Final Sunset

Final Sunset

By: Lee Marchais

Sunset had come and gone in a breath. She watched the stars as they came out of hiding like children in a game of hide-and-seek. One more night. The decision hadn’t been an easy one, but she couldn’t live like this anymore: seeking blood, killing a stranger on occasion, the gore, the insatiable hunger. A thousand years had come and gone like the first day had been yesterday, and now, she had to end it. The cycle was vicious. Hunting humans for that little high that took more and more blood to achieve. It would be even worse if the human in question were a junkie; sadly, they were the ones no one seemed to miss, though. Homeless people were the second, and had at least a steady diet of soups, sandwiches, and juice. She tried to offer them an escape, be kind, but most of the time they begged to live, and the more they begged, she felt like a demon. She sighed, even though breathing wasn’t a requirement. Still a remnant of her human life. The life stolen from her and made her perpetually twenty-two years old. One thousand and twenty-two years old. Death would’ve been preferable to the constant violence, blood, and random hookups to see if she could still feel something. But her Master was the vampire, the Alpha and Omega, the progenitor of all of them. He was a callous, cruel, individual—a thing which didn’t belong in the world any more. The shape of evil had become something else, politicians and clergymen, whose scrutiny damned vampires. It was the one thing they could disagree to agree on. It’s why her Master had created his Knights—they were cannon fodder, while his children roamed the night eternally, in search of different things. She didn’t speak his name; it would summon him as though a specter in the night, and while he knew where his children were, she didn’t want any more attention than necessary. Not when she roamed the night, searching for something never to come.

She swept her long, dark hair over her ear and looked down at the city below. Every city had a life of its own: New York was always alive, same with London, LA, and San Francisco. Tonight, though, Kanas City, Kansas looked alive. It had been her home for a few years now, and as she looked below, she watched the warm lights dance around, the cars pass each other by, and the seasonal decorations. She sighed. A light breeze whipped little waves around her head, shifted her dress a little. It was oddly beautiful at night: the lights glittered from this height, making her feel like a goddess watching her creation. She inhaled, a familiar scent on the air. She smiled, grateful. It had been part of her plan, to find him one more time before she embraced the sun. She had a feeling he’d follow her to the ends of the earth, if she let him, but she couldn’t do that. Luck would have it that she would end up being the reason for his demise, and this human meant more to her than any others had in a long time. Knowing he was there… gave her a sense of peace, when the world was in such chaos.

For tonight, she’d picked the prettiest red dress she could find in honor of this moment, along with a pair of knee-high, black leather boots with a reasonable heel. She felt beautiful in the simple ensemble, the silk dress, the leather… It was a simplicity she had never afforded herself alive. The boots took the shape of her legs, same as the dress she’d picked; he’d like it all. Looking around, seeing the life above and below, she wondered if she’d haunt this tower forever, or if this was fully the end of the line. By morning, she would know if God existed, whether an afterlife awaited her—good or bad—and whether she had atoned enough for her sins. She sighed. It was nine o’clock in the evening already. But that didn’t matter. She had hours to prepare herself for her last moments. Dying like this was a better option than living in her hell any longer. She’d grown, changed—being the selfish vampire no longer worked. At first it had been scary and exciting. Not now, though. The world had evolved; she needed to mature with it, and that meant no longer causing harm to innocent people because of her thirst. Vampires were dangerous to humans, and they had found ways to prevent attacks or at least being victims. Others who didn’t follow the world’s politics, they donated blood for a sum of money, but it depended on the country. The United States had the highest rate of donors, but the blood in most Americans tasted like sugar and fat. Different diets made humans taste different. But that wouldn’t matter anymore, not after tonight. If she could step onto that ledge in the morning and greet the sun like an old friend, she knew her living hell would be over. The other option… she didn’t think it would ever be possible. And that was someone taking out her Master, the one who had made her.

“Isabeau,” a soft, familiar voice said, his warm scent stronger now.

“Hunter,” she acknowledged.

“I do have a name,” he said, coming closer. She could hear the fall of his feet as he neared the ledge she stood upon. She could smell his pleasant scent, the eau de human who had been active all day. No shower, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

She smirked. “Perhaps, but why use it when you’re exactly what I call you?”

“I don’t hunt you,” he said. He didn’t hunt her, maybe, but he kept track of her movements. The last time they’d seen each other had been in Paris, her hometown. That had been three months ago. The daughter of her descendant son was becoming a woman; Isabeau had wanted to be there for that. They had been her secret-keepers over the years, tethering her to humanity. For her lifetime, she had been tracking her family, sometimes meeting some of them. They made fun of her French, saying it was old fashioned, and she wondered if she still had a proper French accent, or if the waters had been muddied with her worldly travels. But she had lived in a different time, a time when things had been simpler, harder. Her accent was gone, after all of the world travel, resetting every forty or fifty years in a new location. Her skin was still sun-kissed from before her living death. Her family had been farmers, struggling farmers.

“How did you find me?” she asked. She didn’t look at him, knowing if he asked her to stay, she’d be weak and acquiesce. It wasn’t like they knew each other except for carnal activities. She was a traitor to her kind for fancying him a little. There was just something about him that made it impossible to resist him, especially when he was like this: Protective.

“I’ve learned your scent—finally.”

“Oh. So you are hunting me?”

“No, Isabeau. I wouldn’t do that.” There was something soft and delicate in the way he said it. Something like a promise. A promise he intended to keep for the eternity she’d be alive. Unless the Master was killed.

“Ah. You fancy yourself in love with me, I take it?”

“No,” he said a little too fast. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you. I can like you without being in love with you.” Humans had a scent when they lied or obfuscated the truth. There was a mixture of bitterness with a sweet tang in the air now, one she recognized.

She chuckled. In her estimation, men who liked vampires were either Hunters or Prey. There was nothing in between. “Why are you here?” She turned to look at him. His rugged face was covered in a brownish beard and mustache, his blue eyes like a starry night. He had sharp angles under the hair. But Isabeau had always considered him attractive. He was tall. Taller than she, and she had been above average when she was human. Now she towered over most women and some men. Hunter, though, was even taller. He had to be six-five or more. Isabeau could see the toned body beneath his shirt, but only because she had seen it many times before. His legs were the same. It was like he had been a sportsman before he came a Hunter.

“We’ve found him. And his Knights.”

Isabeau’s eyes widened. She reached for his neck and was within touching-distance faster than fate devouring the Greeks in their tragedies. She curled her fingers, her long slender nails like knives digging into his weak skin. “And you dare to tell me? One of his children, as though he can’t read my mind?” she hissed.

“I—that wasn’t—Isabeau, you’re hurting me,” he choked out. Anger rode through her like a tsunami. She reined it in, knowing she could kill him by tightening her grip. It would be like a flower being beheaded.

“Good. Then maybe your band of merry men will think twice about coming to me for help. He won’t kill me…. He’ll torture and maim me, let me heal, then do it all over again, for eternity, you stupid fuck. Didn’t you think about me at all?” She wanted to die, not be her Master’s plaything for eternity.

“I didn’t want your help. We didn’t want your help.” He choked again. “I wanted to see you one last time. If I don’t make it.” He sounded lost, genuine. She wanted to kiss him, but her plans… they meant she’d never see him again. And that was the only thing keeping her from walking into the sun already; she’d always looked forward to their trysts. She had always looked forward to him, even though they were opposites: night and day. For years, they had been like this; and as she watched the red rushing his face, heard and felt his heard beating like a wild animal, she felt the anger trickle out like a rock holding a dam in place.

“Hrm. So much for just liking me.” She shook her head and withdrew her hold on his neck. Strips of blood came with it, and she licked her nails clean, unabashed about how the taste of him made her body feel. She shivered and sighed, wondering why he really told her. “Someone could be watching us.”

There was electricity between them, a magnetic draw. She didn’t step away, looking at him, watching the concern in his eyes, the questions he had on the tip of his tongue.

“There are six others downstairs.”

“Hunters?” She sniffed the air, only to smell the nighttime air, flora and fauna of the midwestern United States. “Your disguises are improving. Still, the Master… he sees through it all.”

“Yes, they are. Isabeau… I wanted to say goodbye. I won’t tell you any details, but I want you to know… I’m doing this for you. If you have a chance to live… I want to give it to you.”

This confession brought back the anger with force, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she had unresolved feelings for Tristan—Hunter—or if she didn’t want him to sacrifice himself on her behalf.

“What makes you think that’s what I want, human?” she demanded, pushing him until they hit the wall. The concrete cracked in the shape of Tristan, dust rising in the air, obscuring the nighttime sky until it blew away.

He grunted and put his hands on her wrists. “Call it a hunch.”

“I don’t need you to save me.”

“It’s not just saving you.”

“Then why frame it that way?”

“Because… you’re different. You haven’t become a complete monster like so many others have.”

She paused, knowing he meant the ones like Dmitri. “You’ve known me for how long?”

“Years. Long before we met.”

“Your kind keep records of us?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? Manipulation, access. But that isn’t me. Those six downstairs, they would just as soon kill you. But they let me deal with you. I’m a higher rank. The right ones won’t disobey direct orders.”

She blinked. She could feel the racing of his heart, the blood pumping through his veins. She was so hungry, and that vein on the side of his neck pulsed beautifully. “I—need to go…”

“Isabeau, please. Just a little while. It could be the last time.”

“A little while? For what, Tristan?”

His hands moved up her arms. “You need to feed. I need you.”

She had worked out he wanted to have sex, but he had never offered to let her feed on him. “You’re really going to let me feed on you—before you go off in search of Him?”

“Yes. You need to, and I know you will go days without if you don’t now.”

Arguments came to mind, but her voice wouldn’t work. Once again, the anger had subsided. Her mouth flapped a few times, and he closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands, and pressed their lips together. She sighed, remembering every kiss that had come before this, even their first awkward one. But even that had been heaven to her, his youthful inexperience had made him eager to learn and correct his mistake. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she met him with equal want. It was like he was holding on for dear life, as well as trying to remember what their kisses felt like. She couldn’t deny there was heat, that feeling of him gripping her face out of need turned her on.

She pulled away, gasping, another remnant of her human life. She exhaled and watched his eyes dance. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

He smiled. “Not incorrigible, just… know what I like.”

“And that’s me?”

“Since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised.

“You’re different. I knew it the first time I saw you.” He stroked her cheek. “Go ahead and feed.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. No question.”

“Have you ever been bitten?” she asked, wondering if he knew what he was in for.

“Not by you, no. But, yeah. I have a general idea of what it’ll feel like.”

“Okay.” She looked at him, knowing it would hurt. The only time it didn’t hurt was when the person dug pain. But she also knew he was right; she’d starve herself if he didn’t let her feed. “Can you get comfortable on your knees? I can’t get a good angle with you standing.” She felt little asking him to bow to her, but she couldn’t explain why. He complied, adjusting on the hard concrete. “I know this is… against the rules. So, thank you.”

He nodded. Hunters were forbidden from consorting with vampires and feeding them was even worse; Tristan could lose his rank, his title, his everything. “I’m tougher than I look.” He smirked and tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck. It was corded and hard, muscled. She ran her thumbnail across the pulsing vein. She imagined what it would feel like when her fangs sank in. His excitement, arousal, made it easier to take this step with him. She leaned in and licked the sweet spot.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” he said, breathlessly.

She lowered her fangs and sank them in, feeling a crimson tide rush her mouth. She moaned; he tasted like poppies and candies, like nothing she’d ever had before. The copper tang that usually accompanied drinking blood was subtle, but his was like he had been drinking and eating certain foods, just to make him like a drug. There was white noise in her head, like watching a staticky TV screen late at night. She heard a soft moan, thinking it was her, but realizing it was Tristan. She retracted her fangs and looked at him. Rivulets of blood rolled down his neck, and she licked them, a final taste of perfection. And she was ready to give it up, all of it. For a moment, she felt the grief of her lost life. Of the children she had never been able to raise, them not having a mother. The husband she left behind without a word. Being turned had been a turning point in her life. She had become a vampire because of the promises the Master had made: be anything you want to be; never answer to another abusive husband; live outside the norms of society… be anything or anyone.

She didn’t dwell on it too long. She dropped to her knees in front of him. “How was it?” Her brain warbled in her skull, and her limbs felt increasingly heavy. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say she heard a child giggle in the distance. But they were so high in the air, it wasn’t possible. Not in a building that swayed with the wind, built to outlast so many acts of God.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Like you.” He pulled her in by her lower back and kissed her deeply.

She started to stop him, the blood couldn’t taste good, but she didn’t bother. It felt too good. Kissing him, feeling his warmth, tasting his blood, it was a weird form of perfection. She felt high, unable to think, but knowing on an animalistic level that she wanted him on his back and his cock between her legs. For a moment, she hoped he had planned to follow through on his earlier comment, about being with her one last time. All of that melted into something like goo in her mind. She knew what she wanted, what she felt, but everything was sluggish, as though she had been dipped in quicksand and left to sink. She could have stayed like this forever, her body singing a song only she could hear, while her limbs became like water. His mouth on her mouth was a brilliant addition to the sensation, like they had been stitched inside a cocoon, just the two of them. She wobbled to the right; he caught her, staring at her with ardor and concern.

She lifted her arm with effort and looked at him, thinking the words. “Take me inside,” she managed to say. Her tongue was like a concrete octopus flailing around on land, the drug that was a human taking her faster and faster. Her heart raced like her prey often did when they realized she was coming for them. The problem with not killing her prey was that when their blood was like this—no one’s blood had ever been like this—she was vulnerable. She trusted Tristan, though, and when she felt him pick her up, arm under her knees, and the other behind her back, she felt safety in her bones; knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. Not even with her being like a wounded animal in his arms.

“There’s a bed back there,” she managed with some effort.

His steps were sure, and she felt the soft caress of high thread count sheets against her exposed skin as he dipped and laid her down.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. Later, Tristan, she thought. “Help me… um. Help. Clothes. Off,” she mumbled. It felt good to be at his mercy, even if it was for the last time. It felt good to have his blood nourishing her. And her body was on fire, arousal like a balloon trapped around her head. She was choking on it and needed his body against hers.

Isabeau felt the heat of his hands as they slid along her body. He traced her ribs, his warm flesh like hellfire against hers. For those moments, she remembered what it felt like to be alive, and dismissed the ache of loss, unwilling to fuck up this moment. It was like she had taken every drug created by men, her body liquid flesh. It was the only feeling she could equate it to, when she’d only seen addicts, never felt their high. But this high she could get used to. This was a feeling she would continue in her hell for, just to feel it again and again.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a devilish, soft tone. One that was a beacon under the rush of her blood and his blood mixing.

“Oh, yeah. Puuur-fect.” She giggled. She had never tasted someone so right, someone so brilliant. And she had never wanted someone so much. That might have been the blood talking in her veins. Even if it was the blood singing, alive, in her blood, she didn’t mind. Isabeau took hold of his jacket lapels and jerked him closer, so their mouths were separated by a breath. She tilted her head back and invited him to kiss her with the simple motion. He obliged, not taking his time, while he placed his hands on her hips, fingers tightening around the flesh and bone. They moaned, and the strain of not having his body against hers was becoming too real. She broke to kiss and pushed Tristan down, onto his back. The bed groaned with his weight, and she watched him, watching her. She sat up, feeling like a kite. She couldn’t remember ever having taken control like this with him before. He didn’t look like he minded. His breathing was heavy, and eyes clouded like a storm brewing in the distance. She smirked and spread her legs, lifting one to the bed at a time until she was situated over his hips with her knees on each side of him.

Tristan propped himself up on his elbows, like he was about to try to start a conversation. She pressed her finger to his lips and said, “Shhh.” She didn’t want to break the mood with a conversation. He always wanted to talk; she should’ve grabbed some tape to cover his mouth, maybe some rope for his arms. She hadn’t seen the evening going this way, though. Not being so high on his blood, consequences be damned. She reached between them and rubbed his half-hard cock, bringing it to life even more. He groaned but didn’t speak like she had requested. They’d done this part many times, but never after she’d drunk his blood. She’d never fed on him, and it felt glorious, so did his wonderful cock growing in her hand.

He put his hands on her hips and gripped like he owned her. Maybe he did, in a weird way; if there was any man she’d want to be a forever companion, it would be him. He was rugged, but smart, well-built, tall, and hungry for her, too. She leaned over and kissed him, hand still massaging between his legs. They both moaned, breath heavy between them. She rocked her hips, rotating and grinding into him. His grip tightened. He was strong, not as strong as her, but definitely a man who could take care of himself. In another life, he could take care of her. But this wasn’t about strength; it was about pleasure, and she knew he could provide that. They’d played this game before, multiple times over the last few months, and she wanted to savor every moment of the last time. She hated that most, because together, they were like two pieces of a puzzle that belonged side-by-side, one piece light and one piece dark. They were so many things, and in another world, she thought that It might be possible for them to be together without this insanity, without one of them being alive and the other being living dead. He held her heart in his hands, capable of crushing it or bringing it back to life. But time… time wasn’t her friend. She had made a decision, and she was going to stick to her own personal promise to herself. This life, even with Tristan by her side, would never be enough, not while the Master lived. Not while she was a vampire. She inhaled and shoved all thoughts aside. The blood was waning; she wanted more, but not until the end. She needed her strength to do what she had to do. And that included pushing him away, for good. Breaking his heart like a hammer to a crystal. She had to. He’d follow her through eternity, becoming a vampire, if he could. If it weren’t against the rules.

She kissed him again, memorizing his taste, like sunshine and sandalwood or patchouli, earthy and real in a way that she had long forgotten. They moaned, and she felt his hips shift, like he was going to roll them over. She grabbed his wrists and shoved them back against the mattress. “No. This is mine,” she growled.

“W-what is?” he asked, somewhat breathless.

“I need this, Tristan. If I let go, promise you won’t move your arms.”

He looked at her, studying her. She feared that her expression and tone had given away her true intentions, but if it had, he didn’t say anything.

“Okay,” he conceded with a nod.

She released her hold and reached between them to unbutton his trousers and get the fabric between them out of the way. His skin was hot, so alive. She could feel the pulsing of his cock as though she were touching it for the first time. It was the softest skin she’d ever felt, completely opposite how engorged it was. She wanted to do more than just expose him, but time was not on her side. She had things to do before sunrise. This was one of them. She shifted on his lap and pulled at her dress hem, bunching it up around her hips. She rose up, then took his cock and guided it to her wet opening. As she lowered herself, a shiver ran the length of her spine, and she couldn’t help the moan that escaped. He had always felt good inside her, but tonight, it was different, and perhaps that was because she was different.

Tristan exhaled and thrust his hips, but Isabeau wasn’t having that. She leaned down and took his wrists in her hands and shoved them against the bed. They plunged into the soft cotton beneath them, wrinkles all over, more to be made. He made a soft oomph sound when she dug her nails into the back of his wrists. She smelled the blood and loosened her grip, grinding against him, raising up, lowering herself, letting the sensations drive her. She found a rhythm that worked, knowing it was right when his moans became louder, more intense. It always turned her on when he was close to orgasm. She had done that, and now she was doing that, too. She wished someone else had made her feel this way, maybe another vampire, or even another human, one she didn’t care so deeply for. But it didn’t matter any more, because their bodies were in sync, both moving in tandem like cogs in a clock. She moaned and rose up, drawing her body up the length of his shaft, a groan exiting Tristan’s lips. She watched him fight to keep his hands above his head. His fingers curled in, straightened and stopped, shaking as he tried to maintain control. She bit her lip, having forgotten her fangs were out. Blood pooled around her tongue. She swallowed it and focused on him. Her wits were returning, but the pleasure wasn’t dying, only peaking. She felt the heat inside her, the tightening of muscles.

“Oh, God. Isabeau,” he managed to say.

She panted and looked down, catching his gaze. He held it like there was a glass ball between them—no blinking, no breathing, just the rush, the fire, inside her. She jerked, rolling her hips. His moans echoed in her ears, her mind, throughout her body. Knowing that he was right there with her was enough. She sped up. They moaned together, and like a light switch being flipped, she rode an electric wave of pleasure, riding through the sound and feel of his orgasm. He spouted something inchoate, and she ground her teeth, unwilling to let herself be that open in this moment. She cried out one more time, her whole body felt like it had been touched by a live wire. Electricity flooded her. She moaned, trying to keep control as she rode it out. The pleasure licked up her spine, through her core. Little hairs on the back on her neck stood up. She ground her hips a little longer, then rested against Tristan’s chest. His heart sounded like it was going to explode, felt like it, too. He breathed in and out like his life depended on it, and she closed her eyes with a smile. His arms surrounded her, tightening once they’d found the right position. All she knew was that he was hers. She was his, too, but she wouldn’t admit that, not now. His heart would become like an abstract painting, blue and dead, black in some places, after he knew he had let her go to walk into the sun just so he could protect her from the Master. Him saying those words scared her as much as her saying them did. She rested her hands on his arms, letting him have the moment, too. Because if they were both going off to save her world, then he deserved affection for his sacrifice. And she wanted it because he was so good at it. How he became a Hunter was beyond her.

“Isabeau?”

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“I—I want to tell you something.”

She heard his heartbeat change, could almost smell him thinking. “Tristan, no. Nothing… I can’t do this tonight.”

“Please, I just want you to listen. Please.”

She propped herself up so she could see into his eyes. “Make it quick.” She could feel the cringe coming. She hated that she felt the same way and couldn’t say the words. If he planned to say what she was thinking he was about to say.

“Will you be here? Tomorrow?”

“I will…” she lied. “Why can’t this wait until then?”

“My mother always told me that if it’s important, say it.”

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman.” She murmured.

“She is. And when it comes to… this… one shouldn’t hold back.”

“This?”

“Yeah, love, Isabeau,” he said. “I love you.”

She hesitated. “I—Please, can we just talk about this tomorrow?”

“No, Isabeau. We need to talk about it now. You’re the reason—for everything. For me sacrificing so much.”

“No. No…” She managed to extricate herself from his arms. “No. We can’t do this now. Or ever. I don’t know. You need to focus. Focus on tonight, not tomorrow. Please.”

He sat up and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Tristan. I need to go.”

She ran. She ran until she reached the ledge. She snarled and jumped over the edge of the building, not willing to let herself cry over a selfless act of love or whatever it was. She hadn’t loved anyone since she was young, and even then, it hadn’t been love; it was akin to an affair, if she had to define it in any meaningful way. She’d been so young, careless, and human. People thought the only monsters in the night were the vampires and werewolves, but in reality… humans were crueler to each other than they were anyone else. They practiced on the supernatural creatures, but they perfected their art on each other. Cruelty washed through them like rivers and Isabeau did her best of stop it. She had no children of her own, and their inherent inability to be empathetic was the reason why. It was the result of having lived among them for all this time. The Master loved that cruel humans made for even nastier vampires. It was the same for the lycanthropes. The crueler the human, the crueler the creature. Vampires had a head start on making them, though. Lycans didn’t surface until hundreds of years later, like some evolutionary gene had activated and made them the next highest on the food chain. Isabeau sighed. She crouched, watching people wander like ignorant children between shops and buildings. Standing, she decided she’d walk the streets, too.

There wasn’t a region of vampires in the world. She knew all of them by name. The Master only allowed vampires who had lived for a thousand years to create their own. Isabeau was one of the few in that range now. The Master had always said he’d created her because of her blind ability to love and find the best in others. Himself included. She’d been drawn to him, had fallen in love with him, his darkness. Isabeau had been nothing of the sort, not at that time. And she supposed she had feelings for Tristan. They had been sleeping together off and on for years. But right now, she wanted to hate him for risking his life for her. She didn’t think she could love him the way he wanted. She wasn’t sure there was anything loveable left in her. She appreciated the heads up about them going after the Master, but now that she knew, he’d know, too. And it scared her. She didn’t want Tristan in danger. Of course, if she followed them to help, the other vampires would kill her for not protecting their maker. They were brainwashed. The Master had chosen his protégés well. Sycophants.

Isabeau had decided early on that she wasn’t going to be like that. She listened as he prognosticated about how vampires were better than humans. She never stopped appreciating the frailty of life or its beauty for its seeming abruptness. She didn’t get lucky. Her life was stolen, and now… she wanted to end it on her terms. She knew the Master would make her march back inside during sunrise, or fly, or kill an entire city to make sure she didn’t do this, but it was her choice, and she wanted to end it. She wanted control over her own destiny. Destiny… she supposed it was real. Perhaps her Destiny had been to meet so many of the people she had interacted with during the long nights. Over the years, she had lived in many places and met many people. The one vampire she wished she’d never met stared back at her from the shadows. She hissed. “What do you want?”

“You, but I can smell that you’ve already given yourself away to someone tonight. Really, Isabeau. That human?” Dmitri scoffed. “He’s an animal. And a Hunter. You know, I could have him killed for fucking—” he spat, “—you.” He swept his blond hair aside, like it had offended him, too. Isabeau watched, maintaining her distance from his evil blue eyes. They were like an ocean at night in the winter, and she knew because she had seen both. She had watched him seduce and kill many people over the years, even having participated in some when she had been a younger vampire. The Master had commanded her to teach him, teach him to be what the Master wanted in a Knight. The problem was that Dmitri became more nuisance than able Knight. The Master had cast him aside. Cruel humans became even crueler vampires, she had learned, and this vampire… he wanted her like they wanted blood. It didn’t help that he seemed to have a mental affliction as well. He heard voices, saw things that weren’t there. Isabeau looked at him and meandered down the street. He was fast, and only God knew what he would do if he got his hands on her. She had to keep her distance.

“Jealous, Dmitri?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Wanting him dead means I’m jealous?”

“No, it means you’re desperate, and that you’d rather kill him than accept your shortcomings. You’re what humans call toxic.”

“Toxic?” He laughed mirthlessly. “And you… are stupid. The Master wants to see you. He sent me to collect you.”

Isabeau schooled her features to the best of her ability. “Did he say why?”

“He does not keep my counsel, Isabeau. Perhaps you already know.”

“No. Not at all. He’s here?”

“He’s been here for weeks. Like always, constantly moving. You’ll see, when we arrive. Now, let’s go. It’s just outside of town.”

Isabeau looked around. If Dmitri got her too far away, he could do anything he wanted. And in the snap of a finger, she realized something. “I’d know if He wanted to see me. I haven’t seen Him in… hundreds of years.”

If the Master knew she planned to die by morning, he would still do anything to torture and keep her alive, just enough to continue making her life a living horror story. She wanted it to end, not be prolonged. Unlike Dmitri, she had done a 180, so far from her origins that her heart felt the ache at losing Tristan, and the clench now with Dmitri trying to lure her away from her comfort zones.

“Dmitri, I’m not going anywhere with you. If the Master wants to see me, he can summon me. Tell him I said that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have plans.”

She felt his cold hand, the icicle fingers, wrap around her elbow. She jerked on instinct, but he held fast like a barnacle on a ship.

“Ah, ah,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“He doesn’t want to see me at all, does He?” she demanded.

Dmitri smirked. “You’ll never know, now. You were supposed to be obedient, Isabeau. Not question everything.”

“If you don’t take your hand off of me, I will kill you and enjoy every second of it.”

He laughed. “You’ve never been much of a fighter, Izzy. Don’t pretend you are now.”

She growled, jerking her arm with all her might. His grip remained, yanking him with her. She shuffled and tried to catch herself, but she fell backwards. She hit the ground hard, her ears ringing.

She opened her eyes, and everything around her swirled. It was like she’d fed on Tristan again, only she felt the ties on her wrists and ankles. She knew if her head didn’t feel like this, she’d be able to break free. She was in the clouds somewhere, binging on Tristan’s blood and they were making love for the last time, and she knew it was the last time, like she knew if she didn’t break free, Dmitri would keep her for himself. His mistake was he thought that she had any sort of feelings for him beyond contempt.

“Lemme…go, Dmitri,” she tried. Whatever he had given her, had her replaying other trysts with Tristan, the night they met, and so much more. In his short human life… the man had left an impression. Her worst fear was that Dmitri would turn Tristan, or torture Tristan in front of her for compliance.

“Tsk, tsk. You should have listened. Now you’ve made a mess of yourself. That pretty dress… I’ll just have to get you something more suitable… for me. And you need a shower. I refuse to be sloppy seconds—isn’t that what humans say?” he laughed.

Isabeau wasn’t amused. She couldn’t understand why her body wasn’t cooperating. She thought about squirming, fighting back, but it was like every impulse, every fear instinct had become a mushy ball of nothingness. “What did you do to me?” she managed to ask with effort.

Dmitri chuckled. “Like that, do you? Something new I’ve been working on. A way to trap traitorous vampires.”

“Not a traitor,” she mumbled. “How’m I a traitor?”

“You fell in love with a Hunter, dear.” He said something else, but it was in Russian, and that was one of the languages she had yet to master.

“We’re…just… fucking….” Getting the words out was like attempting to breathe underwater.

“Lies. Lies, all you tell me is lies.”

She huffed. He was like a bird with no wings trying to fly. “Where are you taking me? Why can’t I move?” Fear, a sickening wave of fear rushed through her. She had no idea what he was doing or what he had planned for her.

“It’s a special concoction I stole from the Hunters. Vampire tranquilizer. Master’s scientists wanted it, to reverse engineer the effects.” He continued in Russian. “This batch is the Master’s. I stole a few syringes for myself. I wanted to test it on someone, and you’re the perfect specimen.” He laughed like some villain in a superhero comic. Looked like one, too. He was pretty to look at, the perfect hunter of humans. He was unassuming, and if you didn’t know him and his paranoid schizophrenia, sure, you’d approach him. He looked harmless enough, until his eyes went bloodshot with the craving for warm, tender, human blood. He was a monster. The Master had to have known this when he turned the bastard.

Dmitri picked up his pace. It was probably ten or eleven by now, and the streets would be dead in this Podunk town. She couldn’t see anything but the fibers of his shirt, feel the stroke of the material like the inside of dried honeydew against her skin. Dmitri continued to mutter in Russian. He stopped. He muttered, his volume increasing.

“Dmitri?”

He yelled out, his Russian becoming more heated. It took a moment, but she realized he was yelling at one of his delusions.

“Dmitri? Please. Dmitri. Stop yelling,” she pleaded. If anyone overheard him, they’d be dead before she could do anything to stop it.

“Dmitri, Dmitri! You’re right. I’m a traitor,” she said as fast as her mouth would allow. “Humans are food. And they’re meant to be thrown away after we get what we want. Not the other way around.”

He shifted her on his shoulder. She still couldn’t move the rest of her body. “Take me somewhere private. Please?”

“You’re just saying that,” he accused.

“No. I promise. Take me to a nice hotel. I’ll take a shower, and we can do whatever you want. Promise.” She didn’t want to die like this. She wanted to die on her terms. If she could cry, she would. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. For some reason, perhaps noble in his mind, he kept tabs on her as though she needed protection. Over the last fifty years, she had come to appreciate that any night could be the last night. She never thought that Dmitri would carry out this strange mission of his; a mission that wasn’t sanctioned by the Master. And she refused to think of the Master; he needed to stay right where he was so Tristan and the others could take him out. For good. Because there was a sliver of hope that she’d be able to become human again, because she knew Tristan would die for the opportunity to release her from his hold forever. Then she could live a normal life, she hoped. Slowly, her hope died the longer Dmitri had her in his grasp.

“Da,” he said, and continued walking. She heard a chirp and doors unlocking. She felt him shift to open the door and dumped her in the backseat like dirty laundry. The door closed, the driver’s side opened, and the engine growled to life. She wondered why he hadn’t blindfolded her, but realized with unease that he knew she couldn’t see anything but the lights flashing overhead as they drove through town, and all she could smell was stale French fries and sweets. Children must have been in this car. Of course he stole it. One of his voices probably had told him to. She had to think fast: if he dosed her again, she might not make it to morning; if he decided that she was lying to him, she might end up staked; and if she didn’t give him everything he wanted, he’d kill her, without hesitation. She wondered if Tristan knew there was a mole in the Hunters and wished for once she had a mobile phone and could reach him. But he was a Hunter, and he didn’t carry anything that could track his location. She hadn’t cried since the death of her closest friend by the Hunters. That had been years ago. This was different. If she cried, Dmitri would think she was even weaker than she was because of his drug, or whatever it was. She knew she couldn’t control it, not the swell of emotions overtaking her at his betrayal. She just wanted to die. Dmitri would savor every moment of her torture, and she was fucked. Instead of dwelling on that, she concentrated on getting away, getting to the sunlight come morning. He couldn’t be taking her too far from the city, not if the Master really was close. And if he took her to the caves, she knew them well enough to get away, if she could manage to get free, assuming her limbs cooperated with moving again.

There was no telling how high a dose he’d given her. She didn’t even know the properties of it, and she and Tristan never spoke about the weapons they used against vampires. In fact, she dreamed of his conversations now, like liquid metal in her mind. She concentrated again. She let the raw, rubbing of her restraints guide her. They felt like zip-ties, so she realized that he must be confident in whatever concoction he had given her. If she could just move, find something sharp, then perhaps she could get away. She felt a shiver down her neck, her face stuffed into the backseat fabric. It smelled like cigarettes and beer. She couldn’t turn away from the worst of it, but whatever Dmitri had planned for her didn’t sit well. He was a sadistic fuck, the phrase, “like father, like son,” coming to mind. She was grateful and fearful for having never had a stronger or intimate relationship with Dmitri. He was capable of anything, and death didn’t scare her nearly as much as what his twisted mind could come up with for her torture. Or maybe she’d get lucky and his torture would be more hedonistic than sadistic.

“My darling butterfly, we’re here,” he announced, interrupting her thoughts.

“Where?” she asked, her head clearing. Perhaps that was a ruse, too. A false sense of security that would define her last moments.

“You’ll see,” he said, and she could hear the viper-like smile in his tone.

She appreciated that some things never changed. She could smell the change in atmosphere. It was heavier than the city had been, clouds ready to burst. She smelled water, heard it flowing. She had no idea how long they’d been driving. The front car door opened and closed with a clatter. An older car, maybe from the 1980s, she surmised. He had adjusted her knees so she’d fit on the backseat properly. He stole it, of course. Not many vampires had property of their own. It was a solitary life, with exceptions. She had said her goodbyes to her remaining family, but even Tristan, she didn’t think she’d given a real goodbye to. He had deserved more than her running away from his heart, like it was the hunter she feared.

The back door opened, and Dmitri slid her out of the car like a toddler trying to run and slung her over her shoulder. The restraints dug into her skin. She wondered if this drug, or whatever it was, made her helpless. Would she bleed of they tightened even more? Would she feel human-like until it wore off? Fuck, so many questions, not likely to get any answers from Dmitri.

“This is beautiful. Not like Mother Russia, but it’ll do for us, yeah?” His accent had gotten stronger somehow. Or maybe it was her hearing beginning to return to normal. She tried to stay calm; she didn’t want to spook him into dosing her again.

“I can’t see anything, Dmitri.”

“But you can smell and hear, can’t you?”

“Not as well as usual,” she said. The terrain was rough, lots of trees. Those, she could smell. “We should—”

He stopped. “We should what?”

“Sit by the water.”

She felt him tap his foot a few times. “You would like to sit by the water?”

She cleared her throat. “I grew up on the Seine. I love water.”

“I did not know this, doll. Fine. We sit.”

She wondered what else he thought he knew about her. He turned and began a decent. The reached a flat spot, and he reached for her hair and twisted her head toward him. It hurt, but she stifled the urge to cry out. She had no idea how long that ability would last.

“Do not try to run.”

“I can’t move my legs, Dmitri. I promise. I won’t run.” That was a promise she could make, without hesitation. But she knew, if the feeling came back, if her control came back, she didn’t dare let Dmitri know. He would definitely give her another injection. He set her down on the dirt, roots and rocks underneath her ass. He straightened her legs out, while the rest of her fell to the earth. He sat next to her and in a gesture she didn’t think him capable of, he lifted her torso and leaned against his side.

“You know, Isabeau, this could have been us for the last hundred years. We could’ve made children and sent them off into the world, hungry and eager to please.”

“You wanted that?” she asked, hoping to draw out the moment. Not because it was enjoyable, but if she killed enough time, giving Dmitri what he wanted, she thought she might get the upper hand.

“Yes, of course. Master gave me everything. Did you not get everything you wanted?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course I did,” she lied. Self-preservation at its finest.

“Then why did you fuck that human?”

“He was a fun distraction for a while. Nothing more.”

“You’re in love with him, yes?”

“What? No! He’s a Hunter. He could be ordered to kill me at any time.”

“Why were you so stupid? I want us to be together, Izzy.” She hated when he called her that. Like it was some pet name they shared, or a secret they shared.

“Everyone makes mistakes. Even immortals. You’ve fucked humans. I’ve seen the aftermath of some of your soirees.”

He chuckled, it was like the night. “Yes, I have had some great parties. Woman, men, they love me.”

Her instinct was to yank away, but she still couldn’t move. If she kept him busy long enough… maybe she could get away. She hoped and prayed to whatever gods existed that she could talk to him long enough that he would be distracted from his plan.

“Hey, Dmitri…”

“Yes?”

“These zip-ties hurt. It’s not like I can go anywhere. Could you… take them off?”

He flashed a smile that was dark and venomous. She could tell he was debating, when he took his long-nailed finger and traced the outline of her entangled wrists. He pressed in, broke the skin, and blood welled up. “Ah. Such a sweet scent. It’s a shame we cannot sustain one another. I bet you still taste like that Hunter. Shall we see?” His eyes flashed. He leaned over and licked at the blossom of blood on her wrist. She wanted to retch, bash his head in, break his neck, drain him, and then burn the remains in the sun. The world was better off without Dmitri, and though she hadn’t made much of a plan yet, she knew by sunrise, he would dead. And she could thank the higher powers for small favors. Assuming that higher powers existed. Existentially, she wondered how God could allow such creatures to exist, and wondered what purpose they served to the betterment of humanity. Were they supposed to put an end to humans who didn’t deserve to live? They were animals with higher brain function and emotions—animals all the same. The only reason they were better than Lycans was because Lycans had no higher brain function beyond their instincts. “Mm. Delicious,” Dmitri said, usurping her thoughts, even ones that weren’t germane to the situation. It was fear. Pure and simple.

“Try some more,” she urged him. She could handle the pain and discomfort of him feeding on Tristan’s blood, or what was left pulsing through her veins.

“Are you trying to trick me, Izzy?”

“Trick you? How? I just fed on him before I ran into you.”

He narrowed his eyes and stroked the inside of her wrist. “No, you wouldn’t do that. You’re too kind.” He laughed that sharp, viper-like laugh.

Kind. She wanted to laugh because the moment she had the chance, she was leaving. She could bide her time until morning, if that’s what it took. She was going to break free, though. She believed that with every bone in her body.

“Enjoy it. I know I did.”

Dmitri shook his head but lifted her arms to find an angle. He sank his fangs into her wrist and moaned. Isabeau gasped but remained indifferent. The pain was a distant memory, similar to when the Master had turned her. Whatever Dmitri had injected her with, it was definitely potent, if it could make her feel human pain, and paralyze her body. She was like a deer alone in a forest during hunting season, stuck in one place.

Ramblings in Russian began. She hadn’t felt his fangs withdraw, but they had. Dmitri was having a conversation with someone who wasn’t there, responding like the sun.

“Dmitri?” she whispered. He had taken a lot of blood, and she didn’t understand why, especially if he wanted her to fight back. “Dmitri?”

“You shut your mouth, you French whore! Can’t you see I’m having a conversation?”

“But Dmitri… there’s no one there.”

She felt the whip-like sting of the back of his hand across her cheek. She slumped in place, damning him.

“Don’t you think I know my own brother?” he asked then continued to prate in his native tongue.

Isabeau listened, wondering how long this would go on. He stood up and began screaming into the water, as though somehow hid words would echo across time and space to his dead brother. She knew better; she’d screamed and hated being a vampire for long enough to know that it wasn’t possible to change the past. She had to move with it, and there was no way she was going to let Dmitri take her death from her. She was doing this on her terms.

Unaware of time, she couldn’t see him, only hear his raving into the woods. He never strayed far; she heard his footsteps on the earth. His words began to slur a little. She only noticed because he was slowing down. His ranting became more pointed, punctuated, like he was having trouble putting the words together either in his head or as they exited.

A bug took up residence on her thigh; its little legs tickled—tickled—she could feel it now. Her feet were hidden by the boots, so she tried to wiggle her toes. There was minimal movement, but there was movement. She sighed, urging her neck to turn, but it was too much. The millisecond of movement still hurt. Dmitri, she noticed, was still acting as though he’d consumed a fifth of vodka. He had quieted and began heading towards her.

“You bitch!” he yelled. “What did you do to me? Huh?”

“Nothing! I swear. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dmitri.”

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked. “I’m not… right. That blood was sour or something.”

“I didn’t do anything, Dmitri. I swear.” She took even breaths. She didn’t want to suggest that he had imbibed his own inhibitor.

The thought sparked hope. She wiggled her toes again, feeling the weight of them as they caressed each other inside the leather. The fight was real. He hadn’t released her hair yet. He pounded his leg with one fist. “You b—itch,” he slurred. He tightened his grip and backhanded her again. The smack echoed through the night. She tipped backwards, but he wouldn’t release her. “I’m going to kill you, Isabeau.” His teeth were clenched. “No one will care. The Master won’t punish me.” He smirked.

“You won’t make it through tomorrow, Dmitri. I promise you that.”

“And who is going to save you, my little dove?” he asked, swaying, his words just as unsteady.

“Me,” she said and glared at him. The idiot didn’t consider that drinking her blood would pass the paralytic on to him. Or she had miscalculated, and he really was tasting Tristan’s blood, and the blood made them all stupid. If that was the case… her jaw dropped, body tensing. A shudder moved through her and ended in a wave of nausea. Still stuck on the ground, like a bunny in a hunter’s sights, she looked around, watching his shadow dance. If Dmitri would want to have sex, just like she had done with Tristan, she knew she was fucked. Then she realized her jaw had dropped further than her speech had allowed. Hope swelled inside the fear. She wiggled her toes again, pushing, forcing her body to cooperate. She tried to bend her knees. They moved like she was in quicksand. It was incremental. First one, then the other. Dmitri stopped singing and looked at her.

“What are you doing, my pet?”

“Nothing. Waiting for you.”

“Ooh, ho ho. Waiting for what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she mumbled. Her knees were working, now she needed to test her feet. Hands still behind her back, she wriggled her fingers, life coming back in each breath. She didn’t know how strong she was, but wits and strength could be equal weapons.

She stopped. She heard him having a one-sided conversation again in Russian. Time was not on her side. She needed to get away from him before his minions began searching for him. They were sycophants, and he was a megalomaniac. Perfect for the Master.

He continued to natter incessantly, but now he pointed in her direction. She tried her wrists, the zip-ties eating into the skin as she rotated them. Blood coated her hands and wrists, and it stung. She didn’t know if she could break free on her own. She watched Dmitri, his attention towards the water still. She felt around the ground for a rock, or anything hard enough to break the zip-ties. It was hard to find anything. She felt helpless. She wasn’t stopping, though. She shifted, feeling the ground. Time ticked away as she searched, being unable to move any more than an inch at a time. It just seemed to be dirt and twigs surrounding her. A root, a rock, anything might help.

Dmitri had to smell the blood by now. If he didn’t, perhaps he wasn’t as cognizant of her actions. Isabeau wanted this to be done. She kept waiting for him to lose his steam, drop to the ground. Maybe he didn’t ingest enough of the poison. Or maybe the poison wasn’t making him even crazier than usual, and it was just Tristan’s blood. But that was impossible. It couldn’t be possible that Tristan’s blood affected all vampires—made them drunken idiots who wanted to fuck.

There was a loud thud. “Izzy…” Dmitri said, tone soft, defeated. “Help me.”

She wanted to laugh but stifled it. “How, Dmitri? I can’t move.”

“You’re Isabeau. You can do… anysing.” His accent became like a tree.

“You dosed me, remember?”

“You… how… do it?”

“What?” She stopped searching and wrapped her fingers around something sharp that nicked her finger. She set a pace and began working the object against the zip-ties. She fumbled a few times, but she found the sweet spot again. She was afraid to stop, just in case he was feigning his own weakness to the poison. She hoped it was the poison.

She also hoped that she was strong enough, when the time came, to break free. Time had stopped since the kidnapping.

Dmitri groaned, but said nothing else, nor did he move. Isabeau tried to spread her arms, tear whatever rip she had started in the thick plastic. She strained, nothing happening.

“Fuck,” she whispered. Then she tried her legs. She pushed and wriggled her ankles, the restraints weren’t as tight there. She tried to work one ankle free first, slow, deliberate. With patience, she inched her way free. She shuddered in relief. Then she stood up and bent over, working her arms under her feet and legs. She looked at the rip she’d made in the ties on her wrists and realized it was too short. She scoured the area for something more substantial than the rock she’d been using. Dmitri was out cold. The poison had taken him, and this was her chance. She found a larger, sharper rock and set to work on her wrists. She was regaining her strength. She looked at the rip after feeling like she was about to start a fire, and yanked as hard as she could until the plastic broke.

She sighed, relief welling like a tide. But she didn’t have time. She had to get back to the city. Thinking, she bet that Dmitri had the car keys on his person. She stalked closer to him, not wanting to alert him to her proximity, even if he was passed out cold from the poison. She riffled through his pockets, finding another dose of the poison, and the keys.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, and ripped the cap off the syringe. She drove the needle into his thigh and pressed the plunger. He moaned like dying animal. She wanted to kill him, as weak as he was in the moment, he would be such an easy target. She feared the Master more than Dmitri, and Dmitri’s death would alert him that something had gone badly wrong. She stumbled to the car and cranked the engine. It turned over, to her surprise. She put it in gear, remembered the headlights, and headed out the same path they’d entered. She had no idea where she was but took a chance on going east. She had no idea how long they’d driven. She checked the gas gauge and was thankful for half a tank. At least she could get to a gas station before too long. The digital clock read 3:45, but she wasn’t sure how accurate that was. Relieved that she still had time, she gunned the accelerator. She needed to find the interstate; these country roads were getting her nowhere fast. She took the next left and hoped for a directional sign.

It took a while, but she eventually saw the tell-tale blue and red sign indicating the interstate was in the distance somewhere. She followed the signs to Kansa City, KS, eager to stop at a gas station and find someone to feed on. Cringing at the thought, she berated herself for thinking it. She needed her strength, though—just in case Dmitri wasn’t paralyzed as long as she had been. She was tired, feeling like a Sloth making its way up a tree. Blood was a necessity, now. The signs along the interstate showed food and gas ahead on the next exit; the engine roared as she dropped the pedal even firmer. It sounded like she felt, the anger rushing through her like wild rapids. She knew once she fed, she’d calm down—sneak someone to a bathroom, unassuming and unaware of the peril they were in. Isabeau wasn’t in a killing mood. She was in a dying mood, and there was no obstacle too great to achieve that goal. She was a ticking timebomb, ready to explode into the morning—nothing was going to stop that. She wouldn’t let it.

At the exit, she pulled off and saw a 24-hour McDonald’s. She steered the beast into the parking lot and stopped with a screech in two parking spaces. There were a few people inside meandering at the front, giving orders or waiting for food. She winced at the thought of their blood, but she had no other options. Fatty, American diets. She got out the car and entered to a chorus of Welcome to McDonald’s. She waved and found the bathrooms. Someone would eventually come in, and she counted on sooner, rather than later. While she waited, she turned on the faucet and grabbed some paper towels. Her face was a wreck, her dress even more so. She looked like a kid who’d been mucking about in the dirt all afternoon. Only no snob nose, or mother to use spit to clean off her cheeks. She hoped there was an afterlife; she missed her mother. That hope kept her going, reminded her why she needed to get back to the city.

A squeak and wooden pop sounded. Isabeau smelled the blood before looking up. Her mouth watered, and she turned and gave a charming smile. “Hi.”

“Oh!” she laughed. “You startled… oh, honey. Are you okay?” The woman had maternal instincts or children. She was a young woman, not much older than Isabeau had been before being turned. She had long, curly hair, a button nose, and cute lips. Her eyebrows weren’t tamed, and her clothes looked second-hand. But none of that mattered. Isabeau wasn’t going to kill her.

“This? Oh, I’m fine. You should see the other guy,” she tried for levity.

“That dress is beautiful,” she said.

“Thanks.” Isabeau caught the woman’s eyes, and her thoughts spiraled into need, that the woman would willingly come to her, her hand outstretched. And as Isabeau thought it, felt it, she watched that slender arm reach for her, and she accepted it. “This won’t hurt much, okay?”

The woman nodded, still maintaining eye contact. Isabeau stalked forward like a panther trapping its prey. She released her hold on the woman’s hand and wrapped one arm around her back, pulling her close like a movie-lover would do. Tilting the woman’s head to the side with her other hand, she released her fangs. “Take a deep breath and don’t scream.” The woman nodded again. Isabeau sank into the delicate flesh, relief flooding her like the blood in her mouth. It was like honey and lilacs on her tongue as she swallowed. She moaned, slowing her draw against the skin. Her strength and senses returned like air in a balloon. She pulled away, and steadied the woman, who looked faint.

“Go eat something, and drink something with sugar in it. Hold this to your neck for a few minutes,” Isabeau said and offered her some paper towels. “Stay here for three minutes. Understand?”

She nodded, still trapped in Isabeau’s gaze.

“Thank you. You saved me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said on autopilot, breathless.

“You won’t remember this, okay? Do you have twenty dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me.”

She fumbled in her handbag and extricated the bills and gave them to Isabeau.

Isabeau headed to the door and left, taking the twenty dollars and finding the nearest gas station. She put all twenty dollars in the tank and got directions back to Kansas City. The car bellowed down the interstate, chugging gas like a frat boy with beer. It felt like hours, and she was racing against time. She had picked out her spot weeks ago, a place only crazy runners went to at that hour of the morning. It was already starting to heat up, and the skyline had what looked like a zipper across it. The difference between night and day stitched together. She shook her head. Too much time wasted. Dmitri, she hoped, died when the sun crested across the sky. If he didn’t make it somewhere safe by dawn, she’d feel no remorse. He was a shitty human, and an even worse vampire. There was no code of honor amongst them, but she had a personal code, one she had been perfecting for years. Going after the woman at the restaurant wasn’t in her code, but she had chosen where she wanted to die, and getting there was her only goal.

Time ticked by in the silence. She watched the horizon as it rose like flowers in the spring. At some point, she felt the trickle of tears down her cheeks. She wiped them away, unable to pin down what she was feeling. Sadness, resignation, fear, relief, happiness—all of them? Her only real regret was not telling Tristan how she felt. He’d know. He was clever enough to work out she had just been trying to protect him, at least that was the lie she told herself. Protecting her own feelings had been the name of the game earlier that evening. Now, she wished she hadn’t left like she’d run into a stop sign. She had only been lying to herself about her feelings, which never helped. Self-deception was like the ocean: vast, deep, unforgiving at times, and had a long memory. Isabeau knew she’d been stupid. A lot of her life choices had been mistakes. Leaving her family to marry a poor artist, just to get away from the farm, had probably been the first of many. She sighed, hoping Tristan was okay. She hoped he survived the fight with the Master. Then reality dawned: Dmitri had used on her something that the Hunters had created. A flash of hope raced through her; if they won… she’d be free. She could be with Tristan. Was it wrong of her to hope for a shred of grace in this world where everything had been heartbreak and darkness for so long, she couldn’t remember the joy of the sun, unless it was in a film? She pressed the as pedal to the floor, the engine grumbling at the increased work. It didn’t matter; she still wanted to go to the park and watch the sunlight until she burned to ash. She watched the exits fly by, and finally eased off the gas as she approached hers.

The rest of the way to the park went by in a blink. She got out and stretched her legs, grateful to have full feeling again. Determined, she looked at the sky; the moon had begun its descent; the stars became dull as the sun took over the heavens. Isabeau liked the idea of becoming a star when she died. It gave her a sense of permanence in the world. She smiled, hearing the droplets of water like a storm, as she approached the bridge. She stood at the arc of the wood, leaning against the railing with a smile. It was time. She felt the heat coming, the world closing in, like a gentle hug. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

“Isabeau,” came the soft whisper. She inhaled, knowing already it was Tristan, but appreciating his scent one last time. But it wasn’t just his scent. There was something else… She turned towards the voice.

“Jesus, Tristan. What happened?” Blood and dirt caked his face and clothes. He smelt like raw shit and death and looked even closer to it. There was a gash in his cheek and at his ribs. His shirt was stained. He was going to need stitches.

He limped closer, dropping to a knee before reaching the entrance to the bridge. Isabeau went to his side and helped him stand. “Your Master happened. Never mind that. What the hell happened to you?”

“Dmitri. He ruined my dress.”

Tristan chuckled. “Tell me that asshole is dead.”

“Not sure, to be honest. He poisoned me with something he stole from you. I returned the favor.”

Tristan’s features became rugged, his brow furrowed. “He did what? The paralytic?”

“Yeah. But I tricked him. Made him drink my blood. It took a while, but he finally went down. Raving like the lunatic he is. I fed somewhere between Missouri and here.”

Tristan leaned against the rail, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. He looked her over, eyes focused on hers. “Why are you here? It’s almost sun— Isabeau.” He sounded hurt, disappointed. “Of all the things I’ve done tonight… finding you here is my favorite.”

Isabeau’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

He chuckled, a low, deep sound from his chest. “I wanted to be with you, when you found out that you’re still going to be alive when that sun rises.”

Confused, she cocked her head to the side. “Maybe I’m not thinking clearly, but explain that. I’m still a vampire.”

“We killed him. Lost a lot of Hunters, but he’s dead. He’s gone.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “Tristan… I’m still a vampire. I smell you and crave your blood like a drug. Yes, right now. It was only hope that…” She shook her head.

“No, look at me,” he said, turning her chin towards him. “Only hope that what?”

She sniffled, damning herself for this moment. Why’d he have to be here and make it so much harder? “Only hope that when he was dead—really dead, that we’d be human again.”

“Okay. Do you trust me?”

She tried to look away again, but he stopped her.

“Do you trust me?” he asked again.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Then stand here with me. Watch the daylight as it spreads out. You won’t be disappointed.”

“But, what if…”

“Don’t think that way. Have faith. Don’t I always tell you that?”

Faith, believing in something unseen, untouched, unheard, no scent, no taste. She wanted to have faith, in her bones. “Let’s sit. You’re wounded.”

He nodded, wincing as she helped lower him to the boards beneath their feet.

“Why are you here, Isabeau?” he asked, pulling her against him.

“I…. I was going to…,” she shrugged, “…embrace the sun.” Even with his arms around her, she felt little and weak, even though his scent was driving her crazy. Even though she could take it, she chose not to. His blood had left her feeling like a nimbus cloud.

“Was?” he prodded.

“I had a lot of time to think last night. I came here, hoping you’d find me. I wanted to say goodbye, and I love you, too.” He shifted her, his strong arms like a soothing blanket around her.

“Isabeau…” he whispered at the edge of her lips. He kissed the corner of her mouth, running his hand up the side of her neck, stopping at her cheek. He tugged a little, and she complied, kissing him once, then a second time before licking his lips to get them to part. Kissing Tristan had always felt like home. It was four walls, a roof, plenty of rooms, and a perfect garden. He was safe, alive, and no one had ever made her feel so fucking brilliant before. The heat began to blossom around them, and light began to grow against her eyelids. She pulled away, gasping. Pain shot through her like a bullet. Her back bowed, and she shook. Tristan held on, placing her on her back when the spasms began. She cried out, jerking, the bullet sensation getting faster. Her body ached, penetrated by nothing she could see. Tears trickled from her eyes, spasms wracking her. She jerked to the side, her stomach feeling like it was about to explode. Blood emerged from her parted lips like a river. Sweat gathered in droplets on her forehead, and tears covered her face in a way she hadn’t known since she’d been alive. She cried out, her body expelling everything left inside. She couldn’t think. Time crawled to a halt, in the same way as when she had been turned, and it left her hanging alone in darkness.

“Can you hear me?” Tristan asked, his voice like a beacon. “Isabeau?”

She could, taking a deep breath. “Unnnh.” She couldn’t speak.

As quickly as the hurling had begun, she went lax. She shuddered, gasped.

“Take a breath, a little at a time.” He rested his hand on her abdomen. It rose and fell, and he checked for a pulse at her neck. She felt the thump, thump, thump of the blood circulating, making her heart beat again.

“H—how did you?” she asked.

“With a lot of help. Knowing I’d come back to you. I don’t know. I had faith.”

“Faith, huh?”

“Mm. Now, can we go to a hospital? If you’re… okay.”

Isabeau sat up and blinked, shielded her eyes from the sun. “Yeah. I think we can do that.”

He leaned in and kissed her like a butterfly landing on a leaf. “How did you get here?”

“I stole the car from Dmitri.”

He chuckled. “Let’s take mine. It’s over there.” He pointed between the trees and down the road.

“Need some help?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She nodded. She braced herself and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. It was strange not being stronger than him any more. His half-dead weight was a challenge as they shuffled to his truck.

“Keys?” she asked.

He handed them to her, just before climbing into the passenger’s seat. He winced, not making a sound. She knew he had to be in pain. And in that pain, he had sacrificed his comfort to come to her. She still didn’t know how he knew she’d be there, though she imagined his surveillance had been the culprit. She loved this park; it was peaceful at night, only the sounds of wildlife when they shut off the fountains. The water was still, the grass green. She got in the driver’s seat, wondering how real this was. Would she wake up one day and be a vampire again? Would she die from the sun? She didn’t want to die. Not any more. There was something to live for. Something fleeting. Something she wanted to be wonderful.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Be gentle.” He gave a soft chuckle. And ‘ready’ could mean anything, but right then, she wanted it to mean for the future, to be healed, to start over. For that, it was worth it to be ready.