse.Com
Dracoverse Newsletter
 CONTENTS

Welcome To The Dracoverse…

1. Quinn
2. Caspian
3. Quinn
4. Caspian
5. Quinn
6. Caspian
7. Quinn
8. Caspian
9. Quinn
10. Caspian
11. Quinn
12. Caspian
13. Quinn
14. Caspian
15. Quinn
16. Caspian
17. Quinn
18. Caspian
19. Quinn
20. Caspian
21. Quinn
22. Caspian
23. Quinn
24. Caspian
25. Quinn
26. Caspian
27. Quinn
28. Caspian
29. Quinn
30. Caspian
31. Quinn
32. Caspian
33. Caspian
34. Quinn
35. Caspian
36. Quinn
37. Quinn
38. Caspian
39. Caspian
40. Quinn
41. Quinn
42. Caspian
For More Information
Preview
Hailey
Sloan
 WELCOME TO THE DRACOVERSE…

The World As We Know It…

he time is now. But ten years ago, the Veil began to fall. And the world began to change.
T The Veil was initially constructed by the Witches of Mesopotamia during the early days of humanity. It shielded
mundane humans from seeing what they could not understand - a paranormal world of shifters, vampires, witches, and
fae.
As humanity began to spread and grow, so too did those who lived on the other side of the Veil.
There were times when the Veil thinned, and someone would think they saw a ghost. Or find evidence of magic. Some
humans walked both worlds, but to those in the know, the watchword was always silence.
Until ten years ago, when the Veil finally collapsed and fell, forcing those with paranormal abilities to come out to society.
People have speculated why the Veil finally fell. Was it the increasing number of humans and paranormal beings that came
to dwell on the planet? The advent of near instantaneous information and connectivity? Or something more malicious?
Regardless of how it happened, the fact of the matter is that for the last ten years, human beings have had to share a world
that they thought they lived in by themselves. They discovered that there were others who walked among them, known as meta
humans, that were very different.
Into this world one hopes that both sides can come together and find common ground.
As of today, that’s all it is still.
Hope.
 1

QUINN

hat’re you looking at, asshole?” Or at least that’s what I assume the guy said. He’s so drunk his voice is slurring all
“W over the place.
I roll my eyes. One quiet night is too much to ask for at a place like this. This bar is not so clean that people feel
the need to be on their best behavior but not so rough and tumble that they’re afraid to raise their voices. We’re right in the
sweet spot to attract idiots looking for a fight.
I finish drying off the glass I just cleaned. I’ll step in eventually, but I have larger priorities than whatever this is about to
be. No point in stepping in if they just plan on yelling at each other.
“You… talking-” The other guy pauses to let out a room-shaking burp. “Me?”
“You’re the only asshole here, aren’t you?” The first guy - let’s call him Lenny, he seems like a Lenny. Lenny slams down
the last of his beer and stares daggers at the other man.
“Oh, I’ll show you an asshole!” Norm - I’ve decided his name is Norm - gets up from his seat. Lenny does the same.
I watch the beginning of this altercation out of the side of my eye. I’ve been a bartender too long. A fight between two drunk
losers will start a lot sooner and get much more violent if they think a pretty lady like me is watching. Trust me, nothing these
two could ever do will impress me.
The two men get in each other’s faces. Both their voices are slurring a lot. I have no idea what they’re arguing about, but I
guarantee it’s pointless.
Suddenly, Lenny pushes Norm into a table. Norm steadies himself, and I see a telltale sign of a shifter fight about to start.
Claws start to jut out from his fingertips and patches of fur spring up along his arm. I also spot Lenny’s eyes starting to turn a
piercing yellow.
Now is the time to step in. In a single fluid movement, I vault over the bar. My feet hit the floor and I swiftly place myself
between the two shifters.
“Not in my bar!” I grab Norm’s arm and twist it against the joint.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop!” Norm’s shifter claws and hair return into his body.
Lenny starts to laugh. I turn and use my other hand to slap Lenny in the face. His yellow eyes quickly return human.
“Hey! That hurt,” Lenny complains.
“I don’t care.” I tighten my grip on Norm and grab Lenny in the same place. “You two assholes are banned.”
I drag the two of them to the door. With a strong kick, I open the doors wide and toss the drunk idiots out. They both crash
face-first into the dirt. Hopefully, that’ll sober them up.
Lenny and Norm’s respective friends all pour out of the bar. They help their friends up to their feet.
“Sorry, ma’am,” one of them speaks up. “We’ll get them home safe.”
I just roll my eyes and step back inside, making sure the door slams behind me. I’m not really concerned about what
happens to Lenny and Norm after they leave my bar. I get dozens of shifters and regular humans just like them a week. I’ve
never once cared if they made it home safe.
My eyes scan the place as I walk back in. Everything has returned to normal pretty quickly. Maybe it returned a little too
much to normal.
I spot one of our waitresses, Claire, in a bad spot. A group of boys from the local college are drunkenly hooting and
hollering at her. “Hey, baby!” “Come on, don’t ignore us.” “I’ll give you a tip-” are just a few of the phrases I hear in the
chorus of gross debauchery.
Usually, there is a moment of peace between incidents here. Did these assholes not see me swiftly take care of two
shifters? Me, a regular human with no magic or anything? I’ll take care of these boys as easily as I brush my teeth.
“Hello, gentleman,” I say as I approach. All their heads turn to me and smile, They think they found a new woman to harass.
“Middlebury College, right? I bet your parents are so proud.”
All their smiles drop. Middlebury, Vermont is not known for a lot of things, and its college certainly isn’t one of them.
Those words cut deep. Not that I’m really one to talk. I dropped out my first semester but they don’t need to know that.
“Let me guess,” I continue. “Business major, business major, business major, business-”
“Hey, lady.” One of them stands up. Let’s call him Chad, he seems like a Chad. “You have to be nice to us. We’re
customers.”
“The only thing I have to do is breathe. And that’s getting a little difficult with the stench coming from all of you.”
“I-I-I- Fuck you. You’re not even that hot. Come on, boys.” Chad leads all his friends, who’re also probably named Chad,
out of the bar. They can hide their shame all they want, we all know who just won.
“Thank you, Quinn.” Claire hugs me.
“Don’t mention it.”
The rest of the night isn’t much quieter. Rowdy humans and shifters alike continue making my life more difficult. I kick a
butt here, toss someone out the door there. It’s all just annoying more than anything else.
I’m not the bar manager or even bouncer of this place. Just a bartender. It shouldn’t even be my job to do any of this. But I
learned at a young age that if I need something done, I have to do it myself.
I remember one time in high school, my mother, who at best tolerated my existence, was off on a week-long bender. So,
naturally, I threw a huge party at my house and invited the whole school. Two football players were being creeps to some girls.
No one else was stepping in, so I broke their noses myself.
Turns out I’m really good at fighting. Standing at 5 foot 7 inches with a small frame, people quickly underestimate me.
Makes it a lot easier to kick their ass.
Sure, this place is a disaster most of the time. But no one has been seriously injured in a fight since I started working here.
That’s because of me.
The whole world sucks. It’s full of terrible people. But I can enact a little bit of control over it when I’m on shift here.
What else would I be doing with my time?
Even though I have to break up so many fights, a lot of our regular patrons know by now not to mess around when I’m
working. They just come in, drink their drinks, socialize, and take their fights outside.
I force a smile for those folks and for anyone else here until they need to be kicked out. That’s honestly the worst part of the
job. But God damn it, I need this money. So, I got to force that smile.
Though it gets harder each day. I can feel everything weighing me down. My past. My lack of a future. Pretty soon, I think it
might all get to be too much.
 2

CASPIAN

“F uck.“When
It’s just like the others.” I look up at my partner, Ren. “It’s going to be another long night.”
is it not?” he growls back.
Crouching, I look closer at the poor dead bastard in front of me. I hesitate to ask Ren what this brings the total
number of victims up to, but I already know. Too many.
Every victim is the same. Completely drained of blood. Left lying in an alley like this guy. Or on a park bench like that
jogger on Tuesday.
The layperson would look at all this and immediately assume vampire. But the layperson is stupid. I think I know my own
kind more than them.
We vampires live by a code. We aren’t the scary creatures from those black-and-white horror movies. We don’t just kill
indiscriminately like this when we feed. Even if we did accidentally kill someone we’re feeding from, even the dumbest
vampires know how to hide a body.
This is someone looking to frame vampires for the killings. It has to be. Nothing else makes any sense. As PEACE’s lead
investigator on this case, I’ll find the real killer and put a stop to them.
“So.” Ren breaks the silence. “Are you still ruling out that it was another vampire?”
I stand up to glare at my friend. “If we found a chew toy next to a dead body, I wouldn’t assume a werewolf did it.” I crack
a twisted smile at him.
“Fuck off.” I can tell he’s holding in a laugh. “It was one time. When I was like six.”
“Your mom showed me pictures.” I wave over the CSI team to get to work. “It was more than one time, and you were older
than six.”
If you believe all the rumors online, you’d probably assume vampires and werewolves are natural enemies. Maybe that’s
true elsewhere but to me, Ren is like family. Actually, he’s better than family. My actual family hasn’t talked to me much since I
joined PEACE.
I lead Ren out of the alleyway as the CSI team walks in. You’d think being stationed at the PEACE office in Middlebury,
Vermont of all places would lead to a boring career. But damn, this city still manages to keep us busy.
“I assume you could smell what I could.” Ren is quick to change the subject, but he’s right. We have an investigation to
continue.
“Yeah.” Nothing beats the heightened senses of a werewolf but don’t count out a vampire’s when the chips are down.
“Beer. Lots of it. He’d been drinking tonight. Probably spilled some of it on himself.”
“That’s what I got, too. We just have to find what bar.”
Ren and I both look up and down the street. I can see about five different bars in each direction. Not as helpful as I hoped.
Now, we could go into each one and ask if they’ve seen the victim tonight. But this is a rough part of town, the seedy
underbelly of Middlebury. Walking into these bars on official PEACE business will not be smart. We’ll be targets the moment
we step in.
Don’t get me wrong, Ren and I can handle ourselves in a fight. And fighting together? Forget about it. But cracking skulls in
every bar in town will not help us find this killer.
“Ren, do you have his scent? Can we retrace his steps?”
Ren sniffs the air and nods. Perfect. Finding where someone was by scent can be a lot harder than finding where they are.
Lucky for me, I have the best werewolf around as a partner.
He leads me through the darkest and sketchiest parts of Middlebury. Drug dealers and gang members scatter when they see
our PEACE badges shine in the occasional light of streetlights. The victim traveled a long way just to get killed.
“There.” Ren points at an unassuming bar just down the road. Outside, two groups seem to be holding back a couple of
drunk guys trying to fight. What a classy place.
Ren and I sneak past the drunks and slip through the front door. Inside, the bar isn’t packed but has a decent number of
people. Surely one of them will remember seeing the victim.
“Hello, gentleman. Can I ask you a few questions?” Ren begins. I stand behind him as he approaches a few patrons at a
table near the door.
Early in our partnership, we learned that Ren opens the line of questioning with a friendly face. If any intimidation is
needed, I step in. My vampiric pale skin and angular face tend to make the common person uneasy, especially late at night.
I try to listen to Ren and any new information we might get, but I quickly get distracted. Across the bar, a group of college
boys is getting rowdy, shouting at a waitress. At least, until this woman steps in.
I’d place her at about five and a half feet tall. Young. Her wavy, dark brown hair falls to her mid-back. From here I can
only see her from behind, and I have to say, she also has a great ass.
The woman stands firm and tall looking down at the college boys. I try to use my vampiric hearing to listen in, but again
I’m distracted. A pang of hunger starts to rise in me. The longer I look at her, the greater the desire to feed grows.
One of the college boys stands up. She doesn’t back down. I lick my lips. She glares at the boys as they slink away out the
door. My hands form into tight fists.
Who is this delectable creature? So strong and commanding. She barely had to lift a finger to send those boys running. I
must know more about her.
“So.” Ren’s words snap me out of my trance. “Do you think that’s a lead worth following?”
“I… What?” I turn away from the woman to look at Ren.
“You weren’t paying attention, were you?”
“No, no, I was… I was…” I look back and the woman is gone. I scan the room and find her now standing behind the bar.
“I’m going to go talk to the bartender.”
“Seriously? We’re supposed to-” Ren’s eyes fall on her. “Oh. Yeah, I bet you are. While you go do that, I’m going to
actually do our jobs.”
“Good. Do that.”
I make my way over to the bar. Now, I get a good look at her from the front. She’s beautiful for a human. Her face is almost
vampirically angular, but she’s all human, I can smell that from here. Her enchanting dark green eyes roll with annoyance as she
sees me coming.
“All of our permits are up to date, Officer.” She continues cleaning bar glasses, not even bothering to look at me. “And if
not, I don’t even own the place. Don’t bother me about it.”
She’s no-nonsense. I like that. My hunger only grows.
“That’s not why I’m here. I’m a homicide detective with PEACE. A victim was here-”
“Look, man.” She finally looks directly at me. “This isn’t a cop show or something. I see a lot of people every night. The
faces blend together. Present company included.”
A sharp tongue, too. This bartender is far more than just another pretty face. She’s something special. No human has even
intrigued me so much.
It’s been a long time since a regular human has given me so much attitude. She has an air of intimation that could rival any
shifter I know. I must learn more about her and unravel the mystery of who she is.
“Fair enough.” Time to turn on the charm. “I’m Caspian.”
“Okay, Caspian.”
“And you are?”
She sighs. “I’m Quinn.”
“Well, Quinn, tell me. How does a-”
“Look man, you aren’t the first and certainly won’t be the last guy to flirt with me tonight. If you aren’t going to order
something, I’m going to have to ask you to leave me alone. I have a job to do.”
She won’t even give me an inch in this conversation. Her walls are up and they’re sturdy. How does a normal human get so
strong and confident?
“I understand. Goodnight, Quinn.” My hunger hasn’t faded in the slightest. Quinn still intrigues me so. There is still so much
I must learn.
 3

QUINN

“G oodnight, Claire.”
I wave off the last of my coworkers as I lock the door to the bar behind me. Ultimately, it was just another standard
day at work. Though two PEACE officers showing up was something at least a little different.
“Goodnight, Quinn. Are you sure you don’t need a ride home?” Claire flashes me a kind smile. I can tell she’s looking for a
way to thank me for helping deal with those college boys. But it’s really not necessary.
“No, I don’t live far. Plus, I like the quiet walk this time of night.”
I watch Claire drive off and step out into the night. Late-night walks home are the one bit of peace and quiet I generally get.
After the chaos of a shift at the bar, it’s a great way to calm down and start to relax.
Plus, it’s not like I’m in any rush to get back to my apartment. That crummy old place was just the cheapest option I could
find without roommates. I’d much rather live in filth alone than with any roommates trying to be my friend.
As I walk, the hair on the back of my neck starts to stand up. I can’t shake this feeling that I’m being watched. Like there is
a pair of eyes somewhere in the night watching my every move. I subtly look around me. I’m alone on this street.
This wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to follow me home from the bar. I tend to make some enemies,
considering how many people I embarrass by easily tossing them out. But those guys are always drunk off their ass. I typically
hear them stumbling behind me a block away. But not tonight.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid. That must be it. I should get home and go to bed. I pick up the pace and hurry home. But that
feeling of being watched doesn’t fade.
No matter how fast I move down the street. the sense that I’m being stalked persists. Something in the night has chosen me
as its next target.
All my self-preservation instincts are on fire. It’s like this threat is in my periphery, always just out of sight. An unseen
enemy is coming for me, and it could soon end in a fight.
Suddenly, it dawns on me. I feel alive. Of course, I’m not afraid. I don’t get scared. But I wouldn’t expect to feel this way
in a moment like this.
A rush like this is new to me. I like it. My heart is racing at a glorious pace like never before. What is going on?
A startling, sudden banging noise rings out into the night. I jump into a fighting stance with my hands clenched into fists. I
look around me and see nothing. A car must have backfired a block over or something.
But still, my heart is going even faster. The rush spreads across every inch of my body. I’ve never felt like this in my life. I
think I could take on a whole army right now. I’m so very much alive.
Do… Do I like having this hidden stalker? My brain flashes with images of confronting whoever is hunting me in the night.
I can almost already feel my fist against their face.
Yes, that’s what I want. This is why I’m getting so excited now. It’s so thrilling.
I keep walking. Trying to hold in my excitement is harder than I would’ve thought. Getting to knock out a stalker would be a
great end to this night.
I need to act like I’m unaware, draw whoever this is out. Then I’ll get my chance to confront them. Oh, I can’t wait. This
amazing rush continues to radiate throughout my body.
That feeling that I’m being watched persists. My fists tighten again in giddy anticipation. Soon. I’ll get my chance soon.
Whoever, or whatever, this guy is, they aren’t the standard drunk following me. That’s for sure. Good. That means our fight
will be even more fun.
Behind me, I hear footsteps on the pavement. Here they come. I spin around, fists ready for a fight.
But no one is there. I’m still alone on this street. Did I imagine that sound?
I spin around in a circle. Nothing out of the ordinary is in sight. No one else is even on this street. But that feeling persists.
Where the hell are they?
I resume my walk home once again. The night air is quiet. Usually, there is still something making noise – a bug, a frog,
anything. But they’ve all gone silent.
Tonight is slowly getting stranger and stranger.
Something is still triggering all my instincts. There is a threat out there coming for me. I know this to be true. I’m not being
paranoid.
But what the fuck are they waiting for? Is this some sort of game they’re playing? Are they somewhere in the shadows
laughing at me?
I don’t like being toyed with. That must be what’s happening. Someone I pissed off tonight is going to try to drive me crazy.
But I won’t give them the satisfaction.
No way in hell will I let them think it’s working. I won’t be showing any fear for even a second. Hell, I won’t even let them
know I’m getting annoyed.
This asshole won’t win against me. Even if I can’t use my fists against him, I’ll still come out on top. That’s for sure.
I stand tall for the rest of my walk home. I’m confident in my ability to defend myself. When the time comes, I can face this
threat head on. I know that. They probably know that too, which is why they’re hiding.
The rest of my walk home happens without incident. There are no more loud noises or phantom footsteps behind me.
Though the feeling that I’m being stalked doesn’t fade for even a moment.
“Home, sweet home,” I whisper to myself as I step into my apartment. It’s nothing special, but it has a lot of windows. It’s
something I liked about the place until right now.
I immediately move to close all the curtains. No way I’m letting this creep continue to watch me. I slam shut the one in the
kitchen. The two in the living room close without problem, blocking anyone’s view who might be watching from the dark night.
The last one is in my bedroom. I swiftly move to that one and slide the curtain shut. But… Wait… No…
I fling it open again. I see nothing but the empty street outside. For a fraction of a second as I closed it, I thought I saw a
figure looking in. But that doesn’t make sense. I don’t live on the ground floor.
Even weirder is that, for the brief second, I was excited. I wanted someone to be outside my window, spying in on me. The
idea caused my skin to prickle like I had a fever, but in the most pleasurable way.
I look out the window and scan around. Yup, nothing to see. I slowly slide the curtain closed again.
I need some sleep. I thought this was supposed to be another normal and boring night. What the hell is going on with me?
 4

CASPIAN

clench a crisp, golden amulet in my hands, created seven centuries ago and purified against any ill intent and those that
I would claim what belongs to me. I marvel at the craftsmanship - the history of this relic - as I lay it on her doorstep, skirting
from her discovery by blending with the shadows. In truth, I almost hate to part with it, as it’s been in my possession for
many moons, but nothing is too good for my thrall.
I see her peeking through the window dressing, attempting to discover what evil lurks in the night, but she need not fear me
- I will be her possessor.
None shall come between me and my woman.
I produce a stake from my back pocket and scrape myself with it, letting the blood trickle freely onto the artifact. She will
not know who I am, but she will know the meaning of this, and only she will see this message!
A vampire’s blood message is his calling card, as good as a handwritten note, but so much more discrete.
I gaze upon the way my lover lives - cobwebs covering her porch, filth covering her doormat. It depresses me, but also
endears me to her. I can show her true splendor - present the wonders of vampiric life.
The monstrous existence she’s carved for herself… I will end it when she joins my side. She will be mine and mine alone.
My heart is still, but in my centuries of life, I’ve never felt it stir in such a manner. The grace by which she moved - the
strength she commanded. It all served to rile me from my seclusion.
The mortals who inhabit this earth tell many stories of us - of how we become bats, fluttering through the night… and of
how we slumber in wooden coffins, as though permanently acknowledging the deaths that made us what we are, traumatic
markers of a transition etched in blood.
The notion is ridiculous. The information they have comes from myths and old accounts. Since the veil fell, they’ve failed
to recognize what lies clearly before them and still view us as more fantasy than reality.
But part of me relates to their fables and folktales, and it still resonates with me. For centuries, I have been living in a
coffin of my own making, beholding the splendors of this world with stoic indifference. I have not felt alive in what feels like
an eternity.
As I prowl through the streets, night becomes day - moon falls to sunrise. Time’s pull does not seem so pronounced when
you’ve lived as long as I have, and sacrificing a mere night to your eternal partner hardly seems like a loss.
She cannot leave my sight. I must continue to observe and study her, leaving my word with her as my bond.
My colleagues believe I am out conducting an investigation for PEACE, and in truth, I am. This investigation is crucial to
my health as a researcher and a detective. With my eternally damned soul in toil, I cannot focus on the tasks they need me for.
“Two dozen roses, please,” I say to the florist.
The moisture in the air of this store irritates my skin, and I feel itchy from the sunlight pouring onto my skin, brightly
illuminating the air over the horizon. I will need to feed soon, if I plan to make my approach in the daylight.
She looks upon me oddly, standing before her in a hoodie and clearly hiding from the eyes of onlookers, but I correct it. I
have learned to blend in seamlessly, but where that fails, a little hypnosis helps.
“Here you go!” She says joyfully, as though she never suspected me of being a vampire.
There are those among the human population who cling to old biases, and would gladly see me dead for what I am. Their
willful ignorance is why I joined PEACE.
She hands me the roses and I walk back out the door. I will need to make haste if I’m going to beat the start of her shift. I
want to behold her reaction at finding the amulet, so that I can confirm what I already know - what I’ve already ensured.
For good measure, I produce four ghost orchids and add them to the bouquet along with two selenes. I have been cultivating
them for decades, and no occasion seems more appropriate than this.
I contract the services of a courier to bring her the roses, so that they will be at work when she arrives, and I arrive at her
apartment. Even through the window, I can still sense the pulse of her heart, her blood flowing through her like nectar. It
enraptures me, tainting my mind away from reason.
She is delicious. I can smell her from here, and it tempts me. But she is not a mere object to delight in or a series of tastes
to savor. She is my destiny.
Her apartment door opens, and rain trickles down from the alleyway gutter beside me. I can watch her from far away
without her knowledge. She will never know I’m here, but she will always sense me.
I can make sure of it.
The door disrupts the amulet, and she looks downward at the clatter of metal against wood. Her eyes dawn with
recognition, and she falls captive to my spell, no hint of resistance. She picks the amulet up and turns it over in her hand,
studying it, but there is no confusion on her face, as I feel my message echo in her mind.
She looks around her, surveying the streets for any signs of me, but I do not want to be found.
“And now you’re mine forever,” I whisper.
I can feel the monstrous presences within me stir, my shadow extending further onto the pavement. Dark thoughts fill my
mind about all things I’d like to do to her- how I’d like to claim her for my own… taste her and never let go.
I silence them, but they grow louder in protest. They become me for a moment. I feel my irises filling with blood, turning
red - my fangs extend, and my legs stir of their own accord, ready to pounce and take the woman I’ve sworn to safeguard for
myself.
No, I say to myself. You will savor her blood in time. But right now, we wait. The anticipation will only make the taste
sweeter.
Control returns to me, and I breathe deeper, looking upon her form as it saunters through these town streets.
When she turns to confront the sound of footsteps behind her, I am the dripping rain, or the passing cars. I am a figment of
her imagination, as illusory and evasive as her shadow.
And I can sense from my place in her mind - the way I hang around her neck, and dangle and bounce with her every step -
that even though she fears me, she is far too enticed by me to turn away. I claimed her as soon as I laid eyes on her - that
pendant around her neck is merely a physical symbol of what we already know to be true.
She arrives at work under my protection - under my unwavering eye. The courier arrives exactly in the moment before she
opens the bar door, flowers in his grasp.
“What’s this?” She asks, transfixed.
“He didn’t leave a message,” the courier says. “Only said to consider him ‘your silent guardian,’ whatever that means.”
She takes the flowers thoughtfully and begins her shift.
 5

QUINN

ast night felt like some kind of strange nightmare. I was so certain somebody was watching me, following me home
L through the night.
And it excited me.
I wake up the following morning and hop in the shower. As the water falls over me, caressing me in its warm embrace, I
feel eyes upon me. I am naked before an invisible observer. I don’t know how I know that, but the thought sends trickles down
my spine, my breathing turning uneven in the wake of a wave of exhilaration.
As I wring my washrag over my bare breasts, I look around, trying to make sense of this feeling. Looking through the steam
and at my reflection in the fog-clouded mirror, it becomes even more obvious that there’s nobody here. So why do I feel so
vulnerable?
I throw on my work clothes, rushing to not be late for work, almost stumbling over the laundry pile in the middle of the
living room. As I open the door, it collides with something with a thud.
My initial reaction is to panic, as I look at the necklace set tidily on my welcome mat, now dislodged slightly by the door. It
looks very old.
And very valuable.
“What the hell?” I ask aloud, jarred by its presence.
It might be confirmation of what I’ve been feeling, this toe-curling, terrifying feeling of being watched. I poke myself hard
in the nose to make sure I’m still awake, and I realize that none of this is a dream.
But something else pokes at my mind. I look at this jewelry, and I can’t help but feel seen somehow. Perhaps whoever left it
here… whoever’s watching me now… isn’t evil, and doesn’t mean to make me feel uncomfortable. My thirst for answers
deepens.
I feel my eyes cloud over, and as I pick up the necklace and its cool metal touches my skin, reflecting with the drops of rain
left last night, I feel more safe than terrified. There’s still a danger to this somehow - I don’t know how I know that, but I do -
but that makes it all the more exciting. I clench my legs together, trying to curb the arousal radiating down my thighs.
I pull the necklace over my head and under my shirt. It touches my clavicle, and I feel my mind fill with information I can’t
possibly understand - an epiphany with no source. I’m enlightened now, but I can barely put to words what I learned.
I know that I’m being followed.
And I know that the thing following me doesn’t play by the same rules I follow.
Ten years ago, these ideas would have been sheer lunacy. But I’ve heard weird stories of the creatures that started
appearing ‘when the veil fell’ - the shifters in the bar where I work are proof of that.
This necklace is a message from my suitor, informing me of his existence.
I look around, as though daring him to appear, and at first, I wonder if I’m going mad. Then from the alleyway, I see a lone
shadow extend into the afternoon light, and I know it’s him. As I look upon his shadow, the necklace vibrates and fills me with
a sense of warmness.
I’m tempted to run towards it, to tell him that I’m not interested. That’s the sane part of my mind - the part of me that’s
dishonest with myself. It’s the voice of the people who care about me, who don’t want to see me hurt, and know that what I’m
dealing with is dangerous.
But if you run toward him, I rationalize, then he’ll know that he’s having an impact on you. He might even think you’re
scared to face him. And doesn’t that just make you more vulnerable?
As I debate with myself about whether to approach, the part of me hellbent on uncovering this mystery, and playing the long
game, wins out. The shadow recedes into the alleyway, and I am left alone - as alone as I might have always been.
I wonder how deep this mystery will go, and where these questions will lead me.
 You’re just curious, I tell myself. As soon as you find out what’s going on, that’s your chance to step away.
As I snap back to my senses, I realize that I’m already running late for work, especially since my car hasn’t been working
lately, and I’ve had to walk.
I wonder if he’ll follow me there, I think to myself.
But then it seems like this sensation - that somebody’s watching me - doesn’t fade no matter where I go now. That feeds my
rational mind and comforts it somewhat, because surely, nobody would follow me at all hours of the day.
On the way to work, I swear I hear a second set of footsteps echoing after my own. I turn around, not to confront whoever’s
following me, but just to see what he looks like, and if he’s kind. Every time I turn around, I find out it’s just the sounds of
sprinkling rain on the pavement, or of passing trucks driving over speed bumps.
But then there are moments where, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a second shadow following mine. I look in store
windows to find my reflection alone. I smell the air and all I take in is the crisp afternoon air and the smell of the cold metal
object around my neck.
If this was only my imagination, I’d be seriously concerned for my mental health.
It’s probably nothing, that nagging, rational part of my brain tells me. You’re just inventing a fantasy to escape from the
boredom of your life.
I arrive at the bar, and as I reach up to open the door, I notice a figure out of the corner of my eye.
This is it! My mind screams. Now’s your chance to find your answers!
I turn, and to my disappointment, the figure I find staring at me is a boy, not a man. I think I’ve seen him around the bar a
few times. I realize now that he’s a delivery driver, and he’s holding a bundle of flowers in every conceivable color.
“What’s this?” I ask.
I’m afraid he’ll tell me he’s my secret admirer, and I’ll have to worry about rejecting him. But I don’t see any love in his
eyes - there’s not even the faintest sparkle of life or familiarity.
He’s here to perform a service. It’s nothing more than that.
“He didn’t really leave a message,” the delivery driver says, handing me the flowers. “Only said to consider him ‘your
silent guardian,’ whatever that means.”
I take the flowers and thank the man. He looks like he wants some kind of explanation for this delivery job, but I have no
answers to give him.
I look around me one more time, and I feel the necklace resonate with power. I can feel his presence nearby.
I cannot show fear, under any circumstances. I try to slow my breathing, and take stock of myself, still torn apart by
contradictory emotions of fear and love… safety and danger… excitement and terror.
But I also can’t scare this guy - or this creature, or whatever it may be - away without first getting answers.
So as I enter the bar, the first task on my mind, to the abject curiosity of my coworkers, is to get these flowers in water.
Some of these flowers seem incredibly rare, and that just makes the mystery of my suitor all the more interesting.
 6

CASPIAN

creature such as myself should not feel such joy on the prowl of a mere mortal like Quinn, but her every reaction is
A intoxicating to me. She continues to wear the amulet despite an obvious obliviousness to its importance, which fills me
with immense pride.
I know what my betters would say, dull as they are. There are plenty in my life who think this game we’re playing is
unnatural. They would tell me that this chase is frivolous and dangerous, and that I jeopardize relations between our kind and
humans by continuing to entice my prey with lavish gifts.
But Quinn has a thing for flowers, and if I have the capacity to make a human happy with my resources, why shouldn’t I?
I’ve followed her to the botanical gardens in town and seen her fascination with corpse flowers. I’ve seen how strongly she
regards the flowers I gifted her, taking care especially of the rare flowers I plucked from my garden.
In an ironic twist, parts of the bouquet I’m now gathering are pollinated by bats, which is a small reason why they’re so
rare. Of course, when you can compel bats to your service, growing jade vines in your greenhouses isn’t quite so difficult.
“She’s going to love that,” I say to myself, a twisted smile starting to take form.
I create an arrangement of a lady’s slipper orchid and jade vines, using my superior aesthetic senses. I can already see the
joy on her face when she beholds this.
Some women have simple floral tastes, which is part of why I gave her a variety of flowers last time. But seeing how she
cherished the rarer, more unusual flowers, I know that what I’m gifting her will not be neglected.
“Give it to her just like that,” I tell the courier. “I’m sure, if you mention that it grows better in greenhouses, she’ll know
what to do with it.”
“Do you want me to leave any other message this time? Maybe a name?” The courier asks. “She’s seemed kind of weirded
out at just getting flowers like this out of nowhere.”
“No,” I insist.
He cups his forehead, looking down at the floral arrangement.
“We specialize in parcels, and technically, we’re not supposed to deliver plants or animals like this,” he says.
“I understand that,” I reply. “Not exactly bustling though lately, are we?”
I look around at the empty business. I’m sure a delivery service like his struggles with the rise of big competitors like the
postal service and Amazon.
I hand him an extra hundred for his trouble, and he delivers it as requested, to the utter joy of my thrall. I can tell through
simple observation how much she loves the arrangement. It almost gives meaning to my otherwise hollow existence, and the
thrill of it enlivens me.
But happiness to a vampire always creates a duality. The monstrous presence within us stirs to life with every rush of
dopamine, every ounce of joy we obtain.
To bring satisfaction to a human such as Quinn - to continue to tempt her with gifts, chasing her with mysteries and unnatural
questions. I am, in a sense, endangering her.
But I cannot and will not stop.
Even as the beast within me rises, and the smell of her blood draws me to act - even as I watch from afar, unable to remove
my eyes from the flesh of her neck - I will never abandon my chase.
I need only be strong enough to resist the call of my kind. As long as I can contain my wild urges with promises and
eventualities… reassuring myself that the taste of her blood will come in time… I know that I needn’t pull away.
That night, I wait beside the bar, as I always do, for Quinn to come out. I’ve learned her name, and a great deal more about
her, through my endless curiosity and through the skills I’ve acquired as a PEACE officer.
I’ve heard about her failed education, and her brother who left for the army. I’ve heard about her mother who never noticed
her, and how she hates to knit, sew, and crochet because her mother had a passion for it. We may have never spoken, but I feel a
close kinship with her.
But you must never get too close, I remind myself. She can never know who I am. Every moment I spend in her company, I
risk her safety and my livelihood.
When I tell myself I can have a taste, I know that I’m lying.
She leaves the bar late into the night, locking the door behind her. The door sticks, so she struggles against it as she forces
it closed.
She’s been told by her coworkers that it’s dangerous to walk alone at night. She’s been told that she could never know what
strange beings walk the streets after dark, be they muggers, gang members, or werewolves.
They’ve never heard about me.
She has a stubborn fire that fuels her every action, and her reactions to their concern is always indignant.
She thinks she can look after herself, but I disagree. I’m not the only vampire that walks these streets, and my brothers and
sisters are far less kind.
Quinn wheels around, and I run into a nearby alleyway, a bit too preoccupied with my own thoughts to blend properly into
the dark of night.
“Okay!” She shouts. “We’ve done this dance long enough. Now show yourself!”
Perhaps her work friend Rory said something to set her off - she’s not usually this hostile.
I clench my fists at the thought. Rory will not get in the way of my conquest. Quinn is mine to claim, and nobody can
interfere with that, lest they face the full extent of my wrath.
But as far as I’m concerned, I’m her imaginary friend.
I tell myself that as I stand in the alleyway, now fully concealed by the night.
The reality may be more complicated.
She stands expectantly alone, resolute in spite of the passing trucks kicking water up from the streets. Everything in me
compels me forward - to greet her, to taste her, to lose myself in the splendor of her blood.
Stop being wretched, I tell myself. Come closer to her… a little greeting cannot hurt.
But I wait in the darkness of the night. To me, ignoring this call is like refusing to eat or drink as a human in spite of
starvation. I know myself well enough to know that approaching is never a good idea.
To succumb to that temptation is to kill. A mere taste of blood cannot be enough for me.
“Well?” She calls out. “I’m waiting.”
I watch her from the alleyway, still obscured by the night, fighting my body’s urge to move forward with every ounce of my
willpower.
After enough time, she looks down at her phone and decides to continue walking.
“Good,” I whisper. “Keep walking. You don’t want to be late for work tomorrow.”
I need to be more careful. When I follow, I shadow her every movement, and never let the distracting cacophony in my
mind take hold. I am a rush of foul thoughts and urges, and the beasts inside me wish to perform every foul thought and urge on
Quinn.
She will be yours, I say to myself. She’s yours to claim alone.
But now is not the time or the place. For now, this chase must continue.
 7

QUINN

“H ow can you continue to flirt with this?” Rory asks me. “You know the kinds of things that are out there, and you’re not
the least bit worried that one of them is taking an interest in you?”
I invited Rory to come hang out, and I immediately regretted it. It wasn’t because her first reaction was to start
cleaning the place and doing laundry, all while critiquing my living habits… wasn’t even because she insisted that I have a
better future than toiling away at the bar with her, in spite of the fact that she can literally bend the universe to her will.
It’s because as soon as she saw the elaborate flower bouquets, the trinkets, and all of the baubles that my suitor left for me,
she became immensely concerned. It’s like I brought my mom back into my life, before she turned mean.
“It’s really no big deal,” I reassure her, trying to calm her down. “Why’s it so hard to believe there’s a guy out there that
really likes me?”
She’s been overburdensome in her coddling of me. I can feel my necklace seething with anger. I know it’s probably my
imagination, but sometimes I think it has a mind of its own.
Rory walks over to me and grabs my necklace. I try with everything in me to pry her hand away.
“You think ‘it’s no big deal,’” Rory says. “This thing is all kinds of bad juju.”
“But you told me it was protective magic!”
I finally manage to knock her hand away from the necklace.
“Abjurative, yeah,” she says. “It doesn't mean it’s safe. Abjurative relics still aren’t immune to curses.”
She looks back at me in disbelief.
“You mean you honestly don’t feel bad vibes with this thing?” She asks. “It’s practically screaming at me.”
“I think you’re just being paranoid, as usual…” I mumble to myself.
“Oh? You think I’m being paranoid?” She asks me. “Well, allow me to show myself the door then.”
“No,” I insist, as she makes her way out of my apartment. “Look, I get that you’re concerned, but I just wanted to hang out.
Can we not fight about this?”
“I still think you should go to the police about this,” Rory says. “Women have been killed in situations that aren’t as weird,
and those involved regular humans.”
“We still don’t have any idea what I’m dealing with,” I say. “It could just be some dude at the bar, who likes antiques.
Maybe he’s old-fashioned.”
She stares at my face for signs of seriousness, to see whether or not I’m joking.
“I know you’re not that dumb.”
“Well, gee,” I say. “You sure seem to think so, don’t you?”
She stares daggers into me, and I catch her looking at the front door again.
“Can we just watch Survival Island?” I ask. “I want to find out whether John lives or not.”
Survival Island was the latest network hit, built around the premise of a reality TV show where the competitors actually
kill each other. Ever since the FCC dissolved, the regulations around television had gotten less and less stringent. This was just
everything people already liked about reality TV turned up to eleven.
But there were still plenty of reasons to think the show was only scripted. Actors were still seemingly spotted out in the
real world, despite having died episodes earlier. And other governmental organizations still weren’t crashing down on it to
stop production.
It was still fascinating television though.
“So you’re really not going to come forward then?” Rory asks, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it into her face.
“Because if you’re worried they won’t believe you, I can do all kinds of things.”
“Like what?” I ask, out of curiosity.
 “Forensic magic, for starters,” she says, taking another mouthful of popcorn. “It’s kind of a new, developing thing, but I’m
able to tap into the memory of objects… figure out where they’ve been, what their story is.”
“That sounds pretty cool,” I admit.
“We can also cross reference with technology, basically scrying cameras and archives around the city to see what they’ve
seen,” she says. “It’s really pretty cool.”
“I mean, you always were kind of a nerd for that stuff,” I say, noticing that my word choice bugs her. “But you say it’s
developing, like ‘doesn’t work’?”
“It works fine,” she says. “I’m just still studying it. My magic needs a lot of practice before I can become really good.”
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” I ask.
She sends me a questioning glance.
“Aren’t you the one with the dangerous stalker? Why are you lecturing me on danger?”
I shrug, as Becky pushes John off a cliff.
“Oh, lame,” I say to the TV. “They totally just used a wilhelm scream there. Bad taste, guys.”
I hope that my subject change worked, and that Rory isn’t going to continue insisting on this. I wonder if for her to leave it
alone, I need to just never mention it again.
That would kinda suck… never being able to talk to your best friend about your life. But I know that I’m not going to run
away from this - not gonna find some way to tell him to stop, or go to the authorities.
I know what I’m feeling, and I know it’s a hell of a lot more exciting than the life I was leading before. I really don’t want it
to stop.
Maybe it’s stupid, and whatever is after me is dangerous like Rory says. I don’t know.
She gets to be special, with her natural skill at magic. She gets to be a witch. The secrets of the universe are at her
fingertips, if she just has the patience to unravel them.
I’m a bartender dropout with a military brother and a mother who didn’t think I was interesting enough to pay attention to.
If she were more interested in helping me find out what’s going on than she was in lecturing me about my life choices,
maybe neither of us would have to worry.
The episode wraps as morbidly as ever, and I tell Rory that I was glad she came over.
That’s when she brings it up again. She looks at the jade vines on the counter, (I desperately need to find a greenhouse or
something, or they’re going to die in here… or spread and violate my lease) and she can’t help commenting on it.
“If you want to talk to the police about all this, I’d gladly go with you, you know?” She reiterates. “I wouldn’t even ask for
anything in return… wouldn’t give you a hard time about it. Wouldn’t even charge you for the spell ingredients. If you need
help, I’m there.”
“Are you ever going to drop this?” I ask seriously. I’m going to have to put my foot down if I want her to stop asking about
it.
“No, I’m not,” she says, smiling. “I’m sorry that I upset you. But you’re my friend, and I feel like I owe it to you to tell you
when you’re making a mistake.”
I bite my lip, looking down at the carpet. I don’t understand why I’m so upset.
“You think you know better because you’re a witch,” I say. “All I want is to hang out with my friend. I don’t need you
throwing your magic in my face all the time.”
“You know that’s not what I meant-” Rory says.
“Have a good night, Rory,” I say. “I’ll see you at work, okay?”
 8

CASPIAN

here are moments when even an immortal vampire must work.

T I sit at my desk, my mind wandering to the streets, and to Quinn. I would rather be walking aimlessly through the night,
ambling after her, than at a cubicle.
I wonder if she notices my absence. She always did have a strong intuition.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the office, chasing after this clan murder case,” Ren says. “What have you
found?”
The smell of Ren is nauseating to me. Werewolves generally have that characteristic. Their blood is disgusting to vampires.
There are stories of unnatural alliances between werewolves and vampires, where vampires and werewolves have
children, or ingest blood from one another. It never ends well.
Ren is my guiding light, if the light wasn’t aggravating and itchy to me. Having him around instantly turns my appetite, and
redirects me from the temptation to drink human blood.
“Regarding that,” I say. “I have been pursuing a case in the field, but it was not regarding the human murder case.”
He looks at me oddly.
“Okay, first of all,” he says. “You’ve got to stop referring to everything as ‘human’ cases. When anything involves a shifter
or a type of creature, we just lead with that. Otherwise, it’s assumed it probably involves humans.”
I nod in surrender, even though I don’t plan to abide by that.
“Second of all, what?” He asks. “Your reports have all said you were out pursuing the case. What have you been doing
these past several days?”
I look around, and lean into him with a hushed whisper, as he teeters on the edge of my desk.
“Do you promise to keep a secret?”
He furrows his eyebrows.
“I can’t make that promise before you tell me what it is,” he says. “What the hell is going on?”
“I have been stalking a woman who I believe might be related to our case,” I say.
The expression on his face adjusts, becoming one of agitation and immediate concern.
“You what?” He asks. “How is she related to our case?”
“I do not know yet,” I say. “You can call it a hunch.”
“‘I can call it a hunch,’” he repeats back to me. “Dude. You’re leaving out major details. You’re lying to your boss. What
am I supposed to think?”
“That you are happy for me?” I say simply.
“Why would I be happy for you?” He replies. “You have been way off the handle lately.”
“Because I finally found a lead.”
“You don’t even know that she’s a lead,” Ren says. “Man, you’ve had major problems with this kind of thing before. You
can’t get five feet within a human without your eyes going red. This is a problem.”
“Promise me you are not going to report this,” I say. “I can control myself - you know that. And this is my one opportunity
to atone.”
Ren hesitates. I am glad that werewolves cannot read minds, otherwise this might be challenging.
“Okay,” Ren says finally. “But you’re courting disaster. And I’m coming with you.”
“You are certainly not,” I reply. “You can join me for any direct infiltration missions. But tailing Quinn-”
“Tailing ‘Quinn,’” he replies simply, before folding his arms in disapproval. “Sounds to me like you have a personal
connection to a person of interest now.”
I shake my head. That slip-up was unfortunate, but he cannot keep me from my thrall.
 “Tailing her requires stealth,” I say simply. “And on the last occasion I checked, stealth is not a strong characteristic of
werewolves. That’s the way we’ve always done things.”
He looks at me seriously now.
“I know how it is with you vampires,” he says. “My last partner was a vampire too. There’s a reason for that. We keep
each other in check, balance out each others’ weaknesses.”
“I love you too, Ren,” I say sardonically.
“My last partner went off the deep end,” he continues. “Thought he was falling in love with some human woman on one of
our cases, and wound up murdering her because he wanted a little taste. Then went on a rampage. He’s incarcerated now.”
I look him squarely in the eye.
How dare he dictate my limitations to me? He has no concept of my personal strength or inner goodness.
Perhaps the taboo nature of the relationships between humans and vampires is what makes them so enticing.
But my relationship with Quinn is worlds different than any of those weaker vampires who lost control. He cannot keep me
from her.
If he tries to stand in my way - obstruct me from what I need - I am uncertain what I will do.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask him simply.
He takes a deep breath, and I think I see fear in his eyes.
“Nothing,” he says.
I purse my lips.
“But if you ever suspect that your relationship with this girl is getting personal, I need you to stand aside, for your own
good,” he says. “I can’t lose another partner to vampiric urges. Can’t have more dead people on my conscience.”
“Especially not when the person committing the crime is a dear friend,” he adds.
I shake my head, cast my eyes downward to the hardwood floor, and smile.
Ren will have to remain in ignorance for this, because I cannot think of what I will have to do if he bars me from my love.
His factual recitation of his earlier partnership leaves me disappointed. From what he has told me of it, he never tried to
connect with his partner - never tried to understand the struggle of a vampire, hot on the chase of an eternal mate.
Shifter law frowns on these games of pursuit - in some cases, even criminalizes them. They would have humans and
vampires meet in cafes and talk over coffee, or through online chat rooms. They expect our courtships to be safe and
impersonal.
But none of that works for us. What motivates us is a rush of blood through our fangs, a series of calculated risks, and
chasing our eternal mates through the city, even over decades. It’s how my sire met his mate, her sire met hers, and so on.
“You don’t need to worry,” I say simply. “The girl is nothing to me.”
This is a cruel and cold lie, but it seems to satisfy Ren. And that is all that matters.
To claim my prize - continue my chase - I need to keep Ren off of my case. He can never know what Quinn means to me -
how intoxicating it is to follow her across the streets of Middlebury.
“Good,” he says. “But know that I’m watching you closely. If you set a toe out of line, I will know. And for your own good,
I will have to intervene strictly as your colleague, not as a friend.”
“I would expect nothing less,” I lie.
He walks away from my desk, toward other business, and I instantly feel lighter in the absence of his awful smell.
My mind is free to wander back to my thrall.
I think of how she dominates almost any situation with ease - how she speaks her mind regardless of the consequences, and
handles men much larger than her.
But mostly, I think of the look of compliance in her eyes when I have her under my thumb - how her intoxicating blood
pulses through her, inviting me just to come a little closer.
Ren cannot know. Quinn is mine.
 9

QUINN

nother day has arrived, and so has another gift from my mystery suitor. This time, it’s a key on my front doorstep, with a
A scrawled note attached, dangling from the keyring.
A place for your flowers.
You didn’t think I wouldn’t take care of you, did you?
You can have anything you want. Name it.
The only thing I can’t give you is MY name.
There’s an address attached. I look it up on my browser and find a satellite view of a very large, privately owned
greenhouse.
I am overwhelmed with emotion. The last gifts were just very kind gestures, but this feels like so much more. It feels like
too much.
Since I have the day off, I decide to go see this greenhouse for myself, not even bothering to question whether it could be a
trap, or whether there could be some kind of caveat. I bring along some of my exotic flowers that were surely going to die in
the apartment.
Seeing this greenhouse in person, it’s immense. It could easily be owned by a company or a corporation, but the fact that
some guy just owns it privately still boggles my mind.
I turn the key in the lock, and unlike my apartment door, it opens right up.
Looking inside, there are already an assortment of rare flowers beyond what he’s already given me, with space for more.
But there’s so much more to it than that.
Inside of this greenhouse, he’s already growing fruit and vegetables, many of which are seemingly ready to harvest.
And this greenhouse is like eight to fifteen times larger than my apartment. There’s an actual orchard in here, even.
On a desk near the front entrance, I look and see a number of botany and biology textbooks, as well as guides to growing
plants. Tucked under one of them, I find two worn pieces of paper.
On closer inspection, they’re the deed and title to the land, somehow in my name. I question the resources of somebody
able to do this without me present, since I’m pretty sure that legally, he would have had to transfer ownership over to me. But I
don’t let it bother me too much.
There are some baskets near the orchard, so I take time to harvest several apples, tomatoes, potatoes, and carrots before
marveling at the variety of specimens I can’t identify here. Someday, I’m going to take the time to identify all these plants,
because many look incredibly exotic.
I plant the jade vines, relieved that I finally have somewhere to put them. I wash off my hands in the faucet nearby.
On my way out, an automated sprinkler system hits me, spraying my back with cool water.
“Goddammit,” I mutter quietly. That means I’ll probably have to change when I get home.
I lock the door behind me, then carefully place the baskets into my back seat on the floor and drive back to my apartment.
My mind whirls with thoughts on my drive home. I’m overwhelmed with emotion.
This is amazing, and never in my dreams did I think anything like this would ever happen to me. But it all feels suspiciously
too much.
Upon arriving, I set the keys on the kitchen counter next to my other flowers and immediately wash off the crops, putting
what I need in the small pantry and fridge provided by the apartment. I plop down on the couch, looking over the paperwork.
It seems like the land deed goes well beyond the bounds of the greenhouse, so there’s no reason somebody couldn’t put
other property on it as well. If I had anywhere near enough money, I could probably put a house or some other structure on it,
and just live there.
I can’t help but feel claustrophobic in here now.
 There’s a knock on the door, and I remember that Rory was supposed to stop by. We were going to see the new Donkeycop
movie in theaters.
“Shit!” I mutter to myself, rushing to my bedroom bookshelf and putting the paperwork back on it.
I open the door to Rory, letting her in.
“You ready to go?” She asks simply. “I’m glad Greg took over my shift, but the reviews for this one aren’t great.”
“Ready whenever you are,” I say simply.
She looks at my shirt, which is still dripping wet. My heart leaps, as I realize that I forgot to change my shirt.
“Why is your back all wet?” She asks.
I try my hardest in the moment to invent a lie.
“Oh,” I say simply. “There was a shower leak, but I fixed it.”
She walks over to the countertop, admiring (or perhaps despising) the exotic flowers.
“There were more of these here earlier, weren’t there?” She asks, gently touching the petals of one of the orchids.
I laugh.
“Oh yeah,” I say simply. “The jade vines didn’t really take well to apartment life.”
“So you let them die?” She asks. “That doesn’t seem like you at all.”
Then she picks up the key, and I feel my heart stop.
I immediately realize that this is going to be an argument, and wish that I’d remembered to hide it.
“Did this come from your admirer?” She asks me. “What is this?”
She reads the note out loud.
“The only thing I can’t give you is my name,” she finishes.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” I say, attempting futilely to dissolve the tension. “Why don’t we go to the movie now?”
“We can go to a later showing,” Rory replies. Then, she says to herself, “There’s an address here.” She enters it into her
phone.
I’m immediately confronted with the question of what I need to do about this. If she enters the address, she’s going to see
the greenhouse and ask questions.
If I walk over and just snap the phone out of her hands, that’s definitely going to raise more questions.
I resent myself for not putting away the key. I knew she was coming. We’d been talking about this movie for weeks.
So how on Earth could I have forgotten?
She holds her phone up to me.
“What the hell is this?” She asks, much more hostile than usual. “This is the key to a greenhouse.”
I can’t think of any responses in the moment, but I keep a nervous smile on my face just in case it’s appropriate.
“Is that why your back is wet? Is that why you’re missing plants?” She asks.
“Is that movie still off the table?” I ask. “I know you said, maybe a later showing… but I really wanted to catch the
matinee…”
“I’ll pay for your ticket,” she says. “Can you please answer my question?”
“Yes, it’s a greenhouse,” I say. Her eyes widen in shock. “And yes, it’s the most generous thing anybody’s ever gifted me.”
“I know you didn’t have a lot growing up, but you’ve got to be smarter than this,” Rory says simply. “Please. Cut ties with
this guy. Give him back the key. You’re playing a really dangerous game.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say flatly. “Are we going to see the movie or not?”
Rory chuckles defeatedly. She’s pissed.
“I don’t know how you can do this to me,” she says. “You know what my mom went through. Guy comes into your life,
promises to give you everything, then takes control and abuses you? And that’s assuming he’s even human.”
“Just stop,” I reply.
Rory takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I can’t deal with you right now. We can go see the movie some other time. But I’m gonna go,” she says, before walking out
the door and slamming it behind her.
I shrug.
If Rory can’t be reasonable and adult about this, there’s not much I can do.
I walk over to my computer and type out the most sincere ‘thank you’ letter I can muster. I can feel adrenaline surging as I
type, and the danger of this is still exciting to me.
But it’s still just the proper thing to do.
When somebody gives you something nice, you thank them.
 10

CASPIAN

utside Quinn’s apartment door, the night air hangs heavy but silent — the crickets have left in their wake a stillness that
O almost screams in my ear. Under cover of shadows, I make my way to her window, crouching against the dim, flickering
light that illuminates the entrance to her apartment.
“Sweet girl likes to play with danger,” I hum.
Her blinds are open, and in between the rows exposing the inside of her room I see her sprawled out asleep on her bed; her
nightie rides up her smooth, white legs, and the outline of her nipples are sharp against the moonlight that shines through. The
flesh that is exposed is milky and subtle, delicate in a way that precious things are – innocent, unadorned.
It doesn’t take me long to shimmy the sliding glass door into her bedroom. The cool air inside the room cannot mask the
smell of her – if I had been a mile away, I could still breathe in her scent and recall all my deepest desires for her flesh.
I turn up my nose and sniff the subtle musk of her sweat, the skin thick and acrid in the most intoxicating way I’ve ever
known. I close the window as silently as I came in, making sure she doesn’t stir.
She only breathes shallowly, untouched by her surroundings, her breasts heaving up and down and her chest takes in and
releases air. I walk to her bed and lean over her as if examining a corpse. She has a look on her face of tranquility, an
unknowing that comes from not seeing the dangers right in front of her. Like the necklace around her neck
With this gift bound to her, she will be mine forever.
I take my cold hand and run it over her bare arms; they are cold, almost lifeless, but underneath the flesh I can feel her
blood flow with a human rhythm that makes me crave her even more. I smell her hair. I touch those rings on her dainty fingers,
where her skin meets gold and forms something anew.
My fangs protrude from my lips and I lean in closer, longing to feed and to expel my lust, to consume her innermost being.
Desire warms me, begging to be let out.
“Just a bite,” I murmur, a part of me hoping it will wake her. I can only imagine how delicious Quinn’s fear would be.
Unfortunately, she still doesn’t stir. It makes me want to push her further.
She is mine and only mine – I will stop at nothing to possess her. I’m tempted to take what I want from her.
But not now. Not tonight.
She’s not ready for me.
She doesn’t know what’s in store for her.
I run my long nails down her bare legs. They almost glow with their pale delicacy. Her feet stick out from the covers; long
but thick, her toes straight, they represent the delicate and innocent beauty of her entire body.
I run a fingernail down one smooth sole. Her foot twitches, a mere reaction of the nerves, and yet a thrill shoots through me
as she starts to pull away. I love the chase.
I put my nose to the sole, inhaling softly, but the cool flesh there leaves no trace of scent; they are the embodiment of
everything sensual yet innocent about her.
Somewhere in the air I smell the soft fragrance of brittle flowers.
I turn on the kitchen light.
The roses I gave her. They’re dying.
They stand in a vase on the kitchen counter.
I pick up one single rose, drooping now, a pale pink shade almost gone white; it is brittle to the touch and tiny flecks fall
from my fingers.
Just like Quinn — brittle to the touch, delicate, but timelessly beautiful; but also subject to time and change.
But I will fix that.
I walk back into her bedroom, taking her sleeping body in, possessing her with my gaze. Her position hasn’t changed – her
arms flared out, hips thrust to the side.
Looking at her, an intense, violent desire seizes me at once. I want to bite her furiously, sink my teeth into her skin and fill
my mouth with her blood, fluid gushing against my chin. I want to take her inner thigh and dig my teeth, biting until flesh comes
apart in my mouth.
But in all due time.
Right now, I have to wait until she is ripe for the picking.
I circle her bed one last time, drifting my fingers down her cheek. “Until tomorrow.”
I leave Quinn’s house just as I came in, silent and cunning like a master escape artist. In my car, I can think of nothing but
Quinn’s white flesh, laid out tight and clean against her body. The violence with which I want to bite her flesh, ravage her neck
and take her body and use it as my own, causes me to lust beyond reason, an erection sticking straight against my black slacks.
I barely make it through my front door before my cock stands in full view. It throbs, hot and pulsing. I grip it in my fist and
make my way to the bedroom.
I open my closet of knives, immediately reaching for the ka-bar. I take off my shirt, pants and underwear, and sit down hard
on the bed. The passion rising up and warming my chest threatens to make me climax, so I waste no time slicing across my right
breast with the ka-bar knife. As the dark crimson slice gives way to a larger pool, I pump my cock twice and cum, blood
dripping down into my groin.
I sit back and think of Quinn, of her ghost white body, and can only guess at how our ecstasy could compare to shedding my
own blood.
I take my fingers and lap up my own blood. I suck on my fingers, savoring every last drop. My lust is insatiable – and
nothing can quench it save for Quinn, that luscious body filled with sweet nectar.
 11

QUINN

he following morning, it’s raining outside. I stretch out across my bed, groaning.
T For some reason, I feel extremely alert as I lift myself from the mattress, ready to start a new day.
And very aroused.
My pajamas cling to my legs, and I can feel the moisture gathering around my thighs.
I look down at my pillow, and there’s a single rose from the counter, placed very particularly, as though deliberate.
“What the hell?” I ask myself quietly, picking it up and examining it. The petals have started to fall off, and it looks like it’s
dying now.
I should have taken as much care of the roses as I did of the other flowers, which are now safely in the greenhouse,
fruitfully producing more crops and flowers. Last I checked though, the roses were doing fine. I’m not sure what happened
between now and then that could have killed it, but they seem to be wilting.
Removed from context, I might have thought that I carried it over here, but I know better.
My suitor is getting more bold. Now he’s not just leaving items on my front porch or giving them to delivery people.
He’s entering my house now too.
And that scares me for a moment, before I feel a new wave of excitement rush over me.
He’s upping the stakes, but failing to plan ahead while doing it. He can only keep getting closer for so much longer before I
meet him, face-to-face, and find out what secrets he’s hiding from me. Eventually, he’s going to mess up.
There’s a persistent banging across the front door. Somebody is insistently knocking outside.
“One second!” I yell out across the threshold.
I get dressed, throwing my pajamas into the hamper and leaving the rose on the counter. I don’t have the heart to throw it
away.
I don’t know what happened last night, but something tells me this rose, among all the roses in the vase, is significant.
I peek out the peephole to see Rory, standing outside my front door with her arms folded.
I consider not letting her in, before finally surrendering to my rational, more well-adjusted side. I open the door a crack,
chain still stretched across the door, and smile at her as authentically as I can.
Even though she wants to control my life and keep me from living, she’s my greatest friend.
“There’s a matinee showing of Donkeycop in a few hours, and I was wondering if you wanted to go see it,” she states.
There’s a coldness there that makes me uncomfortable.
I look around my apartment. Only the roses are left sitting on the counter now, so she probably won’t harass me about it if I
let her in.
“You mean you’re not still mad?”
“Of course I’m upset,” Rory says. “But I’m slowly realizing that I can’t control you, so I’m not going to worry as much
about your bad decisions.” She pauses thoughtfully. “As long as you don’t bring me into them?”
I open the door all the way, letting her inside. She tries to contain her curiosity this time, not peeking around the house for
signs of my suitor.
“You got rid of all the pretty flowers you liked,” she said, noticing the roses on the counter.
I shake my head.
“Greenhouse,” I say simply.
She nods. I can tell she wants to say something, but I’m glad that she doesn’t, because I don’t know if I can tolerate being
told how to live my life right now.
We go to the movie, and it’s about as bad as the reviews are saying. It was filmed during a writer’s strike, so a lot of the
dialogue seems contrived and phoned in by executives. When Donkeycop loses his wife toward the end of the movie, there
isn’t much point to it.
It seems like the writers treated her as a disposable character to try to enrage Donkeycop rather than actually taking the
time to develop her.
We discuss our thoughts on the way home. But the entire time, I’m wondering if whoever has generously left me these gifts
has found another way into my apartment. He’s made every aspect of my life more interesting.
We stop back by the house, and I can feel that Rory is a lot less distant toward me, much to my relief.
Then she stops by the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As she rounds the kitchen counter, pouring the glass and returning
toward me, she looks down at the counter.
“Why was this rose left out?” She asks, acknowledging the wilting rose on the counter.
“I don’t know, Rory,” I say. “What happened to making my own mistakes?”
She produces a satchel from her pocket. I get up to stop her - she’s being completely ridiculous - but she mutters an
incantation and I am frozen in place.
I cannot move.
“What are you doing, Rory?” I ask urgently.
Taking the rose up to her nose, she squints at me, confused.
“Retexere,” she mutters.
Seemingly nothing happens, but as I watch her, her eyes grow wide with revelation.
I can move again.
“When were you going to tell me where you found this rose?” She asks. “Did you know he was in here last night?”
I move over to her, taking the rose from her as she sets it back on the countertop and tucking it behind my ear.
“How long are you going to stalk me… interrogate me on the actions of a man I don’t know?” I ask.
As now I stand, arms folded and completely resolute, not backing down from this, Rory shrinks away from me.
“What I’m doing is nothing compared to this man-” she starts to say. “How can you stand there and defend the actions of
your actual stalker over your own friend? How long have we known each other?”
I can see actual tears forming in her eyes now. It almost draws me back, but I’ve already committed to this path.
She won’t shake me from it. Something about this man, or creature, or whatever it is stirs me to action.
“I thought you said you weren’t getting involved anymore?” I ask simply.
“Quinn, this isn’t some puppy infatuation you can double down on,” she yells. “This man is actually dangerous to you!”
I move to console her, wrapping my arms around her as she weeps. This chase is starting to break her. Ironically, I never
wanted her involved in the first place.
“You have to move away,” she says simply, eyes cast down to the ground. “I’m going to miss you, but it’s the only way.”
“I’m not doing that,” I reply. “If he ever hurts me, then I might consider it. But I keep telling you he’s harmless.”
Whether she’s being paranoid or not, I hope this ends soon. I hate having to lie to her.
I’ll just have to be more careful next time. Because I know he’s not going to stop - I don’t know if he would if I asked him
to. She’s abnormally perceptive, and she knows me incredibly well, so hiding this in the future is going to be complicated.
I walk her out of the apartment, telling her good night.
I can imagine him sitting there on the couch, watching me walk her out. He’s got a twisted smirk on his face - a face I can’t
imagine, contorting into and out of life.
“Our game continues,” he says smugly.
I scoff at him.
Whoever this guy is, he’ll never taste my fear.
 12

CASPIAN

’ve left so many roses for her - so many gifts, testing her loyalty to me. Every step of the way, I have gazed upon her,
I admiring her as she proved the depths of her commitment to me. I’ve tested her bond to me… watched as with no hesitance,
she’s fallen for my every gesture.
“And she’s always been mine,” I say.
But now she wears the rose that I left on her pillow behind her ear. It wasn’t even an intentional gesture - the rose was
symbolic of her, a delicate, wilting flower desperate for my care, prone to the passage of time. I left it in a moment of
weakness.
However, she made it a gesture… took meaning from metaphor. She wears it proudly now, as though it’s a flag she can
wield freely to draw me toward her.
I watch her, living in squalor, so grateful for my every display of generosity and wealth, and at the same time that it
stimulates me, driving my inner beast to howl with vigor, it saddens me. I hear her cries for attention… her desire to have
more, but her unwillingness to ask for it. She needed a facilitator to teach her what she lacked, and I just happened to have
stepped into that role.
But it’s so much more than that. I am not merely a generous benefactor, enabling her, giving her the things she is unable to
possess.
I can sense her need.
With every thrum of the amulet, I understand her true motivations, and her thirst for me. It speaks to me, showing me her
heart, and the deeper parts of herself that she would rather not confront. I see the light inside of her, and the shadow - witness
her own monsters, as they war with the angels in her soul.
And with my deeper understanding of its inner workings, I’ve come to possess her heart. None other will comprehend its
flaws… the way it beats so desperately, but hides itself to everybody else through pride and sarcasm. They cannot possibly
hope to understand her intricacies the way I have.
With every new piece of information, the beast inside me grows more persistent - roars more loudly. I have contained the
beast for as long as I can, sating its thirst with eventualities and empty promises.
I had to have a taste - had to give in, or else the beast inside me would destroy itself, and I would be left a shell of a
creature. I can still remember the taste of her sweet nectar on my lips - the way her juices flowed into me, possessing my every
thought. I am a prisoner to that nectar, consistently begging for it, always one step away from tasting too much.
In truth, right now, I own her, but she has a hold on me too. We hold each others’ keys, and in moments of subjugation and
acquiescence, we trade ownership. As I prowl the cities, mirroring her every movement, the promise of her blood tests me; but
as I bait her forward with another trinket, another resource, I am in control.
This case tests my focus.
I want to tear away from it and leave it behind me, except that Quinn is in its crossfire still, beholden to the every whim of
these vampires…
Or no, they’re not vampires, I remind myself. Vampires could not be this stupid, as to leave a trail of drained corpses.
Maybe I haven’t fully succumbed to this taste, but I know that we don’t become mindless beasts, bereft of a consciousness or
motivation when we do. That’s preposterous.
Ren’s eyes have not left me since I divulged my true intentions, slipping that the subject of interest I chased was a girl tied
to the investigation. I see them sizing me up at every key moment, analyzing my likeliness to waver to my baser needs.
“Looks like another vampire attack,” he says. “Neck wounds, blood drained…”
I agree on the surface, nodding impartially as I jot down a note on my steno pad… not one to let my inner bias come
forward, but I know the truth.
 As he stands over a room full of corpses, all drained of their blood, in this bar very similar to the one where Quinn works,
I worry that we may not stop them in time.
I need for this investigation to be over, so that his eyes leave me. I can see in his eyes a deeper questioning that interrogates
me. Maybe he hasn’t admitted it, even to himself, but I can tell that he suspects me of this.
“What do you think?” He asks me, testing my commitment to our cause.
“I still think that vampires would not do this,” I reply. “This seems more like a caricature of vampire behavior. They don’t
understand the intricacies of a vampire’s thirst. This is a massacre, plain and simple - there’s no calculation behind it, save for
the question of ‘how do I get away with this’.”
“These killings are becoming more and more frequent, Caspian,” Ren growls. “If we’re to understand the danger they pose,
we need to treat them with utmost severity. Even if they’re humans or some other creature imitating vampire attacks, if we
move forward assuming they’re vampire attacks, we will gain insight.”
I hear his words, but they don’t make sense to me.
“I know you hesitate to put the goodness of your own kind into question, but the reality is that you’re capable of this. And if
I doubt, even for a minute, that your judgment is compromised, I can report that to the captain.”
Our relationship has become more strained since I confided in him, and that feels a bit like a betrayal to me.
“Even if this isn’t a vampire attack,” he asks me, as I continue scrawling nonsense on my notepad. “What do you think we
can learn from this?”
“That our killers have no conscience,” I answer simply.
“Explain.”
“These were innocents,” I reply. “There’s no sign that this attack was gang-related. There’s no connection between any of
these victims, beyond the fact that they were all human.”
“And?”
“...and if the attack wasn’t personal, driven by some kind of a grudge, then our killers must have derived some other
satisfaction from it.”
“Which would make sense if they were vampires,” he replies.
“Or psychopaths. Or a group of people with a hatred for vampires, who wanted to make sure that we all seemed guilty for
this.”
He looks at me, and I can see the disappointment in his eyes.
Does he really expect me to blame my own kind for this?
“You can go,” he says. “We’ll get forensics in here.”
I feel an immense sense of relief. The thought of Quinn’s delicate, white skin in my mouth, her blood flowing into me, has
been tearing me apart the entire time we’ve spoken.
Before dashing into Quinn’s bar, I ensure that I’m not being followed. Ren has been making me paranoid lately. I’ve seen
how closely he watches me, and it makes me nervous to continue as I have been, sneaking into Ren’s home every night. In his
mind, I’m his partner, but I may also be a suspect.
I need to see her, if only to watch her from afar.
The dim lights of the bar flicker in the night, and I creep into the bar’s back entrance, my body springing awake at the
thought of her beautiful countenance and smooth, luscious skin.
 13

QUINN

oday is uncharacteristically dull. I wipe down the counter for the third time, just trying to keep time flowing, so that I can
T get out of here. So far, there have been no gifts today from my stalker. I’m partly relieved, because I don’t know how I can
continue to confront Rory with this, but I still haven’t even seen this guy, so how dangerous can he really be?
Not that Rory’s even here today. I’m closing alone today - no Rory and no manager anywhere to be found.
“You know what you did!”
The sound of glass breaking fills the room behind me. I turn around slowly to see a tall, shadowy man standing aggressively
above a table of men. What’s weird is I never even saw them sit down. But the bar has suddenly filled up.
I know a vampire when I see one. They have a very particular look and pattern of behavior.
I’m glad that tonight might turn out to be exciting after all.
“Excuse me,” I say across the bar, as I approach the figures. “Are you planning on paying for that glass?”
The men at the table snicker. I wasn’t exactly coming to their defense, but I’m glad it turns to my favor.
“Why don’t you butt out of it, woman?”
He stands intimidatingly over me, using his massive presence to try to scare me away.
But I don’t scare easily.
“I’m sorry,” I say simply. “I thought as being the sole operator of the bar, it was my business to know when a fight started
on the premises.”
He turns me around, wrapping his arms around me. The table of men just sits and watches, as he goes in to bite my neck,
but stops short.
He seizes my necklace instead, and I feel his hesitation. Using the opportunity to my advantage, I throw myself away from
him, then clear the distance, grappling him. He’s massive in my grasp, and I know that the traditional methods of dispersing bar
patrons don’t work on vampires.
So I bluff.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I say calmly, still grabbing him from the back, not able to do much more than the
gesture.
“Or what?” He asks.
I pull out a random piece of silverware from within my pocket. Neither the table in front of me nor the vampire in my grasp
can see what I’m actually holding.
“Or I’ll carve out a chunk of you with this wooden stake,” I say. “I’m small. You’ll never see me coming.”
“You’re bluffing,” he hisses.
“Am I? That’s an interesting theory,” I say. “Counter-theory. We got tired of vampires coming into our bar and causing
problems, so the sprinklers above you–” I gesture upward. “Are filled with holy water.”
He thinks for a minute. I know how good vampires are at reading stimuli - my heartbeat, everything going on in my body,
the release of neurochemicals - so I do my best to calm myself.
“Let’s take this fight somewhere else,” the vampire says, backing away from me. “This girl’s already been claimed.”
‘Already been claimed’.
I’m not sure what he means by that, but I’m glad to see him leaving. However, one of the vampires says something fairly
disturbing on his way out.
“You don’t piss off a vampire, girlie,” he says. “Maybe you think you’re protecting yourself, with all your bar’s
precautions and your ‘stake,’ but you’ve been marked.”
As they leave, and I know they’re a safe distance away, I feel myself trembling. I lock the bar door. It’s a couple hours til
close, but I’m sure my manager will understand, given the circumstances.
 I return to cleaning, and for the couple hours left until closing, I think things have calmed down again. I can handle unruly
bar patrons, but vampires are another thing entirely.
I stick my earbuds into my ear as I work, scrubbing countertops and wiping down dishes and glasses to the sounds of 80s
music. During normal work hours, we’re discouraged from listening to music, as it draws our attention away from the
customers, but we’re closed now anyway. So I don’t see the harm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see the shadows around the kitchen fridge shift, but as I turn around, there’s nothing
there.
I return back to my dishes, getting into a rhythm with the guitar solo in this synth song, when I feel a pair of hands around
my waist.
Is this what a heart attack feels like? My mind is filled with a sense of urgency, as surges of adrenaline flow through me,
and I’m drawn into action against this unseen force.
But as my earbuds are removed and thrown down onto the wet tile floor, I feel a calmness too.
“Shhhh,” a voice whispers into my ear. It seems familiar somehow, but I can’t place it.
I try to turn around in his grasp, but his grip on my waist tightens. He leans in, neck and shoulders turning, and I feel his
mouth around my neck, giving way to fangs. They scrape against me, and a surge of pain fills me, but instead of screaming, I
lean in.
Something inside me is reacting to this unseen force in a primal way.
“Why do you smell like other vampires?” He asks, his words cold and accusatory.
I struggle to respond, both overwhelmed by the pleasure uncontrollably surging downward, and wanting desperately to
keep my life, which he now holds in his hands. I feel my pelvis shifting forward, as my hips gyrate on their own accord,
desiring a penetration that never seems to come.
“Had to break up a fight,” I reply, words stammering. The necklace around me burns a warmth through me that I can’t
comprehend, filling my mind with unknowable words.
“Did you like my gifts?” He asks.
And it dawns on me. The thing that’s been following me, trying to possess me and bribe me with gifts - it’s a vampire.
This vampire.
“Yes,” I say, not knowing why the words flow freely. “I liked them very much.”
I’m still staring at the overflowing sink, water dripping onto the floor. The water flows down into the kitchen drain.
Looking down, I’m not sure where my earbuds went. They might have been carried down the drain.
It’s such a contrast - my mundane life standing calmly before me, as it always has, while this threat to my life that I grew so
complacent with grapples onto me, potentially never letting go. I know that I need to run - to seek help - and I can hear Rory’s
words of caution screaming into my ear, loud enough to be deafening.
“You want to escape?” He asks. “Go ahead. I’ll give you a head start.”
He lets go of me for a moment, and I command my body to run - command myself to turn around and see him - but I’m not
able to move. I’m frozen in place.
“What have you done to me?” I ask him.
“Nothing you didn’t want,” he says.
I close my eyes. His hands return to my sides, and I am still unable to move. He plunges into me, penetrating my neck with
his fangs. I yelp.
Blood flows freely down my neck, and he suckles it, never once relenting.
Something about my fear turns off, and all I can feel overtaking me is a desire for more. I am helpless in this man’s grasp,
but the sensation of being in his hold - bound within his grasp, fangs diving deeper into me - is mind-numbing.
 14

CASPIAN

y footsteps are muted, imperceptible to those who would harm me, and to her. Through the back entrance of the bar, I
M see dim, fluorescent lights countering the dark back area, flashing dully onto the kitchen tile. Dull, running water
reverberates over the threshold, accentuated by the faint creak of the backdoor as I step inside.
I hear the muffled sounds of music - 80s songs. Back in the day, these songs were mine. I lived by them, honored them, and
adored them.
Of course, I reserve a special place in my memory for a great variety of music, from many decades and centuries past. I
have had a long life, and music has always been one of the few things that lights up the space where my soul should be.
She turns toward me, and I rush out of her sight. When her eyes fixate on the spot where I was, I know that I need to act,
before she identifies me. Unable to resist any longer, I rush up behind her, grabbing her hips.
I long to bend her over this counter - take her right here, in this kitchen. To penetrate her with my fangs, and bend her to my
will, making her my slave in mind and body. I long to confirm what I already know.
She is mine.
“Shhhh” I whisper, as she starts to panic, and her heart rate spikes. It’s worn from exertion, as though somebody else has
accelerated it.
I move in, fangs exposed, toward her neck, then I bite down, and process her overwhelming scent. I’ve breached a barrier I
know I shouldn’t have crossed, and now I’m in the same cage as her, a wild animal ready to devour her.
She smells so good… like lilacs. It’s a smell I’ve longed to own for myself - a scent I’ve always wanted to approach, but
feel maddening me with every step forward. To own it for myself, and always have it nearby, is sheer lunacy.
But there’s something else that has added itself to her scent, pooling in the air. It’s a smell that repels me… a signifier of a
blasphemy, like a mark.
“Why do you smell like other vampires?” I ask plainly.
As I wait for her answer, I’m aroused by how she doesn’t fight me - how she leans into me, even grinds against me. On a
biological level, she has truly succumbed to me. She wants me inside of her - with my fangs inside her neck, she lingers still.
“Had to break up a fight,” she replies. I can sense her trepidation. Her fear is delicious to me.
“Did you like my gifts?” I ask. I can feel how the startling revelation shakes her core, moving her to a new level of
enlightenment.
“Yes.”
I feel the soul inside of her - the Quinn that repelled me at the bar - longing to escape from the confines of her physical
form, which is still enthralled by me. So I decide to make it interesting. If she manages to escape from me, it will prove to me
how strong she is - still a prize to claim, a trophy to behold.
If not, then nothing is lost. She still belongs to me either way.
“You want to escape?” I ask her. “Go ahead. I’ll give you a head start.”
I feel like laughing, as I watch her, frozen in place. She is mine to possess, and mine alone.
In time, I will strengthen her. The integrity of our bond will only enhance her willpower.
“What have you done to me?” She asks.
But I can feel the lie on her breath. Inside, her heart resonates with lust. She wants to be mine - to bend down, to bite into,
to drink from, to fuck.
“Nothing you didn’t want,” I say honestly.
I could never conceive how I didn’t want this - why I compelled myself to stay away for so long. Deep inside, it’s all I’ve
ever wanted - to break down a fierce warrior of a woman like Quinn and bend her to my will, creating a goddess in her place.
I’ve only wanted somebody worthy of my strength, who can rule this realm together with me, by my side.
 But PEACE and the whims of this world say that’s forsaken - that I’m a monster, violating the agreements and the laws held
between humans and vampires.
I am a creature of the night. No cage will hold me for long.
“You are mine to command,” I say, biting down again. “Your body and soul belong to me, and you will know eternal
pleasure.”
I feel the blood oozing from her neck, and attempt to lap it up. No blood should be wasted - it is all sustaining life.
Rather than repelling from me, she backs into me, only doubling down on the immense pleasure she receives.
“I do not want to see you around other men,” I whisper, nibbling at her ear. “Especially not another vampire.”
She gyrates in place, desperate to be pierced by me forever - mind, body, and soul.
“I need you to tell me that you understand,” I say, holding her life in my teeth.
“I understand,” she replies.
Her obedience should be rewarded. In my nethers, I feel my bulbous head swelling, ready to deliver my seed. I want to rip
her clothing from her fragile form, exposing her naked flesh to the cool air and the pouring water, then pin her to the ground.
I long to penetrate every inch of her porcelain flesh with my ivory teeth, gnawing down and mutilating her.
My monster longs to prod into her, breaking her apart and splitting her flower. It wants to devour her whole, consuming
every drop of hesitation and swallowing every mortal concern.
With every thrust and every callow moan, she will be transformed - broken down and reborn gradually into the creature I
deserve.
She feels my erection and she doesn’t resist, as the water pools before us, leaving the kitchen and entering the world
below. I can feel her urgency. To her, this is a place of sanctity. The idea of defiling her here only heightens our arousal.
But it cannot be now. My fangs penetrate deeper, and I can feel her blood seeping out at an accelerated rate. To linger here
is to kill her - crush this precious cocoon before it can emerge, fully formed.
I clean her neck, licking up the spare blood and sealing the wound with my will. I long to stay here forever, embracing her
supple form, but tonight, it is not to be.
“I have claimed your scent for myself, and undone the mark of those who would violate you against my wishes,” I moan.
“Now you belong only to me. Please keep it that way.”
As I vanish behind her, climbing out through the vents and back into the cool night air, I watch as she comes to her senses.
The shame she feels at succumbing to me screams through her, only heightened by her intense stubbornness.
Her desperation to feel me inside her again lingers, intensifying with every passing moment of her mundane life.
She beholds the flooded kitchen and she scrambles, rushing to scrubs the dishes before the conclusion of her shift. Part of
her thinks that maybe what happened was a mere daydream - I can hear the thought move through her as I savor her blood, still
strong and pungent in my mouth, still motivating to me.
Mortal life is so quaint.
 15

QUINN

hardly slept at all tonight. After getting home from the bar, my head was swimming with thoughts of my secret admirer. The
I way he held me against the wall. How his fangs sank into my skin.
My knees were weak the entire walk home. I honestly don’t know how I made it all the way home without any help.
Once I did, I immediately crashed into bed but sleep only came in quick spurts.
I’d lay here, thinking about the vampire in the night. Then I’d suddenly be dreaming of him approaching me with his fangs
again. Only to wake back up in my bed, wishing he was here with me.
But this time I think I’ve woken up for good. It’s time to get out of bed and start the day. I need to-
“Wait…” I say out loud to myself.
I hurry out of my room and rush down stairs. Another gift waits for me on my doorstep. This time it’s a gorgeous bracelet
with gemstones on the band.
Without hesitation, I slide it onto my wrist. It’s a perfect fit. As if I should expect anything less from my admirer.
I can’t help but flash a smile. All these gifts and all this attention, just to get to me. I don’t see him watching me right now,
but I hope he is. I hope he saw that smile. One of the few genuine ones I’ve given in a long time.
My hands quickly move up to my neck. The skin around the bite marks is still a little tender. I feel it every time I move my
neck. Yet still, I need to feel them with my own hand, remind myself it was all real.
The tips of my fingers run over the two symmetrical holes and a shiver runs down my spine. For a split second, I relive that
elation of the bite from last night. The ecstasy of his power over me.
As I back inside, I brush the holes with my fingertips again and again. A warmth spreads across my body. I need more.
Common sense would say run. My admirer stalked me home. He bit me. He drank my blood. I should run far and I should
run fast.
But I won’t do that. I like the danger. The danger is what I want.
I keep replaying last night in my head. The way my heart skipped a beat when he jumped out of the darkness. His jealousy
at the scent of other men on me. The grip of his hands on my body.
Just remembering it sends another rush through my body. I need more of it. I must live in it all forever.
I sit down at my kitchen table with a piece of paper and a pen. He’ll come back tonight, I’m sure of that. I’ll just let him
know he’s welcome inside. I start writing:
Thank you for the bracelet. It’s almost as lovely as the feeling of your bite. I can’t stop thinking about it. I need more of
you. I’m off work tonight. Why don’t you join me inside, while I’m awake this time.
On another day, maybe I’d think of something more poetic to write. But I barely graduated high school and flunked out of
college, so maybe not. Besides, my head is swimming with all the things my admirer might do to me next. I’m surprised I even
managed to write anything coherent.
I hurry back down stairs with the note. If he was watching me when I found the gift, I hope he’s still hanging around. Or at
least comes by again to find the note.
With a quick scan of my street, I see no one. But if I’ve learned anything these past few days, it’s that that doesn’t mean
anything. I lightly place the note down and hurry back inside.
Waiting for him is like a whole new type of torture. Maybe this is all part of the game he’s playing with me. Toying with his
prey.
I flop down on my couch to wait for my admirer to arrive. My head continues to swim with thoughts of him. I need to
distract myself, that should help with the wait.
But nothing manages to pass the time. I try to watch some TV, all the actors look just like him. Grabbing a random book off
my bookshelf leads to me reading a story about a vampire and young woman. I don’t even remember buying this.
 I try to think of literally anything else. The more I try to push the thoughts of him out of my head, the more they’re replaced
with worry and doubt. What am I doing?
Have I made a mistake? Is letting this guy in the worst idea I’ve ever had? I’m strong but can I hold off a vampire if things
go too far?
What if the content of the note was wrong? Maybe he doesn’t want to be invited in like that. I could’ve ruined the
enjoyment of hunting me without even realizing it.
But no. He’s left me gift after gift and the jealousy last night was real. A little note won’t ruin things. Plus, I could definitely
beat his ass if needed. What am I even scared of?
Eventually, I let the thoughts of him return. I decide to let them take over. I lay down on the couch and close my eyes.
I imagine him holding me down on the couch. His fangs teasing my skin. Flashes of him tearing off my shirt invade my
mind. I can’t help but imagine doing the same to him.
My hands start to drift down to the waist of my pants. My fingers start to slip under but I stop myself. I should leave myself
ready for him, purring and begging for his touch.
I open my eyes and see night as fallen outside. My excitement grows in my chest. I can hardly breathe, he must be almost
here.
A knock bangs against my door. In an instant, I’m already racing to it. I fling the door open and there he stands, towering
over me.
“Come in,” I somehow manage to say.
“Thank you.” His voice is very charming and smooth when he’s not threatening to bite me.
I lead him inside. In the light of my apartment, it dawns on me. I know this guy. I couldn’t recognize him last night in the
dark. This is that PEACE officer that came into the bar that night.
“Caspian… Right?” He follows me into my living room. Weirdly, he’s keeping his distance. Maybe he’s waiting to see why
I invited him in.
“Yes… And here I thought all the faces blended together.”
“Well, yours is… different.”
He continues to keep his distance. This is a perfect moment to take my own control over him. I won’t go over to him. He
must come to me.
I lean my back against the nearest wall and look him in the eyes. My hands start down low. They rub against my pussy over
my jeans. His eyes remain locked on mine.
My hands move up to my tits. I purposefully didn’t put on a bra just for this moment. I squeeze them together and pinch my
nipples through my shirt. They instantly get hard and poke against the fabric.
Still, his eyes remain on mine. I appreciate the dedication to whatever it is he’s doing. He’s holding himself back, waiting
for something.
I know I’m playing a dangerous game. That sends another rush through my body. Anything could be the final straw that sets
him off. Who knows what will finally send this violent beast of a man charging at me.
But then, once again, it dawns on me. He’s a vampire. I know exactly what he wants.
“I don’t mind your bite… Caspian.” I whisper towards him. “It felt… incredible.” Every inch of my body screams for him
to do it again. I stick out my neck and put the mark on full display. Finally, his eyes break from mine and look at his bite.
 16

CASPIAN

he lies down on the mattress, her elbows propped up. She looks at me as if expecting something. When she finally falls
S backward into the mattress, I know what she has in mind.
She is prone, she is vulnerable.
We kiss deeply into the mattress of her bed, melting into one. I want to bite her again, but I restrain myself, waiting for
access to the softer parts of her body. When Quinn lifts up her ass and hips as I grab her breast, I can’t contain myself any
longer.
She looks at me with those dark brown eyes, eyelashes thick and black batting at me. I take her hips and begin to pull down
her jeans. She moans greedily, grabbing the sides of my head and digging her fingers in my hair.
Desire bludgeons me and I pull her hair to the side. Then, without hesitation, I sink my teeth into her pale neck. The sound
of the canines tearing into her skin, with its high pitched squirt, causes her to moan out in ecstasy.
“Oh fuck, Caspian,” she breathes through my ear. “Hurt me. Use me for your pleasure.”
I reach down to her jeans again, frantically undoing the button. When I get them loose, I jerk the jeans down to her knees. I
look down at her black lace thong; I almost start to salivate. I manage to pull everything off of her, leaving her naked legs
exposed.
I reach between her legs — her clit is swollen, and underneath the slit is wet.
“C’mon, Quinn,” I say. “That’s a good little pet.”
I place my head between her legs, breathing in her juices. I kiss her outer lips and softly tease her clit with my little finger.
Her legs squeeze together. “Take me,” she says in a stern voice. “I'm yours.”
“Show me,” I say. I open my mouth as wide as I can and bite into her inner thigh. I feel the blood rush into my mouth, filling
it.
She screams out in a shrill siren call. I look up into her eyes and see a homelessness there, a recognition, the dark pupils
dilated and empty.
“Oh Christ,” Quinn says and gasps for air. “Caspian — use me.” She shakes her head. “I'm nothing but a mortal whore.”
I wrap my fingers around her neck. “Get up,” I say.
“Stand before me,” I say. I want to take her in, take stock of my prize.
I let go of her throat and she stands at the foot of the bed, timid, her knees shaking.
“I am your master” I get up, adjusting the bulge inside my leather pants. I want to take it out, use it on her, but she is not
ready given the shy look in her eyes.
“Turn around,” I say in my deepest chest voice.
“Yes sir.” She turns her naked body, her round, tan ass facing me. It looks so tender, so mild and curvy that I almost blow
my load. Both cheeks, rounded, somehow remain taught and perky.
“Bend over.”
Without hesitation she bends over, revealing her dark crack of her ass.
“Spread,” I say. “Now.”
She looks behind at me, her brows furrowed. I can tell she’s embarrassed. After some hesitation, she spreads her cheeks to
reveal a tan puckered asshole, although it isn't as tight as I would have expected. Without releasing, she takes the other hand
that spreads her asshole and begins playing with herself between her legs.
The way she takes control of her own body sends pangs of static up my spine. I want to be the source of her pleasure — I
am obsessed with making her my pleasure center, my life force, but I also almost lose myself as she takes control of her own
desire.
I am totally enthralled.
 She nods her head in agreement, her expression one of acceptance. I feel a wave of relief wash over me as a contented
smile spreads across my face.
I begin to run the tips of my fingers through her hair, feeling each individual strand as it passes between my fingertips. The
sensation is soothing and calming. Her hair is so soft and glistening, like strands of silk reflecting off of the moonlight.
I slide my hands down to her shoulders, letting them rest there for a moment before continuing on around to her back and
then up again, tracing the curves of her body with gentle caresses. She melts into me, her body melting into mine as we fall into
an intimate embrace filled with warmth and love.
We stand there together in the darkness, surrounded by the dimly lit night sky; both of us overcome with emotion. I don’t
really know what to feel — the sensation of her flesh on mine, the pleasure of friction, it all speaks of the animal within me. We
don't speak; we don't need to -- our connection transcends language itself.
I reach my hand down to her most intimate of areas, feeling the wetness that has started to accumulate. I start by drawing
circles around her clitoris with my index finger, gradually increasing the speed and intensity as she starts to moan quietly. I can
feel her hips begin to move in time with my finger as she gets closer and closer to her ultimate pleasure.
I continue stroking and teasing her clit until I am confident that she is close, then add a second finger inside her while
simultaneously grabbing and pinching her nipples, eliciting an almost animalistic response from Quinn. Her body trembles and
quivers with ecstasy as wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.
When her shaking stops, she leans up against the kitchen counter. “I guess I should have been more prepared,” she says.
“I feel like I owe you an apology,” I offer.
Quinn shakes her head. “No apology needed.” She bites her lower lip.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable–”
“Caspian, I’m fine.”
I straighten up. “Good, I like taking my time with my prey after I’ve caught it. I’d hate to have to fight with you.”
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s a fact.”
Quinn looks up at the ceiling, frowning. “What if I don’t want to submit to you?”
A thrill shoots through me. “You’ll find that I can be good at restraining.” Her lips part, her cheeks turning pink at the
suggestion.
I touch the amulet around her neck. “But I imagine you want to be a good girl,” I say into her ear. “What awaits you is
pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.” I touch her cheek and turn to walk away.
 17

QUINN

uinn! Over here! I already got a table.” At the far end of the diner, Rory waves to me.
“Q I wave back and start making my way over. When I invited Caspian in last night, I’d completely forgotten that Rory
and I had breakfast plans. So, I guess it’s lucky he didn’t stay very long. Although I would’ve gladly canceled this if it
meant more of him.
As I approach Rory, I tighten the scarf around my neck. It’s much too warm for a scarf, but getting a little sweaty is better
than the alternative. No amount of makeup will cover the bite and I don’t want to hear Rory worry about it.
“So,” I say as I sit down. “What looks good?”
“Are you okay, Quinn?”
“Yeah. Of course. Why?” Rory gestures silently at my scarf. “Oh, I’m just a little cold.”
“It’s seventy degrees.”
“Hmm…” I bury my face in the menu.
“I can use some magic to warm you up.”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“You know… Quinn, you're acting like my little brother when he was in high school and came home from a date with a
hickey.” Rory laughs for a second before realization washes over her face. “Oh Quinn… No…”
“I’m just cold.”
“We’re way too old to be getting hickeys. Please don’t tell me it’s from your stalker.”
“I don’t have a hickey!”
“Don’t lie to me, Quinn.” Rory waves her hand in the air. The scarf magically loosens and falls off my neck. Her jaw
drops.
“I’m not lying… It’s not a hickey.” I force a laugh as I hurry to put the scarf back on.
“Quinn!” Rory leans in and continues with a stern whisper, “Your stalker is a vampire? I know my magic sensed that he
was dangerous but a fucking vampire?”
“I’m fine. Rory, I promise. I can handle myself.”
“Do you have any idea what happens to a witch in my coven when they let a vampire court them?”
“No?”
“Neither do I. Because no one is dumb enough to do it!”
“Oh, so now I’m dumb?”
“You know what I mean Quinn. This isn’t your standard stalker. This is a real genuine danger coming for you. You have to
end it now and pray it’s not too late.”
Rory’s words fall on deaf ears. I appreciate her concern for me. But at the end of the day, this is what I want.
A second doesn’t go by where I don’t remember his touch. Where I don’t fantasize about what he might do next. Where I
don’t crave more from him.
How could I ever walk away from it? Forgetting about Caspian simply isn’t an option. No one else could ever compare.
My arm is still gloriously tender from where he forcefully grabbed me. My back is still sore from when he pressed me
against the wall outside the bar. Every time something brushes against the holes on my neck, I’m reminded of the bite and my
body trembles for more.
Just sitting here, my hands are trembling. What if he shows up right now and swoops me away. Would he punish me for
talking about him, letting Rory see my bite. What would that be like? The anticipation is killing me.
In the back of my mind, I know I should run. I should let Rory do some magic to keep me safe. But the danger of letting
Caspian close sings to me.
 Caspian is a vampire. I’ve seen far too many news stories about humans getting too close to vampires since the veil fell.
Just talking to him is dangerous. But that danger makes my heart race in ways I’ve never felt.
The danger is what I crave. Knowing that at any moment with him, it could all be over. But then I live through it anyway.
It’s like a drug. I need more and more of it. Leaving Caspian behind would just lead to me chasing the high he gave me for
the rest of my life.
For a long time, my life has been nothing special. I’ve gone to work then gone home only to go back to work again. These
interactions with Caspian the past few days have made me feel more alive than anything else.
But regardless, I need to calm Rory down. She’s a good friend. I can’t have her constantly worrying about me.
“Rory, I need you to understand, I’m safe.” I’m sure to show no fear. I sit up a little straighter.
“Are you sure about that?” Rory leans in with genuine concern on her face.
I know this is all just because she cares about me but I’m getting a little annoyed that she doesn’t trust me. She’s never met
him. Rory hasn’t seen what he’s like with me.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Quinn, he’s a vampire-”
“Yes, Rory I know he is. He’s never tried to harm me.”
Rory stares at me with confusion. Her jaw opens. She looks me up and down.
“He bit you. Quinn, he fucking bit you.”
“But that didn’t hurt.”
“I- What?”
“Rory… It felt incredible. It’s a pleasure I can’t even begin to describe.”
“When he bit you?” The confusion hasn’t left her face. I should’ve guessed she wouldn’t understand. “Did he drink your
blood?”
“A little-”
“Quinn!”
“Rory, you just don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand. Because right now it seems like this guy is bad news. He was creepy when he was sending you
jewelry. He was scary when he was sneaking in while you were sleeping. Now, he’s terrifying.”
“It’s not terrifying Rory, it’s exhilarating! I don’t know how to make you understand. Maybe you never will. But please
believe me when I say I’m being safe.”
“Quinn… You can’t keep seeing him.”
“Well, you can’t stop me.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel bad. Rory is really my only true friend. I don’t want
to be mean like this to her, but she just won’t listen.
“You’re right, I can’t stop. But if you’re not careful you will end up dead somewhere. I’m not willing to sit around and
watch it happen.” Rory starts to stand up. She collects her things and storms towards the door.
“Rory, come on. Don’t go.” She doesn’t listen and leaves without looking back.
I get up too and begin my slow walk home. It’s not long before my thoughts turn to Caspian again. I’ll never get him out of
my head.
Images of him mix in my mind with Rory’s warnings. Caspian is a vampire. He’s dangerous. It only serves to draw me to
him more.
Maybe things will end poorly. At the end of the day, I could end up burned by this guy. Left in a worse place than when he
found me.
But I can’t help but feel that it would all be worth it. All the pain and suffering that might lay ahead. It would all be worth it
to be with him.
His draw is so powerful. The two times I’ve felt his bite have been nothing short of life-changing. I have no doubt that I can
handle whatever may come, but even if not, I won’t regret a thing.
 18

CASPIAN

haking my partner was all too easy, surprisingly. Ren is usually more persistent than this. A feeling I thought I shook upon
S parting with my mortal life - guilt - registers in me.
Were it as easy as explaining my predicament and the sensations I’m currently experiencing to him - explaining how
I’m fighting a war for a mortal soul, and how in possessing her, she has possessed me - there would be no need for secrecy. But
what Quinn and I do - the way I chase her in the night… an organization like PEACE can’t understand that.
I just want her to be mine, and mine entirely. I want to possess her in everything she does, and never have to share her with
anybody again.
“Thought you could get away from me that easily, did you?”
I hear a familiar growl behind me, and turn around in the alley, a strong fog coating the alley.
The metal door slams behind him, as Ren stands in the alleyway, glaring at me.
“We used to talk, but it seems like we don’t do that much anymore,” Ren says. “Fancy a chat?”
I look away from him, unsure of what to say in response.
“I have said everything your ears need to hear,” I reply.
“I’ve been tailing you,” Ren says in response. I know he’s lying, because I’ve been watching my back very carefully. “You
think walking around the alley, wearing down your tracks, can lose a werewolf? You’re profoundly naive, friend.”
“What hurts most of all,” Ren continues. “I trusted you. I gave you so many chances to open up to me, and you cut me short
on all of them.”
“Just cut to the chase,” I say. “What are you accusing me of today?”
“Every night, you don’t go home, and you don’t go back to headquarters,” he replies. “You always smell of flowers, and
perfume, and all manners of expensive gifts. This human girl you’re tailing, it’s gone beyond the needs of the investigation, and
you need to stop before you get in too deep or hurt somebody.”
I ruminate on exactly what to say as he levels the accusations against me. It is true that I underestimated the capabilities of a
full-blooded shifter like Ren, but he still isn’t aware of the break-ins, or of how our relationship has escalated to the next level.
No longer am I prowling after Quinn like some obsessive stalker… she sees and acknowledges me, and she’s mine to possess.
“Get to the point,” I say, turning my back on him.
He breezes around me and faces me anyway, as a yellow sports car blazes through the alley, kicking up loose rainwater.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear a garbage truck already making its early morning rounds.
“Look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing going on,” he says. “If you can do that, I’ll leave you alone.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
I meet his gaze without issue. If he thinks a vampire has difficulty lying after all my centuries on this earth, he is seriously
ill-informed.
“Careful Caspian,” he growls. “You’re sweating a lot more than normal.”
“Vampires don’t sweat,” I reply simply.
“No, but you still have the ducts, and I can still smell them,” he says. “You’re pretty nervous for somebody telling me the
truth.”
“You said you’d get out of my face,” I state. “I played your little game, so get the hell out of my face.”
“You’re obsessed,” Ren says simply. “Take stock of yourself. We need your head in the game.”
Baring my fangs, I push Ren down in the alley, before stepping back, realizing what I’ve done.
Ren is entirely wrong to say these things, but he is correct that I need to rejuvenate my focus. My attention has been torn to
other realms. I believe ‘on edge’ is the term Ren used.
Ren gets up and brushes his coat off, patting off the rainwater. A small cut has formed on his palm where his hand collided
with the cement. It nauseates me, and for a moment, Quinn leaves my thoughts, as the scent pulls me out of my drive.
“Hit a nerve, did I?” Ren says. “Good.”
He walks around me, moving back into the bar. It’s not the bar where Quinn works, so I have no interest in following him.
“Where are you going?” I demand. I have no interest in pursuing the case with Quinn so strongly on my mind, but I still
need to keep up pretenses.
“Back into the bar,” Ren says. “If you’d like to join me, you’re more than welcome to. But I know where your head really is
right now.”
He slams the door behind him. For a moment, I consider following him, but no. I have more urgent matters to attend to.
Every minute I let my prize leave my sight, it’s another opportunity for another vampire to rise from the earth and take her
from me.
I start to walk off into the night. But something in me pulls me back into that bar.
I throw open the backdoor of the bar, as the echoes of country music boom louder and louder in my ears. Ren has a
collection of glasses in front of him, all filled with the last drops of downed liquor. My eyes perceive him, still blaring from
the brightness of the lights in the room - bright as a monster truck rally.
He looks disheveled and disorderly, and pangs of concern stab into me.
“Come back to find old pal Ren, did you?” He asks. “Did you come to push me again or to tell me the truth?”
“With everything we’ve been through lately, I would have thought you’d ask to be reassigned,” I say. “I know I haven’t
made any of this easy for you.”
“Damn straight,” he growls, downing another shot of whiskey before pounding on the bar countertop. The bartender looks
fed up with him, as he polishes a glass. I look around the room, no longer overwhelmed by my senses, to see that we’re the
only two people left in here.
He wipes off his mouth. I watch him sympathetically.
“I could never leave you, Caspian,” Ren says. “We’ve been through too much together. And I’m not going to abandon you to
whatever this is either. I’ve got one dead vampire partner on my conscience already.”
“I thought you said they locked him up?”
It’s all I can think to ask.
“Nah. Got the news three days ago. Trial came through, and he was killed for what he did.”
I clear my throat, not sure how to respond.
“That’s why I’m trying to tell you to keep your nose clean,” he says. “It’s a dangerous world we live in, and sometimes, I
don’t know if you fully realize what you’re capable of.”
“You misassess the situation, Ren,” I say. “Quinn wants me. Before long, we’ll rule this realm at each others’ sides.”
“Just stop,” Ren growls. “Before you hurt yourself, or more likely, a bunch of innocent people.”
“I’m trying to tell you-”
“No,” Ren interrupts. “I’m done listening to your excuses. I’m not taking you off of the case, and I can’t control you, but
please… for your own sake. Get a hold of yourself. It’s embarrassing.”
He turns back to the bar, downing another shot. The bartender looks seriously concerned. I’m uncertain if he understands
the healing capabilities of shifters, but it doesn’t change the fact that Ren came here to feel something. This case is getting to
him.
My mind returns to Quinn, and how I can work to make her truly and utterly mine. Ren’s words are projections, not meant
for me. He doesn’t understand.
 19

QUINN

wake up again to the sounds of songbirds chirping and a steady trickle of rain. I stretch out across my bed, realizing that I
I actually slept well.
And that sets alarm bells off in my head.
I look for signs of him, searching my pillow, my front porch. He’s left no gifts for me.
“Well, that sucks,” I say to myself.
He clearly wasn’t here last night. In spite of his claims that I was his forever, and that we would ‘rule the world together,’
or whatever it is that vampires say to women like me to lie to them, I don’t see him anywhere.
I start to feel used for a minute, before reminding myself that the experience was well worth it regardless. I imagine his
hands roving over my body, making me feel things I haven’t, in this lifetime, experienced up till now. I imagine his fangs
corrupting me, making me his and his alone.
I hope I didn’t fall prey to whatever the vampire equivalent is of a one-night stand. Or technically, I guess it would be a
two-night stand, if you’re counting the time at work. Which I’m not.
An explosion like a gunshot rings outside my apartment. I don’t live in a terribly violent neighborhood, but it still gives me
pause. I wait inside my apartment for a minute, considering what to do, before the sound goes off again.
It’s loud enough to be a gunshot, but it’s definitely not one.
I go outside to investigate.
What I see confuses me greatly.
“About time you woke up,” Rory says. “Here, I’m having trouble with this spell. Can you hold this codex for me so I can
see it while I’m casting it?”
“What are you doing?” I ask, shrinking back against the door. My arms cross of their own accord.
“Duh,” Rory says. “I’m trying to cast a spell.”
She’s resting on her knees, outside my bedroom window.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say. “If you’re casting a spell on my apartment, I think I have the right to know what
you’re doing.”
She gestures wildly, as if dismissing my concerns.
“It’s really nothing at all,” she says. “I’m just a little rusty, so I thought I’d practice using a harmless spell.”
I shake my head. None of this makes any sense. And I can tell from how long I’ve known her that she’s hiding something.
“Right,” I say. “But you still haven’t told me why it has to be my apartment.”
She looks back at the text, and gestures while incanting anyway, having given up on getting my cooperation.
“It’s just a little protection spell,” she says between utterances. “They’re important to learn, and I need to work on them. I
figure they’re harmless enough - an factum custodiatur - that I can - in animalia noctis - just practice here.”
Magical light comes together, emanating from her fingers, before immediately dissipating in another loud explosion.
“I need to recite the Latin, but it’s hard to do that while I’m also casting the material part of the spell,” she says. “That’s
why I need your help.”
I shrug and hold the book. I’m still not sure what she intends with this, but I know how important her magic is to her. I move
over beside her and hold the book so that she can see it. On the page are several crude diagrams and an image of a pentagram.
It seems pretty standard.
She looks at the page, studying it, and recites the full incantation, pinching together several herbs and crushing them
together into a mortar and pestle while she speaks. When she’s done, at first nothing happens.
“Did it work?” I ask.
Then the ingredients that she mixed together seem to catch fire, creating a layer of steam that becomes white light. The
white light forms a seal, covering my bedroom window.
“Yep!” She says excitedly. “Thank you for your help!”
“All I did was hold the book…” I say, but that’s not my main concern. “So what did that spell do anyway?”
“Like I said, it’s a simple protection spell,” she says.
Below us, I see a family heading to their car, probably ready for vacation from the looks of it.
“Right,” I say simply. “But you still haven’t told me what that means.”
“A protection spell can ward against diseases and insects, if they happen to flow in from outside,” she says. “Basically,
nothing can enter your apartment through that window.”
I feel myself fuming. How could she neglect to give me that information?
“I already put a protection spell on your living room window. And I’m not even going to charge you for the ingredients!”
She continues.
“How could you do that?” I ask, raising my voice a bit more than I’d like.
“Do what?” She’s still playing coy. “Protect your apartment, with everything that’s going on in this town right now?”
“You know what. Not only did you withhold why you were casting that spell, you made me part of it too. And that’s
unacceptable.”
I turn my back on her, ready to head into my apartment in a rage.
“I’m sorry, Quinn!” She yells after me. “I’m just really worried about you.”
“If you’re that concerned about me,” I respond.“You’ll remove the wards.”
She shakes her head.
“That doesn’t track.”
“You know how important this guy is to me,” I say. “So if you’re concerned about me, worry about what makes me happy.
Don’t try to keep me safe against my will.”
“I’m sorry Quinn,” she fires back. “Removing a ward is a lot more complicated than placing it, and I’m not even sure how
to do that. I mean, the spell components alone…”
“Forget it,” I say.
She shrugs, gathering her book and her spell components, and leaving.
The last thing I want to do is keep Caspian from coming near me. Lately, he’s all I think about.
And I know how it looks to the people around me, but I want this more than anything. I wish that they would understand
that.
As I head back into my apartment and kick my feet up to an episode of Survival Island, relieved that I at least get the day to
myself, a horrifying thought crosses my mind.
What if Caspian senses that I had some part in that spell when he’s not able to enter, and he loses interest.
My mind drifts too much. I’m not able to focus on the episode. I see the characters moving around the scheme - I hear their
dialogue - but no part of my mind really processes any of it.
I heave a heavy sigh. In a last ditch effort, I spend the next thirty minutes looking around my apartment for some sign that
he’s been here and everything will be okay. Perhaps this time, he simply hid the present somewhere?
I check all the cabinets, under the coffee table, all around the bed, and even in the bathroom, frustrated to find nothing there.
She hadn’t put any kind of ward up last night. So why didn’t he visit me? Why did he leave me alone like that?
My mind drifts through many unreasonable scenarios - or I try to tell myself they’re unreasonable. Maybe he lost interest.
Maybe he never really intended for this to be anything long-term. What if I’m not the only woman he’s actively seducing?
What if I’m not special?
I feel sick from the anxiety. I just want Caspian here, by my side. He might be dangerous, but now that I’ve felt him, I’m not
sure how to live without him.
 20

CASPIAN

he computer monitor taunts me with its glowing menace. I haven’t been able to sleep during the day, images of Quinn
T taking over my abstract mind, the pictures that come with her body and flesh disrupting my view of darkness as I close my
eyes. Plus, I can’t even go out in the sun, having neglected to feed. I’m thankful that PEACE lets me work the case in the
evening — since Quinn, I haven’t fed, and I frankly don’t want to.
I only crave her blood. Her essence. It is mine to use as I choose.
Renn’s words ring in my ear. I’m not over my head. I’m not obsessive. Besides, what would a werewolf know about
eternal love?
I know Quinn desires me, longs for my possession of her entire being.
In front of me, the picture of a man glares straight at me with blank eyes. His skin not only resembles leather, but just the
look of the wrinkles under his eyes brings up the smell of hide out in the sun. His stubble, gray and patchy, suggests a life of a
vagabond, and thin, cracked lips in a sunken scowl could mean missing teeth.
It’s a face worn by one thing: drugs. Many of these small clans supplement their nefarious activities with the sale of speed;
if there’s plenty on hand, that means they are dipping into the supply, rotting their minds, brewing hatred and acrimony.
The leader of the Moonlight Sentinels, the clan of vampires behind my case. The clan that hunts humans.
They must be stopped.
Informants have given us details about how they operate. It’s very clandestine, under cover, never in the same place. As
soon as we find any building or campsite where they can be found, they’ve already left; a couple of times we’ve recovered
weapons at these sites — mostly modified bows and martial arts weapons, never firearms, for some reason. Whoever these
guys are, they want to look the vampire in the eye as he melts.
This is personal.
This is spiritual warfare.
But do I have enough energy to do this job? I must feed soon. Quinn intoxicates my innermost being, down to my marrow,
and the thirst for her prevents me from thinking abstractly, or sometimes, thinking at all.
I feel a punch to my shoulder.
“Caspian, you fucker,” Ren says from behind me. He tousles my hair. “We got ‘em. Those bastards, we got ‘em.”
Yeah, we sure did. But my thoughts are elsewhere.
“Let's go out to celebrate! Hit the scene!” Ren jumps in the air slightly, as if a kid on his birthday.
“No, Ren,” I say, putting my face in my hands. “I’m just going to stay here and do the report.”
Ren leans forward and stares at me. His dark brows are furrowed and his eyes search my face for something. “Oh, don’t
tell me it’s her —”
He has my number. All I can do is shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I just want to work.” My voice breaks and I look away.
Ren stares me down for one last time and then turns around and walks away.
So be it. While he’s wasting his time hanging out, pumping fists at the bar, I’ll be with my beloved.
I’m addicted. I need my fix like I need to feed, to be near her, to inhale her scent. I imagine her body and feel myself warm
up inside, firing with a passion that intensifies as release is delayed. To be inside her, deep within her innermost being, is the
prize I will claim. The one I deserve.
But first there’s a job that needs done.
As the last of my coworkers leave and turn out the lights, I stay seated, trying to quell my urges.
I HEAD STRAIGHT for Quinn’s apartment after finalizing the report and taking the extra security measures around the PEACE
building. They know I’m out at night — they’re on my trail just as much as I’m on theirs.
Through the shadows I walk with anticipation rising up into my throat. Will she be waiting for me? Does she know that I’ll
come?
At her window, her shades are parted, letting in the moonlight to illuminate her form.
Her breasts are exposed without a shirt, and her knees buckle under a pair of tight pink painties, legs sticking out to the
side. Her bare skin is milky white in the moonlight, her puckered nipples exposed to the air. My mouth waters — I want to suck
on each one.
When I go to open the sliding glass window, it doesn’t budge.
It doesn’t look stuck.
A protection spell.
How clever.
Is Ren that desperate to deny me my possession that he would dare to put up a weak protection spell to — what? Prevent
me from entering? He knows me better than that.
I think he just wants to spite me.
I take out my amulet and watch it glow. Saying the reversal spell, the glow around the window dissipates. I try to slide it
open and it glides freely.
So much for magic.
My beloved lies there, beholden to me, her arms outstretched. I sniff the air — her skin, her fragrance, moist sweat playing
with the night air intoxicating my senses. Her chest heaves up and down gently. I bend over her, caressing the flesh on her
breasts ever so slightly.
I dare not wake her.
Not now.
As long as I am here at night, standing watch over her, she will be mine; nobody else can reach her, and if they try, they will
be destroyed.
Another random document with
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all the tables are working, and the visitors have left their money
behind. There should be several million francs in sight.”
Here the doctor paused and rubbed his hands crisply.
“But before going any further, I will explain my ideas as to the
division of the spoil. Each of our men has been promised five
thousand francs. For that they would risk their lives a dozen times.
Golaz and Gamba are to have a hundred thousand francs each. You
and Castelli will have five hundred thousand. I will be modestly
contented with whatever is left. Is that understood?”
Castelli nodded. Hugh followed suit.
“Agreed. Now, Vulning, for your rôle! You enter the Casino, I say, at
six o’clock precisely, disguised as a Swede. You go straight to the
table next to the refreshment room. It has been arranged that a man
will rise and give you a place. You will sit for a few minutes, then
suddenly, ...” the doctor paused, and took from his pocket a revolver,
“you will rise to your feet. You will take this from your pocket, and,
holding it to your head, you will fire.... Ah! my friend Vulning, don’t
start. It will only be loaded with a blank cartridge. It will do you no
harm. Then having fired you will collapse and slip under the table.
That’s all you have to do for five hundred thousand francs. Easy, isn’t
it?”
“And what happens then?”
“What happens then?...” Doctor Bergius raised both hands
exultantly. “Ha! I will tell you. That is the signal. Every one in the
rooms will hear the shot and rush to the table. You know them. They
will crowd around and push and jostle. They will want to get a
glimpse of the suicide. There will be a mob. The attendants will be
making frantic efforts to get out the body. Every one’s attention will
be distracted.... Then it is that things will begin to happen.”
Doctor Bergius grew more and more impressive.
“We will have a dozen of our own men in the small room with the
Opium Dream on the ceiling. Behold! it will be empty but for them.
Every one else will have run to see the suicide. Only the croupiers
will have remained at their posts. Everything will be easy. Six of our
men will hold up the croupiers while the others throw open the
windows. If you remember, there are four windows giving on the
terrace near the band-stand. My men will be waiting down below.
They will swarm up. To protect them I will have a cordon of men
running down to the sea. There I will have waiting also two very fast
steam launches.”
The doctor seemed to see it all. He spoke as a man inspired.
“After that it will be easy. A rush, a great drive. We will sweep them
all before us. They will be like frightened sheep. Think of it! There will
be forty of us all armed to the teeth. Can’t you see them flying before
us? We will herd them all into the refreshment room. Castelli with
twenty men will control the main rooms; Golaz with ten men will take
the long room that gives on the terrace; Gamba with another ten will
attend to the salon privé. We will shoot down any one that shows the
least sign of resistance. There will be panic, confusion, terror. We will
pen the croupiers in corners at the revolver’s point. Castelli, Golaz
and Gamba will run to the tables and scoop the big notes into bags.
We only want the big bills.”
“Hold on!” said Hugh. “What about the mechanism that automatically
locks the coffers?”
“We’ve seen to that. An electrician in our pay has put it out of action.
Everything has been thought of. In five minutes it will all be over. We
will then gather in a band under the big dome, fire a final volley over
the heads of the crowd and beat a retreat. Then we will drop from
the windows, run to the beach, tumble into the waiting launches and
ho! for Italy. It will all be over before any one realizes what has
happened. Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“And what about me?”
“Ah, my dear Monsieur Vulning, do not worry about your precious
self. Yours is the easiest part to play. You will, of course, beat a
retreat with us. We will put you ashore at St. Remo if you wish. You
can then remove your disguise and return here. No one will even
suspect you....” Again Doctor Bergius looked at him curiously.
“I believe you are a coward, Vulning. Look here, Castelli will go
through your part just to show you. I have here some blank
cartridges. See! I charge the revolver. Now, Castelli....”
Castelli stood up by the table. He held the revolver about three feet
from his head and fired. Then he dropped to the floor and remained
there, grinning up at Hugh.
“Voila,” said the doctor. “That’s all. No risk for you. You lie snug
under the table and watch events. Easy, isn’t it? Ah, the whole
conception is superb, the work of a man of genius.... Listen!...” The
doctor stopped suddenly, grew tense, alert. “What’s that? Who’s out
there with Golaz and Gamba?”
Hugh, too, was listening. He heard excited voices and steps coming
down the hall. He trembled and as he reached out for support his
hand touched an inkwell made out of the fuse of an old German
shell. The next instant the door was flung violently open and a man
entered.
It was Paul Vulning.
 CHAPTER NINE
THE HOLD-UP

1.

“HOLD him! Hold the impostor!” cried Vulning.

Hugh dashed the brass inkwell at the head of Doctor Bergius. The
doctor collapsed over the table. Castelli, who was still on the floor in
a crouching position, clutched at Hugh’s leg. Hugh launched a
vicious kick and caught him on the jaw. With one bound, he was
behind the crimson curtains, and out on the terrace. He leaped the
balustrade and plunged into the shrubbery. Madly he tore on. About
fifty yards away was a high wall. He leaped at it desperately. His
hands just clutched the coping, and he hung, slipping and scraping,
feeling for a foothold. Then his toe caught in a tiny projection, and in
another moment he had drawn himself up.
Spat! Spat! went the plaster of the wall.... They were firing at him as
they ran. Golaz and Gamba came plunging through the bushes.
They were appallingly near. The top of the wall was covered with bits
of broken glass that caught his dressing-gown, as he leaped down
on the other side. As he tried to wrench it free, a brown hand
reached over and gripped it. With a twist and a turn, Hugh wriggled
out of it. His pistol fell from the pocket. He snatched it up and rushed
on.
A few yards further he darted behind an ancient olive tree and
looked back. Gamba was already astride of the wall. Hugh fired
twice and he saw the man drop back. Then he ran blindly on, taking
the terraces of olive trees in reckless leaps, often landing on his
knees. At length he came out on the mountain side amid boulders
and prickly scrub. He dodged among the rocks, and cowered behind
the bushes. He was torn and bleeding in a dozen places, and his
clothes were in shreds. Presently he sank exhausted.
For over an hour he lay without moving. Everything was quiet; they
had evidently given up the pursuit. He rose and by a round-about
route he made his way back to the Casino.
Bob Bender was waiting for him on the steps. He looked anxious and
excited. He dragged Hugh through a side door.
“Quick! tell me what’s happened. You’re in a hell of a state. We were
afraid they’d got you.”
“Didn’t you know?... Vulning has escaped.”
“No!”
“Yes, he arrived at an awkward moment for me. I’ve had to jolly well
risk my life for your people.”
“Vulning must have got out by the window. It was over thirty feet from
the ground. We never thought of guarding that. He must have made
a desperate effort.... Well, did you discover anything?”
“All.”
“The devil! Quick! Tell me. How pleased the chief will be!”
“There’s a hold-up of the Casino planned for to-morrow night.”
“A hold-up!”
“Yes. They’ve got over sixty gunmen. Vulning’s to give the signal by
shooting himself with a blank cartridge. The men are to swarm up by
the windows of the small room facing the band-stand. They have two
fast steam launches to make their getaway in.”
“It was planned for to-morrow at six, you say?”
“To-morrow at six.”
“They’ll never try it now. We’ve got them beaten, thanks to you. It
has taken you a long time to get here.”
“Over two hours.”
“More. Look, it’s nearly six now.”
“I had to make a big detour to avoid them.”
“Well, there’s no time to lose. They may try to-morrow after all; we
must be prepared. Oh, won’t the chief be pleased! We must try to
find him. He’s in the Casino somewhere. He has many disguises.
Come....” Bob peered everywhere, but could see no sign of Krantz.
“Let’s look at the windows they mean to swarm up,” suggested Bob.
The two men pulled aside the yellow blinds and looked down. The
ledge was broad and the height not great.
“Easy enough,” commented Bob. “By getting into the band-stand a
dozen men could command the whole terrace. The plan’s been well
considered, but we’ll fix it so as it can never be carried out. We’ve
got you beaten, Mister Bergius.... God! What’s that?”
Hugh looked to where Bob was pointing. On the calm sea, lying
close in, were two long steam launches. They manœuvred up and
down, until they were hidden by the terrace.
“Did you see them, or did I dream?”
“No, it’s them ... them!”
A sudden fear seized Bob Bender. He looked up at the clock.
“Just on the stroke of six. If only Krantz were here. I wonder....”
The two men stared at one another, and even as they stared, a
sudden shot rang out.
Bob Bender gripped Hugh by the arm and cried hoarsely: “Hear that!
the signal! They’ve advanced the time by twenty-four hours. If I’m not
mistaken the ‘hold-up’ is now on.”

2.

They turned swiftly. The people at the table had left their places, and
grabbing their stakes, were running in the direction of the sound.
Only the croupiers sat still. These looked at one another in a rather
uncomfortable way.
“Come,” said Hugh, “I want to see if it’s really Vulning.”
He ran after the others. The crowd was so dense, it was impossible
to get near the victim. Hugh saw the lackeys struggling to extricate a
limp form from under the table. The faces of the crowd wore a
mixture of curiosity and awe; they pushed and jostled shamelessly,
to get a glimpse of the suicide. The inspector, the floor director and
the director of games hurried to the scene. It had been a long time
since a suicide had taken place at the tables. It would make a nasty
scandal.
“C’est tres embetant,” Hugh heard one of them say. He saw a lackey
arrive with a black sheet to cover the corpse. Then a woman pushed
her way out of the crowd; she was in a hysterical state.
“I saw him do it,” she cried. “I was sitting beside him. It was a big
blonde man, a Swede, I think.”
“Look!” said Hugh, suddenly gripping Bob’s arm. “It’s true. There they
come.” Almost simultaneously there were a dozen revolver shots,
and a bunch of croupiers tumbled from the smaller salon, their hands
in the air, their faces sick with fear.
“This is no place for me,” said Bob Bender. “They’ll shoot me at
sight. I’m willing to work for the Casino, but I’m not willing to lose an
inch of my skin for them.”
Bob disappeared and not a moment too soon. Hell seemed to have
broken loose. With a rush and a roar a score of men burst from the
small salon. They whooped as they ran, brandishing revolvers and
firing in the air. Their swarthy faces were lit by the savage joy of
combat. They drove every one before them; if a croupier showed a
sign of resisting he was felled with the butt of a heavy revolver. But
few of the croupiers resisted; most of them ran like rabbits, diving
under the tables.
All was pandemonium. Women shrieked and fainted; there was a
general struggle to get to the doors. Hugh could not move; he was
wedged in a mob of players who fought and roared and cursed, as
they backed away from the bandits.
Then in the midst of the mad tumult, hushing and dominating it, a
harsh metallic voice rang out. “There is no danger so long as no one
resists. Go quickly, all of you, and leave the rooms empty.”
It was Doctor Bergius. He was standing on the table to the right, an
automatic in either hand. Around his head was bound a white
bandage. Suddenly Hugh heard a report near him. A croupier had
put his hand on the metal box where the big notes were kept; he
collapsed instantly, shot in the head by Castelli.
Hugh was forced with the crowd into the refreshment room. He could
still see swarthy ruffians pouring from the small salon and hear
shrieks, shots, howls of excitement.
The centre of the Casino had been cleared, hundreds of players had
been driven into the atrium, hundreds of others penned in the
refreshment room. Doctor Bergius still stood there, while Castelli and
two others looted the tables. The band that had worked the private
rooms came running back with their booty. They were joined almost
immediately by the gang that had been pillaging the main rooms.
With revolvers in hands, they formed a solid mass, their eyes
flashing, their teeth gleaming ferociously. The voice of Doctor
Bergius again rang out:
“Stay where you are, all of you. We have men posted to command
the crowd. If one of you moves from his place before a full ten
minutes has passed he will be shot. This is a solemn warning.”
The doctor leaped down, and his men followed him, firing as they
went.
Hugh edged through the crowd; he wanted to see what was
happening. The last of the rear guard had disappeared into the
smaller salon. Through the open doorway he saw them descending
by the window. No one had as yet dared to move. Yes, there was
one, a woman. Hugh saw her run in from the atrium, and marvelled
at her daring. Then he recognized her. It was the tall woman who
always dressed in grey. As she crossed the threshold of the small
salon, she fired at the two men who were balanced on the sill; they
swung around and returned the fire. Hugh recognized Castelli and
the doctor. Then they, too, disappeared and the woman in grey lay
still on the floor.
Everything was quiet, impressively quiet. The ten minutes were up
but still no one was inclined to move. Hugh was the first to break the
spell. He ran across the empty hall to the nearest open window. Two
launches were steaming away. All was over now. The grand coup
had been successful. When he turned back, the lackeys were
carrying the veiled woman into one of the private rooms. Suddenly
Hugh remembered the supposed suicide. He ran into the grand
salon. The body still lay under the table. He bent down and
examined it. It was Vulning; the false blonde beard was crimsoned
with blood, and his head was blown open. The revolver had been
loaded with a real ball. The poor devil had put an end to his own life.
Doctor Bergius had seen to it that he had saved them his share of
the swag. What a joker the doctor was!

3.

Hugh was sitting in his garden the following afternoon when Bob
Bender came to see him. He counted out ten bills of a thousand
francs each.
“There! if we failed it was through no fault of yours. You’ve earned
this. Now we want you to go away for awhile, disappear somewhere.
We want to hush the whole thing up, choke off all inquiries.”
“All right. By the way, what about that poor woman who was shot?”
“Oh, she’s all right! They only winged her. She dropped to avoid
further injury. But then I shouldn’t say ‘she.’ Do you know who that
was?”
“No.”
“Krantz.”
“The devil!”
“Yes, I was surprised myself. He’s been spying on the gang for
months. He’ll be all right in a few weeks.”
“I’m glad. I liked Krantz. I say, you don’t need to be afraid of my
blabbing anything. But I don’t see how you are going to hush up a
thing like that. How are you going to account for it?”
Bob grinned.
“We’re giving out that it was the rehearsal of a cinema production.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged!... All right. I’ll make myself scarce. I’ll shove off
somewhere this very night.”
And three hours later he was on the boat bound for Corsica.
END OF BOOK FOUR
 BOOK FIVE
The Man Hunt
 CHAPTER ONE
THE VALLEY OF THE GOLO

1.

IN the glimmer of early dawn, the big boat swung slowly into the
harbour. Under the lightening sky the steel grey waters changed to
steel blue; and the dark mysterious land smiled into friendliness. The
grey cubes piled against the mountain brightened into tall houses still
locked in sleep. Presently, with a fore-glow of citron, the clear rim of
the sun cut the sea-line; and the sea became jade green. The air
was diamond pure; the mountains took on colour; and Bastia
awakened to another careless day.
High caserne-like houses, massive-walled and stucco-fronted;
shabby shops half a century behind the times; mustiness and age;
cigarettes, vendetta knives, and goat-flesh,—these were some of
Hugh’s first impressions of Bastia.
He found a room in a tall hotel near the upper end of the town. It had
vast rambling corridors with many doors, none of which were
numbered, and to find his room he had to count each time the
doorways from the head of the staircase. The interiors of all the
rooms were alike in their simplicity. Each had high yellow walls, and
a ceiling painted with a design of flowers and fruit, a bed, a
commode with water-jug, two cane bottomed chairs.
Bastia soon bored Hugh. It’s streets seemed gloomy and sordid, its
people sunk in tradition. There was nothing to do. The first morning
he wandered up and down buying the numerous brands of local
cigarettes. In the afternoon he craved a cup of tea, but it seemed to
be unknown. Finally at a big café he found a brew which tasted like
tisane. A single gulp sufficed.
At his hotel the food was very bad. The place was run on casual
lines by a family of Corsicans, swarthy, hairy, oily, with a suavity that
signified nothing. At his special request they procured him butter, but
it looked so much like axle-grease that he did not have the courage
to discover what it tasted like. At dinner he had a ragout of very
young lamb that tasted quite good, until the smallness of the bones
suggested to him that the lamb had been still-born, then he ate no
more.
In his overwhelming loneliness he thought that he would write to
Margot. He went to the so-called salon, dipped a rusted pen
hopefully into a dusty ink-bottle. Alas! it was dry. Discouraged, he
rose and sought the streets again. A few cheap cinemas were open,
the bills displaying cowboy pictures,—strong, silent, wooden-faced
men and romping, sunny-haired heroines. The streets were badly
lighted and suggested nocturnal adventure; but the frequent display
of the vendetta knife in the shop windows was an incentive towards
virtue. He found a big, dingy café, and, ordering a liqueur, fell to
sampling one after another the various brands of cigarettes he had
purchased. He was abysmally bored. Bastia was the finest place in
the world, he decided, to pass through without stopping.
Then he went home to his hotel. Sitting on his bed in the candlelight,
he read his little guide-book. Suddenly he had an idea. He was fit,
foot-loose, free,—why not walk across the island? Yes, that was it.
He would tramp from Bastia to Agaccio.

2.

Next morning he bought a small, cheap valise and packed in it the

few clothes he needed, also his sketching materials, as he might
want to make some colour notes on the way. He planned to take
about a fortnight to the trip, jogging along easily, studying the people,
perhaps fishing a little, and generally enjoying himself.
This cheerful prospect reconciled him to another day in Bastia. He
made the acquaintance of a tourist party that were stopping at his
hotel. They were nearly all women, and their great subject of
conversation was not the beauties of the island but Food,—the
feasts that awaited them of fresh trout, black-birds and passionate
pink wine.
“Ah! you are English!” said a vivacious French girl to Hugh. “There
are so many English in Corsica, very aristocratic English. They have
been coming here for years, and seem to think they have discovered
the place. They rather resent us ordinary tourists. There is another
Englishman in the hotel. Perhaps you have seen him. He has the
room next to yours. Or he may be an American, he is so tall and
clean-shaven, and he wears those funny big round tortoise-shell
spectacles. They make people look like owls, I think. Do you know
him? I ask because he seems so quiet, so retiring. I am quite curious
about him.”
“No, I haven’t seen him. But then I haven’t been near my room all
day. If I see him I’ll speak to him, and allay your curiosity about him.”
That evening he passed the tall man in the gloom of the corridor.
Hugh was about to accost him when the man brushed past him and
disappeared hurriedly into his room.
“Can’t be an American, after all,” thought Hugh, “or he’d be more
sociable. I’ll look up his name in the register.”
When he did look it up, he found it was Wilbur P. Hoffmann, Jersey
City; that settled it.

3.

The next morning, before starting out, he sought the proprietor of the
library where he had bought his guide-book, and inquired the best
road for his journey.
“But, monsieur,” said the man, “it would be better to take the train to
Cassamozza; it is very flat and uninteresting as far as that. There the
mountains begin, and you go up the valley of the Golo. The train
starts in half an hour. You have just time to catch it, if you hurry.”
The idea was a good one. Hugh hurried back to the hotel, leaped up
the two flights of stairs and burst into his room. He grabbed his
valise, which he had packed before going out, and rushed down into
the street. Within ten minutes he was seated in the train.
The first class carriage in which he found himself was very small and
very dirty. He had to rub the windowpane with a newspaper in order
to see out. On the walls of the compartment were advertisements of
the wine of Cap Corse, a local apéritif, and a liquor called
Cederatine. There were three other passengers in the carriage, a fat,
spectacled man and two thin, spectacled women. From their accent
he thought they were German at first, but later decided they were
Dutch. They did not interest him. When the train started he turned
his attention to the scenery. A green level stretched away to brown
marshes that in turn yielded to the grey of the sea. At the tiny
stations, sheltered by eucalyptus trees, peasants laden with baskets
got in and out. Hugh attached a strap to the rings of his valise so that
he could sling it from his shoulder. He had packed it with bread,
cheese and fruit, a tin billy and a packet of tea.
He had decided to walk for two hours after reaching Cassamozza,
then lunch in the open, so that it was with a sense of cheerful
adventure that he descended at the little station and started out on
his long tramp. How hot the way was! As he strode up the valley of
the Golo the sun was scorching, the road a dazzling white; below
him was a furious torrent, now dashing in dazzling foam amid great
boulders, now swirling greenly in gravelly pools. It delighted him; it
was so pure, so wild, so free. There was the maquis, too. It rose on
either hand, clothing the mountain sides with rich dark green. It was
pathless, dense, the best cover in the world. Here in the old days
bandits had defied the forces of law and order; but now, doubtless,
they were all dead.
With every step he realized more and more that he was advancing
into the land of legend and history. He passed a hoary shepherd,
who might have stepped from the pages of romance. The old man
had a long beard and was dressed in brown corduroy. On his head
he wore a picturesque beret, and strapped to his back was a huge
blue umbrella and a gun. He was leaning motionless on his long
staff, gazing over a flock of black-haired sheep that mottled the
hillside. Hugh felt the poetry of it—the mountains soaring to meet the
sky, the white torrent roaring in his ears, the solitary shepherd, white-
bearded as a patriarch of old.
He was becoming hungry, furiously hungry, and he thought with joy
of the simple fare tucked away in his valise. He climbed down to the
river, and in the shadow of a great rock made a cheerful fire of
driftwood. Now for the tea. Confound it! What was the matter with his
valise? His key refused to turn in the lock.
“That is the worst of these cheap bags,” he complained; “the key
always jams when you are in a devil of a hurry.”
He was ravenously hungry. His mouth watered even at the thought
of bread and cheese. Damn the thing! It was a pity to break the lock
but there seemed no help for it. Another effort. There, it was yielding.
Bravo! it had suddenly burst open.... Good God!
He stared blankly at what he saw. He rubbed his eyes and looked
again. No, he was not dreaming, he was not mad ... they were there,
dozens of them ... packets tightly tied, neatly arranged, numbered....
Thousand franc bank-notes. There seemed to be a hundred to a
packet, and there were twenty-eight packets. Nearly three million
francs! What could it all mean? Still staring at the wealth in his
possession, he sat down and tried to think. The Golo roared in his
ears. Between two grim grey boulders it crashed; it swirled and
eddied into a great green pool. In those pure depths could be seen
the darting shadows of trout.
Three million francs!
He breathed the perfume of the maquis. He saw it carpeting the
broad valley, rising to the mountain ridges that met the sky. Yonder
like a carved figure the patriarchal shepherd stood motionless by his
flock. It was like a dream.
Three million francs.
Yes, there they were in that little valise. He looked closely at it; it was
not his valise. It was quite different from the one he had bought,
bigger and finer! He had taken it by mistake. How could he have
made such a blunder? It had been in his room.... Or had it been in
his room? Ah! that was it. In his furious hurry to catch the train he
must have entered the wrong room.... But whose? Why, whose but
the tall American’s; Wilbur P. Hoffmann’s. Now he was getting at it.
He had rushed into the room adjoining his and carried away the
American’s valise. It was not such a strange thing to do, after all. The
rooms were all alike, the doors unnumbered. He had not examined
particularly his valise when he had bought it; and it was little wonder
that he had not noticed the difference. Yes, he had carried away
another man’s valise containing nearly three million francs. What
should he do with it? Go back to Cassamozza and telegraph, of
course! The tall American must be in a devil of a stew. But what was
Wilbur P. Hoffmann doing packing three million francs around in a
hand valise? It was a rum affair....
Hugh realized suddenly his own position. It was dangerous to be
carrying such a treasure in this wild, primitive country. Few men
would hesitate to kill him to gain possession of it. Even now some
one might be watching him. Half fearfully he looked around. Then he
closed the valise with a snap. Some one was watching him. It was a
peasant lad who had bobbed up from the other side of the big
boulder.
“Hullo,” said Hugh.
“Bon jour, monsieur.”
The lad drew nearer. He carried a long cane fishing-rod and had a
canvas wallet slung at his back. He wore an old army tunic on which
was sewn the yellow ribband of the military medal. He also limped
badly. His age was about that of Hugh, and his face was olive tinted
and bold featured.
“How is the fishing?”
“Not bad, monsieur. A little too clear. Still, look....”
Opening his satchel he showed Hugh four fine trout. Suddenly Hugh
remembered that he was hungry.
“Listen,” he said, “I’ve walked from Cassamozza, and I’ve forgotten
to bring anything to eat. I’m dying of hunger. I suppose it wouldn’t be
possible to cook these?”
“Nothing easier, monsieur. I generally cook a fish or two for lunch.
See....”
He took from his wallet a small frying-pan and a bottle of olive oil.
“Already you have a fire made. We will cook these in no time, and
you will see how nice they will be.”
He soon had the fish simmering on the fire. He produced a piece of
coarse bread and even some salt. When the fishes were cooked
Hugh laid them on a flat stone. He ate with his hands, stripping the
bones with his fingers. What matter! There was lots of water to wash
in afterwards, all the Golo a giant finger-bowl at his feet. He had
never tasted fish quite so delicious.
“There! I feel better,” he said at last. “Now for a good drink at the
river and a smoke.”
He produced cigarettes and the two smoked comfortably.
“Been at the War?” asked Hugh.
“Yes,” said the lad. “Verdun. I got wounded in the leg there. It still
bothers me. Two of my brothers were killed. There’s not a family
here but lost some one. You know we Corsicans are brave. There
were no braver men in the French army than our regiments. But they
don’t like the Corsicans in France. The French generals sacrificed
us.”
He shook his head sadly.
“Ah! poor Corsica. It is the forgotten island. So rich, yet so neglected.
We are supposed to be savage, but there is no people so kindly. But
we are poor, oh, so poor. Look at me. I have not a sou. And I will
always be like this, poor, ragged, ignorant. It is hard.”
“What would you do if you had ... say three million francs?”
“Ah, monsieur, you jest. That is all the money in the world. Why, I
would buy my old mother the cottage she lives in; then I would go to
Paris and get an education. I would live like a fine gentleman. Ah!
Paris. I was there once. What a time I had! I shall never forget it.
Well, now I must catch some more fish for our supper this night.”
Hugh tried to give him a bill for five francs, but the lad drew back
proudly.
“No, monsieur, we are a hospitable people. We do what little we can
to make the stranger welcome. I thank you, but I can accept
nothing.” He limped away in his rags and Hugh did not see him
again.

4.

Once more Hugh climbed to the road. He would go on, he decided,

to the next station and telegraph there. What a beastly nuisance! He
would have to return to Bastia. That American, who was he? Even in
that brief moment in the corridor there had been something vaguely
familiar about him. What if he were a criminal fleeing from justice!
What if.... Good Heavens!... Hugh stopped short as the great idea
flashed on him. Could it be?... Could it be that Wilbur P. Hoffmann
was....
He tore open the valise again, and fell to examining the notes. Some
pencil markings confirmed his suspicion.... Was it Doctor Bergius?
Absurd! Yet why not? Doctor Bergius with his beard shaved off, his
head cropped, would not look very unlike Wilbur P. Hoffmann. He
had noticed, even in the obscurity, the man’s large, beak-like nose.
Conviction grew on him. Yes, the tall American was Doctor Bergius.
Here now was a pretty mess. What was he to do? The Casino had
been robbed of three million francs. He was alone with the booty in
the savage heart of Corsica; he could not return it to the robbers,
and to return it to the Casino ... hum! That didn’t quite appeal to him
either. He had not much sympathy with the Casino. They could well
afford to lose it. It would be better to hand it over to some deserving
charity. In the meantime what was to be done? He could not carry
the stuff round. He must dispose of it for the moment. That was it. He
would hide it. He had been hearing for some time, as he walked, the
roar of a great waterfall, and saw it about three hundred yards further
on at the head of a very wild and solitary gorge. Climbing over the
rocks, he reached the base of the cliff where the white shaft of water
plunged into a deep pool. He found that the rock over which it fell
shelved back into a low cave. He crawled in; it was quite dry. He took
out the bundles of bank-notes, and wrapping them in his waterproof
coat, bound the parcel tightly with stout cord. Then he crawled still
further into the cave and jammed it into a fissure of the rock.
“There! It’s safe,” he said. “It can remain in that cleft a thousand
years and no one will find it.”
He crawled out cautiously, and, after reconnoitring to see that no one
had observed him, continued on his way.