Chapter 1
😮💨Note: Be mindful that the formatting did not cross over correctly. Inner thoughts are not italicized in Inkitt, but are in original draft. I apologize for any inconvenience or misunderstanding. 😮💨 (Parenthases added to show inner thoughts)
The last Ublood delivery of the night was going to a Nocturnal American in downtown Cheyenne. Casey glanced at the delivery app as she swung through traffic.
UBLOOD
ORDER READY
O-NEGATIVE — STANDARD SUPPLY
DELIVERY ETA: 6 MINUTES
“Come on, come on…” The light turned yellow and Casey hit the gas. She was nineteen, broke, and had discovered that delivering blood to Nocturnal Americans paid considerably better than delivering pizza, especially after dark. The city was busy tonight.
Cheyenne wasn't supposed to look like this, that was what people always said.
'It's Wyoming', as though Wyoming had somehow signed a contract promising never to build anything taller than three stories.
Downtown had changed. Glass towers rose above the older brick buildings. Neon signs glowed over restaurants and clubs. Cars packed the streets, humans and Nocturnal Americans moving through the same city they'd been sharing for generations.
Casey slipped into a parking garage, grabbed the insulated Ublood bag, and hurried toward the elevators.
22nd floor, Unit 2208.
She reached the door with three minutes left on the timer. A man answered, he looked maybe thirty.
“Ublood?” Casey knew better than to guess.
“Yep.” He scanned the delivery code.
The app chimed.
DELIVERY COMPLETE.
“Have a good night.”
He took the bag. “Thank you.”
The door shut and Casey looked at her phone.
7:17.
She grinned. Perfect.
She hurried back toward the garage.
Her DHP appointment was at eight, tonight was not just another night. Tonight, she was meeting her Sponsor. The princess treatment, where a total hunk would take responsibility for her and all she had to do was play nice. (Rich boyfriend, free food, financial security, let's fucking go!)
She'd filled out the application months ago because she needed the money, that was the honest answer.
The Human Preservation Program offered financial security, medical coverage, housing assistance depending on placement, and a whole list of benefits Casey had initially skimmed because the application itself was 47 pages long.
She hadn't expected to get anywhere.
She'd passed the preliminary screening, the compatibility assessment, the psychological evaluation, and the background check.
Then she'd waited until three days ago, when her phone had buzzed while she was sitting in her car outside a gas station.
She'd opened the notification.
DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN PRESERVATION
CANDIDATE SELECTION CONFIRMED
SPONSOR: DAMON VALE
She'd stared at it, then she'd read it again and again.
She still hadn't gotten used to the thought.
Her Sponsor. The word sounded strange.
Official, almost clinical.
Casey pulled into the DHP parking garage at 7:43.
She parked, killed the engine, and checked herself in the rearview mirror.
Her blonde hair had survived the deliveries better than she'd expected. It fell in loose waves around her shoulders and down her back, though she'd spent the morning straightening the hell out of it. Her sideswept bangs were still mostly cooperating, which was a small miracle considering she'd spent half the evening driving with the windows cracked.
She ran her fingers through the ends.
Her blue eyes looked brighter than usual, made even more noticeable by the black eyeliner she'd put on that morning. Her skin was pale, and there was a faint flush in her cheeks that probably had more to do with nerves than makeup.
She looked down at herself. Her body wasn't delicate, and she'd stopped trying to pretend it was. Neither were her tattoos.
A glimpse of blackwork showed near one thigh where her clothes shifted when she moved.
She tugged her shirt into place. Not too much, not desperate. Just enough.
She looked back at the mirror.
“Okay,” she whispered. (I look good, actually. I look really good.) She smiled, then immediately frowned at herself. “Don't get your hopes up.”
Her reflection, unfortunately, did not listen. Casey grabbed her purse, drew a long breath, and headed inside.
The Department of Human Preservation occupied twelve floors of glass and steel in the middle of downtown. The building was impossible to miss. Silver letters stretched across the front:
DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN PRESERVATION
Underneath:
PROTECTING HUMANITY'S MOST FINITE RESOURCE
Casey had seen the slogan a thousand times. Tonight, it suddenly felt very official. She stepped through the revolving doors. The security desk was quiet.
“Identification.”
Casey handed over her driver's license.
The security officer scanned it.
“Appointment?”
“Preservation placement.”
“Candidate?”
“Casey Reed.”
The officer looked at his screen.
“Sponsor?”
“Damon Vale.”
A pause, then a nod.
“Seventh floor. Human Preservation Intake.”
“Thanks.” She took her ID and headed for the elevators.
Her heart was pounding. She stared at the elevator doors and couldn't stop smiling.
The intake process was surprisingly thorough. The DHP employee who met her on the seventh floor didn't seem particularly interested in the fact that Casey was about to begin a life changing Preservation Placement.
“Casey Reed?”
“Yep.”
“Follow me.”
The medical screening came first.
Blood pressure.
Temperature.
Weight.
Blood draw.
The technician filled three small vials and labeled each one before placing them into a locked carrier.
“Any dizziness?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Next came the questionnaire. Casey sat at a small desk while a woman across from her reviewed the answers.
“Do you understand the dietary requirements of your Sponsor?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand emergency blood loss procedures?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand that Preservation Placement does not constitute legal ownership, guardianship, or transfer of human rights?”
“Seriously?” Casey looked up. (You're literally selling people.)
The woman's expression didn't change. “Very.”
“Yeah. I understand.” Casey smiled. Uptight.
The woman collected the tablet. “Everything is in order.”
“Good.” Casey sat a little straighter.
“Your Sponsor has completed his requirements. He'll assume responsibility for your placement tonight.”
Her stomach fluttered.
“He has?”
“Yes.” She stood. “He'll meet you in the placement room.”
“Okay.” Casey swallowed.
The woman opened the door. “Room 14.”
Room 14 was two chairs, a cheap card table, a box of tissues, and a laminated brochure all assembled into a dingy grey walled room with ugly green tiles.
Casey picked up the brochure.
WELCOME TO YOUR PRESERVATION PLACEMENT
She set it back down. She sat, looking around the room.
7:58.
Two minutes. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them.
Checked her phone, put it away, and checked it again. She knew what Damon looked like. She'd seen his photograph. Dark hair, pale skin, strong jaw. Green eyes.
She'd zoomed in on those eyes more times than she was willing to admit. She wondered what his voice sounded like.
Whether he'd shake her hand, what his smile was like, would he tell her why he'd chosen her. That was the question she really wanted answered.
(Why me?)
Casey smiled to herself. She'd never had anybody choose her like that before. The door opened, immediately grabbing her attention. She looked up and forgot every question she'd planned to ask.
(Oh. The picture has not done him justice.)
Damon Vale stepped into the room. He was tall. Dark hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. Black jacket, black shirt, hands in his pockets.
He didn't look dangerous or mysterious. He looked simply tired. Casey's heart still went absolutely stupid.
(That's him!)
Damon closed the door, looked at her, then at the empty chair. He walked over and sat with a sigh. Casey waited. Maybe he was nervous, that was okay. She was nervous too.
“Hi.” She smiled. Nothing. She waited. “I'm Casey.” Still nothing. (Okay, maybe he isn't much of a talker.)
She opened her mouth again. Damon raised his chin and his hair shifted. His bright, strikingly icy green eyes met hers. For a second, Casey forgot how to breathe, then Damon glanced toward the door.
“You ready to go?” His voice was low, nonchalant.
“Go?” Casey blinked in shock.
“Yeah.” He looked at her.
She stared at him.
She had spent three days imagining this moment. She'd expected introductions, questions, maybe a conversation where he'd tell her why he'd chosen her. Instead, her gorgeous, immortal Sponsor looked like a man who had come to pick up dry cleaning.
“Sure.” Casey stood, her excitement starting to deflate.
Damon opened the door. She followed and despite everything: the weird room, the government paperwork, the blood screening, and the fact that her brand new Sponsor had apparently decided introductions were optional, Casey smiled because he had given her a chance at a nice life. She didn't know why yet, but she was going to find out.
