CHAPTER 9
THE NEON THROB wanes as I leave the chaotic city streets behind, trading graffiti-tagged walls for sleek glass towers and polished chrome facades.
Here, the glow is cooler, with arctic blues and dusky violets bleeding from elegant holographic billboards advertising luxury synthwear and exclusive sensory mods.
Trees line the avenues, their leaves dusted with bioluminescent petals that faintly pulse in rhythm with the city’s heartbeat.
Small boutiques with prismatic storefronts display incandescent technological relics and handcrafted accessories, their minimalist logos glowing softly against dark anodized interiors.
I step into the lobby of my apartment building, which is staffed by attendants whose uniforms and serene smiles promise discretion and safety, the central city hum fading into a refined silence. It’s the kind of tranquility only wealth or power can buy.
When I unlock my door, I sense something off about the stillness inside, or rather lack thereof. My hand immediately moves to where my dagger should be before remembering it’s gone.
Shit.
“Relax, it’s just us,” Evan’s voice calls from the living room. He flicks the lights on, revealing him sprawled across my couch, a bottle of expensive whiskey dangling from his fingers. “Thought we deserved a night off after everything.”
Nothing new.
They call in sick to work regularly, but who am I to judge?
Moving heavy cargo and lifting shipping containers that humans would need machinery for seems boring as hell, and their constant complaints only confirm the thought.
It’s too bad vampires aren’t allowed to be venators, since teaching them the ropes is a disaster waiting to happen.
Every wounded human would be a temptation, and every mastered weapon could be turned against us.
We would’ve had a blast monster hunting together.
Come to think of it, humans and vampires should interbreed more often. Dhampirs are clearly where the talent lies.
I close the door behind me. “What’s all this?”
“This,” Evan announces grandly, sweeping his arm across the room, “is an emergency check-in session. Complete with alcohol, snacks, bad movies, and absolutely zero talk about vampires trying to kidnap you.”
My living room has been transformed into something resembling a slumber party.
Bottles of liquor line my coffee table, alongside a wide range of refreshments infused with plasma—the yellowish, liquid portion of human blood that makes it so delicious to vampires.
Fruits, sweets, nibbles, and beverages imbued with it can momentarily quench thirst, but they won’t satiate hunger and could never be a substitute for blood itself.
Since vampires aren’t used to chewing much, they generally tend to prefer drinks over snacks due to their easy intake, but there are still plenty of them who have grown accustomed to it, like my friends.
“This,” I say, eyebrows raised as I toss my keys onto the counter and look around, “is breaking and entering.”
A stack of boxes containing what looks like enough blodas to last us multiple weeks sits beside my TV.
In Penn City, vampires live on a complementary diet of these sleek, minimalist cans, conspicuous against the colorful packaging that tends to surround them.
Each cylindrical container is manufactured with a matte aluminum finish and a bright red stripe wrapping around the middle, because heaven forbid aesthetics.
Jokes aside, the stripped-down design is intentional, a message that screams function over form.
Named and styled after human sodas, blodas lack the buttery texture and complex taste of blood bank rations.
Too many preservatives. Clearly not meant to be the main course, just a little indulgence on the side.
When donations don’t suffice, these bad boys are there to fill the gap, found on the front shelves of every grocery store and curbing the cravings of even the greediest vampires—so long as you pay.
Though neither comes even close to blood drunk straight from the vein, at least according to bloodsuckers. The warm temperature of fresh blood results in a completely different mouthfeel compared to the cold, processed variety.
The one time we tried heating up a bloda in an attempt to mimic the real thing, it ended in a chemical disaster, the fetid stench of rotten corpse lingering in my apartment for days.
No matter how intrigued I am by the differences, I have no desire to confirm the hypothesis through personal tasting. There are just too many risks involved.
“This is friendship,” Haden corrects from my desk by the window, playing a video game. His silhouette is outlined against the bright city lights, accompanied by a backdrop of skyscrapers. “We thought you might need company.”
Evan continues his showcase, gesturing to the living space they have commandeered. “We even got you bliskey, the bread and butter of your diet, and those weird plasma berries you like.”
I plop a handful of berries into my mouth before loading the blodas into the fridge. I leave out one can, pour it over ice, and take a few swigs. “I could use some alone time, to be honest.”
Evan sits up to make room for me on the couch. “You disappeared for two days, ignored our texts, and think we’re going to leave you all alone and depressed after that?”
“Yes.” I sink into the couch beside him. “It’s this thing called respecting my boundaries.”
“Never heard of that.” Evan swaps the bloda in my hand for a glass of amber liquid. “Drink. You look like you came straight from hell.”
“Thanks.” I down the contents of the glass in one swallow. “Just what every girl wants to hear.” The alcohol burns pleasantly, drowning out the guilt coursing through me for destroying Max’s life.
I place my glass on the table, fish my phone out of my pocket, and turn it on, squinting at the bright display in my dimly lit apartment. Multiple notifications come in all at once. “And for the record, my phone was off. I wasn’t ignoring you.”
Evan shrugs, gesturing that it’s fine. “Wanna talk about it?”
“About what?” I ask, feigning ignorance, my stomach making hungry noises. “And give me my bloda back.” I forcefully take it from his hand.
“Marcus knows a nurse at the medical center,” Haden says, his eyes locked on the screen in front of him. “She said Max got turned. What the hell happened?”
My jaw clenches. They weren’t supposed to find out this fast. Not before I’d have time to process it myself. But news travels fast in Penn City, especially when it involves vampires.
I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling.
“After I went to talk with him outside—yes, it was him knocking—we got attacked. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he was bitten. I don’t know why.
His sire offered to trade her blood in return for me.
General Lee gathered a team, we traveled to Blackham, the trade went well, until the Ravens showed up again out of nowhere and killed everyone except me.
There’s not much more to it than what the public already knows.
I’ve been at the hospital with Max all day. ”
They both stare at me, unblinking, visibly processing the condensed version of the story.
“Wow,” Evan blurts out.
“How is he?” asks Haden, concern etched onto his face as his head pokes out around the corner.
“Physically? Fine. Mentally?” I shake my head. “He’s struggling, to say the least. And his friends just showed up to remind him what a mistake it was getting involved with me in the first place.”
“The vampire-hating trio,” Evan snorts. “What do those pretentious assholes know?”
“Apparently enough to predict that dating me would end with Max becoming a vampire,” I say bitterly, the sound of their voices still fresh in my head.
“That’s bullshit,” says Evan. “What happened to Max could have happened to anyone in this city. It wasn’t your fault.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Haden joins us on the couch. “Thirty-six others were turned too, after all. Completely random.”
A part of me agrees with them, yet doubt gnaws at me. “What if he blames me? What if he can’t forgive me for what happened?”
“Then he’s not the man you thought he was,” Evan says simply.
The room falls silent as his words sink in.
I don’t argue back. Beating myself up over something I know I don’t have full control over is tiring enough.
I’ve spent five years building a life with Max, crafting a version of myself that fits neatly into his world.
Now that world has shattered, and I’m not sure either of us knows how to navigate the pieces.
Evan thrusts another drink into my hand. “You’re thinking too much.”
I take a sip of what’s yet another bliskey, then pass it on to Haden. “I’m going to clean myself up.”
“Make it quick,” says Evan as he kicks my butt with his foot. “We’re going to watch movies. Bad ones. The kind that are so terrible they’re good.”
Haden groans. “I voted for something with actual plot, but was overruled.”
I find myself smiling. There’s something comforting about the simplicity of all this. No VR headsets, no neural interfaces, no immersive simulation pods that Max and his friends are always dragging me to. Just actual movies on a screen, like old times.
“What will it be?” Evan asks, ticking off on his fingers. “Zombies, pirates, or cowboys?”
“Surprise me,” I say, disappearing into my bathroom.
I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the dirt and grime of the past few days. The steam fogs the glass as I scrub myself clean, watching the dried blood swirl down the drain.
About ten minutes later, I’m toweling off, my mind already feeling clearer.
At least for a while, I can pretend that my world isn’t falling apart, that Max isn’t lying in a hospital bed with red eyes and fangs, and that I’m not being hunted by forces I don’t understand.
At least for a while, I can pretend everything is just fine.