Blood and Truth

She knew.

Knew something was wrong.

Knew her dumbass of a brother had gotten himself into something deep. She felt it in her bones.

Brynn had spammed his phone nonstop. Message after message. Asking if he was okay, where he was, whether he made it home from whatever “hunt” he’d been on. Or whatever it was he did these days. Probably drinking and playing poker with those hunter friends of his. She rolled her eyes just thinking about it.

But nothing. Not a single reply in almost twenty-four hours.

Which wasn’t like him. Normally, he’d at least send something. Short and gruff. “Fine.”, “Back.” Or something cocky like, “Still alive. They need to try harder next time.”

But this silence? It wasn’t right.

She let herself into his apartment using the spare key. Because frankly, it was better than climbing in through his damn bedroom window like she usually did. He had finally given her a key and told her to act like a normal person.

She hoped he’d just passed out from exhaustion. Maybe he’d be curled up in bed, or slouched in his chair like always, nursing some bruises, brooding about whatever went wrong that night.

But there was no sign of him.

No Tate. No movement. Nothing.

And Brynn felt the panic start to creep in.

Anything could’ve happened.

Maybe the Bloodborn Order had finally figured out he was behind the recent vampire deaths. Maybe the hunters had found out what he was. Maybe he’d picked a fight with something bigger, badder… and got himself ashed in the process.

“Stupid jackass,” she muttered under her breath, scanning his apartment one more time.

She checked her phone again. For what had to be the hundredth time.

“You better not be dead, Tate,” she growled, jaw clenched. “So help me god, I will kill you myself.”

She hit redial. Half expecting voicemail. Or worse. Nothing at all.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then…

“Hello,” a male voice answered.

Not Tate.

Brynn’s brows furrowed. Her head tilted slightly as she picked up faint whispers in the background. People talking, someone telling the others to be quiet.

“Where is Tate?” she asked, her voice cold.

“He’s safe. For now…” the guy replied.

“Right. Safe. What are you, a vampire?” Brynn said flatly.

The guy gave a short laugh. “Could ask you the same.”

“Tell you what,” she said, voice sharp. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“No need,” the guy replied, amusement laced through his tone. Brynn could hear the faint sound of typing in the background. “I already know a lot about you, Brynn. You’re his sister. Both purebloods. You work as a private investigator. Moved to New York from Chicago about ten months ago?”

Brynn’s blood ran cold.

“You were engaged, right? To a guy called Kyle Sampson, aged twenty-seven. Died before you left. Coincidence?” The guy paused, then added darkly, “Got hungry, Brynn? Lose control? That why you ran?”

Brynn’s fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. Her eyes burned, voice trembling. “You have no idea what happened. You think pulling up info on a screen makes you some kind of authority? You don’t know shit.” She took a breath. “Now tell me who you are, and if my brother is alive.”

“Oh, so your fiancé just died, no reason at all?” the guy taunted.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she focused, tuning in hard. There it was, muffled voices, shuffling, movement. Someone muttering in the background: “Ben, just hang up.” Then another voice, low, serious: something about silver bullets and crosses.

Brynn smirked. “Right… So you’re a hunter. That’s what this is.”

Silence on the other end.

“You figured out what my idiot brother is,” she continued. “Ben, right? You think you’ve got it all figured out. But you don’t. So why don’t you cut the shit and tell me where he is. He hasn’t done anything but take out vampires and play martyr.”

“You’re good,” the guy, Ben, said. “You got all that from this phone call?”

“Enhanced hearing, sweetheart,” she said.

Ben’s tone hardened. “You know your brother’s been hanging around a nightclub? One run by a pureblood vampire, his clubs are tied to dozens, maybe hundreds, of disappearances? Two of my team saw Tate come out of that place smiling like he belonged there. Blood on his mouth. Looking like a fucking monster. You still wanna tell me he’s a martyr?”

Brynn’s breath caught.

Tate… what the hell have you done?

“He must’ve had a reason,” she said quietly, trying to believe it. “He wouldn’t be there unless…”

“Thanks for confirming you don’t know our location,” Ben cut her off. “He’s alive. For now.”

The line went dead.

Brynn stared at her phone, chest rising and falling fast.

“Fucking stupid idiot, Tate,” she muttered. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into… what the hell have you been doing now?”

She rubbed a hand down her face, already pulling her jacket tighter around her.

“God, I’m going to have to save your ass again.”

India walked home that night trying to hold back the tears. Her chest felt hollow. Each footstep dragged, uneven and heavy.

Her heart ached… no, it throbbed … like something inside her so violent it felt like something was physicallytearing itself to pieces inside her.

Because she still loved him. And that’s what fucked her up the most. She loved him. A monster. And she hated him too.

She swiped angrily at her face as she reached her apartment, fingers trembling as she fought with the keys, rage and grief warring inside her.

That’s when she heard it.

A sound. Soft. Barely a breath. Behind her.

India spun around, blade already drawn before the thought even formed.

A woman stood there.

Silver hair. Blue eyes. A green leather jacket. Calm and still. Watching her with something unreadable in her gaze.

“You’re India, right?” the woman said carefully, keeping her distance.

India didn’t lower the blade.

“Who the hell are you?” Her voice was sharp, defensive.

The girl raised her hands slowly,palms open, not moving closer.

“Look, I just want to talk. That’s all. I know you’ve got my brother… wherever it is you’re keeping him. And I get it… he’s a complete idiot most days. But please…” Her voice cracked. “Please don’t kill him.”

India’s breath caught.

Brother.

Her eyes narrowed.

Brynn?

India moved fast.

The blade sliced forward, aiming straight for Brynn’s abdomen. But Brynn twisted sideways, fluid and fast, catching India and pinning her gently but firmly into the wall. Not rough. Not cruel. Just… careful.

“Easy,” Brynn said through gritted teeth. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

India struggled against her, breathing hard, wrists straining.

“I know you don’t trust vampires,” Brynn went on, voice steady. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. But please. Just let me…”

India drove her knee up. Hard.

Brynn’s breath caught with a grunt. Her grip loosened just enough. India’s fist snapped up, cracking across her jaw.

Brynn stumbled back. A flicker of pain crossed her face, and then something else. Her fangs slid down, eyes darkeningon instinct as she surged forward again.

This time she pinned India with a little more force. Not gentle now. Not quite. But still not cruel.

Brynn exhaled slowly, let her eyes shift back to normal. Fangs retracting.

“You’re feisty,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I can see why he likes you.”

India didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down.

She just glared, breath sharp and furious between her teeth.

“Look… my brother?” Brynn said, her voice strained. “He’s a goddamn idiot. The lying? Yeah. Total ass move. I won’t defend that. But I swear to you… he’s not a monster. He…” her voice faltered, then steadied, “we’re not like the others. I know you don’t believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t either. But vampires with a conscience? They exist. He’s one of them. Even if he doesn’t always get it right.”

“Let go of me,” India hissed through her teeth.

Brynn hesitated. “If I let go, are you going to try and kill me again?”

India said nothing. Just stared.

Brynn sighed and, slowly, carefully, took the knife from India’s hand. Just in case… then stepped back, releasing her.

She kept her hands raised, maintaining distance.

“Just talk to me,” Brynn said. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t talk to filthy bloodsuckers.”

Brynn smirked faintly. “Been called worse.”

She held India’s gaze, tone softening. “Look… I get it. You’re not going to listen. He hurt you. He broke your heart. I’ve already chewed him out for the lying.” She shrugged. “Punched him too. Deserved it.”

India narrowed her eyes, fists still curled tight.

“But me and my brother? We care. Probably too much. We’re not trying to be monsters. We’re just trying… not to be.”

India let out a cold breath. “I don’t believe you.”

Brynn nodded slowly. “Then ask yourself this: why was he out there every night? Killing vampires. Playing vigilante. The Ghost of New York. Why do that if he was just like the rest of them?” She paused. “He’s got a target on his back, India. The Bloodborn Order, they put a bounty on him. You think he’d risk that just for fun?”

She took a small step closer, voice firm but quiet.

“I don’t know what he was doing at that club. But whatever it was, I know it wasn’t for evil intentions. We weren’t raised to be monsters.”

India didn’t speak. But her stance shifted. Just slightly. Her fists no longer clenched.

Brynn took a slow breath and reached into her satchel.

India immediately flinched back, hands going up.

“Relax,” Brynn said. “It’s just this.”

She pulled out a battered laptop. Held it out.

India frowned. “What is that?”

“Tate’s,” Brynn said, holding it out. “I’m not asking you to forgive him. Honestly, I wouldn’t if I were you. But I am asking you…please don’t let them kill him. Just read what’s on here. You’ll see he’s not who you think he is, he isn’t a monster.”

India hesitated. Still as stone. Eyes locked on the device like it might explode.

Brynn gave a dry, broken laugh. “It’s password protected, obviously. But… he used ‘1234’ I shit you not. That’s his level of cyber-security.”

India blinked. Her lip twitched. And then, finally, a sound. A breath. Half a laugh. Quiet and pained. But real.

She reached out slowly, gingerly, and took the laptop.

“What’s on it?” she asked.

Brynn’s expression softened. Her voice gentled. “His soul,” she said. Then stepped back. “I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the night.

India sat in her apartment, slumped into the armchair, staring at the battered laptop like it might detonate at any second.

It was his.

She recognised it instantly. That half-broken, duct-taped relic he kept on his side table. She’d seen him typing on it late at night, sometimes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

She never knew what he wrote.

With a shaky breath, she opened it. The screen flickered, stuttered to life. And then… folders. Dozens of them. Hundreds.

Most were poems. A few journals. Some labelled with dates, others with odd phrases or one-word titles. But it was the poetry that stole her breath. They weren’t perfect or polished. But they bled.

One caught her eye immediately. Titled simply: “Broken”

There’s something crawling under my skin,

A beast I bury deep within.

I hate myself , every flawed piece,

Because I can’t become what I long to be.

I bite my tongue, I play pretend,

But I’m breaking where I cannot bend.

I wish I was what she thinks she sees…

Not this hollow, cracked-shell version of me.

How can a monster deserve her touch?

I’ve never felt like I was enough.

My green-eyed girl with purple hair,

She looks at me like I’m still there.

She sees the light in parts unspoken,

In pieces of me that never even woken.

She stared, blinking hard.

Then another, titled: “To Be Human”

I want to be human; I don’t want to be me.

She deserves a soul that’s truly free.

But that’s never going to happen, I need to let her go.

Even if it breaks me, she can’t ever know.

I wish so much I wasn’t this, a broken man

Trapped in a skin I don’t want to understand

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. She wiped them away, but they kept falling.

She scrolled. There were more. So many more. Every one of them cutting deeper. Every one of them a confession. Every line more painful than the last. And with each word, it became impossibly harder to let him go.

What if she’d been wrong?

What if vampires… weren’t all monsters? What if it wasn’t black and white? What if it was grey?

That thought alone made her uncomfortable.

It went against everything she believed in. Everything she’d clung to after her fathers’ death. After her sister. After all the blood and pain.

Brynn could have forced her. Could’ve used strength, threats, fangs. But she didn’t.

She held back.

And Tate… God. He could’ve killed her a dozen times. Could’ve turned on them all. But he didn’t. He helped. Protected. Had her back on every hunt. Laughed with them. Cared for them.

Loved her.

The lies still hurt. And she wasn’t ready to forgive that.

But did he really deserve to die just because of what he was?

India’s eyes flicked to the photo on her bookshelf, the one of her family. Her mum, her dad. Her baby sister in her lap. India just a child then, smiling wide, unaware of the world that would break around her.

She stared at it, trembling.

“What do I do?” she whispered to the silence.

Tears spilled freely now. She buried her face in the pillow clutched against her chest and let them come. Her cries were soft at first, then louder, wracking, aching. Echoing in her empty apartment.

She curled into the chair, knees to her chest, shaking with grief and uncertainty.

“I don’t know what to do…” she whispered again.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, she let herself fall apart completely.