City of Blood and Ash

Marley

The black puffer jacket lies discarded in a heap, pressed against the brown brick corner of the dilapidated building. An icy breeze sweeps my matted hair off my face, bringing tears to my eyes.

Fuck, it’s cold.

My eyes dart around the dark, empty street, looking for any sign of the jacket’s owner. Winter is probably a week away. No one in their right mind would leave a jacket lying about. Warm clothing is increasingly hard to find outside the sup hubs. The owner is most likely dead—or maybe they sold themselves into the blood trade for food or warmth.

Or… it’s a trap.

The wind picks up, my long‑sleeve shirt—more hole than shirt at this point—doing nothing to protect me from the icy blast. With one last look at the empty street, I take the risk, the promise of warmth too tempting.

Darting forward, I snatch the jacket from the ground. Not pausing to throw it on, I run into the alley beside the old, crumbling building. I pause inside the alley, ears straining for any sign I’m not alone.

I press my back against the cold wall, trying to calm my breathing. The cold brick bites into my skin through the thin material of my shirt.

I try to concentrate on the sounds of the dead city, but it feels like my head is disconnected from my body. I’m lost at sea, being thrown around by waves bigger than those old cruise ships I see at the docks sometimes—just rusty shells of their former glory. Much like everything in this town.

I’m going to pass out.

I press my head back into the wall, focusing on the solid shape of the building at my back. Buildings don’t twist and turn with the wind, so I’m not either. I just feel like I am.

Fucking, fuck—I can’t pass out right now. Something would find me and eat my cold, icy corpse or use my bones as a chew toy.

I need food.

Water.

Maybe someplace out of the wind.

But first…

I slip on the jacket, smiling at the instant reprieve from the wind. Soon my body will warm the inside of it, and I’ll have one less thing to worry about tonight. After being so cold for so long, I can’t wait. Not even the growling of my stomach can dampen my mood.

I zip up the jacket, loving how loose it is on my small frame. The bottom reaches my knees, the sleeves almost twice as long as my arms. Not exactly the most practical jacket, but it’s warm and mine.

I zip up the jacket. I borrow my chin into the collar, hiding the bottom of my face from the chill.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

I whip around, my stomach sinking with dread. Three figures stand at the end of the alley. Three figures that weren’t there before. I know—I checked. No, they would’ve had to either run past me without me seeing them, which is possible depending on the brand of supe. Or they would’ve had to jump down from the skyscrapers on either side of me.

Which only means one thing.

Fucking vampires.

My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for the three bloodsuckers to make their move. Running will only trigger the hunt. Even without the dizziness, I can’t outrun a vampire. I won’t give them that satisfaction. If I’m going to die, I’ll die with a little dignity.

One of them chuckles, the sound echoing off the walls of the alley. “What do we have here, boys?” the middle vamp asks, stepping forward.

Like the other two vampires at his back, the middle fucker is dressed in black. Black shirt, black jeans, black wool trench coat.

Fucking selfish, is what that is.

Vampires don’t feel cold, so the wool jacket is just for style. Three useless wool jackets that could have been warming one of my kind, like they were meant to.

“Looks like we have ourselves a midnight snack,” the twatwaffle of a vampire to the left says.

“I like to think I’m an entire meal.”

Fuckface in the middle laughs—not a sarcastic chuckle, but a full‑on belly laugh.

“Want to be my meal for tonight, darling?” Fuckface asks, as if I would genuinely take him up on that offer.

Too bad for him—I wasn’t anyone’s blood whore. That’s a line I’m not willing to cross.

“Not particularly.”

“How are you going to stop us?” the Thundercunt to the right asks, taking a step forward.

“She might not be able to, but I can,” a voice says from behind me. The timbre of it sends chills down my spine. Tension knots my shoulders as I swallow the urge to look back. Everything inside me urges me to turn around, but I know if I take my eyes off Fuckface, Twatwaffle, and Thundercunt, they’ll strike.

“And what does ________pack want with the girl?” fuckface asks.

“Maybe something, maybe nothing. Maybe I just want to fuck up your night because I’m bored.”

Twatwaffle and Thundercunt laugh, taking a step forward, the thrill of the challenge glinting in their eyes. Fear skitters down my spine at how close they are—close enough that if I reach out, my fingertips would graze their chests.

Danger close.

Twatwaffle eyes lock on the pulse point in my neck, which I’m sure is pounding against the thin skin like a beacon. His tongue slips out, sliding along his bottom lip as if he can already taste me. Pervert.

“What’s your name, girl?” the voice behind me asks.

“None of your business.”

“I’m risking my ass and you won’t even share your name?”

“I don’t remember asking for your help.”

“Fuckface, Thundercunt and twatwaffle watch my interaction with the nosey nelly at my back. A small, crooked smile tips the left of the fuckface’s lips, a dimple decorating his left cheek.

“I like you. You have spunk, kid,” Fuckface says.

“I’m not a kid and no one says spunk anymore, you geriatric fuck.”

Thundercunt laughs, shoving fuckface playfully on the shoulder.

I startle, heart lodging in my throat as a warm hand lands on my shoulder, completely dwarfing me. Gods, whoever was behind me was huge.

The hand on my shoulder is hot even through the jacket and my thin shirt.

Shifter.

What kind, I’m not sure—but only shifters run that hot. No wonder Annebelle lets herself get knocked up by a shifter wolf last month. Never mind the promise of food and water. Just the heat alone from this man’s hand has me wondering why I resist so much.

Stupid morals.

“Turn around, walk slowly out of here. Find somewhere to mask your scent. Now,” the stranger at my back says. Before I can respond, he uses his hold on my shoulder to pull me behind him. He pushes me toward the exit of the alley, never taking his eyes off the vampires in front of him.

The stranger has long blond hair that brushes his shoulders. He’s at least double my width, his shoulder blades straining the material of his white shirt. Dark blue—or black—jeans encase his thick thighs. He shifts into something big, something predatory. That’s all I can tell from his build.

“You’re still not walking.”

I flick my eyes from the mystery shifter to the three vampires. Tension coils in the air, thick and heavy. Is this as simple as walking away? Or is this part of a new hunting game I haven’t heard of? I don’t fucking know, and that leaves an uneasy feeling twisting in my gut. I like knowing things. I need to know things if I want to survive.

I do know one thing: if I stay, I’m dead. With that thought, I turn on my heel. The nape of my neck prickles with awareness as the vampires watch me walk away.

***

Mask my scent. That’s what he tells me to do, which is a lot harder than he implies. One, I’m pretty sure no matter what disgusting muck I cover myself in, I still smell like me—at least faintly. But I can’t tell, because I don’t have a supernatural, heightened sense of smell. I guess we’re just crossing our fingers and hoping for the best.

I scoff.

I jog down the road, making my way toward the abandoned mall. Whatever wet gunk I cover myself in to escape hardens against my skin, making me itch everywhere. So much for my new jacket—it’s covered in a heavy layer of mud and…other things, judging by the smell.

Bile rises in my throat at the thought. I push it down, trying to breathe as little as possible so I don’t have to smell it. Up ahead, the mall looms, its dilapidated cement walls looking ominous in the dark.

I pick up my pace, anxious to get out of the open. The mall isn’t in the greatest shape; sections of the roof are collapsed, the walls covered in mould. Nature is taking over the building now—it’ll be overgrown soon. But for tonight, it serves as my shelter.

The mall and I are old friends. We understand each other. It provides occasional shelter and doesn’t cave in on me, and I provide the old building with some company. Those walls hold my most private thoughts.

I approach the metal side door, looking both ways before jimmying it open. I slip inside, letting the door close behind me with a snick.

Leaning against the metal door, I let the complete darkness surround me. My eyes will adjust soon; I just need to be patient.

The damp, musty air assaults my nose, making me cringe. I can’t tell what’s worse—me or my mall.

Probably me.

My eyes adjust slowly. It’s dark in here, almost too dark. The shattered skylights let in just enough light.

Shadows lurk around the edges, creeping toward the centre of the building like long, spindly fingers.

I turn left, walking down the hallway to my stash. I direly need a restock, but I have a change of clothes—just some old jeans and a black T-shirt. It’s still better than the mud‑encrusted crap I’m wearing.

I’ll need to walk outside the city to wash my items in the river, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

I turn into the old shoe store, the shoes long gone. All that’s left are old, yellowed ads decorating the walls. I walk behind the cash counter, smiling when I see my stash of clothes. There’s even one water bottle left. I greedily open it, grimacing as the lid scrapes some of the muck from my hand.

I tip the water bottle back, chugging the liquid in big, greedy pulls.

Fuck, that’s good.

A sudden gust of wind whips my hair out behind me.

I scream, the sound echoing off the walls of the mall.

Before I can run, a hand wraps around my waist, the other around my shoulders. Another hand twists my neck to the side, baring my throat.

“Found you,” Fuckface whispers against my throat.

His teeth sink into my neck, hard and fast. My entire body lights up. A fire starts in my neck, travelling down my shoulder and chest. I try to move, but the toxin is already in my blood. I’m paralyzed.

I feel the bloodsucker pull my blood into him in forceful gulps, taking everything from me.

I’m dying.

The thought comes with utter clarity, almost calming in a way. No more cold. No more struggling for scraps of food and running from creatures designed to hunt me.

It’s all over.